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auroralix · 9 months

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✩ fairly odd christmas - part 1 ✩

read parts two and three here!

pairing: chanlix. everything on this account is chanlix.

summary: single and lonely on christmas, felix makes an offhand wish to have someone to love. the man who appears in his kitchen the next morning to make that wish come true is the last thing he expects.

song: fictional ~ khloe rose

this section’s word count: 4.2k

warnings: uhhhhhhh i don’t think there are many ?? some vEry light swearing, felix is already lowkey thirsting for chan’s ass bc aren’t we all, this is so sappy lovey dovey i love them, mentions of getting murdered bc felix thinks chan is an intruder at first, felix also tries to use a pen as a weapon, why am i treating this like ao3 tags

small a/n: welcome to my first fruity series! i’m still in the process of writing and polishing this but i had to post it before it became too long after christmas lol. everything should be posted by new year’s (: also forever big thanks to @awooghan for the fic title ilysm and thank you to both her and @ujimoo for beta reading and giving input ilyb 🫶

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Felix trudged into his apartment, closing the door behind himself and slumping against it. He got dumped again, and right before Christmas. It shouldn’t have surprised him but every time he hopes this time it might be the One. The one and only he couldn’t live without.

He made his way to the kitchen and opened the freezer, pulling out a tub of ice cream and a spoon. It wasn’t the most glamorous way to spend his night but he was past caring at this point.

After securing his ice cream, Felix crashed on the couch in his living room and turned on the tv. It was time to nurse his emotional wounds with any one of his favorite movies. He had a secret soft spot on his heart for sappier, more cliche movies; those normally seen as “girly.” He couldn’t help it, maybe it was the consequence of living with his sisters until he moved out after college.

Felix had always loved the idea of finding that one person who he loved more than anything else and that would love him back just as much. The books he read and movies he watched did nothing to help those notions; he was the notorious hopeless romantic in his friend group and had been since he was young.

It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help that the men in his books and movies were miles better than anyone he’d met in real life. He’d dated multiple people, men and women, and yet nobody ever compared to the people in his stories that lived day and night in his brain. It wasn’t that most of them were bad people (although he’d had his fair share of bad dates), it was just that none of them could give Felix half the amount of love he gave them.

When Felix loved someone, he jumped all in with both feet, not caring what may come. He knew he was being naïve about it, but he couldn’t help that either; it was just in his personality to love wholly and completely and to give as much of himself as he could to the other person. It led to him getting his heart stomped on more than once, like it had tonight.

He’d heard yet again that he was sweet and nice and everything else, but he just wasn’t what his date was looking for. Felix had nodded and smiled and taken it well, dragging himself out of the restaurant to walk home.

Of course it was just his luck that it started raining on his way. And of course it was his luck that he didn’t have anyone to be cliche in the rain with at that moment, under the bright city lights that were decked out in full Christmas decor. It was like the world loved to taunt him by dangling something he wanted desperately right in front of his face. So he had shuffled home through the cold, sludgy rain as quickly as he could, which was how he ended up where he was now.

Curled under a blanket and nursing a tub of melting ice cream while he dreamed about a love he’d probably never see. He just wanted someone that would love him as much as he loved them, was that too much to ask for?

Felix set the nearly empty ice cream tub on the coffee table in front of him and tucked his feet under himself, moving to lie on his side as he watched his movie. Before long, without him even realizing it, Felix was drifting off to sleep on the couch, sending a half asleep wish to the powers that be for a Christmas miracle– someone he could love unconditionally.

•••

Felix blinked his eyes open blearily, adjusting to the blinding sunlight streaming in through his curtains. He rolled onto his side, belatedly realizing he was in his bed, not on the couch as he had been when he fell asleep the night before.

He frowned a little to himself. He was sure he’d fallen asleep on the couch, but maybe he’d woken up long enough to drag himself into his room for the rest of the night.

He stretched his arms above his head and yawned before slowly hauling himself out of bed and trudging to clean up in the bathroom, not giving it a second thought.

When he was finished with his morning routine, Felix waddled out of his room and to the kitchen. He stilled just a second when he walked through the small living room, his mostly empty bucket of ice cream was gone. That made him pause, he knew he didn’t pick it up the night before. Maybe one of his friends randomly came over and threw it out, he rationalized to himself as he turned toward the kitchen.

His kitchen, that was currently occupied by another man that Felix didn’t know. Felix stopped right in his tracks at the sight of the intruder, heart rate immediately going through the roof.

“Who are you?!” he screeched at the man who looked up in surprise from whatever he was doing at the counter. Felix immediately started looking for something, anything to defend himself with.

The other man slowly put his hands up to show he meant no ill will. “I-I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.”

The kitchen knife in one of his hands gave Felix no confidence that what he said was true.

In another situation, Felix would be swooning at the sight and sound of the other man, but right now, he just wanted answers. He grabbed a nearby pen, his only weapon of defense against the mystery intruder and his kitchen knife.

“Who are you?! Why are you here?!” Felix asked again, his panic growing as he held the pen up, like it’d do anything against the impressive muscles on the other man.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the other man started, lowering one hand to put the knife down as he spoke. “I- I was sent here, for… for you.”

Felix choked on a scoff as he shook his head. “You actually expect me to believe that? What the fuck do you want from me? Why are you here?!”

The other man blinked a couple times and looked like he was trying to think over the best way to answer Felix’s questions. “I-… I don’t know how to explain it. Um, y-you made a wish last night and brought me here. I’d never hurt you though, I promise.”

That stopped Felix dead in his defensive rampage. Yes, he had made a wish to the nonexistent Christmas fairies as he was falling asleep, but he didn’t expect anything to come from it. Much less it being answered with a random hot man deposited in his kitchen. He didn’t even know how it could’ve been answered.

Despite what the man in his kitchen said, Felix couldn’t and wouldn’t just trust whatever the he said. Not without substantial evidence of his claims or some very good persuading.

“How do I know I can trust you or- or that you won’t hurt me? You showed up in the middle of the night out of literally nowhere and- and started acting like you own the place! You’re- you’re just here! In my kitchen and eating my food!” Felix spit out, keeping his pen held high as he questioned the other man. “You haven’t even told me your name!”

“It’s, um, it’s Chan,” the man gulped nervously. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but please, just hear me out. The reason I’m here is I’m a spirit of Christmas, here to answer your wish.”

Felix could do nothing but gawk at the man in disbelief. Surely he’d misheard? He must still be dreaming, there was no other explanation. It was just a dream that Felix’s lovesick brain had conjured up to make him feel worse when he woke up and saw it indeed wasn’t real.

“Y-You- you’re a what?” he sputtered, at a loss for all other words.

Chan just nodded his head slowly. “It’s true, I’m a spirit of Christmas. We go around this time of year spreading love and joy and sometimes we answer Christmas wishes. I- I heard your wish last night as you were falling asleep and I had to answer; I’d never heard such a sincere wish as yours.”

Felix took a shuddering breath. This man—Chan— had to be crazy. But, somehow he’d known about the wish half asleep Felix had sent into the ether the previous night. How had he known?

“If- if you’re a real Christmas spirit or whatever, then you must have some sort of powers, right?” he asked, deciding to put the whole thing to the test before he chose whether to listen to more of Chan’s story or call the police.

“I do, they’re not very powerful powers, but they get the job done, you know? I can show you if you’d like,” Chan said, giving Felix a hopeful little smile that brought out a pair of cute little dimples that definitely did nothing to Felix’s already racing pulse.

“Yes please. But nothing weird, okay?” Felix still did not loosen his grip on his pen. It may not do much if the other man tried to attack him, but he would go down swinging, if nothing else.

“I promise.” Chan gave him a quick wink before disappearing in a cloud of sparkles that looked like snow and reappeared in that same cloud of sparkles on the other side of the living room. He had stayed out of arm’s reach of Felix, which was appreciated.

“I can also fly, but it’s kind of impractical when nobody else on this planet can,” Chan mentioned like it was no big deal as his feet slowly lifted off the ground before he floated in Felix’s general direction, still staying out of his personal space bubble.

Felix couldn’t believe his eyes, or ears as he watched the man across the room from him. He could barely wrap his head around all that happened the past fifteen minutes.

“You- you’re- that was all true?” Felix was not having a good day with his words; although who could blame him? It’s not everyday he gets visited by beautiful Christmas spirits promising to fix his loveless life.

“Everything I told you is completely true. I’m here to make your Christmas wishes come to life.” Chan set his feet back on the floor, still a respectable amount of space away, a bright smile gracing his features once again.

Felix let out a small, disbelieving laugh and shook his head as he thought everything over. Either he was really going crazy, or there truly was a Christmas fairy in his living room offering to give him the best Christmas season he’d ever had. The spirit seemed to have no ill will and was admittedly one of the hottest people—beings?— Felix had ever seen.

With a shrug he decided that if this spirit was really out here to murder him, he would let him. At least he’d get murdered by a beautiful creature that, before now, were only thought to have existed in fiction. Felix would have a great death, but he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Since there weren’t many downsides in his eyes, Felix thought it’d be fine to see where things went from here.

“Okay,” he said, releasing a deep breath. “As long as you don’t try and kill me, you can… grant my wish? How does that work?”

Chan chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders just slightly. “Mostly, I’m here so you have someone to be with over Christmas. We’ll go on dates, you can take me to meet your friends, and I’ll take care of you the best I can this season.”

Felix considered the other’s words. It sounded too good to be true, but the hopeless romantic in him was screaming to give this a chance and see what would happen. He only had one question before he gave in completely.

“What do you get out of it?”

“For us spirits, trying to spread joy and happiness and granting wishes like this isn’t just what we do, it’s who we are. If your wish hadn’t called out to me as strongly as it did, I’d probably still be floating around, granting minor wishes to others without them even knowing it,” the spirit explained, a look of pure sincerity on his face as he spoke. “It’s something we do not for what we can get out of it, but for what we can give to others.”

If that didn’t sound like music to Felix’s ears. This wasn’t just some little thing, this was exactly what he wished for, dropped right in his lap. And Felix was a weak, weak man, especially when it came to other pretty men who offered to grant his wishes and take him on dates and be the perfect Christmas boyfriend.

“Okay,” he said again, “I guess let’s see where this goes.”

“You won’t be disappointed, Felix, I promise.” And there Chan was, smiling like it was his wish getting granted, not the other way around. His dimples were on full display, cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, and right that moment, Felix knew he was already in deep trouble.

He blinked a couple times and forced his still racing heart to calm down a little lest it give out on him. Felix had more questions but before he could get one out, his stomach gave a loud growl, reminding him that it was time to eat. He laughed sheepishly and looked over at where Chan was still standing, looking none the wiser to the loud grumble that came from Felix’s stomach.

“What, um, what were you doing in the kitchen?” Felix asked as he meandered toward the kitchen. He’d finally put his makeshift pen weapon down and shook out his cramping fingers as he walked.

At his question, Chan perked up and hurried back to the kitchen to show Felix what he’d been working on.

“I- I knew me just… appearing like I did might have freaked you out, which it did, oops? But, I thought maybe making you food might help you calm down, so- so I was trying to make you pancakes,” Chan said with a tiny, sheepish smile crossing his face. “I didn’t really know what you liked, so I tried to find a bunch of different toppings.”

Felix hated to admit it but he couldn’t deny how his heart melted just a little at the gesture and hopeful expression on the other’s face. As he looked at the bowls of cut up fruit and chocolate chips scattered around a big batter bowl, he felt more and more sure that he’d made the right decision. This pancake-making spirit meant him no harm.

“Oh, Chan, this- this is actually really sweet.” Felix picked up a couple chips from one bowl and popped them into his mouth before adding, “Pancakes are always a nice touch, a surefire way to win over anyone who’s house you break into.”

At that, Chan’s eyes widened in concern, making him look more like a wounded puppy than a powerful being that could fly and teleport at will. Felix cringed internally, maybe 10 minutes into their—relationship? Was it a relationship? Could Felix call it that yet? He wasn’t sure— but maybe 10 minutes into their… thing was too early to break out the sarcasm.

“I’m sorry!” He hurried to correct himself, “That was a joke, a really bad one for right now. The pancakes are a really nice touch, end of sentence.”

“Do you mean it? I can just clean up if you don’t want any.” Chan still looked unsure and Felix felt like the worst person ever for making him feel bad.

“I promise,” Felix attempted to console the other. “I love pancakes and sweet things, you can ask any of my friends when you meet them.”

“If you’re sure then, I’ll start cooking them for you.” And just like that, the clouds lifted from Chan’s expression and he went back to his previously smiley self.

Chan promptly set back about his previous pancake mission focused, with one goal in mind. When Felix offered to help, Chan simply gave him disarmingly sweet smile and waved him off, stating he wanted to learn the kitchen for himself. It was no trouble really, and he was happy to do it, he wanted to do it, he reassured Felix and shooed him over to the living room to find a movie for them both to watch while they ate.

Felix wasn’t sure how he felt at first about being (albeit nicely) pushed out of his own kitchen. Although once he started smelling the delightful scent of fresh pancakes wafting his way, he decided he didn’t care quite as much. Plus, it wasn’t like he could’ve made anything better on his own. Felix was a phenomenal baker, but all of his attempts to make anything other than baked goods in the kitchen were far less than stellar at best.

He flopped on his couch and started scrolling through the list of movies he had saved, trying to find anything that didn’t scream “I’m very lonely and available and live out those feelings through the movies I watch, please love me!” He didn’t like his odds.

But finally, he decided that if Chan was going to be with him, he should know all the weird, sappy parts of him. Chan was the one who wanted to answer his wish and cure his loneliness, it would only be right to truly let him know what he was getting himself into. So, Felix picked out one of his favorite sappy Christmas movies and waited for Chan to announce when the pancakes were ready.

Breakfast went smoothly and Chan didn’t say a word about the movie choice. As they ate, Felix’s confidence in his decision completely solidified; Chan’s pancakes were out of this world.

The rest of the day passed without many mishaps, Felix showed Chan the rest of his apartment even though Chan already knew his way around from carrying Felix to bed the night before. Felix tidied up around the apartment and Chan insisted on helping even when he was told he didn’t need to.

Felix didn’t quite know how to treat Chan just yet. They weren’t an item but also they already were. Chan was a guest but also he wasn’t. In addition, Felix didn’t know what he was going to do about extra clothes for Chan yet or if the spirit had any money or if making things appear was another one of his abilities.

Chan certainly couldn’t wear Felix’s clothes, as despite them being roughly the same height, Chan had far more bulked out muscles than Felix. While Felix’s muscles were lean, Chan’s were thicker, much like his ass, that Felix had definitely not spent half the day trying not to look at when the spirit walked by. Felix could spend the next day or so figuring everything out and take him shopping for more clothes either way. He also made a mental note to ask the spirit about what other hidden abilities he may have.

Throughout the day, Felix had also taken plenty of opportunities to look at his new roommate. He didn’t want to seem creepy and stare at Chan, so he’d just sneak peeks out of the corner of his eye or when the other would turn his back.

There was no denying the spirit was beautiful, he was practically Felix’s perfect type. They were about the same height, but Chan was much more broad and muscular, he looked like he could lift Felix right off the ground without much strain at all. Chan’s face didn’t seem to match his strong body completely with dark curly hair that fluffed around his head and warm brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. And Felix couldn’t get started on those dimples; he’d always been weak for them and now was no exception.

Felix was grateful that the Christmas spirit that heard his wish was as pretty as Chan. He didn’t know if all the spirits were this pretty, yet he still felt lucky that his not only seemed too sweet to be real, but was also just as nice to look at.

Felix was happy to have someone around for the day and just enjoyed slowly getting used to having another person in the house with him. Chan was sweet and insisted on making dinner after Felix beat him to lunch-making earlier in the day. He was phenomenal in the kitchen as Felix was quickly discovering and who was Felix to deny his new beautiful roommate the pleasure of making wonderful food for them?

It was after dinner, as they were planning to go to sleep that Felix realized a big mistake in he’d made when he agreed to let Chan stay with him.

Felix only had one bed.

He only had a couple options that he could think of to solve this. Let Chan have his bed while he took the couch; he wasn’t about to make Chan sleep on the couch, he was still new and Felix felt like it’d just be mean to take the bed from him.

There was one other option but he didn’t know he felt about it yet. They could both share Felix’s bed, it was big enough to fit them both comfortably but Felix was unsure if he should even bring that up. He and Chan had just met earlier that day and he didn’t know if this was truly moving too fast. Granted, they both knew why Chan was there so Felix was more inclined to give into his a bit too rapidly growing feelings, but he didn’t know if this step was too quick even for their situation.

“You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Felix said, trying to stay nonchalant as he handed Chan extra toiletries to use.

“O-Oh, um, that’s okay,” Chan replied, looking the smallest bit disappointed by Felix’s words. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Felix shook his head quickly. “No, you- you shouldn’t have to do that, it’d be wrong of me to make you sleep there. It’s okay, I promise.”

Chan just nodded, giving Felix a tiny, unsure smile back, looking very much like he’d just been accused of doing something wrong.

“Have- have I done something wrong?” Chan’s voice was hesitant and timid as he spoke, afraid of upsetting the human he now lived with.

Felix paused in the middle of putting toothpaste of his toothbrush to give Chan a look. “Of course not, why would you think that?”

Chan shrugged, looking down and fiddling with the toothbrush he still held in his hands. “Just… I thought we could both stay in your bed. That’s- that’s what I came I here for, to keep you safe and give you company. I can’t do that with either of us on the couch.”

Oh.

Felix really hadn’t thought this through. He never would’ve imagined something like this could’ve hurt Chan so badly. The more he pondered, the more it made sense; this was what the spirit came to him for, so turning him down after spending the whole day together must have felt like a horrible rejection.

“Oh… I understand that, I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted,” Felix started, giving Chan a genuine smile. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but I’m okay staying in the same bed if you are.”

At his words, Chan’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly in relief and his face lightened up immediately.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Plus, I- I like cuddles before sleeping,” Felix chuckled shyly, trying desperately to ignore the way his face flushed the more he spoke.

Chan positively beamed, the confirmation he was doing a good job was all he needed to fully relax once again. “I’m glad I can help with that, then. I quite literally live for joy and feelings like these.”

Felix’s face heated up more and he quickly went back about his business of brushing his teeth. It had been less than a full day and already this spirit was wiggling his way deep into Felix’s heart. Not that he was complaining, it seemed like for once, Felix might actually have a love that lasts.

The two went about their business of getting ready for sleep and tucked themselves into bed. It was a little awkward at first as Felix was completely overthinking every little twitch and move he or Chan made. That was until Chan let out a sleepy sigh and turned onto his side, throwing an arm over Felix’s middle and pulling him flush against his chest.

“I could hear you overthinking, stop stressing so much and just let it happen,” came the sleep-riddled mumble from behind Felix.

Truly, Felix didn’t know how Chan expected him to relax and fall asleep after that move. He had a beautiful man right behind him, his breath warm against the back of Felix’s neck and Felix was sure he’d never been quite as aware of his own existence as he was in that moment.

Eventually, through soft little reassurances that it was alright and sleep was good and that he didn’t need to worry so much, Felix slowly succumbed to the exhaustion that had overtaken him. And if the comforting weight of Chan’s arm across his middle did anything to push him closer to sleep, Felix would never admit it aloud.

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read part two here!

#stray kids #bang chan #chanlix #felix #lee felix #christmas #christmas fairy #fluff #skz fluff #skz felix #skz bang chan #love #they’re in love your honor #i’m so soft for them #🫶#skz

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howlingmoonrise · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank you for the tag @galvanizedfriend!!!!!!

How many works do you have on ao3? 45!

What's your total ao3 word count? 168,011 words

What fandoms do you write for? i'm an awful, awful fandom hopper :x but i write most consistently nowadays for petshop of horrors

Top five fics by kudos: 1) my dracula/barbie fic la petite mort is in first place, to the surprise of absolutely no one🤦‍♀️ 2) warrior, a post-movie shan yu/mulan oneshot 3) standing sentinel, an alien vs predator fix-it oneshot where lex goes with the predators and scar survives 4) surprising even me????? bonded, a soul eater soulmate au oneshot from 2014???? it has 8 comments total and half of them are my replies???? HOW. 5) not as surprisingly, in the woods somewhere, an ever after high cerise hood/daring charming au where daring accidentally ends up becoming the next riding hood. rare fandom/pair niche ftw!

Do you respond to comments? do you know when you reply mentally to things and then forget to actually do it irl? 😬 i have a really bad habit of opening comments on mobile, where i never type anything if i can help it, gush and draft the entire reply in my head, and then... yeah. i do eventually actually get to them all, but some will suffer through a year of no response before i pull up my sleeves and get to them. but dear gods do i try. the full answer is "yes, i do, and i absolutely love them all" but i feel very guilty about taking so long so i'll stick with "i try" 🙏🙏🙏

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? probably see you soon, a voltron legendary defender shidge fic, or songbird, a petshop of horrors angelica/p-chan oneshot with a bit of an experimental style. i think they're probably only fics i have that have a 100% unambiguously unhappy AND undeserved ending

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i usually try to aim for at least an ambiguously happy ending, so most of them? buuuuut that being said, i'm gonna point to my earlier fics in the soul eater or the yuri on ice fandoms, i was a lot sappier back in those. i've gotten a taste for a bit of a crunchier ending since then.

Do you get hate on fics? not really. i did receive hate for my voltron ships directly on the blog, but we all know how rotten that fandom was lmfao

Do you write smut? occasionally? i feel like i was in my smut-writing peak back in the soul eater fandom, but i was VERY productive in writing fic in general back in those days, and that no longer holds true. i feel like i'm a lot more self-conscious in writing smut nowadays and about how badly my writing in that genre would sound - the ideas are willing, but the flesh is weak.

Craziest crossover: i hate that my writer's block has cockblocked me from going crazier since despite wanting to write even wilder ships but. once again. my dracula/barbie fic la petite mort.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not exactly. as far as i'm aware, no one has taken it ipsis verbis, but i have seen unauthorized and uncredited translations of my works floating around.

Have you ever had a fic translated? *side-eyes paragraph above* yep! my works seem to get podficced more than anything though

Have you ever co-written a fic before? i started writing one in my old, old days in the danny phantom fandom (hello, first fandom!), but our email exchanges petered out and it never got finished or posted anywhere

All time favorite ship? how the FUCK am i supposed to chose. my dude. why would you do this to me. it changes with the phases of the moon.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i am 97.89% made of wips. 😬😬😬 there's just. so many. the first ones that come to mind is a magicstone (magica de spell/gladstone gander from the donald duck comics) angsty-ass oneshot, and also a jane darling/peter pan fic from peter pan 2 return to neverland, both of which i only ever posted snippets for a wip ask game years ago 😭😭😭 i also very much want to finish my shan yu/mulan longfic to the victor, the spoils and i have every intention of doing it but then i look back and. it's been half a decade already. rip.

What are your writing strengths? uhhhh. i find interesting dynamics and ways of bringing characters together? i'm a rare/crack shipping bitch so i need to find a way of really selling what i'm writing so that people will read it, so i guess i've honed my skills in that direction. i also usually get comments complimenting my writing style, though my own taste for it varies wildly. i also think i'm good at adapting my own style to fit the source material one.

What are your writing weaknesses? apart from being in a semi-permanent state of writer's block and never finishing anything, you mean? where do i START. action scenes. comedy. not doing run-on overly-wordy sentences no one but me will understand. too many italics. FUCKING PLOT. why can't i write solely vibes and pining, WHY does plot have to haunt me while blowing raspberries at me for not knowing how to plan anything more complicated than a fairytale-level quest.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? english already IS another language for me 😂 that being said, i don't generally like it unless it's an untranslateable pun term or plot-relevant, in which case footnotes are appreciated. exceptions are titles/honorifics/actual names of things.

First fandom you wrote in? danny phantom, all the way back in like... 2009? it was how i learned to speak/write english beyond the basics. it was very, very bad, but i'm glad i got to go through that and experiment so wildly in such an encouraging fandom.

Favorite fic you've written? cinq d'épées, my princess and the frog dr facillier/charlotte la bouff 15k oneshot LITERALLY EVERYONE IS SLEEPING ON. why do people keep gushing on the dracula/barbie fic when that fic is RIGHT THERE with far less views than most of my other fics and way better writing quality. i honestly hate reading my own writing and even i enjoy rereading that one, villain/heroine morally grey ships my beloved.

thanks again for tagging me!!! tagging @sandmancircus @acernor @nemainofthewater @produdfctititty @starfishride @malgraw @olderthannetfic if you guys feel like it!

#howl rambles a lot #tag meme #tag game

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jundlcndwastes · 1 year

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❝ Happy Birthday, my love. ❞ Surely she smelled of sweet pancakes that she had been cooking for him in the kitchen right down the hall. Eron was usually the first one awake but she had made sure that she woke up before him so she could begin the perfect birthday for him, beginning with breakfast. Once everything was plated to perfection, Juniper acting the perfect housewife, she smiled, pleased with herself, and went to find him.

Eron was in the refresher, no doubt having just woken up and getting ready for the day. Her arms had wrapped around him from behind, peeking over his shoulder to meet the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. ❝ I made breakfast for you. Raena's probably going to wake up any second, too, so I just need to get her dressed and we can all eat together. ❞

Juniper slipped around to his front so that she could look up at that very handsome face; the same face she wanted to see very last when she went to bed at night and the first one she wanted to see when she woke up in the morning. ❝ I love you, Eron Skywalker, ❞ she announced, her hands finding his own and holding them between their bodies. ❝ The very first time I met you I never imagined that our lives would ever be like this. I mean - I definitely had my own little fantasies about you but none of them included me waking up early to make you breakfast on your birthday and us having a daughter and living normal lives or . . . semi-normal lives anyway, ❞ she said with a laugh.

❝ The universe worked its magic, magic I never believed really existed before and I'm so lucky for that. I don't have to hope you feel the same way because I know you do. ❞ Juniper smiled up at the love of her life and she raised her hand to place over where his heart was. ❝ My heart belongs to you. It always has and always will, Eron Skywalker. So before I start getting sappier than I already have, ❞ she laughed, a bit teary-eyed, but continued, ❝ Why don't we get our beautiful daughter up and eat some birthday pancakes? ❞ After a pause, she reached up to deeply kissed him, Eron Skywalker, the birthday boy and love of her life.

☆ ───── @hopegained gets a birthday surprise !

#[you don't have to respond to this - this is definitely just juniper wanting to give him some bday loving]#[or we could always do bday things here or on discord lemme know <3]#hopegained #☆ ───── JUNIPER WOLFHART ( A GIRL MADE OF GLASS & STARDUST )#☆ ───── JUNIPER WOLFHART ( SHIP. IF THIS IS MY LAST DAY ON EARTH I JUST WANT TO BE WITH YOU )

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bakery-anon · 23 days

Note

hi bug! i'm doing well! how are you? sorry i disappeared for a while, i had to take up extra shifts at Onigiri miya's :( you and my boss are so cute though! (yes, i am peeking from the kitchen)

hope it's fine that i'm sending in self-ship questions even though it's no longer friday~ i have *checks list* dear diary and soulmate for you!

i also just realized that i forgot to respond to your question from one of my earlier asks... i'm in camp first tattoo <3

with love, 🍙 anon

🍙 ANON!!!! Welcome again!!! And literally don’t worry about not being in my askbox all the time <3333 taking extra shifts is so real <3 okay. @hiraethwa and I previously decided that self-ship was whenever our hearts desire so send in asks whenever you want <3333

Bugmu is my bread and butter <3333 I’m glad you don’t mind me coming in during your shift to harass him. I love chatting with you before during lunch rush though when he’s busy <33

self-ship questions <3

ೀ｡˚ dear diary — do u and ur fﾉo have a scrapbook or a journal where u keep mementos from memorable moments spent together ?

Omg. We most definitely do. And let me tell you why…we went to visit Mamma Miya and she was showing me the photo album of little Osamu :(( and when we got home I went to him and asked if we could make a scrapbook to look back on when we get old and want something to reminisce on. And he just kind of melted and went “Of course we can.” Bcs he’s so soft for me (not sure if you’ve seen it from your shifts at Onigiri Miya 🥰🥰🥰).

ೀ｡˚ soulmate — who fell first and who fell harder ?

We both fell pretty hard honestly. I think he fell first. Or at least he’ll tell you he fell first. From the first time he saw me in class with my faded hair and my unimpressed face. He just “had to work with me and make me smile.” He’s much sappier than he comes off (He’s purposefully annoying sappy in front of his brother to rub it in his face that he’s single lol). OFF TOPIC.

I say that he “caught” me since he says he fell first. It was his stupid smile that made me fall in love >:( he would get a really dopey smile on his face when I would eat his food and get happy and I wanted to make him smile more <333

Thank you so much for rambling with me <333 feel free to stop in anytime you want and don’t feel bad about not being free to talk <3333 I hope you’re doing well, I’m actually having a good day today. I got to ramble about self-ship and I’m hanging out with family and got to ramble to them about hq :) that’s why it took so long to respond to this lol- have a good day 🍙 anon and you’re welcome anytime <333

#🍙 anon <3 #༉‧₊˚. baker’s consultation #✧⁑ cookie cutter #Bugmu <3 #✰✦ bug’s storefront

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edith-hyde · 2 years

Text

Norman Osborn X Female Reader

I Forgot My Umbrella - Part 24

Word Count: 3339

Summary: You try to learn more about Norman and his interests while Norman takes a big step and introduces himself to your friend Tracy.

Warnings: Age gap. PG.

A/N: It's just gonna get sappier from here folks. Seriously. Fluffy, sappy, cheese is in our future.

Archive

——

It was well after noon by the time you woke up, as you had stayed up late hanging out with Tracy. She ended up telling you more about Dan’s horrible behavior and you were starting to really worry for her. The Dan you knew in college had always been an idiot, but was he really capable of all that she claimed? He had not only been verbally abusive but physical as well. You certainly trusted Tracy over Dan, but still. He just seemed too stupid and immature to be all that scary.

Hearing her horror stories made you exceedingly grateful that Norman was not anything like that. And thinking about that just made you miss him.

After your shower, you shuffled into the front room to find Tracy still asleep on the couch. With a shake of your head, you tiptoed up to the phone and dialed Norman’s number. You didn’t have to wait very long at all before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Norman. Can you talk?”

“Absolutely.”

You sat down on the floor, hiding behind the kitchen island as you whispered into the phone.

“Tracy is still asleep and I just wanted to talk to you for a bit. I miss you.”

Norman chuckled.

“Y/N, it’s barely been 12 hours since we last spoke. I thought I was going to be the clingy one in this relationship.”

You stifled a laugh, trying to keep quiet for Tracy.

“Well you thought wrong, Sir. I can be just as clingy.”

“I am not one to complain about that.”

“Good… by the way, I told Tracy about us.”

“How did she take it?”

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you.

“Pretty well I think. She admitted that a lot of her opinions are based on those goofy articles from the Daily Bugle. I think she’s willing to give you a chance.”

“So when I meet her I should try to make a good first impression.”

“Yeah. But that shouldn’t be too hard. Just be your usual charming self. It worked on me.”

“Your faith in me is woefully misplaced,” Norman scoffed.

“I don’t think so,” you said with a smile, “I think when you meet Tracy, she’ll understand why I love you. Same with everybody else.”

“I hope so.”

A silence settled between you as you tried to think of how to continue the conversation.

“Say, Norman?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Norman laughed and you instantly felt silly for asking. As Norman answered, you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I suppose it’s black. And what’s yours, my dear?”

“I dunno. It honestly changes from week to week.”

“That tracks… May I ask you a question?”

“Isn’t that technically a question?” You giggled.

Norman huffed and you stifled another laugh.

“Yes. You may ask me a question.”

“Do you prefer chocolates or flowers?”

You thought for a second before smiling.

“Chocolates. They don’t wilt and I can eat them.”

“Duly noted.”

“What about you? Flowers or chocolates?”

“Chocolates,” Norman answered without hesitation.

“Should’ve known,” you chortled, “Do you have a favorite book?”

“Not really. I read a lot of books on scientific discoveries. Been a while since I’ve read for pleasure. What about you?”

“It’s hard to pick a favorite.”

“Well, what was the last book you read?”

“The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Great book.”

Norman suddenly burst into laughter, making you jump.

“What’s so funny?” You questioned as his laughter tapered off.

“Nothing, sorry. Just… oh the irony.”

You scowled but Norman didn’t give you time to question him.

“How would you feel about coming over tomorrow night? You could bring whatever movie you like.”

“I’d love to but…”

“But what? Is something wrong?”

You bit at your lip as you tried to think of a way to voice your concern.

“Well… we’ve just been doing stuff that I like these past two weeks. Which is just watching movies. What about what you like to do?”

“What I… what I like to do?”

Norman’s confusion was clear in his tone.

“Yeah. Like is there anything you want to do?”

“I want to spend time with you,” Norman replied without a pause.

“That’s very sweet,” you smiled, “But it’s not fair if we only do whatever I want to do. I wanna know what you like to do.”

Norman remained silent for a moment. When he spoke you could imagine his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’ve been a workaholic for the past 12 years, my dear. If I ever had any free time, I would use it to work or go to galas to try and impress people. I have no hobbies or interests outside of Science and my company.”

“What about before OSCORP?” You questioned, “What did you like to do back in college? I know you said you liked comic books and that you and Otto would watch old black and whites. What else would you do?”

Norman started chuckling to himself as he recalled his younger years.

“Well… I built models occasionally. Otto and I experimented with stuff and made a mess. I also enjoyed…”

“Enjoyed what?” You prompted.

“It’s been so long, Y/N, it's honestly hard to remember. And I’m not the same man I was back then. I highly doubt I’d have much interest in what I used to do.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip as you contemplated what he said.

“Then we’re just gonna have to figure out what you like now.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ve gotta find you some hobbies! Something for you to do. Or maybe something we can do together. We need more date ideas than just staying in and watching movies. I mean, unless that’s really all you wanna do. Cuz I don’t mind at all. I love movies. I know there’s a lot you haven't seen but I don’t want you watching all these movies just because you think-”

“Y/N,” Norman interrupted, “Darling, it’s fine. I’m not that hard to please. Just so long as I’m with you and you’re happy, I’ll be alright.”

You sighed, hanging your head.

“I just want you to enjoy yourself. Have some fun.”

“Y/N… I’m a bit too old for-”

“Ah-bub-bup! Don’t start with that,” you scolded, “You’re never too old to have fun.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Norman chuckled and you could imagine him shaking his head.

“You’re something else, you know that? A real piece of work.”

“I try.”

“Never stop being you,” Norman requested.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Good. Now about tomorrow, I don’t think we need to go all crazy. I really am fine with watching a movie or two. We still need to watch the third Back To The Future.”

“You’re really invested in that, aren’t ya?” You giggled.

“From a purely scientific view,” Norman said as he mocked a serious tone, “Time travel may very well be the next project at OSCORP. I’ve been taking notes.”

You laughed, not even bothering to be quiet. This caused Tracy to groan and you peaked around the corner to see her sitting up.

“Oh poo. I woke up Tracy. I better go.”

“If you must. I’ll see you tomorrow around 5. We can grab dinner. And maybe… maybe I’ll think of something we can do that I enjoy.”

“Sounds perfect. Bye!”

“Goodbye, my dear.”

Standing up, you hung up the phone and started shuffling around in the fridge looking for breakfast. Tracy gave a yawn and after a moment she finally registered that you were in the room.

“Were you talking to someone?” She asked groggily.

“Yeah, I called Norman.”

“He calls you after midnight and then you call him again today? Jeez, you guys are worse than teenage girls.”

You rolled your eyes as you set a carton of eggs on the counter.

“Do you want me to spit in your food or not?”

“Please don’t,” Tracy grimaced.

“Then be nice.”

You pointed a spatula at her and she scoffed. After a moment of pointed staring, the two of you started laughing.

You were glad that, even though Tracy didn’t understand or agree with your relationship, she was able to remain your friend. And it gave you hope that your family could do the same.

You also hoped Harry would accept you.

He is Norman’s son, so he is a crucial part of his life. If Norman fully rebuilds his relationship with him, the two of you would have to tell the younger Osborn that you were dating.

Boy, won’t that be fun?

——

Saturday came and went. So did Sunday morning. You spent most of your time with Tracy and you were happy to see her acting like her usual self. It seemed like she was confident in her decision to break up with Dan. Unfortunately, she was reluctant to call the cops and insisted that it wasn’t necessary. Supposedly Dan just needed time to get over himself and he would eventually leave her alone. You weren't so sure but you trusted Tracy.

As it drew closer to 5, you started getting antsy. You had told Tracy you would be going out tonight and she insisted on helping you get ready. But nothing you chose was good enough apparently.

“You need to dress up more!” She declared as she started rummaging through your clothes, “Wear like a pencil skirt or something!”

“I dunno, Trace. That isn’t really my style…”

“Trust me, it’s worth it just to see his jaw drop to the floor.”

“I don’t even own one.”

Tracy flung some shirts and skirts out of your closet with a groan.

“Don’t you have anything more modern? Did you buy this at a thrift store?”

Tracy held out one of your favorite blouses with a scowl. You quickly snatched it from her.

“As a matter of fact, I did. There’s nothing wrong with buying second-hand.”

“Why couldn’t you buy second-hand designer?”

You rolled your eyes. Tracy stuck her head right back into the closet, rifling through your stuff. You knew she didn’t mean to sound so judgemental, but you were starting to get annoyed. Your style was your own and you were happy with it.

“Let me just wear a blouse and some slacks, please.”

“You wanna wear pants? Honey, you should wear a dress! This is a date for heaven's sake!”

“But we’re just going to watch a movie after dinner. There is no reason to get all fancy! Plus it’ll be super uncomfortable- trying to watch a movie in a dress. I have half a mind just to go in sweatpants.”

Tracy pulled out of the closet to give you a skeptical glare.

“You think you’re going over to his place just to watch a movie? Please, how old are you?”

Tracy returned to the closet and you instantly felt your face turn red with embarrassment. There was no containing your anger now. She had gotten on your last nerve.

“You know I’m not like that, Tracy. Nothing is going to happen. So just stop, okay?”

“I know that, and you know that, but does he know that?”

You grabbed the nearest article of clothing and smacked her with it.

“Hey!”

“Go! Shoo! I can dress myself. Take your dirty thoughts outta my room. Be gone, you sinful creature.”

Tracy laughed as she left.

“Alright, alright!” She paused in the doorway, “Seriously. Dress up at least a little. You deserve to look and feel pretty.”

You felt your anger subside and you gave a small smile.

“Alright. I’ll dress up. But in my way.”

You shut the door and inspected all of your clothes. After much debate you decided on a light green blouse, a black plaid skirt, and black leggings. The skirt was a little shorter than you would like but you were still decent. When you left your room Tracy beamed at you.

“There ya go! Look at you! Not exactly hot but you are certainly cute.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment! Now let me do your hair.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

It took Tracy almost an hour but the end result was worth it. As you looked in the mirror, you smiled and truly felt pleased with your appearance.

“Well I better go meet Norman at the-”

You were interrupted by a knock at the door. Tracy and you exchanged glances before shuffling out of the bathroom. Tracy stayed by the couch as you went to the door. When you checked the peephole, you were surprised to see Norman standing on the other side with a box of chocolates in his hand. You hadn’t expected him to come to the door, especially since Tracy was here, but he was a gentleman through and through it seemed.

With a loving smile you opened the door and happily greeted him, completely ignoring that Tracy was even in the same room.

“Hey! Those for me?”

—

As soon as you opened the door, Norman’s mind stalled out like an old truck. The sight of you instantly made his heart leap into his throat. He truly felt like a smitten school boy as you smiled at him. The clothes certainly worked in your favor.

You were beautiful. From the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. He loved every last bit of you.

Norman stepped forward to hand you the box of chocolates. As you took it, Norman pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered in your ear.

“You look amazing.”

He watched your nose turn pink as you looked towards the floor.

“Thanks…”

He wanted to pull you to him and kiss you but the young woman standing by the couch behind you caught his attention. He had previously been worried about meeting her but he had spent most of yesterday and this morning thinking it over. If he could meet this girl and make a good impression, maybe he would have the confidence to meet your parents someday.

“Ah,” you turned to look at Tracy, “I should probably introduce you guys. Norman, this is Tracy Lombard. Tracy, this is Dr. Norman Osborn.”

Tracy shuffled over and Norman offered his hand with a smile. It was the smile he used for meeting investors and it seemed to work well enough.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lombard.”

“Yeah… you too.”

Tracy shook Norman’s hand, her brown eyes scanning him. She seemed pleased with what she saw and quickly smiled as she released his hand.

“If you don’t mind me saying… you don’t look as mean in person as you do in the newspapers.”

Norman arched an eyebrow.

“I suppose that’s a compliment?”

“Oh it is.”

Tracy shifted her weight and crossed her arms. Once again she looked Norman up and down as she spoke.

“I’ll be honest with you, Dr. Osborn. I have my doubts about you. I don’t really trust you. But Y/N usually has a pretty good head on her shoulders. If she says that she’s in love with you, then I’m gonna trust her.”

“Tracy!”

You furrowed your brows and she smirked.

“You good with that?”

“I understand entirely,” Norman said with a curt nod, “You wouldn’t be a good friend if you didn’t have a healthy dose of mistrust.”

Norman knew how far flattery could get him. And it seemed to be working on Tracy. She smiled and her tense pose shifted into a casual one.

“So…. Where ya takin’ my roomie tonight?”

Norman glanced at you.

“I thought we could get dinner at this small place I found. It’s supposed to be 50’s themed.”

Your eyes lit up and Norman couldn’t help but smile as you excitedly grabbed onto his sleeve.

“50’s themed?!” You exclaimed.

“Yes,” Norman laughed, “You like that?”

You nodded vigorously. For a moment, Norman got totally lost in your eyes. His smile was one of pure joy as he stared at you. You too seemed to be trapped in his gaze before you cleared your throat and addressed Tracy.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

You grabbed Norman’s hand along with your Polaroid camera and your purse. You started pulling him towards the door, clearly eager to leave.

“You guys have fun!” Tracy laughed.

“Oh we will!” You called, “Bye!”

Norman only had time to give Tracy a small wave before the door was shut. He turned to you, chuckling.

“What’s the rush-?”

You interrupted him by grabbing his coat collar and pulling him down into a kiss. He wouldn’t dream of denying you and he immediately pulled you closer. When you finally pulled away, he felt a bit dizzy.

“Hi,” you whispered with a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” Norman laughed as he brushed some hair out of your face.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

Norman caressed your cheek with a smile. He still couldn’t believe that out of everyone on this planet, you wanted to be with him. To think that you missed him so much even though he had spoken to you yesterday…. He couldn’t even comprehend how it happened. But he was done trying to explain it.

All he could do was enjoy it.

“I missed you too,” he admitted, “More than I even thought I would. How pathetic are we, hmm? Barely able to go a day without seeing each other…”

“I hope that never changes,” you declared.

You took his hand and started walking down the stairs. Norman opened the door for you and when you approached his car, you saw that Charles would be driving you. As you slid into the back seat, you waved at the rearview mirror with a smile.

“Hello again, Charles.”

“Good evening Miss L/N.”

He was a middle aged man with dark hair and a stoic face. He had driven you and Norman to a few places and you always tried to greet him. He hardly ever smiled but you were starting to notice that occasionally when you said hello, the corners of his mouth would turn upward ever so slightly.

Norman entered the vehicle and immediately took your hand.

“You know where to go, Charles.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Norman turned his attention to you, his blue eyes drawn to the camera around your neck.

“That’s a relic,” Norman said with amusement.

“Yeah it was my grandfather’s. I’ve used it ever since I was a little girl.”

You lifted it up with your free hand and grinned.

“May I?”

“Only if I can take one of you,” Norman smirked.

You snapped a photo of him immediately with a mischievous glint in your eyes. The photo printed out and you were careful not to shake it- clearly showing that you knew how to properly use the equipment.

You set the photo down on your lap before you pulled the camera from around your neck and offered it to him. He could tell you were slightly embarrassed and shy about having your picture taken.

“You look beautiful,” Norman reassured you, “Just smile like you normally do.”

Norman released your hand so he could reach out and brush the backs of his fingers along your jaw. Your eyes closed for a moment until Norman pulled his hand away. You both smiled at each other and Norman quickly snapped a picture.

He wanted to capture that smile so he could carry it with him.

“There we go, perfect.”

The photo printed and he set it down on the seat just before handing the camera back. It took about 15 minutes for the first photo to develop and when it did, Norman saw you looking at it with pure joy.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” you blurted.

Norman couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him and he instantly regretted it. You looked dejected and embarrassed and he quickly leaned closer to you so that your faces were barely an inch apart. His hand tucked into your hair as you met his gaze.

He had no words to explain how happy your compliment made him so instead he chose to kiss you.

#norman osborn x reader #norman osborn #i forgot my umbrella #spider man: no way home #green goblin #sam raimi spider man #fanfiction

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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Reconcile

happy christmas eve, you lot! i’ve got a little present for you. enjoy this 10,5k of nearly divorced harry trying to win his wife and bitter nine year old daughter back. oh and i threw in a little baby goat in the mix too since it’s set in the peak district and i just couldn’t resist 🥳

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He turned to look at her, who was giggling as she leaned closer to him. She was most definitely not a giggler sober, but he found out that a copious amount of alcohol could turn her into one. He felt slightly guilty knowing that she was going to be hungover as hell in the morning, but she was having a great time.

And so was he.

“I was just thinking about how great you are, how lucky I am to be sitting next to you right now and that you need to drink more water because otherwise, you’d be miserable tomorrow,” he says with a smile as he twisted the cap and handed her the bottle of water.

That goofy smile of hers turned into a gooey smile of affection. “That’s so sweet,” she murmured, taking a gulp of water and handed the bottle back to him so he could take some too. She then tilted her head, giving him a doe-eyed look and asked, “what else do you like about me?”

“Let’s see,” he put a finger to his chin and tapped. “Well, I love how kind and inclusive you are, how you always care about people and that you always see the good in everyone.”

Her smile grew sappier.

“Oh,” he gave her a sly grin. “I also love that thing you do with your tongue on the underside of my cock.”

She burst out laughing. But then she leaned even closer to him and whispered huskily in his ear, “I’ll do that very thing when we get back to the hotel.”

His eyes widened and he wanted nothing more than just to drag her back to their hotel suite and take up on her offer. But he’d promised her that he’d show her around Vegas since she’d never been before, and he wanted to keep that promise.

“Wanna know what I like about you?” She turned to him, still with a gooey smile on her face.

“Do I ever,” he smirked.

“I like that you’re hands down the kindest human I’ve ever met,” she began. “You’re genuine, and grounded. Funny too. I truly hit the jackpot with you. I’m the luckiest girl on earth.”

“Oh,” she added as an afterthought. “And you’re really good with your tongue.”

He wanted to laugh, because she always made him laugh. But he was still stuck on the fact that she thought she was lucky to be with him. He felt exactly the same way about her, like this was always meant to be.

“I wasn’t looking for this,” he admitted honestly. “I know it’s only been six weeks, but I really can’t imagine never having met you.”

“Me too,” her eyes were bright, shining with excitement. “It’s weird, right? Because I swear I’ve never felt such a deep connection with someone this quick.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He murmured. “That there’s a perfect person for everyone out there?”

She tilted her head. “Do you think that’s us?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “I do think that might be us.”

“I think so too,” she said with a tender smile.

This was real.

He was overwhelmed with the understanding that she was his, and he never wanted to let her go.

So he suggested what any sane, semi-drunk man would at that moment. “We’re in Vegas. We should get married.”

***

Harry

Pulling into the drive of what used to be our holiday cottage, but is now where my wife and children live full-time without me, feels strange to me. There’s that moment of what feels like a homecoming—that sense of belonging somewhere where I feel safe, and I know my happiness is inside.

But now, for the first time in ten years, there’s a sense of detachment that I know I’ve got to put in place. It is why I need to take a moment or two in the car before I walk inside to sort myself out and put on a shield. A shield which lets me walk inside, and be okay with the fact that I don’t live there anymore even just for the holidays.

This charming little cottage, which can’t exactly be called little since it is quite spacious and has three bedrooms, has always been more of a second home rather than a holiday home for us. We used to come here often, sometimes even only for the weekends. I’ve always loved this place. Now, looking back, I realised that many of the happiest times during our marriage were spent in this home.

It was where we spent the first few weeks soaking in newlywed bliss after that whirlwind of a trip to Las Vegas when we decided out of nowhere to tie the knot. Then there were the sleepless nights with a wailing newborn, because even though both of our babies were born in London, we always whisked them off here to Bakewell shortly after so we were close enough that both sets of their grandparents could dote on them during the first few weeks of their lives.

After I exit the car, I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect that this is YN’s sanctuary now. The wait isn’t long, because in just a few seconds, the door is opened and there’s my wife, looking like a breath of fresh air.

It had been eight long months since the last time I saw her. Last time was the night when she asked me to leave our marital home, and I fled to LA first thing the next morning. I talked daily with the kids on the phone, but I didn’t really recall ever getting the chance to talk to her aside from the quick polite greetings before she handed her phone to the kids.

“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded. I’ve missed her so much that it takes everything in me to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and kiss the fuck out of her. “Come in.”

“You alright?” I ask her as I follow her into the house. This may sound like I’m just making a small talk, but I’m not. I’m genuinely curious and I want to know how she’s doing.

But she doesn’t even respond to my question. All I get is a head-tilt motioning towards the kitchen. “They’re in the kitchen.”

My gaze immediately lands on the accent table that holds a lot of photos and a key bowl. I silently let out a sigh of relief seeing YN hasn’t removed all of the family photos with me in it. It’s a good sign, but I don’t have much hope behind that. Maybe that’s just her trying to keep everything as normal as possible at home for the kids.

My wife and I never had a big fight when we separated. It had been somewhat rational, but still emotional, discussion. She wasn’t angry, she was just done. And I didn’t fight for her. Instead, yours truly here walked away the next morning and didn’t look back.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life. But nothing ever compares to that. That was pretty fucking stupid on my part, and I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I’ve accepted that maybe this is my punishment for being a shit husband to a wonderful woman who doesn’t deserve to be treated like a second best. She did the right thing by kicking me to the curb, and I’d never resent her for it. If I could turn back time and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. I’d try harder to be a better husband, a better father, put my family first. But I can’t. Now all I can do is just try not to be a dickhead and make things harder for her than it already is. It’s too late for me to try to be a better husband, but it isn’t for me to try to be the best father that my children deserve.

I follow my wife through the living room and into the kitchen, and I’d be dead not to check out her arse in those leggings. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realise both of my children are sitting at the kitchen island, eating scones with their tea.

George, my six-year-old, is the first to turn his head and hop off from the island stool to jump into my arms. “Daddeeeeee!”

“My Booger Butt,” I greet my little lad with a smile as I squat down to be on his level before scooping him up into my arms. Booger Butt is one of the countless nicknames I have for him, and one that never fails to make him double over in laughter whenever he hears it. He’s also Mr Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole sometimes, and he used to be Sir Screams-a-Lot when he was a baby. He thinks they’re hilarious, and he’d always respond by calling me Baddy Daddy.

“I‘ve missed you so much, Baddy Daddy,” he says sweetly as he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck and I swear if I don’t pull myself together right this second, I’m going to cry.

“I’ve missed you more, mate,” I say as I ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

My daughter doesn’t seem fazed by the father and son reunion behind her and continues munching on her scone without even giving me a glance. With my left arm full of my son, I walk up to her and ruffle her hair just like I did with her little brother. “Hey Silly Putty Pudding Pie,” I greet her with one of her nicknames, hoping to get her to laugh. But she ignores me, taking a sip of her brew instead.

I don’t want to give up, so I lean to the side and bend to put my face close to hers. I try again, “hello to you too, poppet.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of scone.

“Minnie,” YN growls, her tone filled with warning.

This is why I respect YN so much. I hurt her badly, broke her heart, and it would’ve been so easy for her to use Minnie as a pawn and turn my child against me. But every time, even on the phone, whenever she is present, she never let Minnie be disrespectful to me in any way.

My gaze moves to my wife—yes I’m still going to refer to her as my wife since she still is, albeit only on paper—and she gives me an apologetic look. I give a slight shake of my head, telling her silently to let it go.

She takes the last bite of her scone and puts the dish in the sink, before walking to the staircase without giving me a second glance. I can see YN trying to hold her tongue from further rebuking our daughter, and I give her a small smile, my silent way of telling her ‘it’s okay.’

“Sorry about that,” she mutters, referring to Minnie’s attitude. She grabs a mug from the cupboard, then holds it up in silent invitation. I nod, and she turns to the pot. “I can’t keep up with her mood shifts anymore.”

“It’s alright,” I tell her, willing to take my share of the blame. “I’m sure the shift has everything to do with me.”

“Not true,” she replies as she pours the coffee into our mugs, adding a splash of milk to hers but keeping mine just like that because she knows I take my coffee black. “She’s been like that with me as well and I’m not sure why. She’s only nine but she acts as if she’s thirteen already.”

I can’t help but laugh and turn to my little lad. “Can you be six forever?”

“No,” he says immediately without even taking a second to think.

“Just no?”

“No,” he gives me a toothy grin. “I want a lego city set but mummy said it’s for eight-year-olds. So I cannot wait to be eight.”

I set him on the counter and give him a conspiratorial smirk before I whisper to him. It’s a little too loud to be considered a whisper, but I want my wife to hear it. “Tell you what, we’ll get one of those sets tomorrow on our day out.”

His eyes light up instantly and my wife rolls her eyes jokingly, “I hear that.” Jokingly, because I know for sure she doesn’t mind me spoiling our children. She does it too.

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?”

“To your mum’s pudding shop for breakfast, then probably fishing, and the toys shop now apparently,” I tell her our itinerary. I have the kids for the whole day tomorrow since it’s Saturday. It’s bittersweet because I’ve missed my children and I can’t wait to spend time with them, but I’m also sad because what I wouldn’t give to turn tomorrow into a family day out instead. I know she would most likely decline, but I can’t help offer her, “would you like to come with us?”

She gives me a subtle shake of her head. “No thanks. Enjoy it, it’s your time with them.”

***

I’m renting a room above The Old Nags Head during my stay here. I plan to stay for a week before I have to go back to London, and even though the thought of having to leave my children again is killing me, I’m trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that it’ll be Christmas soon enough and I’ll get to visit again.

But then I’ll have to leave again.

And visit again, but knowing in just a week or two, I would have to say goodbye to them again.

Fuck, this is killing me. I’m a family man through and through, and not being with them physically hurts. I shouldn’t be in this room sulking alone. I should be there in that home with my wife and children, probably helping Minnie and George with their homework or making dinner for all of us.

I was prepared to sulk some more, but then I heard a knock on the door. I was not expecting company so I’ve got no idea who it is, and I’m quite surprised when I see Jamie, YN’s brother as I open the door.

We were quite close, but now that I broke his little sister’s heart, I can’t tell if this is a pleasant visit or if he’s just here to knock me square on my arse.

“Got time for tea downstairs?” He asks

Honestly, I haven’t got any appetite. But I could use a few pints so I nod and lock the door behind me, following him downstairs to the pub.

The Old Nags Head is the oldest and most famous pub in Bakewell. The pub itself is a former smithy dating back to the 16th century, and certainly looks the part; thick stone walls, low ceilings, welcoming log fires and dark timber beams. The pub remains at the centre of the community, as it has been for hundreds of years. It offers the best classic pub grubs, and even has its own ale called the Nags 1577.

It’s the perfect place to drown my sorrows.

Except, the current owner of that very pub happens to be none other than my wife’s granddad whom everyone here calls Pop. Out of all members of her family, she is the closest to Pop, so I know for sure that I’m the last person he wants to see.

We sit at the bar table facing the window, which is good because Pop is behind the main bar, and this way I don’t have to actually talk to him.

“Ya want owt?” Jamie asks as he does a quick perusal of the menu. I’m not even sure why he bothers, because even I know what he’s going to order. It’s Pop’s signature steak and ale pie. Ten years of being his brother in law, not once I ever saw him order something else.

“Just a pint,” I tell him.

It doesn’t take long after Jamie orders his food and our drinks before two pints are placed before us, and we each take a savouring sip.

And then Jamie point-blank asks me, “so what did you do?”

I really can’t tell anything from his expression, because he keeps his face blank. But I give him a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s what I didn’t do, mate. She didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word,” he shakes his head, “what didn’t you do?”

“I stopped paying attention to my wife. Got caught up in my career. The travelling for tours she understood, but it was when I was home and hanging out more with my bandmates than with my family that she couldn’t forgive. And what little time I had left, I gave to Minnie and George. I think I just stupidly assumed she would always be there for me, no matter what.”

“Was there any infidelity?” He asks.

“God, no,” I shake my head hard. “You know I’d never do that to your sister. I love her, and she’s more than enough for me.”

Obviously, I’m not going to tell him this, but ironically, our sex life didn’t diminish. We were combustible in bed, and my mistake was in thinking that was enough for her.

I look at the pudding shop right across the street as I take another sip, and I nearly choke on my beer when I see a familiar face walking out of the shop.

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I growl.

That’s my wife, walking out of her mum’s pudding shop. She is not alone. There’s a guy with his hand pressed to her lower back while her head is tipped back, laughing at something he’s saying. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach when the bastard’s palm drops from my wife’s back to take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiles, all doe-eyed, as they walk to God knows where.

“What?” Jamie looks at me confused for a second, but then he follows my gaze and he finally sees what’s causing me distress. “Oh, that.”

“You knew about that?”

He nods. “She’s been seeing him for about three weeks now.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“She didn’t tell you?” Jamie asks and I shake my head.

“Three weeks you said?”

Jamie nods again. “He makes her happy.”

“I’m her husband,” I can’t help but say bitterly. “I should be the one making her happy.”

“Look, I’m sorry mate,” he offers, I know he’s trying his best to keep his tone neutral. “Maybe you need to get back in the dating game too. It’ll distract you.”

“I don’t want to fucking date anyone else,” I growl.

“I know it’s hard to get back in the saddle,” he adds sympathetically.

“I don’t want to get out of my current saddle,” I grumble. “I want to keep my current saddle with my wife in it.”

Jamie blinks in surprise, hell I’m even surprised at what I’ve just said out loud because I’ve never admitted this since we split. When YN asked me to leave, I assumed right away that my marriage was over. I didn’t want it to, but I thought there was nothing I could do.

But now, seeing her laughing at another man’s joke and his hand holding hers, I just know that I can’t let her go without a fight.

“Have you told her this?” He asks curiously.

I shake my head again. “We haven’t got the chance to have a civil conversation these days.”

“Then I suggest you stop being such a bloody whinge bucket and have a civil conversation with your wife.”

My shoulders immediately sag in defeat. “I know. I need to sit down with her and tell her how I feel.”

“Which is?” He presses.

“That I want her back,” I mutter.

“You’ve got to have a better plan than that,” he points out. “I mean… I’m not a marriage therapist, but I’m pretty sure that you’ve got to be prepared to fix the shit first.”

I can’t help but tilt my head towards the pudding shop where my wife had just walked out the door. “She’s moved on. You said it yourself that he makes her happy. Tell me how to compete with that.”

“Make her happier,” he says simply. I can only let out a heavy sigh, but I know that's solid advice. “Listen, if you really want to save your marriage, you need to make it work. Romance her again. Lots of flowers, nice romantic dinners out. Compliments, chocolates. All that sort of thing.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But I do know that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do anything about it.”

***

My emotions are a mixed bag this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to spend the whole day with my kids, but the fact that I have just learnt last night that my wife is currently seeing another man doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Jamie was right. If I want to save my marriage, I need to get my head out of my arse and do something to win my wife back. Sure, I don’t even know where to start since she doesn’t give me the time of day. But I do know that starting today, I’m a man on a mission. It’s Operation Conquer YN: day 1.

It’s currently 8:40am, which means I’m twenty minutes early. I hope the kids won’t be ready yet, so I’ll get a chance to talk for a little bit to my wife.

When I ring the doorbell, I can hear George pounding down the stairs, yelling, “I got it!”

The door flies open and he jumps into my arms right away. My little lad truly misses me, and it really does warm my heart. Now, I love my children equally, but before I got here yesterday, I thought Minnie would be the one to jump all over me since she’s a daddy’s girl through and through, while George has always been a mummy’s boy since the day he was born.

But again, I should’ve known. Since YN and I split, Minnie sort of puts herself in her mum’s corner. Every time I actually got the chance to talk to her on the phone when I was still in LA, it was always extremely short before she quickly handed her mum’s phone to her little brother. I try not to take her behaviour to heart, because I guess it’s what nine-year-olds do when they don’t quite understand why their parents aren’t together. They just need someone to blame, and my daughter is way more mature than her age. She’s bloody smart too, which she definitely takes after her mum, and I know that she knows it’s my fault that her mum and I separated.

Now that I think of it, it’s not just my wife that I desperately need to win back. But also my daughter.

“Daddy!” George chirps. He’s got a milk moustache and the sight never fails to get me to chuckle. “You’re early.”

“I know,” I reply with a tender smile. “I just can’t wait to spend the day with you lot.”

“I’m going to get ready!” He announces excitedly as he squirms in my arms wanting to be put down, and he runs up the stairs before I can even reply.

I look around, and my gaze lands on the sofa, a hazel leather sofa that YN picked out. It’s so comfy and I could nap there forever.

Then there’s the coffee table, where YN, Minnie, George and I sat around and played board games. Catan is our family’s favourite, followed closely by Monopoly.

The corner where we always put the Christmas tree, right next to the fireplace. And every year it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I could never get the bloody thing to stay straight.

I miss this little cottage. Sure, the house in South Kensington is our marital house, but this cosy little cottage in the middle of nowhere feels more like home to me. And now I truly get why YN was so adamant to move here permanently after we separated, didn't matter how hard I tried to persuade her to stay in London.

“You’re early,” my wife blinks in surprise, but quickly masks it. “Minnie darling, go and get ready.”

“Do I really have to go?” My nine-year-old whines and I feel a pang. She really doesn’t want to spend time with me.

“Minnie, that’s not nice,” YN reprimands her before I can stop her.

“I’ve missed you, poppet,” I say, wanting to look at her in the eyes but she refuses to meet my gaze. Which hurts, but it’s fine. I know it’ll take some time for her to warm up to me. “I want to spend the day with you and your brother. I promise I’ll try to make it fun for you both.”

“Fine,” she replies, before marching up the stairs to her room. There’s still a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but at least I didn’t get a heavy sigh. I know it’s a small win but honestly, it’s better than none.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells me politely from where she’s sitting at the island. She has her laptop open before her, and I can see her writing an email. I bet she’s working today, even if it’s Saturday, because my wife is such a hard-worker. She works remotely for a consulting firm and I’m beyond proud of her.

I nod and pour the coffee, and I let the silence carry on for a bit before saying, “saw you getting cosy with your new boyfriend last night.”

She instantly looks up from her laptop, giving me a death glare. Her tone is defensive when she says, “that’s none of your business.”

“You could’ve at least told me that you were seeing someone,” I tell her, making elaborate gestures with my coffee mug.

“Why would I do that?” She retorts defensively. “Last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit about me when we were married. Why on earth would I assume you do now?”

Hearing that, it feels like Chuck Norris himself just kicked me in the nuts. I can only mutter, “we’re still married.”

“Not for long,” she replies faintly.

“Don’t say that,” I say, my breath a little jagged. “We can still fix this, darling. I know we can.”

“Are you mad?” She snaps, but then she takes a deep breath, and her tone is a lot calmer when she adds, “Harry, it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. It’s never too late to get our marriage back on track,” I plead desperately. “Would you at least give me a shot?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“You can continue to see Mr Wife-stealer-”

“He’s not a wife-stealer,” she snaps, cutting me off. “He’s got a name.”

“Well, he’s stealing my wife,” I grumble like a stroppy child.

“You’re being such a child,” she retorts. “His name is Luke, he’s a decent guy, and he makes me happy.”

“I’m not afraid to go head to head with him,” I say defiantly.

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, we’re not on a bloody Love Island,” she says in exasperation. “Two children are involved here, this isn’t a game.”

“I know it isn’t,” I reply with a sigh. “Just please give me another shot, darling. Let me remind you how great we were together.”

“You mean the sex?” She demands, one side of her upper lip curls in a sneer.

I bend my head and murmur, “we were dynamite in the sack, weren’t we?”

I see the flash in her eyes as she remembers, and it makes me want to beat my chest in victory. But the euphoric feeling is short-lived when she says, “a relationship is so much more than just sex. If you don’t understand it then-”

“I do, fuck, I do know that,” I cut her off in a strangled, desperate voice. “At least let me try, darling. Fuck if I’m letting you go without a fight.”

We lapse into silence as she gives me a sceptical look, and I know in this moment that my biggest challenge is to regain her trust, as well as accepting the fact that she has someone else fighting for her attention.

I know this will be tough, because I let her down over and over again. And worse, I let my children down too, because I was never quite able to make my family my highest priority. It was all my fault, I knew it then, still do now. That’s why when she asked me to leave, I couldn’t even argue. I was a shit husband and father, and I deserved that.

Trying to win Minnie is probably going to be the easiest because beneath this ‘tweenage’ attitude going on, I know she is a sweet girl who loves her daddy. I need to devote more attention to her, maybe take her on some daddy-daughter dates. I know it’ll work because I’ve never given her enough on a consistent basis.

YN is going to be the most difficult, because I really broke her heart. I’ve been married to her for ten years, so I can say with confidence that I know for sure she would never fall for things like flowers or gifts. I have to show her that I genuinely want to fix our marriage, and that my interest in her is real. It’ll be like starting all over again.

And on top of that, she’s seeing someone else and she said it herself that he does make her happy. I know she’s not lying about it, as Jamie also told me the same thing last night and I saw with my own eyes how she laughed with him last night. Seeing that killed me, because I don’t have the ability to make her laugh like that anymore, but I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that was happy for her.

She may have sneered when I insinuated I’d be glad to remind her of the good times, but I saw it in her eyes. There was still a slight burn, and that might just have to be my angle.

But then I remember our last time together. It was only two days before she asked me to leave and I remember coming home mid-morning after a meeting with my manager and publicist to find her lying in our bed, clad in sexy lingerie. I had my mouth on every inch of her, a good deal of time between her legs, and after she reciprocated by taking me into her mouth.

The kids were in school, and apparently, she took a sick day because I had told her the night before that I only had one meeting in the morning that day. After, she cuddled in close, and we talked for a while. She seemed happy, but then there was a hint of hesitation in her voice when she suggested, “fancy just spending all day in bed until school pick-ups?”

I mean, what man in his right mind would say no to that? The kids were gone for at least another five hours, I had a gorgeous wife naked and wanting more of what we just did…

Yet, I’d said no. “Sorry, doll. I’m meeting the lads at the studio in about an hour.”

I didn’t see it then, but I do now and it’s clear as day. The look on her face had been blank, and there wasn’t even disappointment like she would usually show me. She hadn’t tried to get me to change my mind. There hadn’t been a guilt-laden frown to give me pause.

I realise now what it was.

It was the moment my wife finally gave up on me.

My chest constricts as it finally dawns on me the pain she must have been feeling. I’m not just talking about that day. That had been our life for several years.

No wonder she asked me to leave.

No wonder she’s moving on with Mr Wife-stealer.

No wonder that, at this moment, I realise I’ve got tons of work to do because sex isn’t going to be the answer in winning my wife back.

***

“Will the baby just eat when you give it the bottle?” Minnie asks her uncle Jamie as the four of us gaze at the baby goat in front of us. For the first time since yesterday, I actually see the slight curve up of lips that form a fond smile. Seeing that smile on my daughter’s face, I’m glad we didn’t go fishing and end up going to the barn instead. We were actually already on our way, but Jamie texted me that the mother goat had given birth this morning, and he wanted me to tell Minnie and George. The goats are a new addition to the farm, so they have been so excited to see baby goats. I knew from the look in their eyes that they would have a much better time seeing baby goats rather than fishing.

It turns out that there’s only one baby goat, because the other one sadly didn’t make it. And the dam isn’t producing milk, so the kid needs to be bottle-fed until the mother is producing again. I can’t help but smile fondly at the baby goat too because it’s adorable. It’s a soft little white goat with a pink nose and ears. The dam is a Pygmy but since it has blue eyes, Jamie thinks she must have Nigerian Dwarf genes somewhere in her.

“It’s a female… a doeling,” Jamie tells her. “And she will if she’s hungry. You want to try to feed her? Look, she’s hungry again.”

We watch for a moment as the baby goat walks on wobbly legs, bleating in hunger. Jamie mixes the powdered formula and makes a bottle for her, then he hands the bottle to Minnie.

But Minnie shakes her head. “Maybe next time. I want to see you do it first.”

“Alright then,” Jamie nods, then turns towards my little lad. “How about you, mate? Wanna feed her?”

“No thank you,” says George as he shakes his head, and then he giggles, “she smells funny.”

“Can I do it?” I ask and Jamie nods as he hands me the bottle.

I sit down against the wall with my children sitting on either side of me. And as if the goat can sense that I hold the key to filling her empty belly, the doeling starts to prance in excitement and falls over a few times due to what I assume is clumsiness. I love that she can walk normally but still choose chaos—honestly, she could’ve been my third child. There’s no stopping the surge of fondness that swells within me as I watch her little antics.

“Come here little crumpet,” I coo at the goat.

The little goat scrambles right onto my lap, bleating hungrily. I wrap my arm around her and tip the bottle. She latches on instantly, and Minnie and George are aww-ing and ooh-ing over the way the baby goat’s little tail swishes back and forth so fast in ecstatic happiness as she drinks her milk.

“You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you?” Minnie murmurs and the little tail swishes faster as she pushes at the bottle to suck the milk down faster. “What’s her name, uncle Jamie?”

“I haven’t named her yet,” Jamie says. “What do you lot think we should call her?”

“Blue,” George suggests instantly, without looking away from the baby goat on my lap.

“Ooh, I like it,” Minnie adds. “Like her eyes.”

“Blue it is, then,” Jamie grins. “Now, even though the dam is still not producing milk, we still need to train her to at least try to nurse, so she’ll do it right away when the dam is finally producing milk. Let’s see if we can get her to try to eat from the dam.”

He plucks the baby from my arms, and a series of yearning bleats come from the kid as he carries her to her mother. He places her near the dam’s udders and gives the baby a gentle push.

Much to our surprise, Blue spins away from Jamie and her mother and runs back to me. Although in all fairness, I am holding the bottle she was just drinking from. Jamie attempts three more times to get the baby to try to nurse from her mother, but she’s having none of it.

Finally, he takes the bottle from me and walks across to the opposite wall. He sits down, holds the bottle out, and calls to the doeling. “Come here, baby. Come eat.”

Blue’s tail gives a few nervous twitches, but she doesn’t move towards Jamie. In fact, she takes a few hesitant steps backwards until she bumps into my legs. I’m amazed as I watch her stare hungrily at the bottle, bleating hungrily, but refusing to go to Jamie.

“Daddy, she thinks you’re her mummy,” says George and both my children burst in laughter.

“What?” I say in astonishment.

“I don’t think that doeling is going to feed from anyone but you,” Jamie adds with a chuckle as he stands up. He walks over and hands me the bottle. Blue jumps directly into my lap.

On autopilot, I offer the goat the nipple but look up to Jamie in panic. “What should we do?”

“Dunno, I’ll just try and do it when she’s hungry again in a few hours,” he shrugs. “But if she still doesn’t wanna eat, I’ll bring her to you.”

Any last vestiges of humour, happiness and downright giddiness over the cuteness of a baby goat fades as I realise I might or might not have just added another task to my list. Heavens help me.

***

“Let’s have a daddy and daughter date tomorrow.”

It’s a solid suggestion, and I really hope she’d say yes. Her little brother has his classmate’s birthday party to go to, so I know it’d be perfect for a little one-on-one time.

We’re on our way back home after spending a whole day together. It was great, and even though I didn’t have happy-go-lucky Minnie, George had a great time, and it was enough for me. And at least she didn’t ask to go home early, so I’d call that a win.

“No, thanks,” she replies. There’s still not a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but it doesn’t sound technically warm either.

I glance over through the rear-view mirror as she stares out the window with her arms folded. Her brother is sleeping next to her, and I figured this might be a good time to talk since she’s trapped in the car with me.

Everyone always says that Minnie is a mini-me, while George is a carbon-copy of his mum. Minnie has my nose, eyebrows, chin, even my smile; which is slightly lopsided and has a dimple on one side. I know I’m biased, but she truly is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.

Where Minnie shines, though, is her personality, which is a combination of her mum and me. She has her mum’s sunny disposition—aside from the days where she’s got a bag on—and always sees the good in everyone. She’s our little ray of sunshine, tender and caring and always trying to make others feel good.

From me, she gets her stubbornness, which even though I know is a good trait to have when she’s older, it made things so much harder when she was a toddler. She also has my terrible sense of humour, but the thing I’m most proud of is her work ethic. I can’t take full credit for that though, because her mother is a hard worker as well.

Ever since she started distancing herself from me, I know which subjects are safe, and which are not. School always falls in the safe category, because she enjoys it and excels. So I figure now that’s where I should start. “How’s school going?”

“Alright,” she replies, still looking out the window.

Now, this really doesn’t sound at all like my daughter.

“Come on, Min,” I say desperately. “Tell daddy what’s been eating you. I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says absently.

“Do you want to go and get some ice cream with me tomorrow?” That was our thing at least once every two weeks and she loved it.

“No, thank you.”

“Ice skating?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh I know,” I say excitedly. “I’ve got a show in London in a couple of weeks, Jingle Ball. Do you want to come with me?”

Minnie has always been my biggest fan, clapping the hardest and yelling the loudest for her daddy. So it really takes me by surprise when she mutters, “shows, shows, shows… that’s all you care about, dad.”

I twist to peer out my window so she doesn’t see the wince that comes unbidden to my face if she looks through the mirror. That was a direct slam against me.

That really does hurt, and I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone.

“That’s not true,” I reply faintly.

“Did you care about my last ballet recital?”

Early this year, Minnie had a ballet recital. She was so excited about it because I had just finished my tour in December last year, and I’d already told my management that I would like a couple of months off. There was no reason for me not to attend, so I promised her I’d be there.

Except at the last moment, I realised I had forgot to switch an important meeting I had with the team from the new Manchester Arena. Since I invested in it, we had a meeting every few months because I said right from the beginning that I would take more than just a capital interest. I wanted to be involved in the development, because that was a huge project and I was really proud of it.

YN was in charge of our schedule and when she reminded me about the recital, which conflicted directly with my meeting, we ended up getting in the worst row we’ve ever had throughout our marriage.

“You’re going to let our daughter down in a way she won’t forgive,” she stated.

I refused to believe that, brushing off her comment with “I’ll take her out for something special later.” But my wife turned and stalked away from me.

That day, the meeting went great and the construction was almost done a few weeks earlier than intended, so there was an option if we wanted to open sooner. YN sent me a text with a video of Minnie’s performance, and it was beautiful. I was such a proud dad that I showed the video to everyone in that room.

When I got home, my wife and children cuddled on the sofa, watching a film. George was snoozing with his head on his mum’s lap on the far end, so I plopped myself down beside Minnie. I tugged on her hair playfully, and asked if she wanted to go out to a special daddy-daughter dinner to celebrate her recital.

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly, not taking her eyes off the telly.

“Come on, poppet,” I coaxed, trying to tickle her in the ribs a little. She only squirmed closer to her mum, not laughing from the tickle but grimacing like she didn’t want to be touched.

YN stared over Minnie with sorrow in her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

“The Ivy?” I tried to tempt her because my kid loves chips, and she’s obsessed with their truffle and parmesan chips.

“No, thank you,” she muttered again, her head resting on her mum’s shoulder and her arm crossed over her middle. YN cuddled her with an arm around her shoulder. It had been clear that they were a unit, and I hadn’t been included.

“Minnie decided she wants to stop ballet lessons, so that was her last recital.”

“Oh,” I’d replied dumbly.

I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say because to do so would be disingenuous. There’s no doubt I killed my daughter’s potential love of ballet by not coming to her recital. I knew that because of YN’s expression of disappointment and Minnie’s dull dismissal.

Later that night, I walked by Minnie’s room and glanced in as the door was slightly open. I had bought her a bouquet of flowers that I gave her before I left for my meeting, and I saw that they’d been stuffed into the bin beside her desk.

I blink out of that memory, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. “Of course I did, my love. If I knew-”

“But not enough to come,” she replies dully. “And what about my debate competition? George’s piano recital? You showed up to none of them.”

I sigh heavily. “Minnie, a lot of parents have demanding jobs where they’re required to work or travel more than others. Sometimes A&E doctors have to work on Christmas and cannot see their children open the presents. Sometimes, a firefighter has to leave their house at night and can’t tuck their kids in bed.”

“I understand that,” she whirls and looks at me through the rear-view mirror. “Except you’re not saving lives or fighting fires, are you? You just get up on a stage and sing.”

“I’m a terrible dad, aren’t I?” I concede. “I know I’ve done things wrong in the past, but I’m trying to make it up to you, poppet. But I can’t do it if you won’t let me.”

She doesn’t say anything and it’s killing me. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” she rushes to assure me and I feel a little lighter. My daughter may act like a tween and have some bitter feelings towards me, but she loves me.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I continue. “Tell me how to make it up to you and I’ll do it. I want things to be good between us again.”

Her eyes flare with shock, and then they dart away as if she’s considering something. I wait expectantly. Maybe she’s going to finally open up and pour out her feelings for me. I’m ready for it.

I’m ready to listen, and validate, and reassure her that she, along with her mum and brother, are the loves of my life.

Her gaze comes back to me, her expression serious, and I brace.

“Can we get a puppy?”

What?

There’s no stopping the unlocking of my jaw and the dropping of my mouth because this was the last thing I expected her to say.

I’m so caught off guard that I can’t even think to immediately tell her ‘no’, which gives her time to launch into all the reasons why we should have a dog.

“Minnie, puppies are a lot of work. You’ve got to potty train them, teach them manners, and they get up for hours at night.”

“I promise I’ll do all that,” she exclaims.

“Like how you were supposed to take care of Fishy?” I can’t help but remind her. Fishy was her goldfish that we had to throw a funeral for a few years ago because she forgot to feed him. That poor sod died of hunger.

Minnie rolls her eyes. “I was six.”

She’s got a point.

Still, it’s obvious part of her request is manipulation because she threw it at me when I opened myself up to vulnerability. She knows I’m trying, and she’s throwing me a clear bone.

Get her a puppy, and all will be forgiven.

“Tell you what,” I look over my shoulder after I parked the car since we’ve reached home. “I promise to think about it, and I’ll talk to mummy.”

“Really?” She bounces in her seat in excitement.

“We’ll talk about it,” I reiterate in a calm, even voice. But there’s no stopping her excitement. The fact that I’m willing to consider is a huge victory for her because she knows that when I make my mind up about something, I never change it.

I open the door for her, and she is quick to unbuckle herself and throws herself at me.

I’m so surprised at the spontaneous act of affection that I almost don’t hug her back. It’s been so long since she’s shown this to me, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

I squeeze her tight, and I can only hope that my darling girl will always love her daddy the way she does right now.

George doesn’t even stir as I pick him up, and I tuck him in his bed straight away since I don’t want to wake him up. He must be tired, and good thing I’ve fed them both dinner.

Minnie even gives me another hug before she gets ready for bed, and that results in me having a permanent smile on my face even as I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see my wife.

“She’s chirpy,” YN comments when she sees me walking into the kitchen. “What did you do?”

“Got her to talk to me,” I smirk.

She looks surprised, and well, I can’t blame her. “Did she?”

“She did,” I nod. “Pointed out all my flaws, and when I asked her how I could make it up to her, she asked for a puppy.”

“What?”

“Exactly my reaction,” I chuckle.

“Boy, if she’s this good at emotional blackmailing at nine, we’d probably be in deep shit in a couple of years,” she jokes and I can’t help but laugh.

I’ve missed this.

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“I can’t.”

“What? Got a hot date already?” I ask teasingly, but her silence tells me what I don’t want to know. “Oh, you’re going out with him.”

“Mr Wife- I mean Luke asked me out first and I already said yes.”

I shouldn’t be laughing because the fact that my wife going on a date with another man is not funny at all, but it’s hard to hide my smirk when she almost calls him by the nickname I’ve given him, Mr Wife-stealer.

“Well, fair enough. He asked you first,” I say nonchalantly. “What does he do?”

“He’s an A&E doctor at the Northern General,” she says, her tone lightens a little.

“Smart then isn’t he,” I mutter.

“Yes. He’s smart, attentive, caring and generous with his time.”

I keep my expression and tone bland, but she landed a direct blow there and it fucking hurts. “All the things I’m not,” I state, voicing the conclusion she was aiming at.

“Well,” she drawls with a tiny bit of sympathy. “I do think you’re smart.”

I give her a side eye-roll before I decide to be downright nosy and ask, “you can’t have been on many dates then?”

“True,” she chirps, a gleam in her eye as she sticks the knife in. “He is busy and his schedules are unpredictable. But when he’s gone, he makes sure I know I’m always on his mind. He sends me flowers for absolutely no reason other than because he wants to, calls me every day and we text all the time.”

Well, sodding fucking bollocking shit wank. I didn’t think YN would fall for that crap. And I realise… I never thought to do that stuff for her. I was the self-absorbed type of person who figured that my wife knew I thought about her all the time when I was away. I mean we were married, so I just assumed she knew.

I’m a shit head.

“What else does he do for you?” I ask and she blinks in surprise.

“Why?” She asks suspiciously.

“I told you I want our marriage to work.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read my tone and see whether I’m being genuine or it’s just bollocks. Finally, she replies primly, “I’m not giving away his secrets.”

What the fuck does that mean? Have they shagged? I would bet a million pounds they had not though, because I know YN and she wouldn’t enter into that deep of a relationship lightly.

Without even thinking twice, I make a sudden step into her. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her body into me. Not a single inch of space between us. Her mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and I use the opportunity to kiss her.

I kiss the fuck out of my wife.

Her hands slap against my upper arms, and her fingers dig into my sleeves. Even as she’s pushing me away, her mouth opens, and her tongue touches mine briefly.

When I pull back, I ask, “did he kiss you like this?”

She shakes her head, breathlessly admitting, “we haven’t-”

My jaw drops. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not,” she murmurs.

“How long exactly have you been seeing him?”

“About four weeks.”

“Honey, he’s rooting for the other team,” I tell her and she slaps my arm.

“Sod off, he’s not,” she counters.

“Four weeks with the hottest, most gorgeous, shaggable woman and he hasn’t tried to kiss you? I mean not that I’m not grateful because, fuck, I am. But wow.”

“Of course he did try,” she rolls her eyes. “But I’m not ready for that, and he’s okay with us taking it slow.”

For a second I don’t say anything in response. Instead, I loosen my hold, bringing my hand to her lower back, and cupping her intimately from behind. Moaning, she leans into me. “I’m guessing he hasn’t touched you like this then.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lets her eyelids flutter closed as her teeth bite into her lower lip.

Fuck. I could drag her to the floor right now, and we could go at it.

But then she comes to her senses, blinking rapidly, and I release her immediately when she gives me a tiny shove backwards.

“You’re not playing fair,” she accuses.

Damn right I’m not. I grab her upper arms, pull her back into me for one last kiss before I let her go just as quickly. “I’m playing to win.”

She takes a step back, brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, and puts on a cool expression. “That’s not going to make me take you back.”

I smirk.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re great with your hands and your mouth, but a lot of men know how to please a woman.”

She’s got a bonus point for trying to make me jealous, but I’m not falling for it. Instead, I give her a devilish smile and dip my head towards her.

“That’s true, but no one will ever please you the way I can.”

I’m enjoying our banter, and I expect her to come up with a snappy retort that might make me kiss her again.

Instead, her expression is sad when she says, “I wish I could be happy with that.”

My heart squeezes, and I lift a hand to palm the side of her neck. I wait until she meets my gaze. “We’re more than just sex, darling. I know you need and deserve more. I’m ready to prove that to you.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead.

She doesn’t respond as I pivot and head through the living room, letting myself out the door.

All in all, I think that went very well.

***

I’m back at my wife’s cottage, waiting for my kids as they get ready upstairs. Minnie has finally agreed to go on a daddy-daughter date and George is going to an overnight sleepover birthday party, and I’ll drop him off at his classmate’s house before I take his sister out to dinner. I’ll make sure to make it up to him by taking him on a special one on one date too next week.

There’s a light rap on the door, and my head swings that way. I have no doubt that it’s Mr Wife-stealer who’s going to take my wife out on a date.

I glance towards the master suite, but the door is closed. YN is probably putting on the finishing touches of her makeup. And the kids are still upstairs.

Nothing left to do but let him in.

Forcing a smile, I open the front door. He blinks in surprise to see me standing there, and I know I’ve got two options here; I could either easily dispel the awkwardness by being cool, welcoming and explaining our schedules happened to overlap.

Or… I could use whatever amount of alone time I have with him to instill some doubt inside his head.

That would be a dirty play, but as I have told my wife, I play to win.

Broadening my smile, I stick my hand out. “You must be Luke. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Harry.”

He seems momentarily frozen, but then basic manners take over. When he shakes my hand, it’s a bit limp, perhaps denoting a lack of confidence. After I release him, I bid him entrance with a sweep of my hand. “YN is in the bedroom. She’s still getting ready.”

Luke frowns over the fact that I know YN is in the bedroom. Probably over me even being here to talk to him. But I don’t dispel any innuendo he might glean from that.

I loop an arm around his shoulders, clamp down, and start guiding him to the kitchen. “Come on in and sit for a bit while she’s finishing up. Want a beer?”

Luke moves to one of the island stools, looking completely frazzled. “Uh… no, thank you.”

I shrug, moving to the fridge and opening it. Grabbing a bottle, I say with a sly grin as I close it. “So glad YN still stocks my favourite beer.”

I am so going to hell.

But that’s the truth. It’s my wife’s favourite beer, too, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I let the implication that I come over and have beers often. Luke’s frown deepens.

“YN tells me you work at the Northern General?” I take a sip of my beer, then lean my forearms on the island directly across from him so we’re eye level.

“Yeah… uh, that’s right.” Poor Luke. He seems incapable of carrying on a polite conversation with the husband of the woman he’s dating.

But I’m going to give him a pass. Setting my beer down, I straighten. “Let me go tell YN you’re here.”

“Um… you don’t have-” he starts to say, but I move past him without a backward glance. Through the living room, down the small hall, and a hard left takes me to the master suite. The door’s closed. I don’t bother knocking because I know YN is dressed.

I find her in the ensuite, her makeup drawer open and she’s huddled over it, touching something inside.

“Your date’s here,” I announce.

She lets out a yip of fright, shoving whatever it was in her hand to the back and slamming the drawer closed.

“Damn it, Harry,” she snaps, her palm pressed against her heart. “You scared the hell out of me. And what are you doing in my room?”

“Just running an errand for you. Wanted to let you know your date is here,” I say casually and I give her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I welcomed him in, offered him a drink, and made small talk.”

She rolls her eyes, rising from her vanity chair and moves past me without another word. I start to follow, but then I hesitate and turn back to the drawer of her vanity. Quietly, I pull it open as far as it will go, spotting a picture of YN and me stuffed in the back.

I recognise it. It’s from a trip we took to Anguilla a few years back, just the two of us, and fuck if we didn’t look happy and deeply in love.

Was that what she was looking at when I walked in?

That could be good or bad, but either way, no way to know the answer. I shut the drawer, then catch up to her as she’s moving through the living room. Luke sees her, sliding off the stool. When she holds out her hands, he takes them and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

Lame.

I sit on the armrest of the sofa, watching. Luke glances over YN’s shoulder at me as he pulls back, smiling victoriously.

I just smirk back. Because he’d probably lose it if he knew the type of kiss I gave my wife just last night. But I’ll keep that information to myself, though.

YN grabs her handbag off the accent table near the staircase before addressing me. “Make sure Minnie locks up when you leave, and remind George I’ll pick him up at ten tomorrow morning.”

I give her a jaunty salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

In return, I get another eye roll.

Luke puts his hand on my wife’s back, shooting me a look that says, ‘she’s mine tonight’, and I want to punch his teeth down the back of his throat. I just smile blandly, because, in just a few minutes of talking to him and watching how they interact, I can tell he’s getting nothing more than a friendly kiss when he brings her home.

YN might want to keep pushing at that relationship, but I am willing to bet that it’s not going to go anywhere. I know this, because I’m sure that my wife is still in love with me.

Read part II here!

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #boyfriend!harry #husband!harry #dad!harry #dad harry styles #dad harry imagines #dad harry styles imagines

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amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

every right thing will find its right place

jake and mac (and amy), post-balancing. ((a.k.a just me being emotional about dad jake for 1.5k words tbh))

read on ao3

He's never hung up on Charles so quickly before.

Mac wrinkles his little eyebrows when Jake lifts him out of his playpen, but he finds himself in it soon enough, the softest baby giggles sounding through the room when Jake holds him high, high only to bring him back down and smother his round cheeks in kisses. That laugh – he could listen to that laugh forever and it wouldn't be enough.

“You crazy genius kid,” he says in between more kisses to Mac’s forehead, then to where the green shirt has slid up and his little tummy is showing. “You did it, kiddo.”

Mac only gurgles in response, dropping the pacifier to the floor so he can jam his fist into his mouth instead.

“You did it,” Jake whispers again, holding him close as Mac drools all over his shoulder. “You absolute genius. Oh, man, I’m so proud of you.”

There might be a tear or two in his eyes as he stands there hugging his son, but he's way past the point of feeling ashamed over those. Fatherhood has definitely made him sappier.

It turns out Mac isn't all that interested in mashed-up avocado, and Jake can't blame him. This kid has been fed so many different mashed vegetables in his short life already, and as hard as Jake tries to trick him by first taking the spoon to his own lips and pretending like it's the best thing he's ever tried, Mac only wants a few spoonfuls before he makes it clear by trying to swipe the bowl from the table that he's done (they're still working on table manners). He gets a bottle after his bath instead, which truthfully, Jake doesn't mind, because it's way less messy and also the coziest thing in the world to sit with Mac in his arms as the ten-month-old insists on holding the bottle himself even as he begins to drift off. The pink pajamas with elephants on it is still a little too big for him, the sleeves sliding down over his hands, and Jake wonders how his son can seem both so big and so small at the same time.

He may not have gotten his arch-nemesis today, but he gets to watch as his son's eyelids get heavier and his grip on the bottle gets looser, and soon his head is resting on Jake's shoulder and Jake presses another kiss to the wispy curls on his forehead when Mac begins to slump against him. The Jake of ten years ago wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him he’d missed out on Franzia and barely even regretted it, but the Jake of today knows better. The Jake of today has fought for this, first for the chance to get to share a life with Amy, then to bring another person into it, and he’d do it again. Now that Mac is here and such an integral part of their lives, it's hard to think about there ever being a time when Jake watched his wife cry over another negative pregnancy test and wondered if they'd ever get to experience this, but he remembers, and he knows that it was never a guarantee. He could have been stuck in witness protection in Florida, could have spent years in prison in South Carolina, could have lost the chance of ever having this more times than he can count, and he still ended up on this couch surrounded by colorful baby toys, snuggling an almost-sleeping baby with Amy’s eyes and tan skin and curls that look so much like his own. Even having just missed out on a ten-year-long dream, it's hard to be anything but grateful. Thirty-year-old Jake just didn't know how different forty-year-old Jake's dreams would be.

He's still bummed out he missed Franzia, but he’s so proud of Amy, too, and he knows he made the right decision when the empty bottle finally falls out of Mac’s grip and his head lulls to the side, leaning all on Jake like a warm bundle of love. He reaches for his phone to snap a quick picture to show Amy later, and then he lifts his son so he can carry him to bed.

Even ten months into fatherhood, Jake still hasn’t gotten used to the early mornings. They’re still a pain in the butt – quite literally, because when the baby monitor begins to make noises a little past five in the morning, that’s where Amy pokes him, sharp, with her nails, to tell him it’s his turn to get up with their son.

“I’m on it, I’m on it,” he grumbles, stalking off toward Mac’s nursery.

He’s barely awake enough to remember the events of last night, so when he opens the door to Mac in his sleepsack, using the side of the crib to pull himself up on his knees, it’s almost as magical as seeing it for the first time. Mac’s sleep-rosy face lights up in the widest smile when he sees him, grinning so hard the pacifier falls out another time, and then Jake can’t find it in himself to be upset about the stupid early wake-up call anymore.

“Good morning, Macaroon,” he tells his son, and Mac reaches for him with open arms as soon as he takes one step closer. That reach has always melted his heart, because it’s such a testament to all the trust Mac puts in him. Mac hasn’t even said his first word yet – thankfully, the window for that is still a little ways away – but the way he reaches for him with absolute joy in his eyes when he comes to pick him up is Jake’s favorite declaration of love in the entire world. The smell that follows isn’t as great, and Jake thinks he knows now why Mac woke up early, but he supposes it’s true what Amy said; you really can’t have it all.

Once Mac has a new diaper, Jake takes him back to their bedroom, because at least their bed is a little more comfortable than the living room carpet if you have to be used as a jungle gym before sunrise. Amy’s already fallen back asleep, her still frizzy hair splayed out over the pillow like a star around her head, and Jake takes a moment to stop and admire how pretty she looks when she can’t tell he’s watching her. He’d shown her yesterday just how proud he was, and she’d promised him she’d do a special run of the presentation for just him and Mac, but he thinks he’s almost prouder of them both for making it through this week. Head lice and toilet contacts and creepy babysitters and more; he still wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.

The sound of Mac laughing when he sees her makes Amy stir, and Jake crawls back down under the comforter as he lets Mac attack her with his trademark slobbery baby kisses.

“I thought you were gonna let me sleep,” Amy mumbles.

“You said you missed him yesterday,” Jake mumbles in return. “He’s all yours now.”

“Mm.” Amy yawns. “Screw you.”

“You already did, babe, that’s how he got here in the first place.”

Amy snorts, and Jake has a feeling he’d probably get a curse or two right about now if there wasn’t a baby in the room, but before she can say anything, he hears Mac laugh and Amy gasp.

“Jake! Look! He’s doing it!”

Jake opens his eyes again just in time to see Mac pulling himself up using their bed frame. His legs are far wobblier on the mattress than on the floor of the playpen, and he looks a little bit in shock that it’s still working, but Jake can see Amy tearing up as she watches their son perform his latest trick for the both of them. Mac had ended up refusing yesterday, seemingly preferring the element of surprise, but now he’s standing proud with support in front of them both. It looks like he wonders what all the fuss is about when Amy’s the one to pull him into her arms this time, showering him with praise and kisses and some comment about Simone Biles that Jake doesn’t quite hear, but he adjusts soon enough, absolutely glowing from Amy’s attention as she kisses that delicious little dimple in his neck.

Jake looks at the two people he loves most in the whole world, the only two people he’d ever want to hang out with at five a.m. on a Saturday morning, and thinks of his missed arrest yesterday and the way Jake of ten years ago would probably have spent the entire day in bed sulking if he’d missed a chance like this. Then he leans over to join in on the kissing party.

Yeah. Thirty-year-old Jake just didn't know how different forty-year-old Jake's dreams would be.

#my writing #b99 #peraltiago #b99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #here it issssss #edited bc i put garzia not franzia???#thank you niamh for catching it lolol

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

A match in stubbornness

This was prompted by the amazing @smolandangry001! Enjoy some fluff!

Fandom: Detroit become human Ship: Reed900 Warnings: None

‘You will regret that, you stupid phcking pig!’ Gavin rolled his eyes at the handcuffed man he pushed into the back of the car. ‘Listen buddy, I regret most decisions, I’ve made. But certainly not this one. Now shut up and enjoy the ride.’ He yawned, once again tired exhausted from not getting enough sleep today. He turned to see if Nines wanted to drive but met his intense, upset stare. ‘What’s wrong, tin-can?’ ‘You know what’s wrong’, he grumbled, walking around the car and opening the door. ‘No, I don’t.’

Nines had sat down and closed the door, so Gavin joined him on the passenger-seat. Nines looked out for oncoming traffic, then carefully drove off. ‘You know very well, I don’t like it, when you do that.’ ‘What?’ ‘Your self-depreciating jokes.’ Gavin groaned. ‘Really? That talk in front of that dipshit in the back?’ ‘You asked’, Nines shrugged, eyes on the road. ‘You know it affects your mental health. Humans have the tendency to sub-consciously believe whatever has been repeated the most. You are actively diminishing your sense of self-worth.’ ‘Nines, humans also have the tendencies to cope by using humour.’ ‘Then maybe you should start being funny.’ ‘Wow, someone’s pissed…’ Gavin snuffled and turned to the window.

‘I’m not… pissed’, Nines spoke up at the next red-light and turned to him. ‘I’m just… Gavin, you are a remarkably intelligent person and I doubt anything you truly regret you could have changed. Sometimes causality escapes our grasp.’ ‘Phck, Nines, I know I was unlucky! It’s a saying. Get a grip! It’s nothing big, just a phrase. Now shut up, this is embarrassing. Besides, you tried it countless times already but never managed to change me.’ ‘I don’t want to change-‘ ‘Stop it. You want. Don’t lie to me.’

Nines sighed and got back to driving them to the precinct. Arguing with Gavin rarely lead to anything substantial and he believed in this case it wouldn’t be too different. He didn’t want him to change. He just wanted him to see what he was seeing. Nines just hated it when Gavin made these comments about himself. And he wasn’t the most advanced unit ever created if he would give up just because words didn’t work.

The drive home after work was a quiet one, them both listening to music, but feeling the uncomfortable atmosphere hanging in the air. Still, it took them until they had actually reached their flat that Nines asked: ‘Are you angry with me?’ Gavin flinched and straightened his back. ‘What?’ ‘Are you angry with me? Because of today?’ The human sighed. ‘Nines, phck… No. No, I’m not angry, today, just like every other day, just wasn’t my day.’ He let himself fall on the sofa and Nines followed, lightly placing his hands on his shoulders. Slowly he dragged them upwards until his fingers were buried in Gavin’s hair and gently scraped over his scalp. A pleased hum was his thanks as he continued the slow movements. ‘I think, just like every other day, you were quite remarkable.’ Nines saw the frown on his face and placed a single finger on his lips even before Gavin could disagree. ‘Shhh. Don’t talk. You were the one who found out our suspect was still at the scene. Without you he would have run free.’

He retracted his finger to brush it across the man’s lower jaw and go deeper with his hands to massage his neck. ‘Someone else could have found him.’ ‘But someone else didn’t’, Nines reminded him, fully concentrated on his newest mission. ‘And now shut up and enjoy. ‘Every day you surprise me anew. Your thoughts are fascinating to me. Everyday you show me why I love you. Everyday I find another facete of you to adore.’

Gavin smiled, eyes long closed bathing in the attention. ‘And I always wonder how you can get even sappier every night. I don’t deserve you.’ ‘You deserve everything you can imagine and more’, the android disagreed, pressing a kiss to his forehead while letting his hands run deeper to his shoulders and upper back. Gavin obediently turned around to give him better access to his sore muscles. ‘Bullshit, I’m trash and you are the tin-can that takes care of me.’ Nines might have squeezed a little harder at this. ‘Gavin…’ ‘What? Can’t get used to this much sweet-talk now, can I?’ ‘Why?’, the android asked. ‘Think you ever get rid of me?’ ‘So far my shitty personality was a pretty good way to stay single.’

‘Gavin, you are an amazing person, you just don’t let people close to you easily. I’m honoured to see you as you are.’ The man grumbled something incomprehensible into the cushions. ‘Gavin, I thoroughly hope you simply agreed to me just now.’ Gavin turned around and grabbed his hands. ‘I love you’, he repeated. ‘Even though you are wrong.’

‘I’m the superior machine. I’m always right.’ ‘I know.’ Nines counted that as a win, even if they still had a long way to go. But a RK always accomplished it’s mission and he was ready to prove that again and again. ‘I love you, too. Enough for both of us.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #fluff

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arhvste · 4 years

Text

OIKAWA TOORU - WALLET PHOTOS

- summary - you knew your husband was a romantic but you didn’t know he was this much of one - fluff (x f reader)

a vent one, i didn’t like my previous statement but long story short, today i found out i’m unable to have kids which has caused my parents some upset so i’ll be a little less present this week as i try and help them let it sink in, thank you <3

being the wife to a pro volleyball player had it’s ups and downs. yes, you were incredibly proud of every single one of his achievements and you were ridiculously happy that he was living his dream but, the time you spent together was limited. with him travelling and training so much and you being restricted to stay at home a little longer due to the fact you and oikawa shared a 3 year old son together, you didn't get to see as much of him as you did when you first started dating in your third year of high school.

oikawa had suggested the name ‘kosuke’ which meant ‘rising sun’ as he was adamant about giving his first son a name which somehow related to his best friend and practically brother, haijime who’s name meant ‘beginning’. of course you agreed as haijime had been with you both through many experiences while you were together, and it was him you owed for keeping your husband in check all those years.

haijime cried the first time he met your child and his name was explained to him.

“shut up shittykawa.” the man sniffled as you handed your husband’s best friend and your child’s new uncle, your son to hold for the very first time.

since your child’s birth, haijime had made sure to spend time with your family and drop by even when oikawa was out of town so he could bond with his technical nephew.

today was one of those days. oikawa was training as the hours of the day dragged on and yourself and haijime were sat on the sofa basking in the warm sun that drifted into your living room through the clear windows. your son was left to his own devices babbling and grabbing at his own feet only to tumble over and attempt to keep grabbing them.

you sighed as haijime turned to you with a small smile.

“stressed?”

you hummed and turned to the man.

“not particularly, just miss him.”

haijime let out a quick ‘ah’ and nodded as he turned to look at your son.

“i know he misses you too so don’t tell him i told you this but, he carries a few pictures of you and kosuke around and shows them off wherever he goes.”

you snorted as threw your head back slightly.

“really?”

“mhm, keeps a few candid photos in his wallet and shows them off at any chance he gets. he thrives in attention and probably feeds off of the compliments your sons pictures receive.”

you smiled. that sounded like something he would do.

you and haijime spent a few more hours catching up to which your son spent majority of the time pulled up on his uncles lap as he grabbed and giggled whenever haijime spoke and smiled down at him.

eventually the sun began to set and haijime bid a farewell to you and your son and told him to say hi to his best friend for him and let him know that he’d drop by whenever he’d next be around. you nodded and waved at the man until he was out of your sight down the pretty and peaceful street.

turning to kosuke you offered the boy a warm smile to which he happily returned.

“oh you are so a mommy’s boy!” you laughed as you carried your son to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

kosuke was sat in his highchair as he mindlessly watched whatever was catching his attention on the tv that played in the background of you cooking. his laugh and incoherent noises faded into the background as you cut vegetables and admired the view from outside your back garden.

you were so focused elsewhere, you failed to hear the sounds of the door opening and footsteps approaching. kosuke’s babbling and excitement got even louder as the sounds of your husband grew closer but you ignored them and stayed in your own little world to which oikawa immediately pulled you out of when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“t-tooru! you idiot i have a knife!” you whined as your husband laughed and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“sorry sorry i couldn't help myself, but you’re so talented i knew you wouldn't harm yourself anyway.”

you frowned as you continued to cut vegetables as oikawa stayed wrapped around you.

“you’re so beautiful y/n, how’d i end up with you?”

“relentless flirting and clinging until i said yes.”

“mean y/n!”

you snickered as you put the knife down so you could turn to face your husband properly.

he smiled as he studied your pretty features as the golden sunlight enhanced your features only making you look even more unreal to oikawa who only sighed in happiness.

pressing a soft kiss that held nothing but warmth and pure love, oikawa cupped one side of your cheek and let his other hand lean against the kitchen counter ultimately trapping you against him.

“aren’t you going to say hi to your own son?” you mused as oikawa pulled away.

“of course i am! just gotta save the best till last right?” he teased as you playfully slapped his chest.

approaching his son, oikawa had a giddy smile to which your son returned back. his strong arms pulled kosuke from out of the high chair as he gently threw him into his arms and pulled him close to his chest.

“how’s my handsome little boy been today? been good for mommy and uncle haijime today have you?”

you smiled as you watched your two favourite boys interact.

“very good. he missed his daddy though.” you commented as you poured the vegetables into the ramen stock.

“daddy missed you too my little prince! and - ” oikawa carried his son over to where you were standing.

“daddy missed his princess too.” he smiled as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

“save it for the bedroom.” you groaned as oikawa laughed.

he pulled away as he looked at yourself and then his son.

“hey y/n, thank you.”

you quizzically raised an eyebrow.

“for what?”

“for this. for my son. for marrying me. for everything really.”

you blushed at his upfront words and put the lid on the boiling pot before facing your two boys.

“yeah? and thank you.”

this time oikawa blinked in surprise.

“me? for what?”

“for asking me to marry you, for bringing our son into the world with me, for letting yourself be happy and doing something you love, for showing off pictures of me and kosuke for every stranger you meet, for -”

“-huh? what was that?”

“for asking me to marry you?”

oikawa whined as he tugged at the hem of your sleeved.

“y/n! who told you i show off pictures, i bet it was the old lady down the street who always walks her dogs when I'm out for my run she-”

“haijime.”

oikawa let out a dramatic gasp to which his son fell into a little fit of giggles at his fathers childish behaviour.

“i’ve been betrayed!”

you laughed as you pecked his cheek before walking past him to grab another kitchen utensil.

“i think it’s cute.”

oikawa pouted before carefully placing your son back into his highchair.

“...you wanna see them?”

he didn't even give you the chance to reply as he strode back to the hallway to dig through his bag to find his wallet before returning to you with a proud smile.

opening up, oikawa showed you the selection of photos he carried around with him all day.

“haijime only told me you carry a few! you have a whole albums worth of pictures in here tooru!”

“i do not! they’re all my favourite ones look!”

oikawa shuffled through the photos showing you the various ones he kept.

there was one of yourself and tooru at your wedding, one when you were giving birth to kosuke, one of you holding kosuke for the very first time, one of you and kosuke sat behind the birthday cake on his first birthday, one of you napping in your bed with kosuke cuddled up to you and a large array of just random shots of yourself and your son individually.

“see, all my favourite ones.”

you took a photo off the small pile and smiled. your husband really was just a big romantic, that much hadn't changed.

the photo fell out of your grip between your fingers and you went to pick it up off the floor. oikawa quickly said to “wait!” but you’d already seen it.

on the back of the photo, oikawa had written a small caption on the back.

“y/n pleaseeeee!” he whined as he tried to swipe it before you only to lose to you.

your eyes widened at the neat writing on the back.

‘my beautiful wife and our little star on his first time watching me play a match.’

you smiled widely as oikawa blushed in embarrassment.

“you weren't meant to see that.”

“well, i’m glad i did... do they all have little captions?”

oikawa sighed before nodding curtly handing you the small pile.

each photo had a little description of what was going on in the photo and it made your heart warm as oikawa watched you with a small look of adoration twinkling in his honey pooled eyes.

“tooru, you’re such a sap, but i really really do love you.” you laughed as oikawa mumbled in embarrassment that his wife had been exposed to an even sappier side to him.

“i like to be reminded of when and where these were taken, not that i need to but when i’m old and my memory begins to falter, i’ll have these little descriptions to help me remember the blessings you’ve given me and how lucky i am.”

if oikawa tooru wasn’t making your heart speed up before he certainly was now.

you placed the photos neatly in a pile on the counter before throwing your arms around your husband who happily pulled you into him.

“i love you so much y/n, and i love kosuke just as much. of course i want to carry these photos around all day, it’s like i have a little piece of you by my side when i can't be with you.”

you pulled your head into his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“i spoke to my coaches and well, i’ll be spending a little more time with you, that's why i was home so early today.”

“how comes?” you mumbled into the cotton of his shirt he'd changed into after a quick shower after his training.

“haijime told me you’d been missing me a little more so i spoke to the coaches and they'd noted that i’d been doing particularly well recently and granted me a more flexible schedule since we don't have any actual games coming up until two months time.”

you smiled and let out a little sigh in satisfaction.

“you didn't have to.”

“well y/n, i did. and you know why? i want to expand that little pile of photos i have and i can't do that when i’m not there to take any new ones.”

“you are such a sap!”

“your sap though.”

the two of you stood there in the dim rays of sunlight peaking through the window of your spacious kitchen listening to nothing but the sounds of the tv still going on in the background and your son’s noises of amusement watching his parents embrace right next to him.

“i’m still going to kick haijime for telling you though.”

“no you won't.”

“...no i won't.”

#oikawa torū #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa fanfic #oikawa scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenario #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfic

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yelenasdog · 4 years

Text

something like “i know” (ben hardy x fem reader)

genre: FLUFF FINALLYY

summary: sometimes making tiktoks with ben doesn’t always turn out the way you plan, but by no means is that a negative.

words: 1.4k

warnings: age gap (not dramatic, reader is like, idk, 23 maybe?), kissing, i think that’s it but lmk!

a/n: hi! so i’ve had this idea for ages and wanted to write it so here it is! the end of it is far sappier than i planned but meh whatevs. also ty to cici and eva for helping me pick the moodbard hehe. k enjoy!

☆❂✧

Having an age gap was never something that put a large damper on their relationship. The conflicting personalities of the two balanced out quite nicely, and the similarities that drew the two of them together in the first place (apart from the aforementioned) made sure they never had a lack of interesting things to talk about that weren’t generational.

Until TikTok, that was.

Now of course, there were some other millennials on the application, but Ben just for some reason couldn’t get it.

“Yes, I know that, babe, but why do they do dances?”

“They lip sync too!”

“But what is the point?”

And that’s how the conversation would end. Every single time. So Ben would sit on the sofa, watching as she danced about in front of the small screen, occasionally playing some cruel (ok, that’s a large exaggeration, they’re somewhat mean, at best) joke on him, claiming it was a trend on TikTok? That just did not sit right with him.

He didn’t remember hearing “mean pranks” in the initial description of the app when she had described it to him all of those times.

Ben tried to tune it out, he really did. He would wear his headphones, blasting Zeppelin as loud as he could while reading scripts or a book. But somehow, those catchy little tunes always managed to worm their way into his ear, being stuck in there for days and days on end.

He would waltz around the house humming Megan Thee Stallion, the occasional Flo Milli or underground indie artist also making an appearance often.

He was pouring a cup of coffee for himself one Tuesday morning in the kitchen before going on a run, Y/n watching fondly from afar. Rain was softly rolling down the windows, barely coming to a cease. The air was chilly, and fog floated through the early morning sky, a sense of calm washing over their shared South London home.

The room was kept somewhat warm, though, from the fireplace that she had insisted the house had to have, which Ben ended up being grateful for on more than one occasion. He looked over his shoulder briefly, smiling at the sight of his beloved wrapped up in his seafoam jumper, watching him move about contently.

As he turned back to where he was working on filling the two mugs in front of him, he began to oh so quietly sing the lyrics to what sounded like a familiar tune off of the app. Watermelon Sugar, maybe?

“Ben? Baby?”

He turned, his eyes growing wide and his hands flying to his hips as he leaned against the countertop behind him.

“Mhhm, yeah, w-what’s up, babe?”

She couldn’t hold in her giggle at the sight of her boyfriend’s red face and disgruntled appearance, one of his hands now scratching casually at his gold locks.

“What’re you singin’, pretty boy?”

His blush only increased at the nickname, eliciting another laugh from his girl.

“Y’know, just somethin’ I heard on the radio the other day.”

She immediately recognized his lie, he refused to listen to the radio, only using either Bluetooth or the aux cord, his music taste too pretentious for mainstream stations. She didn’t mind, though, always finding it quite funny how much of a music snob he was.

But rather than call him out, she only nodded and smirked, standing up and bringing her phone with her over to the windowsill where she usually filmed her TikToks, pulling Ben along with her.

He sipped from his mug, eyes slanted as she scrolled through something on her phone, various sounds emitting from the speaker.

A little smile showed up on her face when she (apparently) found what she was looking for, leaving her to set the phone down, allowing a video under the sound to play on repeat.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He asked, ever so cautiously, taking a step towards her. She walked towards him, engulfing him in a hug which he (yet again) cautiously reciprocated.

“I am going to teach you a TikTok dance.”

He had to do a double take.

“Come again?”

She pulled on the elastic waistband of her sweats, grabbing Ben by the arm.

“Come on, I know you wanna. And if nothing else you’ll do it to make me happy.”

He rolled his eyes, slightly irritated at her confidence and that she was so incredibly correct, he would do mostly anything to put a smile on her face.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He grumbled, moving to stand next to her.

She clapped once in excitement, joy flooding her entire body. The music started up again, but this time, she began to dance along to it.

“Ok, so just try to do what I’m doing, alright?”

“No! Not alright, can I just stand here, I think I should just stand here-“

“Ben, it's literally not that hard, 8 year olds can do it!”

“Well, I’m an extremely confused 29 year old man, thank you very much!”

And that’s basically how the next 15 minutes went until she finally gave in, allowing Ben to stand behind her, occasionally doing a little move of sorts. The two were in a fit of giggles now, struggling to keep enough composure for long enough to get even one successful video.

“Benjamin Jones! This is the last one, okay?”

He put a hand on his stomach, both of the pair attempting to catch their breath.

“Yes, yes, right okay, got it, last one.”

The little timer button counted down, the sound echoing throughout the property.

The music then started, and she could barely keep a straight face for the 15 seconds. Bored of the routine, but never of her, Ben decided he would grab her and throw her onto the sofa, as payback for all the “TikTok pranks” she would pull on him. He waited for the perfect time to strike (one where she wouldn’t hopefully be too infuriated), restlessly shifting from foot to foot.

Nearing the last few seconds, he made his move. He swooped forward, a high pitched shriek falling from her lips as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist, running and jumping onto the couch, crushing her. He rolled off quickly, and she moved to be on top of him, her hair wildly astray. She sat up, straddling his thighs with a bright smile plastered on her face.

“You little jerk.”

He only smiled boyishly in response, a lovesick gaze set in his eyes.

The song was still playing on repeat as she leaned down, positioning her hands on either side of his head in order to place her lips gently upon his.

“That’s your reward for putting up with me today, Jones.”

He scoffed, taking her by the shoulders and bringing her to his chest. She looked up from where she was now comfortably lying, meeting his homey emerald gaze, his eyes like sea glass that had washed up on white sands, waiting to be rediscovered.

“I feel as if I deserve something more for all of that.”

“Oh, do you?”

He hummed and nodded, closing his eyes. She reached up, placing another peck on his plump lips, before scurrying away to retrieve the phone. He sat up rather quickly at the sudden loss of her body weight, smiling at the sound of her laughter coming towards him.

“Ben, look, it turned out so well.” She managed to slip out before basically throwing him the phone. A grin erupted on his own face soon after, along with the hearty chuckles to match.

He made some commentary on how wonderful it was, before handing her back the device. She moved so she was once more essentially laying on top of Ben, the screen in both of their views.

After sharing a few more laughs over the video, she captioned it and posted it, throwing her phone to get lost in the couch cushions as the likes and comments began to roll in.

She looked up at him once more, and he met her gaze, as he always would, bringing a hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

It didn’t leave her cheek, resting there and lightly caressing her skin. The two were most serene then, almost appearing as two felines that had decided to nap during the morning showers, most comforted by each other and the steady sound of the droplets as they pattered.

He was whispering now, the rambunctious energy of the room fading into a much more tranquil and stolid vibe, wrapping the two up like a warm embrace.

“Y’know I really would do anything to make you happy, my love.”

She closed her eyes, taking hold of one of his hands.

He then heard her mutter something like “I know”, and all was well.

☆❂✧

it was fitting for the theme. but anyway i hope u enjoyed, pls reblog and like if u did :) go drink some water, eat some protein, and take an electronics break!

love you bunches! xx hj

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mashiraostail · 4 years

Note

who do u think r the biggest simps??

eigFJKD THIS ASK IS SO FUNNY TO ME THANK U PUT IN ORDER FROM MOST TO LEAST SIMP LIKE I PROB FORGOT PPL BC ITS LIKE LATE LATE BUT I WANTED TO WRITE THIS AHSLSEDS

1.) Hizashi: THIS MAN IS SUCH A SIMP IT’S PRESENT MIC I DON’T CARE EVEN A LITTLE BIT THIS MAN IS SUCH A FUCKING SIMP!!! I can’t explain it honestly i just...i can so picture him being the biggest idiot for his s/o he’s always looking at pics of them and staring at them when they’re around and he’s gonna compliment everything they do period. Like aw the way you sit is so cute, aw I love how you twirl pencils with your fingers when you’re trying to focus, aw your stutter is precious. And god even a tiny CRUMB of kindness from you will put him on cloud nine. Oh you like his jacket?? Okay, he can happily die now. He has pretty eyes? Excuse him he has to go cry in the bathroom. The sappier you get the easier it is to get your way. . He gives so many gifts, little stupid things that make him think of his s/o but also big extravagant gifts tht always leave them totally flustered and embarrassed. Biggest simp. Simp of the year.

2.) Sekijiro- Sorry but.. Vlad king supremacy?? Idk why he’s such a respectful simp I just get those vibes from him. Like he’ll do anything his s/o asks, need something lifted? Ok he’ll be there in 5 minutes. Oh need help reaching something? Sure thing whatever you need. Had a bad day? Oh no well come sit here with me and we can talk about it or watch your favorite movie if you don’t wanna yet! This man loves love, if he gets hurt on the job, or has a bad day all he’s gonna wanna do is curl up with you and get all the kisses and loves and back rubs. If he’s having a bad day he’s def gonna sit around daydreaming about you. His phone bg is def either a pic of you together or just a pic of you, he has a lot of pics of you and he enjoys them very much. It’s always your way, you have to beg him to just tell you what he wants sometimes, and no ‘whatever you want babe’ isn’t a valid answer!!! sorry not sorry about it!!

3. Toshinori- GOOODDDDD THIS MAN IS A SIMP. He’s totally stupid in love w his s/o the minute they meet. He’s all blushy and stupid and smiley at them and he’s always paying little tiny thoughtless compliments like ‘oh you have really nice hands’ or ‘you’re always so helpful (: I’m so lucky to get to work with you!’ He’s just happy to be around his s/o and he’ll do whatever they want. Shopping? Sure he’ll tag along. Got a bunch of boring errands to run? He’ll keep you company. Need to do a ton of house work? He can help! He also loves giving small gifts, and any matching thing on the planet will make his heart soar, rings of course, but also bracelets, key chains, mugs anything this man will want it. If you say a song reminded you of him he will listen to it on loop for weeks. He’s totally fantastically infatuated and it’s such obvious puppy love too.

4. Taishiro Toyomitsu- PLEASE again this man is a major simp gentleman. He holds doors he gets you flowers he cooks you dinner he talks about you all the time. Seriously all the time. Tamaki probably knows your whole life story by now all he does is brag about you. Complete a slightly difficult task? Everyone Taishiro interacts with is gonna know it. Even the villains. If he ever does an interview you’re getting brought up. He doesn’t care how much he has to bend over backward to do it, he’s gonna talk about you or he’ll perish. When you’re together it’s kisses and hugs all the time, he barely ever walks by without giving you some form of kiss, and god the amount of times this man says ‘i love you’ in one day, hell one hour, should be illegal.

5. Kugo Sakamata- he’s not a super simp BUT he is still a simp, and the nicer you are to him the more simpish he becomes. If you have a normal comfortable give and take dynamic that’s good with him, but if you’re ever very affectionate with him he’ll be total putty in your hands. The longer you’re together the worse it gets. He loves gift-giving and there truly is nothing you can’t have. If you want it then it’s your’s Kugo doesn’t care, why would he? If it’ll make you happy then you can have as many as you want. So all in all, may not be a super simp at first but you can def mold him into one.

6. Keigo Takami- He doesn’t simp at all in the beginning, he’s actually an annoying little turd. But the longer he spends with you the more infatuated he becomes until eventually it feels like going 6 hours without a kiss from you is majorly pushing it. Tokoyami has heard about every accomplishment you’ve ever made from your job to how quickly you did the dishes the night before. He has seen a thousand photos of you and probably knows you really well if he for whatever reason hasn’t met you. Because Keigo is always stopping to visit on patrols, or begging you to come to see him at the agency for lunch or just a quick hello if you’re going to be passing through. When he gets to know you all he wants to do is make you feel good.

7. Aizawa Shouta- people probably wanted him higher on this list but idk he doesn’t scream simp to me. In public he def does NOT simp, he might stare at you a little too long if he isn’t expecting to see you and he’ll always smile back if you smile at him but don’t expect him to plaster pictures of you everywhere and constantly talk about how much he loves you because that isn’t his style. In PRIVATE though?? This man can simp for the right cause. And sir can this man SIMP. What do you want? A bath? Okay I can do that. Your favorite food? Sure that’s easy. Massage? You don’t even have to ask! He likes the effect he has on you, watching you get flustered and melt at his affection is something he starts to really enjoy the longer the pair of you stay together.

8. Mirai Sasaki- At first he doesn't simp, but once you hit a few milestones he’ll start. He likes making you laugh, and seeing your smile is at the top of his priority list, he has tons of photos of you smiling and if anyone is having a bad day he’ll think of some silly story about you to tell to cheer them up. Like others, his intern, Mirio, has heard all about you and probably knows you really well. He probably made it a point to introduce you after working with Mirio for a while. Mirio probably sees you as a package deal at this point.

9.Nemuri Kayama- Girl does NOT simp. You simp for her and you like it that way, periodsm!!! No actually though at first she also doesn’t simp at all, she doesn’t care, she can have pretty much anyone she wants so if you don’t like her then you can pack it up and find someone else. But the longer you stay with her the more she starts to warm up to it, she likes seeing you happy, so going the extra mile even if it is a bit much for her is something she’s going to start doing more and more. She’ll remember all your favorite things and give you random gifts. She’ll take lots of photos of you to keep for herself and she’ll send you plenty of her own. She starts to also find a lot of comfort in you and will be looking for ways to spend time with you.

10. Enji Todoroki- I aint explaining this. Mans aint no simp.

#aizawa shouta #hizashi yamada #nemuri kayama #yagi toshinori #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #kugo sakamata #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami #hawks #aizawa shouta x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #bnha hc #headcanon #bnha requests

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Summary: In which Ahsoka Tano has the most embarrassing Masters in at least two languages. Terms of endearment, Disaster Lineage Style. Aka: continued adventured in Jedi Order Conlang! Read on AO3.

“That stupid Senator, honestly!” Anakin started for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shared a look behind his back. Ever since they had returned to their quarters from the meeting, Anakin had been throwing a hissy fit about how the Senator of a semi-important Core World had talked about the Jedi, specifically Obi-Wan. His comments had been downright insulting but Obi-Wan had led them through the negotiations anyway and achieved what they’d come here for.

There was no reason for Anakin to still be angry, and yet-

“-honestly every reference to that mission on-“

“Skyguy, you can stop proclaiming your undying love for Obi-Wan now. We get it,” Ahsoka said from where she was lying on her bed, checking her comm for messages from her classmates or teacher. Ahsoka had been supposed to take her exam on pre-Reformation Alderaani love poetry before they’d been called in for this mission and hadn’t had the time to sort out how she was going to get her grade in the exam now. She’d studied hard for it, even gotten Torrent Company to question her about it during downtime.

She might be just a little stressed about this exam. She’d certainly prefer taking on a squadron of clankers over this and Anakin wasn’t helping. Obi-Wan, who was sitting in a rather comfortable armchair, didn’t seem to mind. He was probably too used to Anakin’s antics already.

Hearing her words, Anakin stopped pacing around the room to look at her, first with annoyance as then something suddenly occurred to him and he began to smile downright mischievously.

“My undying love?” He echoed, then, in one swift movement, turned towards Obi-Wan, taking the other Jedi’s hands in his. “Oh, Obi-Wan, cahshee, ¿paialunru foh keelel zera ollun vii foh keelak?”

The words rolled off his tongue with a smoothness Ahsoka had not expected of her Master. Anakin’s Dai Bendu was always a little rougher, like the voice of a singer who had been praising another for hours already with their chants and was now a little hoarse.

“Enoah keel kyan kat fehl, kytal epal padenah fahk ve xariel ta. Denik anohrah kat fehl ru im sedorem det aainji foh tamaji kawa-”

“Oh Force, cadeo qa, Jaieh!” Ahsoka hissed, blushing brightly. Anakin’s words were downright obscene as sweet as they were. The fact that he had delivered this whole speech without breaking character and starting to laugh only made it worse. “Obi-Wan, do something! Make him stop!”

Why did she have to end up with those two as part of her lineage? She was sure Barriss never had to deal with Master Luminara saying such embarrassing things.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sighed, so for a brief moment Ahsoka actually had the hope that he was going to put an end to this. Then, he too took on a sappy expression, fake like that of a cheap holonet soap opera star, matching Anakin down to the almost teary eyes.

“Yes, Anakin, ankyia kat fehl, do stop embarrassing our Padawan.”

She was sorely disappointed.

Ahsoka had read actual old love letters with less of an emotional impact than Anakin’s dramatic confession. It seemed like no matter what he did, Anakin always had to outdo everyone else.

Translation:

“Oh, Obi-Wan, cahshee, ¿paialunru foh keelel zera ollun vii foh keelak?”

“Oh, Obi-Wan, sweety, have I told you how much I love you?”

cahshee would, in modern contexts, be something like “sweety” or “sugarpie”. Most people wouldn’t use it in serious contexts anymore as it is a very sappy and over the top expression.

vii is specifically for romantic love.

“Enoah keel kyan kat fehl, kytal epal padenah fahk ve xariel ta.”

“You are my inner peace, the Light that guides me out of the Dark.”

kyan specifically refers to inner peace, the peace of a person. This is pretty much the state of being every Jedi aspires to achieve.

kat fehl is “of me” i.e. the possessive. Dai Bendu doesn’t have possessive pronouns so you have to make these rather clunky descriptions. Using this additionally instead of just saying “Obi-Wan is the light” makes it so much more personal and really highlights that without Obi-Wan, Anakin wouldn’t be able to achieve that state of peacefulness/inner balance.

kytal is Light as in Light side of the Force opposed to xari, the Dark side of the Force.

paden means to guide or to teach.

Putting this together, we basically have Anakin declaring that Obi-Wan is all that is good. He is Anakin’s compass, without whom he’d been lost in darkness. Even more so, his mere existence teaches Anakin which path he must take so that even when all around them the world is burning down, true darkness is threatening to suffocate him, Obi-Wan will save him and will stay by his side.

“Denik anohrah kat fehl ru im sedorem det aainji foh tamaji kawa-“

“My eternal home and no word I speak will be lovely enough-”

sedorem means word or truth. This means further that not even the truth can accurately describe how much he loves Obi-Wan. Anything that has to be said out loud is basically useless as it doesn’t accurately portray his emotions.

anohrah means home, but also refers to the main Jedi Temple.

You pretty much can't get any sappier. This speech is the love declaration you want and will never get in life because it just goes beyond everything.

“Oh Force, cadeo qa, Jaieh!” – “Stop it, Master!”

“Yes, Anakin, ankyia kat fehl, do stop embarrassing our Padawan.”

Obi-Wan is calling Anakin something that literally means “heartsong” but actually implies soulmate. Word can be used platonically or romantically. Here too the possessive makes this even more personal.

So basically their exchange is the following:

Ahsoka: We all know the dude was stupid and mean to Obi-Wan. Stop being so embarrassing about it now, we are all over it.

Anakin: Is this an invitation to proclaim that Obi-Wan is not just my soulmate, but also the reason I can be who I am and all that just to embarrass my Padawan?

Ahsoka: Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope-

Obi-Wan “I live to make fun of teeny tiny Padawans” Kenobi: No, I will, actually, go along with Anakin’s dramatics and reaffirm them.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obikin #fanfic #jedi #dai bendu #conlang #can be read platonically tho #your choice

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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