#it was so full and emotional and tender it was honestly a breath of fresh air | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesofstyles · 3 years

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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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joezworld · 3 years

Text

Memories

A continuation of this

January 29, 2020

“Well, despite my extensive protestations, I cannot find any reason whatsoever to keep you here.” Anton, the head of the Crovan’s Gate diesel shop, said as he shut his toolbox with a petulant clang.

55 010 and Wendell looked at each other with no small amount of relief. Since the events of Christmas, the works had been beside themselves in trying to find a cause of 010′s existence as well as fixing the damage to Wendell’s chassis from when he fell off the jack stands on Christmas day.

A naturally superstitious man, Anton had refused to clear 010 for traffic until he went over her with a fine-toothed comb. This was a process that had taken over a month, and had insulted Wendell more than it had 010, as the Class 47 had believed that Anton was looking for a way to keep 010 out of traffic (he was), while the Deltic - who hadn’t been properly serviced since the late 1970′s - found the whole process very therapeutic.

All that being said, the pair were anxious to get out of the sheds and onto the main line once again - Wendell wanted to stretch his wheels properly, while 010 was deeply excited to see the bright future of the year 2020.

Anton left, shutting off the lights behind him. The two engines would have kept talking, but they’d honestly exhausted their conversational reserves after being together for over a month, so instead they fell asleep, dreaming of the world outside the sheds...

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December 26, 1981

Doncaster Station, Doncaster, South Yorkshire, England

55 010 sleepily opened one eye to the sounds of an argument. Some men were clustered around the Class 47 that was on the siding. They sounded like they were trying to figure out what to do with her.

One group was saying that she should be shoved onto the out of use lines, while the others were saying that doing that would take too long. The 47 seemed to be stuck in the middle, unsure of which side to take. At one point, he opened his mouth to agree with the shunting plan, before he stopped. A flurry of emotions passed across his face in an instant, before he shut his mouth, glared at the men he’d been about to agree with, and put his wheel down.

“I’m not going to miss my path and spend all day in passing loops just to put her away - look at all the switches you’d have to hand throw! It’d take ages!”

With that the other men now held a majority, so without much more discussion the 47 was coupled up to her, and the train set off for parts unknown.

“Where are we going?” She’d sleepily asked the 47 - who’d introduced himself as number 556 - as they rattled across the Pennines.

“Dunno,” He’d said quietly - they were coupled face-to-face, and she felt vaguely bad that he was driving backwards on her behalf. “Some coach depot I’ve never heard of - Titfield or Tidmouse or something like that.”

December 27, 1981

Tidmouth Station, Tidmouth, Tidmouth and South Haltraughshire, Sodor

47 556 and 55 010 eventually made it across the bridge and onto the Island very early on the morning of the 27th. It was a quiet little Island railway out here in the west country, and they met few trains on their way by.

A class 86 shouted hello from an electrified branch.

A old Hymek, somehow still in service, honked amiably as he passed with a goods train.

Even an old blue steam engine clattered by on a rail tour. This one looked at them funny, but the expected malice wasn’t there, merely confusion at the unusual double-header.

Eventually arriving at the big station at the end of the line, the two engines were met by a older gentleman in a top hat.

He introduced himself as the Controller for the region, and asked what they were doing here.

As 556 explained why he was also carrying a broken-down Deltic on his train, 010′s attention wandered to the rest of the station.

It was a beautiful design, like King's Cross, or Euston before they ruined it, but the roof of the trainshed was simply covered in soot - it was almost like they hadn’t cleaned it since before the end of steam.

Then there was a whistle from outside the platforms.

Both diesels goggled as a tender engine, painted an almost gaudy shade of bright blue with red lining, rolled into the station with a train of teak coaches.

At almost the same time, two more whistles were heard, and a train of GWR autocoaches complete with a Pannier Tank in the middle rattled in alongside a green saddle tank engine of indeterminate origin towing a pair of ancient compartment coaches.

“What is that?” 010 asked, shocked to see clean and well-maintained steam this far into the 1980s.

“Those are Gordon, Duck, and Percy.” Said the controller kindly.

“Are they all on rail tours?” Asked 556, causing the controller to laugh.

“No! They’re my engines! They work every day because they’re still useful.”

Neither diesel said anything. 556 was shocked that BR was allowing this to happen, but 010 suddenly felt a surge of hope. If they were still running steam here, maybe she could convince 556 to leave her here on his way home...

Something must have shown in her face - or maybe even 556′s, because the next thing the controller said was: “If I may, my railroad is currently experiencing a locomotive shortage. We have to keep relying on the other railway for temporary engines, but they aren’t the most reliable. Would either of you happen to know where I could find some strong, hardworking locomotives?”

They stabled 556 and 010 in the sheds with the steam engines over the New Year’s holiday. It was an almost out-of-body experience for 010, who was used to the cold and unfriendly atmosphere of Finsbury Park TMD, and had no idea how to deal with engines who, when told to treat her nicely, immediately made sure to include her in their singing of Auld Lang Syne.

A few weeks later, both engines had been successfully outshopped at the massive works complex in the west of the island. 556 had required little repairs, but had rolled out with a new coat of paint and a new name, Wendell, chosen after a friendly dog that hung around the works.

It took longer for 010. She had many, many worn out parts that required removal and repair, and her engines needed a full overhaul. During this time period, some of the female welding staff had spoken to her about needing to choose a name before one was chosen for her - apparently the Hymek she’d seen was named Bear, and she didn’t want that did she?

After a few days with books on baby names, a set of brass nameplates were bolted to her sides - they read “DAPHNE” in big letters.

While she was there, the workmen asked her what she wanted to be painted. When her request for a new coat of Rail Blue was met with groans, the men explained that they were bored of normal paint schemes and would paint anything she wanted.

Two weeks later she rolled out of the works feeling like a new engine. Her motors fired on all cylinders, her grease and oil was fresh, and her new paint sparkled in the sun. She’d always liked how Deltic - The Deltic, DP1 - had looked, and the men had grinned at each other when she told them about how the irritable prototype had spent most of his free time whining about not having stripes that went the whole way down his body.

Daphne found out why when she rolled into Tidmouth Shed that night. There was another express diesel on this island - a big Class 46 - and the similarities were striking. Both had similar designs, and had non-standard paint - the 46 was red, she was blue - with gold stripes down their sides. The 46 was named Delta - a very similar sounding name, and when she opened her eyes and took in Daphne and her nameplates, it took her all of two seconds to begin smiling broadly.

“You look like you could be my big sister!” She said.

Daphne, expecting some sort of hostility, wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, all of my sisters are dead, so it would be nice to have one again.”

She began to backpedal when the 46 stopped smiling, but the look she gave was thoughtful instead of hurt. “Come to think of it, all of mine are probably dead too. Shall we make our own family then?”

And so it was.

A few weeks later, Daphne and Wendell finally met all but one of the other diesels on the region - a Class 28 named BoCo, Bear the Hymek, and Daisy, a deeply customized Class 101. According to Daisy, there was also a Class 01 named Mavis who worked on a private quarry at the end of her branch line.

“You know,” Daisy said after Delta finished introducing everyone. “Aside from having one of each power rating, I think all of us but Wendell would have been scrapped by now if we were on the mainland. I think we should do something to celebrate the fact that we aren’t dead.”

The other diesels agreed - word had already spread about Delta and Daphne’s nontraditional sisterhood - and they agreed to form a club: the Non-Standard Survivors Society.

“But, I’m not non-standard?” Wendell asked as they dispersed. “Am I?”

“No, but you are really cute,” Delta joked. “So we’ll give you a pass.”

Daisy chuckled as she headed for the platform. “I’ll have to remember that when I tell Mavis about this club she’s in now.”

Daphne was confused. “Cute? What do you mean cute?”

Wendell was similarly puzzled.

Bear and Delta looked at each other meaningfully. “You two have so much to learn...” The type 3 said as he backed into the station.

That didn’t make Daphne or Wendell feel any better!

1983

“You know,” Said Delta one morning in the newly-refurbished diesel shed. “We should have nicknames for the society.”

“My name is Bear,” Said Bear. “yours is a Greek letter. How much more nickname-y can we get?”

“The rest of us should get nicknames then. And I feel like I could get a great nickname, like Tiger Stripes!”

Daphne giggled as Bear growled under his breath. “And why, pray tell, are you Tiger Stripes?”

“Because I’m fierce like a tiger! And I have stripes like a tiger does! It also matches the animal theme we’re going with.” Either Delta could think at a mile a minute, or she had been considering these nicknames for a lot longer than she let on.

“A tiger does not have stripes like you do.”

“How do you know?”

“My name is Bear. I know about animals. I have to.”

“I figured it was so that we could be ‘Lions, Tigers, and Bears, oh my!’” Quipped Daphne. “I guess that makes me Lion Stripes then.”

Delta’s sputtering and spluttering made it very clear that she hadn’t thought of that, and Bear and Daphne roared with laughter.

Later that year

The Thin Clergyman’s son made another trip to Sodor to research for his next books.

Daphne, as an express engine, had been rather removed from the strife among the rank-and-file engines caused by the Thin Clergyman’s books, and had no idea why Delta wanted to hide from him.

After a “short” explanation that took almost an hour, Daphne was now furious.

While she did help Delta by hiding her deep inside an old carriage shed, she did not stay there herself; She was an engine of action, and would deal with the problem directly.

Two days later, the Clergyman’s Son approached her to ask her some questions.

“If my sister shows up in one of your books you won’t survive to write another.” She said darkly to the author, who retreated immediately!

The Clergyman’s Son’s next book focused about Diesels and James. Much to everyone’s amusement, Delta was nowhere to be found in it, despite her being being the biggest reason why James was more accepting of diesels.

Unsurprisingly, Daphne did not appear either, and everyone wondered if the story of the rude diesel who crashed through a wall was based on her in some way. Delta, on the other wheel, stayed uncharacteristically silent!

Wendell was most offended that they hadn’t even bothered to include his name in the book, and refused to speak to the Clergyman’s Son again!

1985

Bear and Wendell had both gotten very scruffy looking after several years without a repaint, and went into the works with the intent of coming out looking the same as they had before.

They had reckoned without Delta and Daphne, who had very kindly asked the paint shop workers to be imaginative on their friends.

Bear had rolled out first, looking furious about the deception, but rather pleased with his paint. The men had been inspired by some American locomotives, and he rolled out of the shop in a dark shade of green with metallic gold stripes down his sides. Any lingering discontent he had felt lasted until Henry saw him for the first time and dragged him away behind a shed without a word. Daphne tried to ask what was going on, but Delta, laughing too hard to even speak, had pulled her away to the station.

Wendell came out a few days later. Whatever the men had originally tried hadn’t been to his liking, he explained, and he’d asked them to try a different design from the same book that they’d pulled Bear’s paint scheme from. When he came into the sheds painted a glossy black with grey and white stripes, Daphne felt both of her crankshafts do a flip-flop.

Delta took one look at the slack jawed expression on her adopted sister’s face and sighed deeply. How had Jamie seen this coming before she did?

It took all of a week for Bear and Wendell to have nicknames foisted on them by the express sisters - Ursus and Cobra stripes, respectively. Delta explained that she liked the predatory animal theme that went with Lion and Tiger, while Daphne innocently pointed out that it had absolutely nothing to do with how much it annoyed Bear.

The nicknames did eventually stick though, in no small part because Henry had taken one look at how irritated Bear was and started calling him Ursus!

It took a month after that for Tiger Stripes to take pity on her sister and the piteous faces she made when she thought Wendell wasn’t looking, pulled a Flying Scotsman, and told her and Cobra Stripes exactly what those feelings meant. She was very unsurprised when Wendell revealed that he was also growing attracted to Daphne.

Henry and James both joked that one day, Bear or Delta would put one of them through a wall, but three weeks later, Daphne managed to put herself and Wendell into the parking lot behind Barrow Sheds.

1990

After realizing that Mavis and Daisy both technically had stripes painted on them (making them Wasp and Cougar stripes), the other diesels began to seriously peer pressure BoCo into getting repainted with stripes so they could complete the set.

He’d held out for many years, but after Daphne took a special train to the clay pits, there was suddenly pressure from within the Brendam Branch as well, and he folded like a house of cards in less than a week.

When he came back from the works, he was now green, gold, and white, but also red, if you counted the angry blush on his face.

“I asked them for Southern Railway Green with a gold stripe.” He seethed. “But clearly there was a misunderstanding.”

The howling from his compatriots was earthshakingly unsympathetic, but nobody could deny that he looked striking, and he was quickly dubbed Jaguar Stripes, even though - as he and Bear were quick to note - he did not look like a Jaguar at all.

1995

James asked Delta to marry him. The other engines were overjoyed, even if they BoCo and Daisy needed some catching up on how exactly that was possible.

Daisy groaned. “Mavis and I are going to have to have a talk, aren’t we?”

The other diesels - which by this point included James and Henry in an honorary capacity - hadn’t quite processed that when BoCo announced that if he was being honest, he and Edward were “so emotionally codependent that we’ve probably been married for twenty years without realizing it.”

Henry couldn’t take it any more and screeched with laughter at the conversational disparities - he’d just left the steam sheds, where the engines were still unaware that London had multiple termini, and were therefore having a rousing argument as to whether the impending fall of British Rail meant that London’s terminus station would magically return to being King’s Cross or Paddington instead of the current Euston.

1996

James and Delta were wed in a quiet ceremony behind the diesel shed - Siobhan, her fiancé Declan, and all the members of the “Non Standard Society” - including Mavis, who traveled down specially for the event - were present, with Daphne and Henry acting as bridesmaid and best man.

By design, the engines had arrived in pairs, with only BoCo “going stag”, as he hadn’t yet told Edward how he felt. The officiant - a kind looking man from the Arlesburgh judiciary - had taken one look at the rest of them and asked if he should be preparing for any other weddings in the near future. Daphne and Wendell were the only ones to say yes instinctively. (Much to each other’s surprise!) When Daphne looked over at Bear and Henry, they said with no small amount of irritation that it wasn’t legal yet for them to be wed. Similar grumblings then erupted from Mavis and Daisy, which briefly made the quiet ceremony very loud, as none of the other engines had been aware that either diesel was dating!

2000

Dull yellow smoke billowed out of Percy’s funnel as the men did a pressure test. Before Daphne or Wendell could do anything, they were enveloped by the choking cloud.

Daphne shut her eyes to avoid getting any of the strange metallic soot in her eyes, and when she opened them again, the works looked... different somehow.

A few of the new inspection pits were gone, while the diesel shop building had one less door than it should.

Daphne opened her mouth to ask Wendell what was going on, and then stopped dead in her tracks when a workman ran right through her.

Looking down at herself, she appeared to be fully transparent, floating above the rails like a ghost of Deltics past.

“Who are you?!” Wendell squeaked.

Daphne looked at him for a moment. His paint was a different colour than it had been a minute ago - Rail Blue instead of Black and Gray - and he seemed like he didn’t remember her at all.

“Cobra,” She said, not even thinking that this was not the time for nicknames. “It’s me, Lion. You know me.”

“I know exactly who you are.” He said frantically. “You’re the ghost of the engine I killed! It’s not Christmas! Begone with you!”

“What?!” Daphne was horrified. “Wendell, what on Earth are you talking about!? Nobody’s dead! How can you say that?!”

“Don’t you overreact here Lion!” Wendell snapped. “I should be the one screaming! Ignoring whatever it is you are, there are dinosaurs eating the ballast! That water tower has a face!”

Daphne suddenly understood that there was something in the yellow smoke that was making both of them see things that weren’t there. With that in mind, she spent most of the next few hours keeping Wendell calm until the hallucinations stopped, and he turned back into the black and gray diesel she’d fallen in love with.

A few weeks later, and Daphne asked Wendell about what he saw in the yellow smoke.

“I saw a bunch of brightly coloured horses singing about friendship. Why?”

“Just curious...” Daphne said as she realized that maybe her hallucinations had been much stronger than she thought!

Later That Same Year

A new high speed trainset arrived on Sodor. Their names were Pip and Emma.

They had been on the island once before in the early 80′s, but somehow none of the diesels had met them in anything other than passing.

After three nights on Sodor, Delta declared that she liked them and was “keeping them”, giving them no choice in the matter on the subject of express engine sisterhood. Daphne explained that Delta was less of an engine and more of a force of nature, to which Emma responded that she and Pip were ‘the Dragon Sisters’ and could take care of themselves.

Both Dragons realized that they had even less of a choice when Daphne's face lit up like a Christmas tree upon hearing that!

Learning that the duo already had animal-themed nicknames for themselves made it much easier for Lion and Tiger Stripes to press-gang their new sisters into the “Non-Standard Survivors Society”, and even easier to get them painted into the old Intercity “Swallow” paint scheme.

Even for express locomotives, the speed at which the two went from Pip and Emma to Dragon Stripes was remarkable.

Even later that same year

Donald screamed all the way to the Little Western, unable to shake the image of a unified force of Red Eyed, Soul Stealing, Mind Controlling, Memory Altering, Diesel Electric Monsters!

2001

Pip and Emma taught the other diesels how to breathe fire.

Being the sort of sisters that they were, Daphne, Emma, Pip, and Delta soon began hosting competitions to see who could shoot fire the furthest. This did not help Oliver’s mental state at all.

2004

The United Kingdom allowed same-sex couples to enter into a “civil union” on the 14th of March. The engines knew it wasn’t actual marriage, but it was more than they’d been allowed before, and Daisy and Mavis, and Henry and Bear were wed by The Magistrate that night, with Delta and James acting as best man and bride/groomsmaid in all the ceremonies.

Immediately afterwards, Daphne and Wendell - who had agreed not to be wed until their friends could - tied the knot as well.

The rest of the Society (BoCo, Pip, Emma) and Siobhan and her husband Declan cheered until they were hoarse.

The next morning, Stephen and Richard Hatt, as well as most of the steam engines, could not understand how every James, Henry, and every diesel on the island were somehow exhausted and happy at the same time.

Later that same year

Flying Scotsman showed up on what would turn out to be his last railtour before his overhaul. Not realizing what he’d started way back in 1979, he jokingly asked if Henry and Bear had ever done anything in regards to their relationship.

When they and seemingly every other diesel on the Island regaled him with wedding stories he almost burst a boiler tube!

2007

Pip managed to convince the paint shop staff to paint huge fire breathing dragons on herself and Emma for Christmas.

Within two weeks all the other diesels had their own respective animals painted somewhere on their bodies.

After a while, they all started to notice that the animals seemed to be in different places on different days... Daphne's Lion and Wendell's Cobra would even swap locomotives sometimes - not that they'd ever admit it!

After an even longer while they noticed that an identical Bear and Tiger had ended up on Henry and James - despite neither of them having gone near the paint shop in months!

Richard Hatt has asked why this happened, but nobody has yet said anything close to the truth. It may be because they don’t know themselves...

2017

A certain Class 5 diesel convinced her driver to hang some mistletoe over the turntable.

Everything was going well until Donald chuffed in unexpectedly and saw Henry and Bear under it.

A lot of explaining was required.

2020

Wendell loved Christmas, and had spent every year since the early 90′s covered in lights and pulling the N.W.R.’s holiday train. In more recent years Daphne also joined him, and they usually spent a few days in the first or second week of January getting the lights removed and their paint touched up.

This year, heavy traffic in early January meant that they couldn’t make it to the works until late on the 28th, and spent all of the next day getting de-lighted and touched up. They went to sleep eager to go to work the next morning...

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

January 30, 2020

Wendell woke up with a start. What a dream that was! It felt so realistic, and...

55 010 was staring at him, eyes wide to the point of bulging out of her face.

“What?” He asked, trying to shake off the feeling of strangeness - in his dream, they were married, but engines can’t get married - can they?

“Wendell,” She said quietly, her voice shaking. “I just had the most amazing dream.”

“Really?” Maybe they could compare notes, Wendell wondered. Maybe in her dream they were all brightly coloured crime fighting action heroes.

“We were married.” She said after a moment.

Wendell felt the world go fuzzy around him. The last thirty-nine years of his life flashed before his eyes in some sort of visual stereo - one side sad and depressed, the other side...

“Daphne?!” He gasped as he returned to reality.

That was all the confirmation the big Deltic needed. “It wasn’t a dream!” She cried joyously.

“It was,” Wendell said, his brows furrowing under a sudden and massive headache. “But it wasn’t. How can it be both?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” Daphne/55 010 said, her voice laced with quiet joy. “I have sisters. I have a family. I have you.”

Wendell could feel his mind short circuiting. On one wheel, he was in his shed in the works. It was his home. He’d lived here since the 80′s!

On the other... He lived at the diesel shed in Tidmouth. He’d asked The Fat Controller in 1982 if he could stay there so he could be with his friends - with Daphne. His home was the road between Daphne and Bear in Tidmouth.

Bear. His eyes widened as he thought of the Hymek.

He didn’t know the diesel that well, but - he did. Did he? Was this all a shared dream between him and 010, or was Bear really Henry’s husband? Were Delta and James married? What about Daisy and Mavis? Was 010 actually Daphne? He didn’t know what was real or not anymore.

He looked back at Daphne/010. As much as he wanted to believe it was true - that he really did have thirty years of family and love - but as he looked over at the Deltic and down at his own buffers, he didn’t see the blue-and-gold or black-and-gray of Lion and Cobra Stripes, just the basic Rail Blue of two anonymous British Diesels.

Then...

As he looked at 010/Daphne, her dark blue paint started to muddy and shift before his eyes. Starting at her buffers and moving backwards, a ripple of colour began to work its way across her body. The rail blue and yellow warning panels faded away, leaving a trail of sky blue paint and metallic gold stripes. A roaring lion, standing atop a crushed double arrow, appeared below her cab window.

He would have watched the transformation in more detail, but a sudden and intense itching caused his him to look down at his own body. Where there had previously been blue and yellow was now a dark gloss black with grey stripes. The very hint of a snake's tail could be seen stretching around the corner of his bodywork.

It was over almost as quickly as it begun, and when the two diesels looked back up at each other, they didn’t see Wendell and 55 010, they saw:

“Lion?”

“Cobra?”

---

The drivers who went to take Wendell and 010 back to the works had no idea why the diesels were crying like babies, but assumed it was due to the outrageous paint schemes the works had elected to cover them in. They were in no mood for shenanigans, and coupled up the engines and left before the works staff could notice and ask questions.

In a remarkable parallel to the 1981 of their dreams, Wendell hauled an unpowered Daphne and a rake of coaches from the works down to Tidmouth in the predawn light of winter. They passed Abbey, who shouted hello from the electric branch, and passed Edward, who stared at their paint in utter bafflement.

The train arrived in Tidmouth, but there was no Fat Controller to meet them that day, so they left the coaches at the platform for The Limited and departed for the diesel shed.

Wendell felt another headache come on as he rolled up to the concrete-and-steel structure. With only Bear and Delta permanently in Tidmouth, The Fat Controller hadn’t built the shed until Pip and Emma arrived in 2000, knocking down an old brick warehouse to do so.

But, with Daphne and Wendell, that old brick building had been spruced up and expanded in the 80′s. Looking at the building, Wendell felt woozy as his mind layered an image of the cozy warehouse overtop of the sleek shed.

“There’s supposed to be windows there.” Daphne whispered as she looked at the blank wall of the shed.

Wendell grimaced as he looked up. That blank concrete wall was in no way special, but at the same time, the light that streamed in through bank of windows set into the brick had been the source of many arguments - nobody wanted to be the one in that road because the morning sun was at just the right angle to shine into the eyes of whoever was parked under them.

But that wall was blank specifically because the architects had realized that - in 1999.

But it was an old shed - from the 1920's, right?

Wendell grimaced and hoped that his mind would pick something and stick to it.

Arriving in the shed to the sound of Genesis drifting through the doors - dream or no dream, Henry had apparently still infected them with his prog rock obsession - the men first shunted Daphne onto one road before putting Wendell next to her, powering off off his motor and scarpering to the staff canteen and its coffee maker, leaving the two diesels outside.

Their presence was noticed after Bear’s voice drifted out of the shed with a command to turn off the voice activated speaker. In the silence, the quiet pinging of Wendell’s cooling engine was heard, drawing eyes to the outside.

“What the hell are you painted like that for?” Called BoCo from inside the sheds. “And who are you?” He asked Daphne.

“Hi Jaguar, it’s so good to see you.” Daphne evidently did not care that BoCo had no idea who she was.

“Good morning!” Said Wendell, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to explain this. “We had a doozy of a dream last night!”

The other diesels poked out of the doors to gawp at the oddly-painted engines.

Delta in particular looked like she wanted to say something, looking down at her own stripes before looking at Daphne’s.

“You look like you could be my big... sister...” She didn’t make it all the way through her sentence before her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over. Wendell imagined that this is what he looked like earlier that morning.

“You...” Delta was on the verge of tears. “You were at my wedding. You all were!”

“Your what? You know this engine?” BoCo was more confused than ever.

“Yes! And so do you! We all do!”

“Delta, I have never... met...” BoCo stared in shock after his eyes glazed over for a long moment. “Oh soot and oil... Daphne?!”

And so it went through the other engines, who all suddenly remembered.

“How?!” Bear eventually managed. “How did this - what?”

He was cut off as his paint rippled and changed, an effect that quickly rolled across the other engines. From within the shed, Emma and Pip swore loudly as their NWExpress livery roiled and shifted from blue and yellow to black, white and red. BoCo grimaced as his BR green suddenly became a lot more American. Bear grinned unconsciously, suddenly remembering how well Henry had taken his stripes last time.

Within a few minutes, the disparate group of diesels were gone, replaced with the members of the Non-Standard Survivors Society.

Daphne, who watching this happen with no small amount of glee, squealed with happiness.

In the station, Henry and Daisy were congratulating Richard Hatt on his recent promotion to assistant controller of the railway. As they spoke, both engines kept one eye on the diesel shed in the distance - two new diesels in some absolutely ludicrous paint schemes were parked in front of the diesel shed, and a commotion was quietly audible, much to their consternation.

Richard eventually took notice of the new engines as well, and took a long moment to try and figure out why the original Deltic prototype was on his railway. A gasp drew him back to the engines on the platform, both of whom now looked like they’d seen a ghost.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

Daisy, who was wide eyed and shaking on her suspension, was the first to react. “I’m married!” She shrieked before setting off for the junction almost before her signal dropped. Richard wasn’t sure, but as Daisy left, frantically blowing her horn to the diesels in the yard as she did so, she seemed to shimmer in the sun for a moment.

“What?” Richard asked. He thought he’d heard what Daisy had said, but was really hoping that he’d misheard her. He looked back at Henry, suddenly forced to remember that he had to give the engine a day off every March.

“I don’t think I could explain that to you if I had all day.” Henry said quietly.

Richard wanted to investigate the sudden faraway look in the engine’s eyes, but remembered what usually happened to him when he asked the engines personal questions.

As he left the platform, he noted with some amount of confusion the elegantly-painted bear that was on Henry’s cab side. It definitely hadn’t been there when he walked up.

He turned around to ask Henry about it, when James raced into the station, a wild look in his eyes.

“Henry!” He demanded. “What just happened to me?!” The pouncing Tiger painted on the side of his tender gave some idea as to the “what” he was talking about.

Richard turned and fled for his office. The pub didn’t open until noon, and he was not about to deal with any new earthshattering revelations sober.

31 notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 4 years

Text

hollow victory ch2

A part of the ‘A Spare Heart’ series.

pairing: none–eventual Shouto x Reader later in the series.

wc: 3.9k

genre: gen

summary: You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. You’ve trained, studied, and observed alongside your classmates, but no one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on. You don’t have as much combat experience as any of them, but you have the advantage: surprise. Because none of them are prepared for what you have coming for them.

a/n: 2nd of 2 chapters! Make sure to read chapter 1 first! American!fem!Reader.

As you watched Todoroki retreat slowly to the stands, rejoining Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka, you remembered all the things people used to say about your quirk back in America. You looked at everyone back together on one set of cement bleachers while you remained on the ground, and saw in their faces that they now knew.

You fell to the ground, groaning, “God” in English, only partially because of the fresh pain. You’d been hit just about everywhere and, despite all the work you’d been doing to build muscle for the past few months, you’d definitely pushed past your limit. You were drenched in sweat and probably in need of a lot more water, despite all you’d gulped down from Aizawa. Still, that wasn’t what hurt the most.

What was coming next would be.

“Alright,” Aizawa said as he handed you another water and Cementoss formed a chair for you to sit in, facing the rest of your peers. “Does everyone have a good idea of what Y/N’s quirk is?”

There were nods and murmurs among the group and more than a few faces were looking at you warily. Your heart sank at the familiarity of it. Yaoyorozu’s hand shot up and Aizawa called on her.

“She has the ability to manipulate emotions in others. She doesn’t appear to need any eye or physical contact, although it’s unknown if any other information is needed. She has fine-honed the kinds of emotions she can use and has some mastery over nuance. Endurance seems to be a moderate factor.”

Aizawa nodded, looking at you for approval that Yaoyorozu had gotten it right, although you knew she had. “Anything to add?” he asked.

You sighed heavily, but began the old spiel anyway, talking slowly as you tried to fit everything into Japanese. “There is some range factored into it, so it only works if I’m close by a person, and the connection gets faint before severing the farther away someone is. I have some control over how long the emotions last, but they’ll naturally fade without my intervention. Um, I can’t read minds or anything like that, so I just have to intuit how people are feeling. The emotion sticks better if it’s something that someone is already feeling in some way, like if someone is feeling a little lazy, it’s easy for me to strengthen that, but it won’t really work if I try to put an emotion on someone that they’re already strongly feeling. Like making someone who’s already angry more angry. If that all makes sense. Yaoyorozu is right that the first emotion I hit someone with is the strongest and subsequent ones don’t hit as well, because then they start to blur a little.”

You were surprised you’d managed to get all of that out. Your Japanese must have gotten a lot better in your last two weeks here. You almost smiled, but then you remembered what you were talking about and you stopped. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you’d described the extent of it, since there were still things you didn’t know. This was the most varied use of your quirk that you’d ever pulled off, which should have felt momentous. And it did, a little, but that feeling was shadowed by the way some of your peers had looked at you. Todoroki, Bakugou, Kaminari. You couldn’t enjoy what you’d done to them.

“What’s your quirk called?” Midoriya asked as he frantically scribbled in his notebook.

For a moment, you didn’t answer. But there was no point in hiding it, so you said, “Legally, it’s called gaslighting. I think that gives the wrong idea, though.” You mumbled the last part under your breath, but it seemed your peers heard you anyway. Sound really did travel well with all the cement.

“Why’s that?” Tsu asked.

“Because gaslighting is a way people abuse others by telling lies in order to distort their sense of reality,” you spat out. “And, yeah, okay, my quirk distorts someone’s sense of reality so they’re feeling an emotion that they wouldn’t otherwise, but it’s not the same. It’s more like projecting or, I don’t know, just creating emotion, but the quirk was already on the books, so that’s the name I was stuck with.”

“But you were able to totally freeze some people like Bakugou and Todoroki,” Hagakure said. “How was your quirk able to do that?”

Todoroki hadn’t had the chance to share his experience with your quirk with the group yet and you were willing to bet that Bakugou hadn’t been in the mood to tell anyone his. So it was no wonder she was confused about how you’d taken down two of the strongest fighters in your class so easily.

“I came up with strategies for everyone, based on what I’ve observed of you for the past couple weeks and what was available online,” you explained. “Then I discussed the strategies with Aizawa-sensei to see if they made sense and alter them a bit. I’m sure you know by now that most of you got a different emotion based on what I thought would slow you down or make you give up. Since I can’t defeat most of you physically, especially with quirks at play, that’s what I have to do.”

“So…what did you use on everyone?” Ashido asked, looking almost giddy as she eyed her fellow classmates.

You’d known that there would be a lot of questions for you after your quirk was revealed, as had Aizawa. But still, he took a step forward and put his hand up. “Y/N is exhausted. She just fought twenty of you with only very short breaks in between. And yet she only lost four times and Midoriya is the only one who managed to guess her quirk before the battle. She’s going to Recovery Girl and you can all go see her at lunch. For now, Todoroki, Bakugou, melt the ice and everyone else can spar, quirks included.”

Everyone looked excited at the prospect of being able to spar freely with quirks, something they hadn’t been able to do in class since your arrival. Of course, it wasn’t lost on you that you were going to miss it, but at least you’d be able to take part next time.

If anyone would be willing to partner with you.

Cementoss walked you to the nurse’s office and stayed as you endured your first kiss from Recovery Girl. She didn’t give you a hard time as you knew she did for students sometimes, since all you had were minor injuries. A lot of them—your body was covered with bruises not to mention a few small scratches and muscles that would soon be wound as a rubber band ball regardless of what she did. It all added up and, despite the fact that she put you just short of ‘good as new’ you were exhausted at the end. Although, you’d been exhausted to begin with.

“Why don’t you take a nap on the cot until the end of your class and I’ll wake you when it’s time to head to lunch?”

You’d resigned yourself to missing the rest of class as soon as you’d left Gym Gamma, and you were hardly in a position to argue. You were out as soon as you closed your eyes.

It seemed hardly a minute had passed when Recovery Girl was in your ear, Cementoss having left the room sometime during your nap. Which, apparently, had been about a half an hour.

You pushed yourself up and found that a lot of the aches and pains you’d walked into the room with were nothing but phantoms now, although the stiffness you’d expected tomorrow morning was already beginning to hit. Your quads and hamstrings were so tight you couldn’t walk without limping.

“Take these with lunch,” Recovery Girl said as she handed you a couple muscle-relaxing pain relievers.

Usually you didn’t like to take those and preferred to know where you were feeling more tender, but you grabbed them gratefully this time. You’d have to take a truck full of painkillers for your pain to go away that easily.

You walked by yourself to the Lunch Rush cafeteria, keeping an eye on landmarks as you did so. After two weeks, you generally knew how to get from place to place—especially somewhere as vital as the cafeteria—but the reminders reassured you since you couldn’t read any of the classroom signs pointing the way.

When you made it to the cafeteria, the rest of your class was already there, and some of them were waving you over. For the past two weeks, only the likes of Iida, Midoriya, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido had done so, quickly representing themselves as the most welcoming members of class 2-A, even if Iida was doing it mostly out of duty.

Everyone, save Aoyama, was sitting together taking up two whole tables, minus one seat between Ashido and Yaoyorazu. There was a simple noodle dish in that spot and you pointed to it and asked, “Is that for me?”

“Sure is!” Ashido said, patting the seat. “Hope it’s okay. We didn’t weren’t sure what you like, with your American tastes and everything.”

“Honestly, anything looks good right now,” you said as you sat down. All of the food smells were making you ravenous.

“How are you feeling?” Yaoyorazu asked as you took your first bit of noodles. Someone had set you up with a fork instead of chopsticks, and you were grateful for that. You could manage with chopsticks, but there was nothing quite like a fork for shoveling food down your gullet.

You nodded as you chewed, swallowing the big bite as you said, “Much better, thanks. Pretty sore, but no bad injuries.”

“That’s a relief,” Midoriya said. He’d hit you the hardest out of everyone except for maybe Shouji, so it made sense that he’d be the most concerned about you. You smiled at him through another bite of food.

“So…” Ashido drawled, looking at you expectantly. You just raised your eyebrows up at her, bowl up to your chin as you kept eating. “Are you gonna tell us what you did to everyone?”

You looked around at the group to see if everyone had the same enthusiasm that Ashido did. There were a few looks of casual curiosity and more than a few who seemed to be purposefully looking away. But only Tsu, Yaoyorozu, and Sero looked equally intrigued about the emotions you had used against them and their friends.

“Well,” you started, taking gulp of water, “Ashido, I tried all kinds of things against you. But it seems you roll with the punches pretty well, because even though I could see you taking on all the emotions, none of them actually slowed you down. Happy, sad, angry, whatever. Your intention was strong regardless. That’s really good.”

“Oh, that explains the emotional roller coaster!” Ashido said. “I thought I was just having funky endorphins or something.”

You shrugged. “Maybe that’s part of how my quirk works. I don’t really know.”

“Wait, you said intention,” Midoriya said, looking up from where he was scribbling in his notebook. “Is that how you fight back against it? Intention?”

“Is that what you felt?” you asked back.

You’d never seen someone overpower your quirk before, although you hadn’t used it offensively very much in your life thus far either. The most you’d used it had been on people who were accepting your quirk voluntarily, so naturally they wouldn’t be fighting back.

“Hmm,” Midoriya paused, looking up at the ceiling. “I…well, the feeling that I think you used on me was something like total disinterest. I was coming at you and suddenly I was asking myself, ‘why bother?’ ‘Why even do this?’ And that made me give up a little bit. But I was still in control of my thoughts and was able to tell myself that we were fighting and was able to come back to myself, only to start feeling indifferent again.”

“Yeah, so I was thinking ‘boredom’ for you,” you explained, finally beginning to slow down on the noodles. “You clearly have so much passion and ambition, that going in the opposite direction of that seemed like something that would inhibit you. But since that’s probably something that you never feel, especially in combat, your mind was able to fight against it easier than emotion that’s more normal for you.”

“Okay,” Midoriya said, writing frantically. “That still doesn’t explain how someone would fight back. Especially if it is a feeling that would stick better.”

You shrugged. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, to be honest. I’ve never had this quirk used on me before, so there’s no way for me to know.”

“That makes sense…” Midoriya mumbled to himself as he continued scribbling.

“What did you use on me?” Jirou asked. She was barely making eye contact with you and you saw a bit of the distrust you’d seen on her, amongst others, after you’d revealed your quirk. She probably felt like her psyche had been invaded. Which, after all, it had.

“Embarrassment,” you admitted. “A bit of shame and anxiety and stress and you started to lose confidence in yourself. But you’re good at using your quirk, so you should have better confidence then that.”

Your cheeks felt hot as you said the words, already knowing that they probably wouldn’t be received well. There you were, having only been with these people for a couple weeks and the first way you were making yourself known was by diagnosing their emotional issues. Jirou gave a little huff and a nod, saying “Okay,” before turning back to her food.

“Ah, I see, so this is also an opportunity for us to learn how someone who knows us a little bit perceives us,” Iida said, putting a hand forward. “Not to mention a bit of insight as to what Aizawa-sensei thinks our shortcomings still are. This is an excellent lesson.”

“Well, your shortcoming is obviously that you’re too polite,” Tsu said.

Iida turned to Tsu, full of offense. “I don’t see how that’s a shortcoming,” he defended.

“Well, Tsu’s kind of right,” you said. “I did take advantage of your chivalry. But I’m not sure that kind of thing would have worked on you against a real villain, and without the heightened emotion.”

Iida shook his head. “I don’t want the technicalities of a training exercise in my favor. This is something I must work on to be a pro hero. So, tell me, what emotion did you use on me?”

“Shame,” you answered. “Different from Jirou, though. For you, obviously you pride honor so much that I was able to give you that emotion whilst acting as though you’d injured me so that the emotion would stick better. I did similar things to Ojiro and Satou and used regret just to slow them down a bit.”

“Ah, so acting out the scenario helps…” Midoriya muttered.

“Those are strong emotions,” Yaoyorozu commented. “Stronger than boredom, like you used on Midoriya. Does that have something to do with the power of your quirk as well?”

“Definitely,” you said. “I forgot to mention that before. It’s a bit of a person to person thing but, generally, yeah. An emotion like anger is always going to be stronger than, say, calmness or peacefulness.”

“A tragedy of the human condition,” Tokoyami said to himself.

You ended up going through everyone else one by one as they asked, sometimes struggling for the exact nuance of the word you were intending, occasionally reverting to English. You told them how you’d used anger against Tsu’s even-keeled nature, something she’d been able to guess, doubt against Yaoyorozu, which seemed to hit hard, and fear against Kouda.

“Okay, I don’t understand what she might have used against me,” Kaminari bemoaned. “All I could think once the match started was that she was really pretty and I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Dude, you were horny,” Kirishima exclaimed, patting his friend on the back. “Y/N, tell me I’m wrong. You made him horny, right?”

“Um…” you started awkwardly and both Kirishima and Mineta gave hoots of laughter. “Well, lust, really. But hey, the good news is that means you’re not a sadist?”

There were more laughs from some of the boys and you might have joined in for the good humor, but it was still embarrassing. You could see a slight blush on Kaminari’s face and your cheeks were warm as well. And when Mineta’s leering eyes turned to you, you couldn’t help but tug up your uniform’s zipper a bit.

“Wow, she could be just like a Viagra,” Mineta murmured.

“I don’t need that,” Kaminari insisted. “I don’t need any of that.”

He looked at you as he said it, and you couldn’t help but hear, “I don’t need any of you,” instead. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. It always did.

Soon, your bowl was empty of noodles and Bakugou and Todoroki were the only ones who hadn’t asked how you’d manipulated them. And it didn’t seem as though either of them were going to. Of course, Bakugou’s friends couldn’t let that lie, so Kirishima came forward and asked. “So what did you do to poor Bakugou to make him fall to his knees?”

“I have an idea,” Mineta said, but everyone ignored him.

You looked at Bakugou, not wanting to say unless he was okay with it. He was glaring powerfully at you, but he didn’t tell you or Kirishima to shut up, as you’d so often heard him growl in your time at U.A. already. That must have meant that he was at least a little curious too.

“His was a bit harder to form in my mind,” you admitted, “but one of the simpler ones to plan. I was going for a sense of defeat. Some sadness, some hopelessness, despair, shame. He seems to run so much on anger—anger and a need to win, really—that if those aren’t at the forefront, he’s toast.”

That brought a growl out of Bakugou, but you continued.

“I’m sure that he could have broken through it like Midoriya did, since those emotions probably aren’t common for you,” you said, turning your gaze to Bakugou’s despite how it made you feel like he was going to pounce and tear you limb from limb at any moment. “But I think that that also made them really surprising for you to feel, especially since you were first, and that gave me just enough time to end the match quickly. But if something more time consuming than capture tape had been involved…I don’t know.”

Some people might have heard a compliment somewhere in your words, but as soon as you’d said Midoriya’s name, he’d snarled, closing him off from hearing anything good in your words. From what you’d observed so far, you weren’t surprised.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the newest member of class 2-A,” a blond boy said from behind you. He was looking down his nose at you, a wicked grin on his lips. “I hear you’ve got a freaky quirk that messes with people’s minds. Just what 2-A needed to round them out, since we have a new one too.”

You were frozen, unable to respond. How had word already gotten out? Only the class, Cementoss, and Aizawa had been in Gym Gamma and you’d assumed that they hadn’t blabbed to anyone else on the way to the cafeteria. Although, there wasn’t anything stopping them if that’s what they wanted to do. But maybe other students had just overheard the nature of the discussion you all had been having and had been able to put the pieces together based on the questions and answers you’d given.

“So, tell me? Can you force people to like you? Force everyone in this pathetic, little class to enjoy spending time around you until you turn around and convince them to give up in battles so you can rise to the top of the famous 2-A class? Pretty smart strategy if you ask—”

“Nobody did ask you, Monoma,” a girl with orange hair said as her fist ballooned and closed around the boy. “Sorry he’s your introduction to us. He’s barely house trained.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you assured her. It wasn’t the worst you’d ever heard.

“Still,” she continued. “On behalf of class 2-B, I wish you luck. Enjoy your lunch.”

The girl carried the blond away, seemingly unbothered by the weight of an entire human person that she was now carrying. Once they were gone, you turned to your empty tray and picked it up.

“I’m still pretty tired from Recovery Girl,” you said, forcing a bit of cheer into your voice as you stared at the thin sauce coating the bottom of your bowl. “I’m going to rest a bit and see you all back in class.”

You only made it a few steps toward the dish station when you felt someone coming up behind you. You glanced back to see Todoroki, following you with his own empty tray.

“Can I ask you what emotion you used on me?” he asked quietly, coming up to your side.

You take a breath, seeing the defeated look he’d had on his face, even after you’d pulled the influence of your quirk back from him again. “Sadness. Maybe a bit of regret. No anger.”

“I see,” Todoroki said.

With that, he brushed past you and placed his dishes on the rack, then returned to his friends. You did the same with your dishes, and then went to the exit. When you pushed open the doors, there was someone standing with his arms crossed, looking at you as though he’d been waiting. You didn’t think you’d ever had so many people who wanted to speak to you before.

This boy had indigo hair and looked as tired as you felt. Actually, probably as tired as you looked too. He surprised you when he gave a small, uncertain smile. “Hi, I’m Shinsou. What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N. It’s my given name, but I’m more comfortable if you call me that.” It was what you said every time you introduced yourself here in Japan. Another thing keeping you just a little bit othered.

“Okay, Y/N,” Shinsou said. “It’s nice to meet you. I…I heard that you have a quirk that lets you influence people’s emotions?”

You sighed. You could already hear it. This guy was going to ask you to make him feel happier or, judging by his face, more energetic or something like that. Sometimes you hated these guys even more than people like that Monoma fellow.

“No, I—” Shinsou started, seeming to catch onto the way your face fell, “I just wanted to say that my quirk lets me control other people in a way too, and sometimes—often, actually—people make assumptions about me that hurt. So I don’t know if you feel like that, but if so,” he shrugged, “I understand.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t say you felt happy, but as a breath whooshed out of you and your whole body sagged, despite the stiffness fisting every muscle, you could only think of one emotion.

Relief.

#bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha insert #mha insert #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #a spare heart

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amayawolfe · 3 years

Text

Ch. 5 - Whispers of the Cards

My Stories Masterlist

Word Count: 6214 Summary: Hisoka learns what became of him in the alley after he was rendered unconscious. Magikana receives a little more insight into the past of her apprentice through the means of fortune telling.

Warnings(TW): mentions of homophobia, angst, mentions of self harm/suicide, mentions of past abuse/rape, blood mentioned, vaguely mentions of underage masturbation, cartomancy

Hisoka

A warm, bright light slowly penetrated Hisoka's closed eyelids, steadily rousing his conscious mind. He could tell he was laying on something soft and was covered with some sort of blanket. His thoughts faltered. Something about this felt… familiar.

Hisoka took an abrupt intake of breath as memories of his nightmare came crashing forward. His eyes snapped open and looked wildly about the room, half expecting to see the rotting corpse of his mother, ready and waiting to pounce him once again. He was more than a little relieved to find no such monstrosity.

Hisoka took a deep breath through his nose, wincing a little due to the tenderness of his ribs. Staring at the ceiling, his mind wandered while he tried to recall what happened last night. It was strange that the memories of his nightmare, an event that didn’t really happen, were much more clear than the memories of what really did happen.

His eyes began to roam when his attention was captured by the sound of someone snoring softly. He turned his head to see a covered figure of someone laying beside him atop his blankets with their back facing him.

Who? ♣ Hisoka then spotted familiar auburn hair sticking out from atop the blanket. Oh, it’s Abaki. ♡ She must have fallen asleep after I did and Kana covered her up when she checked in on us. ♡

Even though Abaki was asleep, he was grateful for the company. He turned his gaze back towards the slightly cracked ceiling above. His stomach growled loudly and he wondered when his trainer would be by again to check on them.

As if on cue, Magikana pushed open the door to the room and came in with little noise. Looking in her direction, Hisoka saw she was carrying a tray with food on it. The teen’s stomach growled even louder when the delicious aromas wafted from the tray and reached his nose. The sound of his stomach was loud enough to catch the magician’s attention. She turned and smiled down at her apprentice.

“Ah, you are avake, good,” she set the tray down on the nightstand beside the bed.

Hisoka pushed himself into an upright sitting position and glanced over at the tray. His mouth watered when he saw there were two helpings of oatmeal with butter and cinnamon sugar, fried eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and mugs of warm honey tea. For the first time in quite a while, Hisoka had a voracious appetite. He felt like he had not eaten in days.

Movement beside him signaled that Abaki was waking up as well. She stretched with a groan and rolled over. When she opened her violet eyes to see Hisoka and Magikana both looking down at her, she blinked.

“Oh,” the trainee mumbled sleepily, “morning.”

“Actually,” Kana chuckled warmly as she handed Hisoka his bowl of oatmeal, “it is vell past noon. Cook vas nice enough to make breakfast foods for you two.”

“What?!” Abaki yelped, suddenly wide awake and sitting up. “But, what about the others? Are they still here?” The magician's face fell and she shook her head slowly.

“The others have gone ahead, they could no longer stay.” Magikana looked at their horrified faces before her and burst out laughing.

“Do not be so vorried, little vuns,” she stated in an amused and whimsical manner. “Once Hisoka is fit for travel, ve vill be on our own way to join zem.”

With those words, the two teens released their collective breaths and relaxed. However, nearly as soon as Hisoka felt relieved he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

They were left behind because of me… ♠ Frowning, Hisoka hadn’t even realized he had set his bowl down until Magikana spoke to him.

“It is okay, little vun,” she said softly, “Is not your fault. And ones at fault are gone.”

Hisoka looked at Magikana and opened his mouth to question only to have his teacher quickly raise her hand, cutting him off.

“Eat first,” she instructed sternly. “Vill explain all once food is gone.”

It was relatively quiet as the two teens hungrily ravaged their food. Magikana quietly sat beside the bed as she sipped her own mug of warm tea while scrolling through her phone. Once the dishes were empty and stacked nicely on the tray, the magician put her phone away and sighed.

“Where to begin..” The magician frowned, tapping her finger on her leg in thought.

“Hisoka,” she started hesitantly, “you have been unconscious not so better part of four days.”

Hisoka had a feeling this was the case, so he wasn’t really surprised at the news. He continued to stare at his trainer, waiting for her to keep going. But, for the first time in the few months he’d known her, Magikana seemed unsure what to say next. She even appeared to be unsettled by what she was trying to tell him.

“What happened to me? ♣” he croaked. It was painfully obvious that Hisoka’s vocal cords were still injured. He did sound a great deal better than last night, however. The magician opened her mouth to speak, yet the words appeared stuck in her throat. Hisoka could see pain and anger begin to show in her eyes. The emotions confused him, causing him to tilt his head a little.

Abaki tentatively raised her hand, “I could help tell what happened.” Her voice sounded small, almost timid. At this, Magikana swallowed hard and gave her head a single, solemn nod. The acrobat trainee nodded in response. She took a deep, shaky breath and looked down at her hands as she wrung them together.

“When you didn’t meet me to go to the beach, I thought maybe you were still helping Kana. Or that maybe you didn’t hear me over the crowd,” she started slowly. “So I went to find you both, but she was alone. When I asked her about you, she said that you had gone to meet me, and I became worried. I went to look for you. Kana said she would help if I couldn’t find you by the time she was done cleaning up. I was walking along the buildings when I heard...”

She faltered, Abaki wet her lips and glanced at Hisoka and Magikana before she continued, “I heard Drake and Jasper. They were talking loudly while coming out of an alley. Something told me to hide, so I ducked behind some barrels where I could watch them. Drake was laughing, teasing Jasper about how he was a horrible fighter. And how that skinny little fag-” Abaki paused, unable to bring herself to say the full word, “How that person wouldn’t be around to get in the way anymore thanks to himself.”

“I just knew they were talking about you, and as soon as they were out of sight I ran into the alley to look for you. I found traces of blood on the ground, but that’s all I could find. I knew they did something to you s-so I ran back t-to find K-kana a-and…”

Body trembling, her words stuttered to a stop. Abaki’s eyes brimmed with tears, a single drop falling to her white knuckled fists. Hesitantly, Hisoka reached over and began to rub his friend’s back in attempts to aid in some form of comfort. He was concerned for her, he had seen her upset before, but not like this.

“We found you in dumpster,” the magician continued in Abaki’s place. Her voice had become cold and unforgiving as the scenes of that night replayed behind her eyes. Hisoka looked back at her to see the expression on her face matched the tone of voice.

“From condition, zey obviously had continued zeir assault vile you vere unable to fight back. I carried you back to inn, ven doctor made sure you vere stable and vould live, I confronted Drake and Jasper with Moritonio. Zey denied it at first, but Abaki told vaht she heard. Camilla came forvard as vell.”

Hisoka blinked, “Camilla? ♣”

“My brother had been saying how much he hated you, and wanted to… hurt you, for sometime now,” a voice cut in. All three of them turned to the source of the newcomer to find Camilla peaking through the door Magikana had left cracked open. Her eyes were red, and somewhat swollen; a dour expression rested upon her tear stained face. She glanced at the small group looking her direction before pushing the door further open to step into the room.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stated softly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “It is alright, my dear,” Magikan replied gently and gestured to a chair near the bed on Abaki’s side. Camilla hesitated then set the bag of supplies down on the floor close to the wall, closed the door softly, and shuffled across the room to sit in the chair.

Hisoka watched Camilla as she settled into her seat with a defeated posture. She glanced up at him and held his gaze. Her soft brown eyes were burdened with grief and sorrow. Tears began to dot the corners of her eyes the longer she looked at Hisoka.

“I am so sorry, Hisoka,” she sobbed, “I honestly didn’t think my brother would do this to you. I’ve always known h-him to be s-so gentle.” Camilla broke the eye contact she was holding with Hisoka and her expression darkened with anger and hatred.

“I still blame that homophobic bastard, Drake,” she seethed, “he poisoned Jasper and turned him into what he is now.” She shook her head and furiously scrubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. Tears of a multitude of emotion were now streaming down her face. Hisoka stared at Camilla with a neutral expression while Abaki tried to comfort her; speaking gentle words and holding her hand.

Something tells me Drake didn’t have to taint Jasper very much for his inner demons to come out, ♣ Hisoka thought to himself. He turned his gaze to his trainer who was also watching Abaki and Camilla with a doleful look. However, Hisoka could still see anger smoldering in her eyes.

“Where are they now? Jasper and Drake? ♣” he inquired.

She took a slow, deep breath in and out through her nose before responding, “Exiled from zee troupe. Once Moritonio was positive zey had committed such crimes, zey vere both told to leave and zat zey had no chance of ever rejoining his troupe. Zere hatred to zose vizen zee troupe vill not be tolerated.”

Hisoka blinked and furrowed his brow as he processed what his trainer had just told him. He felt elated that his assailants were gone and could no longer trouble him; yet dissatisfied that banishment was the only punishment they received for nearly taking his life. The corners of his mouth dipped down and his hands curled into fits, this did not bode well with him.

“Is that really all the punishment they received? ♠”

Camilla, Abaki, and Magikana all looked at Hisoka with expressions of apprehension. Hisoka could feel his anger coil and writhe inside him like agitated snakes. Their venom ran hot through his veins and his eye twitched.

“They nearly took my life, shouldn’t there be a greater repercussion for their actions? ♠”

“Hisoka, I know you’re mad, but, what more do you think should be done?” Abaki asked. She was leaning forward in an attempt to see Hisoka’s face and get a better read on his thoughts.

“The troupe meant everything to Drake, and I’m the only family Jasper has left,” Camilla added, “They lost all that was dear to them because of what they did to you. They lost their livelihood. Isn't that enough?”

Hisoka opened his mouth to answer vehemently but caught himself. He took note of the looks on Abaki and Camilla’s face. Magikana watched him carefully with narrowing eyes.

“Vaht, exactly, do you zink would have been enough, little vun?”

It dawned on Hisoka there would most likely be trouble if he continued further on his current train of thought. They simply did not see the world as he did. He would need to change things up and play a different hand.

“It’s just, shouldn’t the authorities have been called as well? How do you know they won’t commit hate crimes on someone else? ♣” he whispered, feigning concern. He honestly didn’t care what Drake or Jasper did to anyone else besides Abaki and Magikana; maybe Camilla as well since her demise would greatly affect Abaki.

“Hmm,” the magician hummed, looking over her apprentice as though she didn’t fully believe his words. However, she answered none the less. “Tonio did not want zem involved in zee troup’s business. He figured banishment vould be good enough.”

Hisoka pressed his lips together tightly. Despite his own frustrations, he knew there was no point in arguing further. Nodding his head in response he allowed his posture to droop and a look of exhaustion washed of him. He forged a yawn to seal the look. With a full belly of good food combined with a bruised and battered body, Hisoka was indeed tired; just not as tired as he portrayed.

Seemingly, the ruse was enough to fool his trainer; as she smiled softly and gently ruffled his hair.

“Rest, little vun, the sooner you recover zee better,” she stood and collected the tray of dirty breakfast dishes. “Abaki, Camilla, come vith me.”

Abaki gave Hisoka a very gentle shoulder bump along with a small smile.

“I’ll see you after you get some more rest, okay, Hiso?”

Hisoka only responded with a tired smile. Abaki slid off the bed and Camilla retrieved a bottle of water from the bag she had brought in with her. Not looking at Hisoka, she placed it on the nightstand then turned to head out of the room. She and Abaki followed Magikana out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

The falsetto smile fell away from Hisoka’s lips the moment he heard the door knob latch into place. A snarl curled his lips in place of the smile, his eyes narrowed and white hot anger prickled the back of his neck.

Those two got off too easily,♠ his mind seethed, fists tightening around his covers in a merciless deathgrip. He wanted to find them, do horrible things to them, but he knew now was not the time. He was wounded and needed to heal, regain his strengths. But once he did, there would be other matters.

Jasper wouldn’t be a problem; Drake, on the other hand, has much more experience than I do...♠ Hisoka shifted his pillows around and settled back while in thought. I need to train more, become stronger. ♣

He twitched when sudden memories seared his mind. Flashes of being held down, beaten, abused, and raped.

No… Not just stronger, I need to become the strongest.♢

He was usually the weaker one in past situations, never able to defend and fight back effectively. Hisoka did know how to fight, somewhat, as he was a very quick learner. He had watched others fight and ended up in more than his fair share around the area he had once lived with his mother. For someone with so little experience, Hisoka would be considered a pretty decent fighter by most. However, “decent” was not good enough for the red haired teen.

Not only did Hisoka want to become stronger, he wanted to become the best fighter there ever was and ever would be. He felt a wicked, sadistic grin spread wide across his face as he imagined himself older and more experienced while fighting Drake.

Hisoka would toy with him, making Drake suffer as his spirit broke and slowly crumbled before the mighty red haired fighter. He would be sure to take his time, savoring every ounce of pain and misery his opponent would experience; all while a crushed and dying Jasper lay at his feet like a crumpled worthless doll.

Hisoka let out a small, quiet moan as he imagined a broken and defeated Drake begging an older Hisoka to spare his life. These thoughts of absolutely dominating and destroying his opponents were beginning to arouse him. Something that often happened when the teen would become lost in these morbid daydreams.

Not long before he left home, Hisoka had found himself daydreaming about harming and destroying those that had harmed him. He had been a little surprised to find that not only did he really enjoy these thoughts, but had been aroused by them as well. He knew that any “normal” person would be horrified by this, but now Hisoka found it to be more curious than anything.

In truth, he had indeed been disturbed by his reactions at first. But after a little experimenting with himself, Hisoka found the experience to be quite pleasurable in a matter he actually enjoyed. Interestingly enough, he noticed that he even seemed to enjoy certain types of pain that would highlight the pleasures. And once he was done and spent, he felt calmer and more clear minded once having been relieved by the mental images of his enemies broken and beaten.

A state that Hisoka now found himself in once he had calmed down from his high and cleaned himself up. He settled back against his pillows, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. His mind carefully went over his current situation and what options he had before him.

It’s not like I can do a lot of physical training just yet, ♠ he mused, But I do suppose I could practice my Ten. ♣

Hisoka adjusted his position a bit then turned his focus inward, concentrating on his aura.

Magikana

A little over a week had passed since Hisoka had violently awoken from his coma. The day after the horrific event, an easy routine fell into place. Hisoka would rest and take things easy while Abaki and Camilla would explore the town and beach. On occasion Magikana would join them, collecting starfish and buying fresh fruits from the local market.

After Hisoka had a few days to rest, Abaki started to join him for Nen practice. During these times, Camilla would hang around Magikana who had taken notice of the girl's reluctance to be alone for too long.

“How are you holding up, my dear?” Kana asked one day while the two sipped tea and read books in the warm sunshine near the peers. Having been lost in her book, the girl jumped when she realized she was being spoken to.

“Oh, uh, fine I guess,” she stammered softly. She continued staring at the same word for a few more minutes then sighed, closed the book, and set it in her lap. The fire dancer trainee met the magician's gentle gaze before she spoke.

“Kana, I know Hisoka is your apprentice, but,” she hesitated, not sure it was wise to continue. Magikana held her smile in place as she closed her own book, giving the young teen her full attention.

“It is alright child, I know Hisoka can be… difficult.”

“Tch, that’s an understatement,” Camilla muttered under her breath. Magikana felt an eyebrow twitch and was thankful Camilla didn’t see it.

“I know you and Abaki trust him, but do you really think he’s safe?”

“Vaht do you mean?” the elder one inquired. Camilla sighed once more and rubbed her arm.

“I dunno, I just get this feeling that Hisoka is… unstable? I feel like he could do a lot of harm if he got angry enough. I mean, you saw how he started to react when he felt Jasper and Drake didn’t receive enough for what they did. I seriously thought he was going to lash out or something.”

Magikana mulled over the trainee’s words for a bit. She had indeed seen the anger in her student’s eyes and sensed the malice churning in his aura. This negative energy was often called “bloodlust” among nen users. And even though the magician could not see nen nor create nen of her own, her natural senses could feel it; much like a sixth sense.

“Like many in zee troupe, Hisoka has suffered more zan his fair share of hardships, even at so young,” Magikana started slowly, “I believe he suffered great ordeals before ve found him. Maybe even forced to do terrible things. Zere is anger and hurt inside him, causes him to lash out before he has time to zink.”

Magikana paused in her words, choosing what to say next very carefully.

“You ask if Hisoka is safe to be around, I honestly believe he is. But like anyone else, he has limits. Drake and Jasper not only harassed zose he cares about, but hurt him and left him for dead. He has every right to feel zee way he does.”

Camilla worried her lip as she thought about what the magician said. It looked as if she wanted to argue against what Magikana was saying, yet she remained silent. She shifted her gaze out to the ocean leaving the choice of action open to either silence or continued conversation. Camilla was not a confrontational person and rarely spoke her mind unless she was severely emotional or absolutely sure about what she had to say.

“You do not have to like Hisoka, my dear,” Magikana gave the young teen a gentle smile, “just try to be understanding.”

The trainee glanced at Magikana and nodded, returning the smile with a small one of her own.

Magikana gave a single nod of her head then stood and stretched. The sun was slowly beginning to set, alighting the sky in a beautiful array of warm colors.

“I am heading back to zee inn, vould you care to join me?”

“Mmm, no, thank you,” Camilla replied while staring out to sea, “I think I am going to remain here for a little longer.” Her voice drifted off in thought.

“Suit yourself.”

On the way back to Hisoka’s room the magician ran into the acrobat trainee.

“Oh! Hi Kana,” the teen glanced behind the magician, “Cammy not with you?”

“Cammy?” Magikana questioned, raising an eyebrow as a knowing smile crept only her lips.

“Ah! I mean Camilla!” Abaki flustered as her cheeks started to darken with blush.

The magician chuckled and she thumbed over her shoulder.

“Thanks!” Abaki then ran down the rest of the steps and out the inn’s front entryway.

“Ah, young love,” Magikana chuckled to herself and sighed as she briefly reminisced about her own romance days past. She continued up the stairs and headed to Hisoka’s room to find his door wide open.

There, she found a tired looking Hisoka sitting alone at a table and starting a game of solitaire with himself. He had been secluding himself away since the incident; often deep in thought and spoke in as few words as possible. The only company he accepted was when he and Abaki would practice nen or he would practice magic tricks with Magikana, and even then he didn’t respond like he normally would. This bothered the magician.

For the few months she had known Hisoka, he never seemed to be much of a people person; one may even consider him to be a bit shy. But he was usually more than willing to be friendly and talkative when it came to the company of Abaki or Magikana. Even the company of Moritonio was liked by the lad.

But this withdrawn, quite Hisoka was not the same boy she had quickly grown to care about. She knew he was hurting; maybe even suffering. The doctor had given him the all clear just yesterday, so physically he was fine. It was after Abaki had fully told him about the events of the night he had come so close to death by his own hands that Hisoka seemed to retreat within himself. While Magikana had tried to get him to talk to her about what was going on in his head, she didn’t want to push the matter too hard out of concern it would cause a negative impact.

Magikana quietly approached Hisoka and sat in the empty chair across from him. He glanced up at her and gave her a small, tired small then returned back to his game with a pensive expression. The two sat in silence for a while, both of them focusing on the cards being played. As the magician watched Hisoka slowly sort the cards it reminded her something, giving her an idea.

“Did you know,” Magikana started quietly, “zat zere is a vay to predict zee future by using zese very cards?”

Hisoka paused in his action and looked up at his trainer with a single thin eyebrow quirked up. Magikana took this as an answer.

“Ah, so you did not know. Vell,” she picked up and examined the Jack of Hearts, “it is practice called ‘cartomancy.’ Each card has meaning, and ven played in a spread, zey can answer questions or tell your fortune.”

“Sounds like superstitious nonsense to me, ♣” the boy chuckled with faint amusement, “especially coming from someone who can’t see or use nen. ♠”

“Zhere is more to zee world zan zose who are nenless and zose who can use it, little vun,” Magikana replied candidly, “it is not all black and vite, zere is so much grey. I vould say I fall into zat grey area, no?”

Hisoka pondered for a moment then gave a small shrug with a head tilt and nodded. Magikana had proven on more than one occasion she had some abnormally keen sense for one who was nenless.

“Yes, but simple playing cards telling one's fortune? That still seems to be a little far fetched. ♣”

Magikana chuckled, “Vell, if you are so sure, how about we give it a try?”

Hisoka smirked, leaned back in his chair, and made a hand gesture over the cards on the table for his trainer to take them. Pleased to be getting more of a reaction out of her apprentice, Magikana returned the smirk and quickly swept up the cards with expert hands.

“Ve vill do simple spread,” she explained while shuffling the cards in a blur of motion, “I vill have you draw zree cards zree times, setting zem down from left to right, top to bottom.”

She set the deck down and sat back in her chair as Hisoka followed her instruction. Once Hisoka had made a three-by-three square out of the cards, his trainer continued.

“Zee top row represents the past,” Magikana noticed Hisoka stiffen ever so slightly. She carried on, “zee middle row is for zee present, and of course, zee last row is to show zee possible future. Now, please turn zee top row face up.”

Hisoka hesitated to follow orders this time. He even looked as though he had paled somewhat.

“Vaht is wrong, little vun? It is only silly superstition, yes?”

Hisoka forced a chuckle and waved his hand dismissively at the rows of cards.

“Of course, nothing to fear. ♣” Yet the apprentice still hesitated.

“Hisoka, my dear, I promise you zat vaht ever zee cards show will be kept between you and me. It is no business of any vun else. Okay?” Magikana’s voice was warm and gentle, her expression kind and caring. The apprentice looked his master in the face, carefully studying it.

Is he really so scared I vill judge him for his past? I vonder…

Slowly, Hisoka reached for the cards and flipped them one at a time, revealing the seven of hearts, queen of spades, and two of spades. Magikana made sure to keep her face in a neutral expression as she studied the cards and mentally sorted their meanings.

A dark haired vomen vith broken promises and deceit. Zere vas tough choices and change, too… Could zis have been a family member?

She took in a breath through her nose before she spoke, “Your recent past… Zere vas a voman who hurt you, lied to you and broke promises, yes?”

Hisoka’s eyes widened a fraction and the color drained from his face a little more. He swallowed hard and delivered a tiny single nod. Magikana’s heart ached, her gut told her there was so much more to this.

“She vas family?” Hisoka nodded again. He had only mentioned one family member the entire time she had known him. She decided to try her luck.

“It vas your muzza, vasn’t it.” The words fell as a statement, not a question. Hisoke hesitated, then nodded very slowly.

I see, Magikana thought to herself, a child should be able to rely on zere muzza and be protected by zem, not be hurt by zem…

The magician noticed Hisoka looked very uncomfortable and stressed. It was obvious to her that the conversation was making him uneasy.

Zee poor boy has been zrough enough, maybe anozer time we can talk more ven he is ready…

“Let's continue, shall vee? Go ahead and flip zee next row.”

Hisoka blinked, it appeared he had expected his trainer to press the topic further. He stared for a moment longer then tried to hide a sigh of relief. His shoulders relaxed a little and he smirked as though he had been amused at his own unease.

Next to be revealed was the nine of spades, two of clubs, and the four of hearts. Magikana’s heart sank.

Challenges and depression followed by travel. Not much better, but I suppose it vas to be expected. Vaht vit his past cards are saying and vaht he just vent zrough, I vould be more vorried if he vas unphased. But still…

“Vell, zee cards see zat vee are traveling soon,” she said with a light laugh, “zee four of hearts say ‘travel is on the horizon’. Is right, vee leave first zing in zee morning.”

“Oh, and what do the other cards say? ♣” Hisoka was curious, yet sported a cocky smirk.

Magikana felt the corners of her mouth drop a little and her expression towards her apprentice softened.

“Zat you are going zrough some hard times here,” she gave the side of her head a few light taps then moved her finger to rest over her heart, “and here.”

Hisoka’s face twitched yet his expression remained.

“Oh?~ ♣”

Magikana pressed her lips together forming them into a slim line. She wanted to proceed, yet she could tell her apprentice had recovered from his initial surprise and thrown up a thick wall. Hisoka was frustratingly good at avoiding straight answers. Not to mention he had a nearly perfect poker face.

“As I said, little vun, ven you are ready to talk, I am more zan villing to listen,” the magician said with a small sigh, “but I vill not force you if you feel as zough you are not ready to speak yet.”

An emotion shifted in Hisoka’s eyes, to fleeting for Magikana to decipher.

“I appreciate that, sensei. ♡” He spoke in a conciliatory tone, faint smirk on his lips, “But I’m afraid my thoughts, both past and present, would be too troubling to reveal. ♠”

The magician regretted her decision to not press further when her apprentice was caught off guard. Concern began to rise that she had just missed her only chance to get the redheaded teen to open up.

“Troubling for who?” she inquired calmy.

“Why, the both of us,~ ♠” Hisoka humdrummed, appearingly now bored with the topic. Magikana frowned slightly.

“Perhaps,” she continued with caution, “even so, I stand by my vords, ‘if you need to speak, I vill alvays have time to listen’. Even if vaht you have to say are not good zings, I vill listen. Everyone needs a friendly ear at some point in zere life.”

Hisoka paused, a crack appeared in the mask he was holding. He licked his lips and a wild glint shown in his molten gold eyes.

“Even if those troubles make you see me as a monster?~ ♢” he spoke barely above a whisper.

“I vould not say you are monster, my dear, but someone who has been found in a place vith little to no choice.”

“You could say that… ♣” Hisoka’s voice trailed off. He looked down at the cards, narrowing his eyes in thought. Magikana said nothing, allowing her apprentice to make his own decisions. The seconds felt like hours as she waited.

He blinked a few times as more of his mask began to crumble. He took a slow, deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

“Hiso! Kana! You’ve gotta come see this!” Abaki shouted excitedly as she came bursting into the room, causing both trainer and trainee to jump and turn towards her. “The beach is all covered in this bright blue glowy stuff! It’s soooo pretty!”

Magikana felt her temper flair, “Child, do you not know how to knock? Is rude to burst into a room like zat.”

“Oh,” Abaki faltered, looking back and forth between Hisoka and Magikana, “I’m sorry did I interrupt something?”

“Ye-”

“No, Abaki, you didn’t. ♣” Hisoka interrupted his trainer cooly, “Just some rather dull chit chat is all. ♠”

“But, it looks like you were playing a game.” the acrobat noticed.

“Something like that. More like superstitious nonsense, to be honest, ♣” Hisoka sighed as he stood from his chair, “So, you said the beach is glowing? ♢”

Abaki started as she remembered why she had come in the first place. “Yeah! Cammy said it’s a special type of plankton that glows, I think you two will like it! Come check it out.”

“Alright,~ ♡” Hisoka scooped up a pair of slip-on shoes as he started to follow his friend who bolted back down the hall. He paused at the open door and turned back to his trainer who was now looking down at the cards with an evasive expression.

“Thank you, Kana,” the red head spoke sincerely; using his teacher's shortened name as means of endearment, “while you did not get to hear what you wanted, it is good to know that someone is so willing to listen. ♡ Perhaps another time.~ ♣”

Magikana looked up at her pupil and felt a small amount of relief touch her mind as she recognized the Hisoka she had grown to care about. She then simply nodded her head and began to pick up the cards one by one off the table. Hisoka hesitated, he could see his teacher working her jaw in frustration. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something else. But instead, he simply smirked then turned and followed after his friend.

Once she was sure her apprentice was out of earshot, Magikana began to mutter a slew of curses and swears under her breath in sheer annoyance.

“Damn zat child,” she huffed, “both of zem! Superstitious nonsense, ha!” She went to pick up the last three cards of the spread and paused. Traditionally, the cards were to be revealed by the ones who drew them. Not to mention it was considered to be ill practice and rude to look into someone's business without their permission. Magikana could just add the cards back to the deck without looking, however…

She pursed her lips and wiggled her fingers above the first card before she finally shrugged in a “fuck it” manner. She turned the first card representing Hisoka’s near future over.

Ah! Zee ace of hearts. So a new relationship is in Hisoka’s near future. Perhaps he vill meet a new friend on our travels, yes?

Magikana couldn’t help but smile a little. Her apprentice most definitely needed more friends. She turned over the next card with a little more enthusiasm.

Five of clubs, it seems zis new friend vill be supportive of zee little vun. Zis is turning out to be promising.

The magician eagerly turned over the last card and froze, fingers still touching the card. She felt her heart drop one again as she stared at the seven of spades.

Bad advice, grief, and loss… Oh, little vun, vaht do zee fates have in store for you? . . .

~ ~ ~

📜 A/N: Thank you all so much for you patience. Life has been stressful as of late with trying to get myself situated in buying a house before the one I am living in currently sells out from underneath me.

Hopefully I can come out with content on a more regular basis once things settle down. However, there really isn't much tell as to when that will be at this point in time.On a side note, I think I will be putting this story on the back burner for a little while. Chapter 4 really took it outta me. That's another reason this chapter took so long in coming out. I plan to write some fluffy/smutty stuff to recharge my batteries and then I will come back to this OC story. At this point in time, I am planning to start rewriting the older chapters from here on out when I do come back.

Anywho, thanks again for reading! Please don't forget to "heart" the chapter if you enjoyed it, and I'll catch ya'll in the next one! Laters! ^_^

~ ~ ~

Previous Chapter: Ch. 4 - On Death’s Doorstep

Next Chapter: Bubblegum Blood: Ch. 6 - The One and Only, Sadashi Ito

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tokyoghoose · 4 years

Text

[ 2:45pm ]

The pair of you were supposed to go to lunch with a couple of friends, but Tamaki is sure you won't mind missing it. Besides, it's raining outside and you would've just been frustrated because your hair would frizz and your face would get wet— and you hate when you sweat, not to mention rain. He would hate the crowded restaurant almost as much as he hates going out and doing these things at all, but he tries to do them for you because he knows how much you love your friends. He's been there in their shoes, after all. He remembers how you'd cancel plans just to hang around his dorm and do pretty much nothing but talk and enjoy each other's company. It honestly amazed him that he even got that fad with you, much less in a relationship that had been going two years strong now. He wasn't ready to tell you anything, but he's sure he wants to marry you sometime in the future.

You hated the outfit you picked out, that's how you got in this late situation anyway. It looked better in your head and when you tried it on it only crushed your confidence. You felt gross in it, even if it's pieces you've worn before separately. Why did you buy any of it in the first place? It made you want to cry, you had already felt hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you clawed to get the fabric off. Time was running out and you didn't have another outfit to wear and you felt awful even with your hair done and looking fresh-faced. You didn't even want to go now because you'd just feel self-conscious the entire time.

You're thoughts usually get the better of you, Tamaki had noticed. Very quickly into the relationship, in fact. So when you stayed in the bathroom for a little too long, he knocks lightly on the door and leans his ear to it, straining to hear a reply.

"Y/n?"

Then he heard a sniffle, followed by a weak and quiet 'give me a sec.' He shuffles but only for a minute when he hears a frustrated cry from inside, and then he gently pushes the door open. You couldn't get the dumb fabric over yourself, and if it were any other situation he would've probably laughed. But you're crying with a red face, turning away from the door and mumbling a 'get out.'

Tamaki hesitated before placing his hands on your lifted shoulders, squeezing lightly so you would relax. "Lemme see it," is all he replies, encouraging you to smooth the clothing back out. You send him a glare, or at least attempt to with the situation you're in, the clothing pretty much blocking out most of your face. You sigh with reluctance when he gives another encouraging squeeze and a reassuring smile that it couldn't look that bad before maneuvering to put it back where it was on your body.

Hesitantly he eyes you up and down, nodding to himself. His eyes only make you shrink away and flush, crossing your arms over yourself like a shield but he's quick to react, placing his hands onto your arms to melt away the shyness. After two years of dating and knowing each other even longer, he was still just as careful with his actions and you were still worried about what he thought about you. Yet, when your arms fall back at your sides and he allows his fingers to just barely run along with your figure, the doubt slowly slips away and to the back of your head for another time and you pout.

"I don't like how it looks, Tamaki."

He meets your eyes, the same adoring look in his that he always held for you before nodding with a 'tsk'.

"I think you look amazing." It's quiet but kind.

You shrug him off but still go in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck to bury your face in the crook, muttering against his skin, "You have to say that, you're my boyfriend."

Tamaki placed a hand to your hair, hovering just over it to not mess up the style too much before shaking his head stiffly, "I don't have to say that. It's just the truth, love."

"Even so, I'm suddenly very...tired."

He knows it's code for: I don't want to go anymore. He hums lightly and pulls away, instead taking your hand to rub his thumb caringly over the side of your skin.

"Let's take a nap then."

———

So now here you two are, tangled up in bed and the lunch long past over as the time inches closer to three in the afternoon. The rain padding against the window makes for nice background noise as he stirs awake, shifting carefully when he notices you asleep on his chest when normally it'd be the other way around. Heat rises to his cheeks and he adverts his eyes per habit.

His hand finds your hair—now messed up from shifting about— and gently combs through it, twirling it around his finger and gently untangling the knots. It dawns on him that he's also isn't usually the one to wake up first. The realization makes his movements stutter. Seems like today was full of firsts.

None the less, Tamaki takes the rare chance to really take you in. With all the hero work, it was unlikely to see you so relaxed and at peace. In the back of his mind, he knows that at any given chance a villain could attack and it'd all go away, but he's here now— even if it takes him a minute to get out of his head.

His eyes start from your hairline down, memorizing each little bump and blemish and freckle as he had done so, so many times before in other circumstances. Your eyebrows aren't knitted like they usually are, even when you're just at home doing nothing—it's like you're always on high alert for anything and everything, from a bug to an apocalypse rising. He moves his hand, thumb barely gliding over the thin hairs before he makes a path to your eye. He loves the color or them, of course, but it's what you hold in them that never ceases to make him swoon. So many emotions can be flashed through them in a matter of seconds, and he decides then and there that is favorite is when you see him. How they crinkle up with a smile that reaches the corners, aware of the crow feet wrinkles you'll get when you get old and grey—wow, he cant wait to get old and grey with you— and how they shine a little bit brighter towards him compared to your other friends, but that could just be his imagination.

He moves to your nose, brushing the bridge over it smoothly. He likes the shape of it. He likes how well it matches the rest of your face, as silly as it sounds. He hums quietly when he brushes over the little bumps and ridges closer to the tip. You're breathing has slowed down immensely, feather-light and if it weren't for your chest rising and falling against him- one might think you're on the verge of passing over. It's peaceful, he decides, and he could listen to the steady breathing for hours if given the chance.

But you'll wake up any minute now, he can feel it. So, he makes haste with the rest of your face. Your cheeks that get red whenever he unintentionally makes a flirty comment to your jaw that's quick to tighten up until he reminds you to loosen up a bit because you look irritated. And finally, he settles on your lips, the pad of his thumb ghosting over them like they're a delicacy. In some ways they are.

Tamaki could go on and on about your lips if someone was just willing to listen. He'd waited years to be able to kiss them, imagining them on his. It made him feel bad at the time, thinking he shouldn't think that way about a friend. It really tortured him for a while. But now he gets to feel them whenever you feel like granting him the access and he feels them everywhere, reveling in the sensation they leave after every trail. They smile for him—which is nice—and they aren't tight-lipped either. It's a genuine smile, a toothy grin every time and it makes his heart jump out of his chest.

They say tender words that he doesn't dare to speak, somehow always knowing what to say to make everything better. They're soft in their wake, yet rough when need be. Truly versatile. He lets his thumb swipe gingerly at your bottom lip, bringing it down to pinch your chin between his pointer finger before eventually pulling away. Maybe he needed to wake up before you more often.

Then you stir, making him jump and look away again out of habit. Like it's a crime to admire you. You let out a breathy chuckle, turning to look up at him and planting a gentle hand on his chest, pushing up to place a kiss on his jaw to watch his face go red. It's quite the sight, you must admit. The fact that you were able to elicit such a reaction of him makes you prideful, insecurities banishing for the time being.

Tamaki looks down at you, only the tips of his ears flushed now but he still looks like an angel in the dim light of the bedroom. You take his hand it lace it with yours as a silent thank you for earlier before laying your head back down in its place.

You didn't have to exchange words. The moment was enough to say you were glad you hadn't gone out that day because staying in bed, at home with each other was just the better option. Every time. And silently Tamaki thinks maybe he could get used to this kind of love—this kind of home.

—————

playlist:

this is home - cavetown

eyes - ambar lucid

sweet moon - sundarta

my heart is buried in venice - ricky montgomery

you - bobbie !

darling - christian leave

how to love you today - son of cloud

id like to walk around in your mind - vashti bunyan

just the two of us - grover washington jr

if you want to - beabadoobee

announcements!

I feel like this is a little ooc for Tamaki but I really wanted to write some tooth-rotting fluff, ya know? 🥴 but anyway, feedback is appreciated and requests are open!

124 notes · View notes

trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

the harlot - iv

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, angst, fluff, smut,

word count: 2.8k

description: harlots inspired au;

one last run before shipping off steve rogers is brought to a brothel to love a woman in case of his untimely demise at war. he meets the reader, young and fresh, not yet tainted by the world they’d been born into. a torrid one night love affair that costs their mother greatly. a promise and years later they meet again, the reader resentful and distrustful. the charming, now captain rogers, seems as captivated in reader as ever. but it’s never meant to be. and you both know that.

His jaw was more defined. His brows fuller. Hair longer than you could remember it being. His eyes were almost dark in this lighting. Not their usual blue, but something more serious and hardened. His bottom lip was just as pink and full as before, you vaguely remember how it felt between your teeth. It was silent. Tea growing cold between you as the question hung in the air.

He swallowed, taking a sip of his tea. The sound of the cup hitting the saucer before he started, “I wasn’t lying to you.”

“But you omitted facts.” You cross your arms, “You withheld information.” He shakes his head,

“When was I supposed to tell you?” He reasons, “We had one night, I wasn’t too keen on explaining my family history.” No, he’d been far more concerned with making up for his shortcomings, having you writhe on this tongue before he hardened again. And you met twice more that night. Whispers of dreams that could never be shared between you, and a stupid promise that should have never been made.

“So explain.” He leans forward resting his arms on the table, eyes scanning the wood and he says,

“Where to start?” He shakes his head, eyes meeting yours from beneath his lashes, “My parents…”

They’re Sara and Joseph Rogers. Old money from being a staunchly military family. He shrugs, “Every member of my family has fought for the British Military.” But not so much lately. They were full of Barons and Marquess. “I’m to take the title of Lord soon.” He was going to sit in the House of Peers and with his familial status and his own Lordship…

“You’d control half of Britain.” You sit back against your chair, still fingering the piece of cheese, thinking.

“And my family the other half.” They were steps away from the palace. “And when my father dies…” He would be less than fifteen seats from the throne itself.

“So Pierce…” He shrugs,

“Wants to get in my good graces so that when it happens…”

“You’ll let him keep doing his villainous deeds, he would have a greater barrier of protection.” Steve nods.

Politics were a mess of titles and owned land. Who has the bigger property? Who has the more lavish surroundings? Who can spread their coin around? And if the gold fastenings on his shirt were anything to go by, the foregone wig and the cleanliness of him, he could do whatever he wants. Even have Brock murdered tonight, without anyone batting an eyelash.

“I don’t want to leave you here.” He admits honestly. His hand reaches across the table to still yours. “I said I would come back to you and I did.” Warm and calloused. It gave you a small bit of comfort.

“We were children.” You could feel it bubbling in your chest. The emotion. You weren’t going to cry. “We didn’t know what promise we were making.”

“I knew.” His hand tightened slightly on yours. “Y/N…” You pull away. “The only reason I didn’t come back for you more quickly was for my term at war… I’ve been working—”

“For what?” You tug on your teeth out of nerves, “It’s been almost ten years, Steve.” He sighs and looks at you with reverence.

“I was working… to first free the Americans.” Against his King’s army. “They deserved their freedom, and everyone knows it.” He softly grabs your hand again, “After that I joined a group…” Shaking his head, “I had to build these foundations before I came for you again.” He looked hopeful almost, wanting. His tongue comes and wets his bottom lip.

“Even if you did take me from here, what am I to be?” A harsh laugh, “You’ll marry.” The corners of his mouth twitched but did not give into a frown. “You’ll marry and you’ll have children and a legacy… and I will just be your whore to visit and buy pretty jewels for.” You pull away from him, scooting your chair back and standing from the table, scrubbing your face with your hands, you turn from him.

“I don’t want anyone but you.” He claims. You scoff, turning to look at him. And in the shadows of his face you can see that boy now.

“Then you obviously haven’t grown as much as I thought.” You shake your head, the tears betraying you by slipping down your cheeks, “You need to marry, and you can not marry a whore.” He steps from the table, rounding it to meet you, softly grabbing your hands which still frame your face and taking them in his own.

“Y/N…” His lips meeting your right wrist and then your left. “I can do whatever I want.” You roll your eyes,

“And be ruined for it.” He takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours and his forehead meets yours and he’s close, so close.

“Y/N…” His mouth meets yours and you’re unable to say no. You’re unable to do anything but melt against him. His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you harder against him as you part and meet again. Your hand gripping his bicep as your ass meets the hard edge of the table. He parts from you with heavy breath on your lips, those pink lips now red and flushed. “I would gladly be ruined if it meant I were to spend the rest of my life next to you.”

A gasp of a pant as his hands cradle your face, his cheeks flushed against his pale skin. You tremble under his gaze.

“There’s just one thing we need to do first.” He presses his lips to yours again, “And I need you to trust me.” His thumb brushing against your bottom lip before bringing you back to him in a slow and savory way, “I will never let anything bad happen to you again.”

“You can’t promise that.” His thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he presses his hips against yours. You can feel that hard familiar length of him. Your knees locking him in against you as you relish in that old feeling.

Maybe this was a mistake. How could you have let him get so close so quickly? You gave in at the press of his lips. The feeling it bred in your body like a drug you couldn’t help but find yourself addicted to. The memory pales against the real thing. The way it makes your skin shiver and your fingers tremble where they lay on his arms. He could tell you to do anything right now and you’d do exactly as he asked. A dangerous thing when it comes to your profession.

Those years of building up a guard and becoming objective and distanced. You couldn’t care less if Pierce wanted another whore for the night, something he did occasionally, or if he found his way to you. You didn’t care to be left alone for days on end in this big house with only books and a morning and evening stroll to take your time. But in this moment, you feel like you might die if he left you.

You might die if he were to let you go.

He meets your lips again, tongue brushing yours, a steady joining and parting. Soft and wet.

“I need you to help me bury Pierce.” His touch so warm and comforting, “Help me take him down and then,” A press of his forehead against yours, “And then I’ll take you to the country estate, just like I promised.”

“Is that all you want from me?” He shakes his head,

“I want everything that has to do with you.” His thumb soft across your cheek, “We need to secure your money first, everything you’re owed.” You whimper against him as his hips press further into yours, “And then you can help me take this bastard down.” A press of his lips to your throat, to where the neckline of your nightdress met your skin. And your heart raced as he pressed his mouth to the bruises on your skin. His hands gentle against your tender flesh as he sunk to his knees before you. “You had bewitched me the moment I saw you,” A gentle kiss to the skin of your thigh, “I would do anything for you.” His hands pressing your thighs further apart to settle his head between them. “Anything.”

He laid a plan out between your thighs, hand gripping your hips steady on his face as his tongue worked you to falling apart. Your fingers twisted in his hair as he let you benefit from the friction on your sex. Nipples hard beneath your shift, arching up against him in gasps and moans as he brought you to a trembling end. Mouth and tongue pressing sloppily against your thighs and hips.

“When Pierce returns,” A whisper against your lips, “We will begin.”

With him gone and the house empty you grew clearer. Less foggy and drunk with his presence. But he said Brock wouldn’t be back for the rest of the night, right?

You powder makeup on in the mirror, covering up the bruises best you could. Maybe you could risk going to see your Ma.

The single opportunity presented itself and you would be a fool not to take it. And your Ma would know what to do. She’d be able to clear your head about this.

You did what you could to hide Brock’s handiwork, but your Ma was sure to spot a mark or two. The trepidation in that was drowned by the excitement to see your Pa and Peter again. Your steps quick and heart beginning to flutter as the prim and proper clean homes turned into the thick dark wood and the volume of the town louder than the sleepy homes you’d just left behind.

Drunks in the street and a loud row in a pub, passed by as you continued to your destination. The vibrant noise and the sounds of people stuffed in alleys sampling the wares on the streets.

You saw your Pa first. His hair greyer than you remember. Chatting outside with a man you didn’t recognize, just outside of the house you’d grown up in. He must have felt you coming. His eyes drifting over to you and smile splits his lips. The emotions you’d felt all day spilling over onto your cheeks as you run into his open arms.

A hug tight enough to squeeze the breath from you. It pushes out a sob. His hand on the back of your head as he held you to him and you felt like a child again. Scared of a storm. Weeping into his shoulder as he soothes the cracks of thunder that woke you from your bed.

“My sweet girl.” He pulls back to look at your face and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so.” His hand firm in yours, “Come.” A tip of his head to the man he was talking to before your approach and he brought you into the house. The noise of creaking beds drowned out by the twinkle of keys at the piano you’d not touched in years. Your Ma was found in the parlor. And your eyes immediately went to the tall boy behind the piano. Peter.

Your heart lept in your chest as he ran to you, wrapping you in his arms. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Happy and eager.

“I was left alone for a night,” You smile at him, looking over his shoulder at your Ma. “I have until morning.” You laugh, stepping back from Peter. “You weren’t lying Ma,” You grin at him, “You’ve grown quite a bit.”

“There’s so much I want to talk to you about.” He says, “I just don’t know where to start.” You brush a hand across his cheek and in his face, you could see the little boy who pulled on your skirt begging for sweets. The little boy who cuddled you in your bed after falling asleep reading. And you felt your heart full for the first time in a while.

“Let her breathe,” Your Ma held her hand out to you, “Are you hungry love?” And you realized you were starving. You’d forgotten the last time you had stew. Rich people didn’t eat the scraps from their table all blended together like this. They hadn’t the need to.

It was food of the poor. The indentured. And it gave you more comfort than you could put into words. A hunk of crusty bread on the side and you were being spoiled.

Your Ma’s finger gripped your chin and turned your face in the soft candlelight. “When will he let you go.” She sighs, “I thought you’d be living free by now.” With a 400 pound a year pension and living the way you’d like. “I’m so sorry love.” You pull from her, scraping your bread over the sides of the bowl.

“I need to ask you something, Ma.” Bread swallowed and belly full, you gaze across the table at her, much like the way you looked at Steve earlier. “Do you remember Steve?” Her shoulders visibly tense, of course she did.

“He swore to me he wouldn’t talk.” Her voice tight, “Did he say something to Sir Pierce?”

“No.” You shake your head, sipping your wine, “No, he didn’t.” A swallow, “But he’s come back… and he wants to take me with him.” Confusion clear on her face.

“Take you with him where?” Her fingers rapping on the table, nervous. “You’re under contract.” You tug on your lip,

“Yes,” Your Pa and Peter enter the room. Parlor cleaned up and,

“Shut the door.” Your Ma orders, blocking this conversation from the rest of the house. You look at your Pa and Peter, before directing your attention back to your mother.

“This can’t leave this room.” Your voice sterner than you thought it would be. “Do you understand?”

It was going to be complicated. You’d told Steve earlier, “I don’t want to be your whore.” Your lips both swollen from kissing, “I have my own money. I want my own home and my own things.” Soft and emotional, “I don’t want to belong to anyone.” A nod, a prayer on his lips and he said,

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

You begin to explain, “Lord Steve Rogers,” Your Mother’s brow lifts, “He takes his title this week. He’s going to help me get out of my contract and help me keep my money after.”

“For what?” Your Ma shrugs, “What does he want in return.”

“What does he have to gain from it.” Your father adds. You lick your lips.

“He’s trying to take down Pierce.” You admit, “Get rid of his villainy over the city.” The murdered in the streets. The vile and wretched dirty dealings with him giving out loans and taking exceeded interest. Drowning families and destroying homes.

“And he wants you to help him.” Peter finishes.

“Yeah,” You give him a half smile, “I’ll be helping him.”

“Absolutely not.” A pound of her hand on the table and your Ma steps from it. “Peirce would see you hanged for betraying him and I refuse.”

“But Ma—”

“Your Ma’s right, sweetheart.” A sigh from your old Dad. “It’s a large risk to take, and no one knows if this would actually work.” It wasn’t a lie. If Pierce finds that you’re working against him you’d soon find your hands around your throat and your body tossed away like garbage. And maybe you were being foolish. Maybe this was a mistake.

“I could help.” Peter offers. “I mean… Steve.”

“No.” Firm and absolute.

“Listen to me,” You start, “Pierce would rather see me die than leave his side regardless of whether or not I help Lord Rogers or not. He’s shown that to me time and time again. Without fail.” Your voice rising in volume, “I’m not dumb enough to get swept away in this game, but it needs to be played, Ma.” If you were ever going to survive this.

“Send him here.” An order from your Pa. “Let me talk to him and we shall go from there, but your Ma and I want no word of either of you pursuing this.” His voice turning softer, “I want you back, not gone for good, do you understand me?” You nod.

“I understand.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #captain america #the avengers #peter parker #ben parker #mary parker #alexander pierce

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ladywind · 3 years

Text

indelible

for @persasseusjacksasson from your original santa who unfortunately had to deactivate but had their finished gift :] enjoy!! @atla-secret-santa

Soulmates are supposed to complement you, complete you in places you didn’t even know you were missing anything. You don’t have to be in love with them; most just stay friends. But the dichotomy between soulmates is undeniable. The comfort and ease of their relationship is almost tangible.

Everyone has a soulmate, and a mark on their right shoulder to indicate it. Some—like Azula⁠—are lucky enough to have two. And Zuko…

Zuko has none.

For as long as he can remember, his shoulder has been empty. At first he tries to convince himself it’s just a late-bloomer thing, like everything about him always is. But then he passes his ninth birthday⁠—the absolute latest that anyone’s soulmarks can come up—and he just knows. There’s no one out there for him. No one who can make up his missing parts. No one who can love him in a way that's more than friends and more than lovers, something entirely new and fresh and beautiful.

He doesn’t tell anyone, of course. Not even his mother. It’s the only thing he ever lies to her about.

“It’s a tiny sun,” he says when she asks. “It’s… really ugly, Mom. I don’t want you to see it.” Her eyes take on a strange sheen—probably joy—and she laughs.

“All right, then. I’m just glad you have it, Zuko.”

His throat closes up as she ruffles his hair. How can he ever tell her the truth when she’s so happy about his lie? He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the day, quietly curling up against her side and letting her coddle him even though he’s far too old for it.

(Perhaps, he reflects many years later, that shine in her eyes wasn’t joy, but sorrow instead.)

“I heard there’s a kid in this town, doesn’t have a soulmark.”

The words fall upon Zuko’s ears like a whetted knife, slicing through the small bubble of peace he’d built himself. It’s as if he was meant to hear them⁠—as if he hasn’t been hurt enough. He tries to keep moving, pretending that he saw nothing, but his traitorous body refuses to listen. Some unknown emotion makes him tarry to hear what the two sailors on night-watch are saying in full.

“Poor guy. It can’t be nice to know there’s no one out there to complete ya.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine not having Daichi back home. Even if ya ain’t fuckin’ ‘em, it’s special of a sort, y’know?”

“With my Seika? ‘Course I know.”

Daichi. Seika. The names fall from their lips as easy as a breeze, as sweet as honey, as tender as a baby’s breath. Zuko hears everything said and everything not said and he aches.

“And you know what they say. Born without a soulmate, you’re broken.”

“Yeah, man. I mean, everyone got somethin’. If they don’t got a soulmate, they gotta be screwed some kinda way. Either up here⁠,”⁠—Zuko can’t see too well in the darkness, but he’s pretty sure he knows what they mean⁠—”or… down there.”

Heat floods Zuko’s face as snickers follow, deafeningly loud in the all-consuming silence of the ocean at night. Yeah, he definitely doesn’t need to see them to know what that means.

Then the rest of their words sink in, like a blanket wrapped just a bit too tight, and his stomach drops.

After that the sailors’ talk drifts to more inane things, and Zuko slinks away, quieter than the softest wind ruffling the sea. He happens upon Uncle and Lieutenant Jee, and is almost sure that they see him, but they don’t say anything about it so he doesn’t either. He flops into his lumpy, uncomfortable bed⁠—the only thing he really knows how to sleep in anymore⁠—and stares up at the ceiling with hollow eyes.

Broken. Broken. Broken. It spins in his head like a discordant note played over and over. Honestly, he isn’t surprised. Only someone who’s all jagged around the edges doesn’t have a perfect puzzle piece. After all, who could shatter perfectly enough to match the rent fringes of his being?

The burn on his face twinges, even though the healer had said there weren’t any nerve endings left on the entire area of scarring. Zuko turns over, presses his left cheek into his pillow and tries to forget about it.

(He fails.)

⁠—

Jin is… strange. She’s funny and sweet and interesting, and Zuko finds himself thinking of something other than home for once. He finds himself laughing with her, listening to her anecdotes with a spark of true interest. His inner flame burns with a warmth he hasn’t felt since the last time his mother hugged him, and he can’t think of anything but her.

When they kiss, it feels right, but also… wrong. He wants to move his lips to her cheek, her forehead. Wants to hug and hold her⁠—

The way a soulmate would⁠—

He pulls away in an instant, shaking like a leaf. Jin cocks her head in confusion, but Zuko shakes his head.

“I have to go,” he says, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”

Then he runs. He hears her call for him to wait, to stay, and doesn’t turn back even though he so desperately wants to.

He could never ask anyone to love a broken doll like him.

Katara’s touch on his face is gentler than anything Zuko’s ever felt.

That's the biggest surprise of all⁠—that he can feel it. The tissue has been dead and numb for years now. He can’t even see out of his left eye, let alone cry or do anything else that involves sensation. But somehow he knows exactly where Katara’s fingers ghost over the ridged peaks of twisted skin. Knows how softly she touches him, delicate and careful and yet not afraid.

She isn’t seeing the scar. She’s seeing the person under it, the person who’s raw and pulpy and halfway to healing but not quite there yet… and it terrifies and soothes Zuko all at once.

Something inside him wants to choose her. But then Azula is there and he chooses her instead because of course he does. He chooses Azula because he’s an idiot, because all he’s ever wanted is his father’s love and she promises it. (He chooses Azula because that’s what he’s always done. Picked his baby sister.)

She reels him in practically without effort. Just smiles that beautifully empty smile and talks, the words rolling off her silver tongue. And oh, that sweet talk, he’s been victim to it so many times now, but it still sweeps him off his feet and into the dreamland she creates with her speech. She’s his sister and she’s Azula and she will protect him and she will destroy him and his honour⁠—

The look on Katara’s face, hurt and unsettled (the same way he had wanted to look at Azula when his face melted and all he could hear was her laughing), almost breaks Zuko in half. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like a greater betrayal not to have forsaken his country.

“Today,” Azula says with a warm smile, and Zuko isn’t sure whether it’s love or hatred dancing behind her golden eyes, so like his own, “you restored your own honour.”

Zuko isn’t sure about that either. He isn’t sure about a lot of things. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he’s even more broken than before.

⁠—

A month later, things still aren’t clear. But the fog has lifted a little, and Zuko can at least see where he couldn’t before.

Song Lee Jin⁠—

The Fire Nation has hurt people. People that he could’ve loved, people that could have loved him. People that don’t know him and hopefully never will, who deserve peace just as much as anyone else. It’s ripped families and soulmates apart, torn people away from each other for lifetimes.

Zuko doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t know if he’s meant to be loved, he doesn’t know if he has a place in this world and he doesn’t know who he is. But he does know this; even if he himself is broken, he has to do his part to fix the rest of the world. And if he hadn’t learned anything else from all the things he's done, he learned this much: True honour is to do what is right in the face of what is easy.

He doesn’t look back as he leaves his chambers for the last time—the Fire Nation palace has never been home. As he makes his way to his father’s hideout, he wonders briefly where home ever was.

Ozai is regal and commanding on his throne, the picture of poise and grace. Zuko wants to kill him. He spills his guts instead, and god does it feel good. There’s utter silence, and he turns to leave.

That’s when Ozai speaks.

“Do you really think I didn’t know?” Zuko freezes, ice replacing fire in his veins. His heart beats a fearful tattoo against his ribcage—the word ‘No’, triple underlined and surrounded by some rather colourful phrases.

“Know what?” He manages to keep his voice from shaking, an achievement in itself. Ozai chuckles unpleasantly.

“That my son was… faulty. You lacked in everything else—why not in this, as well? A boy who does not have a soulmate. Truly cursed, Prince Zuko.”

Move, Zuko’s mind says. His legs do not obey. So he stands stock still and inhales deeply as his father whispers poison into the air, allowing the noxious fumes to fill him up. Even as he bursts at the seams, nose and throat and chest, he can't help but take in more, more, more⁠—

Then again, the advantage of being broken is that at some point, you just stop giving a shit.

Zuko knows what’s coming well before it comes, and he’s prepared for once in his life. Lightning flows through his body and it’s so much pure power that Zuko considers for a second just keeping it all to himself. But common sense overcomes desire for the first time, and he points his fingers straight back at Ozai.

His aim isn’t as good as he thought, and Ozai escapes. But Zuko does too, in more ways than one. He evades the guards and leaves the palace and finally shakes off the craving for that love he knows he’ll never get from anyone, least of all Ozai.

Zuko spends the rest of his night shooting down Fire Nation flags from the sky as target practice, but it’s not really necessary. His perfect aim is one of the few things he’s good for, and it’s as sharp as ever.

(Maybe that miss wasn’t as much an accident as he’d like it to be.)

⁠—

He burns Toph’s feet and something inside him burns too. It’s not just the sheer idiocy of the move⁠. There's something else, some primal instinct that screams for her face and voice. For the presence of the person that gave him a chance when no one else would.

His shoulder burns for a split second. The eagerness of childhood takes over and before he knows it Zuko's peeling back his shirt, hopeless pleas heavy on his tongue.

Unmarked skin stretches over the muscle built from years of intensive training. Zuko exhales, unable to keep the disappointment at bay even though he already knew. He's broken, and he weaponised that brokenness to play the victim for over half his life. He shouldn't ask for more than that.

He won't.

—

The weeks that follow make him happier than he's ever been. And they claw at all his wounds, turning bloody flesh rawer by the minute. Slowly and surely, he wins their trust, becomes one with that close-knit group of friends, but it still hurts a little to watch the others get along as they do. There's so much history between all of them, so much he'll never be privy to. And it hurts even more to know that almost all of their pain was, directly or indirectly, his fault. He could've chosen differently, but he never did, and maybe it's too late now that he has.

Choices, choices. Why is it so hard to make them? If everything could just be set in stone, the way soulmarks are, it would be easier to be broken like he is. He might not deserve this as much as he does now.

"What's got you looking so sad?" That's Katara, her dark eyes gleaming with concern. Zuko almost flinches—you don't deserve it, you don't—but stops himself just in time.

"Nothing. Just… thinking about soulmates, and stuff."

"Ooh?" Sokka grins widely. "Yours Mai?"

"N—no." His voice breaks a little.

"Then who is it?" Toph asks, curiosity brimming in her voice, and Suki looks at him with the same question in her eyes.

The wind, cold and unforgiving, screams past them and into the silence that Zuko offers as an answer. One minute, two, then three, and Zuko wants to disappear more and more with each passing second.

Unsurprisingly, Katara is the first to shatter the uncomfortable stillness hanging over all of them.

"You don't—" she begins, but cuts herself off, shaking her head. Zuko nods, short and sharp.

"No."

Silence reigns again for a few moments. Zuko looks away and curses himself for not lying.

Toph would've been able to tell, though…

A few soft mutters rise from the group. Zuko still doesn't dare to look.

Of course they hate you now. All that work for nothing. Well, you deserve it.

(Gaang offering Zuko to be theirs, shock ensues)

“You can’t choose soulmates,” Zuko says desperately, helplessly, even as the golden dragon appears on Sokka's shoulder. “You can’t pick who you love so—so honestly.”

Toph shrugs, running her fingers along her dragon’s bumpy tail. “‘Course we can. I picked Twinkle-toes, and Sugar Queen, and Snoozles and Suki, and now I’m picking you too, Princess.”

“We’ll choose you.” Aang’s face is nothing short of the literal sun. “We’ll always choose you, Zuko.”

We'll always choose you.

Katara smiles at him, her genuine warmth still a shocker after weeks of well-deserved animosity. It wraps around him, gentler than the kiss of the morning sun.

Aang's words hang in the air for a long moment, and then Zuko's shoulder is burning. Frantically, he pulls the cloth away…

It's the same as ever. There isn't a visible mark.

"You don't need one," Suki says gently. "Do you?"

Do I really? When they already promised they'll choose me?

Somehow Zuko knows the answer to that question without any prompting. His eyes grow wet, his face turns hot, and he looks away, blinking hard.

"I—" His voice comes out raspy, cracking at the edges like a volcano waiting to erupt. "Me, too."

He doesn't have to say it out loud for them to understand. Suki grins knowingly and then Sokka's dragging him into a group hug, the closeness of which Zuko might not hate so much after all. Because their marks might not exist on his shoulder, but on his soul, they are indelible.

I'll always choose you guys, too.

#atla #atlasecretsanta2020 #gift exchange #the gaang

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xvi. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general

word count. 1550

chapter 16. Ending Scene

Now, that's a question. He knew his reasonings were poor - unfettered doubts with no bearings - but they existed, nonetheless. How could they not when they'd sat in the cavern of his chest for the better part of his life, unattended like a wilting garden? It was simply an unfortunate consequence of unrequited love.

Weeds grew where hands couldn't reach. It was neither your fault nor his.

"Say it again.” He means it like a question but it fills you like a demand, sloping your mouth around syllables you'd repeat until you were hoarse.

"I love you.” The kiss he rewards you with is breathtaking, quite literally tearing the air from your lungs with the intensity of it. "I love you,” you repeat like a mantra, if only to draw that same fire from him. You want him just as badly as he needs you and you revel in the realization and the power it brings. You're drunk on it.

He keens against you, edging at your throat and smiling giddily when the profession never stops. "I could listen to you say that forever,” he admits, easily, with little shame.

"I could say it forever.” And you could. You'd give him this, every day, for the rest of his life. It'd be as easy as breathing, you think. That was the power of your love. It existed in every action and inaction. Unconditional, as it should be and as it had been since you'd been children.

The frame of his arms holds you relentlessly, crushing you to his chest as he exhales the happiest noise you've ever heard. He's back to being the boy you love, if not a little waterlogged. You can still feel the wet of your tears and his, carved into your cheeks and anywhere he'd brushed against.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

It's honeycomb, scratchy and saccharine, sinking behind your molars and all over your hands. It sends you miles over the moon, flying on a sugar rush you don't want to come down from. Each kiss, each caress - it's another inch given into your addiction.

You don't mind. Really, you'd happily perish if it meant going out this way.

You roll your eyes at the beautiful boy in your arms and it hurts a little, strained from saltwater. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?” The return is tender as always, further softened by the hand that drags the length of his cheekbone and settles affectionately on his shoulder.

"There was never a good time. You were always in a relationship or... something.” As if that's the most obvious thing in the world, though you find meaning further than he intends, catching all the things left unsaid in between.

You pass a kiss over his temple, tickled pink by the soft tendrils of off-blue and not-black. "I wasn't always in a relationship,” you insist. It's true. There'd been times throughout the years that you'd been alone.

No, not alone. You'd had him.

"You know what I mean.” He mumbles his response into the stained satin of your neck, nosing softly there. "You were either in a relationship or getting over one and I didn't ever want to be a last resort.” Your heart aches when he puts his concerns to you, lets them linger in the spaces he can't fill with his physical self. "I wanted you to be with me for me."

You know how hard the words are for him. It'd taken him years and years to come to terms with his emotions - in all aspects of his life. Even now, he was still growing, learning, evolving in ways you couldn't even begin to fathom. It was, after all, one of realities of being an international superstar. He had to grow up so fast.

You appreciate every verbalization he offers, tucking vowels and consonants into the corners of your heart for safekeeping.

"Jeon Jungkook, I'll always love you for you.” You've caught him in your line of fire again, cradling his sharp jaw in the palms of your hands. He tries not to meet your gaze - directs it to the freckle on your shoulder - but you remain steadfast. "You’re my best friend. Have been my whole life."

There's a sadness in your voice that creeps his eyes back to you, purely out of concern for your well-being.

"How could you ever think I wouldn't want you?"

Weeds grew where hands couldn't reach. It was neither your fault nor his.

"Couldn't help it.” Another half-answer. You've had enough of those.

With a strength that surprises even you, your mouth finds his. Lips mould and meld, reshaping in a new kind of promise. Like the ones you'd always made, but with fewer parts. Better, in a way. "I'll make it up to you."

"You have nothing to make up for."

You're not sure whether he believes it but you sure as hell don't. You'd put him through hell these past few weeks - made him wade through an inferno like some poor soul - and here he was, soothing your ache as if it were his own.

"But I do,” you pepper kisses over his nose, insistent. "I have years and years to make up for."

He scoffs, rough and low. Not because he doubts the intensity of your words, but because he's suddenly very amused by a thought. "I don't think you could make up for fifteen years, no matter how hard you tried. It just isn't possible, realistically."

The smugness on his face only acts as an accelerant to your actions. You're crowding every inch of him in chaste pecks, from the top of his head - which smells vaguely of hairspray and his shampoo - to the faded scar. You leave no patch of skin unattended, taking his words as an unnecessary challenge.

You linger at his cheeks, the taste of salt stilling your persistent motions.

He takes that as an unspoken forfeiture, his own hands shifting to draw you away until he can see you clearly. When he glimpses the consternation in your brow, mockery flies out the proverbial window, instead replaced by concern. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry."

You've said it enough times tonight that he shakes his head, laughter dragging his shoulders and filling your senses. "Stop saying that."

"I can't,” you retort, fingers tracing the path his tears had carved. They're stark beneath your touch, distinct by the natural flush of his skin beneath the carefully applied makeup. "I hate seeing you cry."

Jungkook's head tilts, eyelids fluttering closed as he nuzzles into your caress. "And I hate you seeing you cry, but you do it all the time anyway.” It's meant to make you laugh. When you don't immediately, he pries an eye open, surveying you closely. Your lips are pursed and you're not quite meeting his eyes, instead focused on the sadness that has long since dissipated.

"I'm serious.” You're pouting and he thinks it looks too good on you. It shouldn't, but it does.

"So am I. Stop it. I just told you I love you."

The reminder does perk you up, if only a little. He sees it swimming in the back of your gaze, just beyond the worry that circles like sharks.

“Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy or something?” Brow lifts, quirks high, and for a moment, all of the tension in your expression is gone. You study him steadily, thumbs brushing the delicate hollows of his eyes and where the cut little crow’s feet imprint.

“I think your fame is getting to your head.” It’s gently teasing, soft as feathers.

There’s the girl he loves – the sweet thing who picks him up when he’s down, who has him full belly laughing without trying. It feels so utterly good to have you here like this, wrapped in his arms and held like you’re meant to be. It’s the best feeling in the world. He won’t even let your half-hearted teasing deter him. “It’s actually your fault,” he drawls into your palm, a satisfied humming chasing the words out.

“How is it my fault?” You’re scandalized in inflection only, soothing ministrations drawing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, like you’re a breath of fresh air.

“You’ve given me everything I could ever want. My ego’s pretty big cause of that.”

It’s so matter of fact that it leaves you speechless, your fingers pausing in their gentle combing through his hair. It makes him laugh, the breath spilling over your violet-marked skin. His hands smooth over your sides, across the small of your back, settling happily into the pliable flesh of your thighs. “What?”

Honestly, you’re not even sure. You’ve traded affections all your life, pressing them into linked fingers and childish giggle fits. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“Why not?” Jungkook’s looking at you like you’re crazy. There was no way in hell he was about to tone down his feelings for you when you’d just finally – finally! – gotten over the biggest hurdle. No, he’d shout it from the rooftops, crush you with the weight of it. He hopes you won’t mind.

When you drag his chin, tilt his face towards yours with hands that feel deliberate, he blinks owlishly up at you. He’s not sure what you’re looking to convey – he can’t read it in the constellations swirling in your irises. He wishes he could.

But he’ll settle for the words that come instead, filling him with all the light of the stars. “I love you.”

notes. hello, dear reader! thank you for sticking through this tiny whirlwind of emotion. for the most part, this story has been wrapped up. they love each other! they're gross and perfect!

i will be continuing their story with a bunch of one-shots detailing their relationship and the ups and downs. there won't be a lot of rhyme or reason - just things i want to get out. mainly stories that explore their dynamic, really. their first date, meeting while on tour, etc. these will be done under a different title (but as part of the same “series”). if there's anything you'd like to read, please let me know.

i appreciate you sticking it out to this point. wishing you healthy and happy! xo

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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sweetlittlevampire · 4 years

Note

is this reincarnation au youve been talking about really good? ive read a few already, how does it stand out?

Hi Nonnie!

First of all - I have no idea how long you’ve been waiting for this reply. Apparently your ask has been sitting in my inbox for a few hours, but I’ve received no notification of it (tumblr at its finest again), and I just discovered it because I clicked on the inbox icon at random. Sorry about the delay! 😅

The fic we’re talking about is the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by @huacheng-zhu , for those of you who are curious. The description reads:

Wei Wuxian died twice.

Hundreds of years later, Wei Ying, a young artist in search of escape and inspiration comes to Gusu. There, he meets a mysterious recluse—a mysterious recluse who, unbeknownst to Wei Ying, has been waiting for him for a long, long time.

So this is, indeed, a reincarnation AU. And yes, you may consider this an extensive fic rec.

Now, let me preface this by saying that this is my first reincarnation AU. Which is...weird, considering just how many are floating around out there, and I am planning on reading a few more.

Also yes, I do consider it to be really good, and I will elaborate as to why in a moment (and will try to do so without spoiling it too much, or at least not more than I already did, oops! Sorry, @huacheng-zhu !). However I also want you to keep in mind that, while I absolutely adore it, and I know other people who also do, doesn’t mean that you will automatically love it as much. You might find it tacky, or boring, or even just a non-creative way of using the trope, I don’t even know. And that’s okay! Tastes and preferences vary; without this fact we wouldn’t have such an amazing plethora of varied fan content out there for us to enjoy.

So what is it about this fic that makes me go 😍 😍 😍?

The world & the pacing. I consider it to be a slow fic for my standards, and I’ve enountered a few slow fics that had me yawning after a while. However it goes hand in hand with the world it is set in. We meet Wei Ying in a modern Gusu. He’s an artist and has his cameras and sketchbook with him, and he wanders about trying to capture different things: from beautiful motifs to a certain feeling trapped on celluloid. It’s nothing that comes fast, and he is enjoying himself. It fits. Lan Wangji lives alone in a house in the woods, a bit up the mountain, with only his rabbits as company. He rarely allows visitors, so his little bubble of the world is calm and slow as well. It’s - soothing? In a way? Like, imagine you’re sitting on a bench in a parc on a warm summer day. You hear a body of water nearby, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees around you, and the ground is dappled by sunlight falling through the tree branches. You know when you return home, there will be someone you love, and who loves you, waiting for you. That’s what this fic feels like to me. Someone described it as walking through a Ghibli movie, and they’re not wrong.

The bittersweetness and melancholy. Listen. So this is a reincarnation AU - Wei Wuxian has been reincarnated as Wei Ying. Lan Wangji has not. It becomes clear very fast that Lan Wangji has indeed cultivated to immortality, and is patiently waiting for his Wei Ying to return to him, in each and everyone of his lifetimes. Which - he’s not even sure if it will ever happen. What if Wei Ying gets reincarnated as a completely different person? In a completely different place? What if their paths never cross? What if Wei Ying never remembers? What if he gets reincarnated as someone who won’t be able to love, or even like Lan Wangji again? And in spite of what the fic description says, one can’t help but wonder: How often has Lan Wangji gone through the cycle of waiting for his love, finding him, and having to witness him die again, only for the cycle to begin anew? How long has he been suffering like that? How long and often will he be able to take it before he breaks for good? I’m sure this is explored in many reincarnation AUs out there, but the way this fic handles it is very beautiful, very gentle...which brings me to

The tenderness. Like - we know Wangxian. We know they can be cuddly and sweet, but when it comes to Everyday Business (you know what I mean), they usually get pretty wild. First of all, the physical love scene is implied here. There’s a fade to black. We know it happens, and it fits. Honestly though, a very intense cuddle session would have also fit the bill, but I digress. What I am trying to say is: We witness Wei Ying fall for this stranger with his white and pastel blue clothes and guqin and horde of bunnies, and while he falls fast, he also falls gently. It’s not like a “BOOM - Congratulations, you’re in love now!”. To me, it felt more as if Wei Ying had realised it gradually, slowly - he’s still very much Wei Ying, and he’s very much in character, but this is an alternative universe. He’s been raised differently and has different life experiences, so sometimes he reacts accordingly, rather than what we’re used of him. And it fits, it never feels off to me in this fic. Of course, Lan Wangji never fell out of love, but the way in which he treats Wei Ying is so gentle and tender it almost hurts. When you finally get to the love scene, it’s - they’ve been pining and longing, yes, but it’s one of the most emotional get-together scenes I’ve ever read. It’s so full of happiness and fluttering hearts and trembling fingers and tears, but not in a bad way, They are gentle with each other, everything is calm and full of whispers and held breaths and silent exhales, full of tenderness, absolutely loving. It’s gorgeous, and I am feeling warm and tearing up at the same time just thinking about it.

There is mention of a lesbian couple and a badass non-binary OC. I love all of them, they’re super cool!

There are cats.

There is one chapter left of the story, yet to be published, and I’m gonna be honest: I am so sad to let it go. Absolutely devastated. I am pretty sure I am going to reread this several times, simply because I don’t wanna leave this world behind just yet, and how it makes me feel. But I know from own experience with drawing that working on the same project for a long time can be really really draining, and I can understand that @huacheng-zhu is itching for a break from it, for something new and fresh. All I can do is say Thank You for the joy their story is bringing me over and over again.

This got really long; I hope this answers your question, Anon! I did ramble a lot though; sorry about that!

#Anonymous #Reply #Wangxian #Fic Rec #MDZS #The Untamed #Reincarnation AU

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twistedcharismaaa · 4 years

Text

Lost & Found Pt 4

Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! I’m finally back with another chapter. I really struggled piecing this chapter together so I really hope you guys enjoy! Leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary, I love you guys so much! Enjoy!

Micah’s eyes left yours for a brief moment. He inhaled and leaned his head back on the wall and readjusted his shades on his face. He watched his calculated chaos unfold in the elevator which gave him much delight.

“You know I told you my name…” he said while raising a finger and wagging it dramatically.

“You even told me your boyfriend’s name, but you never told me yours.” he continued.

You slowly pulled off your rubber yellow cleaning gloves one by one and tossed them on the supply cart. You crossed your arms and leaned back on the wall behind you letting your eyes trail the many lit elevator buttons.

“Charisma,” you answered with a subtle smirk on your face.

“Charisma? You know I’m full of that,” he said while placing his right hand on his chest proudly.

Again, you found yourself laughing. You shook your head and rolled your eyes towards the ceiling before eyeing him once more with a half-smirk.

“That I can clearly see,” you answered.

“You know what I want to see right now?” he quizzed while pulling off his black shades and stuffing them in the pouch of his all-black hoodie.

“Indulge me,” you responded completely intrigued.

“Me and you having lunch,” he said while waving his hands in the air theatrically as if he was actually visualizing it.

“So, are you hungry, lady?” he asked with a raised brow.

You inhaled silently and eyed the elevator for a short moment. Letting your eyes wander from wall to wall. Finally, you fixated on a painting that rested on the wall behind him. You’ve seen this painting a thousand times before but today, for whatever reason, it caught your attention. You admired its simplicity which made it even more elegant. You visually found pleasure in the contrasting colors of blue and red. The uneven brushstrokes seemed to tell a story that mirrored yours. It was a painting of a cup that was half-full. Or was it half-empty? Looking past Micah you spoke lowly.

“If I told you a secret, would you keep it?” you asked still eyeing the painting.

“Absolutely,” he responded.

“This is the most I’ve laughed in a while,” you admitted while swallowing slowly. Now locking eyes with him, you continued to lean on the wall behind you for support. You bit down on your bottom lip nervously and waited for his response.

“And why is that?” he questioned.

“Life hasn’t been so kind to me lately. I’m figuring things out - figuring me out actually. So I don’t know if I’m the perfect candidate to have lunch with.” you said while changing positions. This time, you shifted your weight off of the wall’s surface and placed both hands on the supply cart. You watched the elevator doors close and open. The classical music playing in the background seemed to intensify. Or maybe this moment was intensifying?

“I have a secret too since we’re sharing,” he admitted. You enjoyed his speaking voice. It oozed calmness and embodied serenity.

“I saw you last night at the club. You looked beautiful by the way. While I was on stage, all I wanted to do was dive in and save you. I would take you away if you’d let me. Lunch is just the first step.” he said while eyeing your frame subtly.

Your heartbeat quickened as your palms grew sweaty. He watched you like you were the only thing that mattered. His intense, penetrating eyes piercing right through made you weak. It scared you but intrigued you.

“You’re famous. You whisk away every girl that you find pretty?” you quizzed trying to make sense of it all. Just last night, you had a man that refused to touch you. Just hours ago, you were neglected in every way that you could think of. And now, you have a caramel kissed man standing in front of you treating as if you were the purest diamond. As if you were rare, unique, and completely hard to find.

You watched a smile dance across his full lips. He shook his head and licked his lips before answering.

“I hate being famous actually. For many different reasons that I, unfortunately, don’t have enough time to tell you. We’re running out time lady.” he said while watching the elevator buttons. “It’s hard finding authenticity in people. It’s hard finding real love, real emotion, real music - I can literally go on and on. Everyone hides behind facades and masks. You’re different. You’ve always been you it’s just no one was insightful enough to pay attention.” he continued.

You finally reached your destined floor. The doors opened and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t want him to go.

“Thank you for making me smile today,” you said softly.

“Best believe, it was my pleasure. See you around Charisma,” he responded while holding the elevator door open for you. You reluctantly exited the elevator and waved him goodbye.

--------

After a tedious day of working hard, you decided to attend your appointment with Tiffany, your trusted therapist. After the loss of the baby, you’ve been seeing a Tiffany inconsistently. By nature, you were instinctively self-reliant due to your own insecurities and the insecurities forced on you by others. Desmonde thought it was a waste of money and your friends who you barely speak to now had their own speculations. You viewed Tiffany as a human diary, holding your precious secrets - holding your darkest memories. There were times where you made progress and had these astounding revelations ready to make leaps and bounds in life and unfortunately, there were times you left feeling the absolute same. Consistently, inconsistent with your mental health, with your emotions, with your goals, and with your dreams. Maybe you cared too much? Too little? Maybe you were broken beyond repair? You grew up in a single-parent household where your mother showered you in the healthiest love and attention. Every time you needed her she was there. Constantly, going over and beyond for you - with you. But with her passing at the tender age of 20, it seemed as if life came at you like a raging storm. Quickly, devouring you piece by piece and brick by brick. At 21, you dropped out of college. Working like a dog and living check to check. At 21, you met Desmonde and fell for him and by 22 you were pregnant. Now at the new fresh age of 23, you were alone again.

Tiffany opened her office door and greeted you with the brightest smile. She wore a sky blue buttoned blouse and grey slacks. She wore her hair down making her amber highlights easy to notice. You greeted her with a smile and a warm hello before entering her office. Casually taking a seat, you noticed that she redecorated. Had it been that long since you’ve been here?

“How are you feeling today?” she asked while opening her mustard yellow notepad.

“Confused,” you said while tugging at the sleeve of your dark red hoodie.

“Hmmm. Why is that? Oh, and happy belated before I forget,” she quizzed attentively.

“Thank you. I actually broke up with Desmonde on my birthday. I don’t mean to make it as aggressive as it sounds. I just didn’t know how else to um say that.” you admitted still fidgeting with your sleeve.

“What brought this on?” she asked now actively scribbling in her notepad.

“At this point, I’m convinced it was inevitable,” you answered now making direct eye contact.

“How so?”

“He didn’t touch me, nurture me, educate me, push me - He didn’t do a lot of things. My cup was always half empty with him.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time, right? So why did you stay? If he didn’t water you or stimulate you? Why give him so much of your time?”

“I stayed because I thought he was what I deserved,” you admitted.

“Why do you think you deserve to be wilted and neglected?” she questioned.

“That’s a question I keep asking myself honestly,” you responded.

“It sounds like this break up with Desmonde brought self-awareness to you,” she suggested.

“Can I ask you something?” you quizzed.

“Of course,” she answered smiling meekly.

“I’m naturally closed off. But today, I had the deepest conversation with a stranger. What does that mean?”

“What did you talk about?”

“I admitted to him that I was practically unhappy,” you said while finally resting your busy hand. No longer messing with your sleeve.

“That’s very interesting. And his response was?”

“His response was that he would rescue me if I’d let him. And the crazy thing is I believed him,” you said feeling a smile grace your lips.

“This stranger sounds like quite the charmer,” she said smirking and taking more notes casually.

“His name is Micah. He’s a guest at the hotel,” you admitted.

“So not a stranger then?” she quizzed.

“ An acquaintance I suppose?” you replied.

“So, you’re questioning why you’re doing something that’s typically out of your guarded character? Yes?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Maybe subconsciously you want something different. Different responses attract different reactions. You put out a different response because internally you’re longing to break routine. After feeling half-empty for so long, it’s only normal to crave to feel full.”

“He asked me to lunch. I declined at first of course. But now, I’m reconsidering because of note he left me while I was cleaning his room.”

“What did it say?” she asked completely enticed.

“I-I have it in my pocket. I’ll read it to you.” you stuttered.

Slowly pulling the note from your pocket, you cleared your voice and read it aloud.

“Listening to music doing nothing but thinking of you. Thinking of your body and how it was handcrafted by God. Each curve sexier than the last. My mind keeps reminiscing about your sweet smile and how it fiercely ignites me while softly illuminating my soul. Those soft plump lips begging to be kissed on. I never have seen a woman so radiant. I’ve never seen eyes so captivating and so pure. I continuously watch you - study you in hopes that I can understand your beautiful complexity. I can see the brokenness. I know we barely know each other, but everything happens for a reason. I hope that you’ll let me kiss you in every area that he’s hurt you. But first, let me be a friend. - Micah”

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your cheeks connecting down to your chin.

“Why are you crying Charisma?” Tiffany inquired.

“I haven’t had a friend in a very long time,” you answered honestly.

“There is no perfect way to heal. Healing comes in many different forms. It can come through isolation, art, family, new scenery, and friends. Charisma, maybe it’s time for a friend.”

You nodded in acceptance and quietly thought to yourself about the painting from earlier. Cup half-empty or cup half-full? It’s all open to interpretation. All you knew is that you’re ready to be full. To be whole.

Interrupting your thoughts, Tifanny posed a question.

“So what do you say Charisma?”

“I say, it’s a date. I need a friend more than I need anything else right now. It’s a date.” you answered.

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

Part 3 Part 5

@l-auteuse @ghostfacekill-monger @thickemadame @chaneajoyyy @soulfood-fics @nizzle-mo @jamielennkeeler @ljstraightnochaser @pineappear @lostennyc @miss-nneka @thadelightfulone @qweentbh @big-brows-bigger-dreams @rosemilage @sarcastic-sunshines @mygirlrenee @keiva1000 @justanothernerdgirl @cyntgefel01 @libbylivliv @theboldlady @geriixox @seffyn @errin261 @migosis @cocogodess15 @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @kemkem101 @peacefuldesiress @babbyaangel @mooon-berry @ju5tp34chy

#masego #masego music #masego fanfiction #masego x black reader #masego fic #masego imagine #masego x black!reader #masego x !blackreader #micah davis #lady lady #tadow

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theelvenhaven · 4 years

Text

Being Pregnant with Finrod’s child

- Overjoyed doesn’t begin to describe Finrod’s mood when you announce to him that you’re with child and he draws you in for such a sweet and tender kiss.

- You honestly couldn’t have a better partner to share such a wonderful time with as Finrod is such a loving gentleman!

- Immediately he monologues to you how excited he is to have a baby with you , and that he loves you so incredibly much. He even thanks you for already giving him such a wonderful gift.

- I’ve always pictured life in Nargothrond to be slow paced, and Finrod takes full advantage of that while you’re pregnant.

- You’re having a horrid bout of morning sickness and really need him there? Finrod will take the extra time to hold your hair back and rub your back until it passes.

- He always takes you for a walk afterwards, insisting that the fresh air will help you feel better and he is usually right.

- He loves it when you hang on his arm while he walks with you, you look adorable waddling right next to him, and Finrod is absolutely looking down admiring you softly.

- As you get bigger he will take as long as it needs to get some place with you, knowing that being pregnant hinders your movement speed, and he will never rush you no matter how late it is making him.

- He will patiently coach you through the numerous steps, assuring you that it is of no issue that he is helping you even though he is twenty minutes late. That you making it up these steps safely is far more important.

- Finrod admittedly panics a little bit when you are feeling a pain that you are unsure of being normal or not, or when you complain that you’re feeling shortness of breath from the baby squished in your lungs.

- So he spends time openly going to the Healing Halls to ask questions about your ailments and how he can help lessen their pain or discomfort.

- When he learns that some of those pains are unavoidable he does his best to provide emotional support for you assuring you that if he could, he’d take on the discomfort that you’re feeling.

- Finrod loves rubbing your belly, he will stand behind you in a more protective manner, hand placed on your baby bump where he rubs affectionately placing a kiss to the top of your head.

- Finrod always manages to keep any eye on you, and its done very casually, knowing that if something were about to go wrong someone would be quick to help you, as he trusts his people like they trust him.

- Finrod will play the harp for you and the baby often, to the point that is sometimes the only way to get them to calm down when they’ve been kicking you in the stomach for the last hour and a half.

- When your elfling gets here, Finrod’s heart if overwhelmingly full of love at the sight of them

- He absolutely monologues his love for them, telling them that he has never seen anything as precious and as pure as them. And that they are one of the greatest gifts Eru ever blessed him with, “your Nanneth being the first, of course.”

- Finrod is honestly quick to turn the monologue from the baby to you as well, thanking you profusely and praising how wonderful you are while pressing soft kisses to both you and the elfling.

- When all of the elfling’s needs have been met and they grow inconsolably fussy Finrod lays them on your chest and gets his harp. Sitting next to the edge of the bed and plays the same songs he did when you were pregnant to help calm and soothe them.

- It works like a charm every single time, and afterwards he lays his head on your shoulder, nestled close with you while his hand caresses their sweet little face. All with a soft smile on his face.

-------

@leonaorasa

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samwilsonshandsandass · 4 years

Text

@littlefreya fic “The Fee” is a damn masterpiece and an ask to her doesn’t offer enough space for me to convey everything I’m feeling with this fic so here’s this small essay-like thing instead:

First and foremost: Your writing style is incredible! It’s poetic, it fits the time in which The Witcher is set, it conveys every emotion in a way that it is more than a pleasure to read.

His eyes were paler than the cerulean sky, surrounded by pinkish-red tint. Ears sharp and pointy perked at each side of his head, and deep wrinkles led down to a mouth full of sharp fangs.

This description is the description of horror and terror, of a vampire that is an actual monster and the words “full of sharp fangs” had me imagine those versions of vampires that show them with four fangs at the top and four at the bottom.

“I smell the blood of a virgin. A sweet one, indeed a good fortune for me tonight.”

This is a sentence that sets up the tone for all the smut and at the same time just makes you shudder.

Dense and heavy, the wall grunted.

I giggled at this, which is honestly not something I thought I’d do with this fic.

The ashen-haired wolf was quicker and more focused with the blade while the other Witcher seemed less precise but more passionate.

This description fits both of them so well!

They were merely beasts themselves.

But these are beasts that are very welcome to ravage me anything!

“Virgin’s blood, it’s irresistible to them. Makes them act wild, berserk.” … Visibly, he inhaled the air, catching the whiff of the fresh, honeyed moistness that brewed between her thighs. His eyes snapped back at the young maiden, understanding why the vampire became maddened to drink her blood. Her purity was indeed a delight to feast upon.

I just felt a gushing between my legs and it’s not stopping

Rich musk invaded into the orifices of her face: the stark earthy blend of mossy tree bark, rain-damp ground, and red firewood dulled her senses, deeming her light-headed and weak. He smelled like the night itself: dark, dangerous, and lonely.

I need a candle like this!

Arcturus […] imprisoning her between Geralt and his massive form. She hissed and trembled as his knuckles ran gently down the exposed parts of her forearms.

This is one of the hottest (not yet sexual) positions to be in

She was soaked, anticipating as if she was one of the willing whores Arcturus has mentioned.

Same here, same here

“I think you’re already enjoying this far more than us.” Arcturus crowed and slightly backed away, beginning to work on his own attire while watching Geralt devour the sweet, willing sacrifice. A brute like him was hardly a man of culture, yet even he couldn’t deny the living art in front of him.

You damn well should appreciate the art!

A soft curve formed in her belly and a hiss broke free as terror struck her. The crown of his cock taunted her sealed entrance, pushing back and forth between a slit that was too narrow for him to fit. Terrified she shook her head wordlessly but then Arcturus laid a hand on her breast and cupped it gently, running his thumb along the small ramp to soothe and distract her as Geralt breached through her maidenhood with one, long, firm and gonizingly slow plunge.

The soothing, the tenderness from Arcturus when it was needed oh my

Arcturus watched as the girl writhed beneath Geralt, dead was the virgin and now born was the wanton whore.

This is poetry!

“If two witchers slew the monster, it’s only fair that two witchers will have her.” He raised an eyebrow and gestured to Arcturus to roll on his side.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit the gushing just intensified

A pained scream tore through her, tears springing and her wailing carried on the wind, but Geralt quickly clasped her jaw and turned her head to capture her mouth while burying himself fully inside.

Why is this so hot? The brutality combined with the kiss I can’t!

“Good, little one.” Geralt panted in her ear and wrapped his fingers around her throat. His tongue lapped over her face, collecting the saltiness of her tears. “Taking me so deep and so demanding, going to stuff your small ass full of my seed as reward.” Amidst the shame and degradation, something dark and unfamiliar awoke in her. Foreign and more powerful than anything she ever sensed. The more Geralt and Arcturus defiled her, the more she felt herself slipping from the face of earth, and every nerve in tingling with life.

Oh shit oh shit this is so damn hot

But the solace merely lasted a second. Still buried in her rump, Geralt violently hauled Nell on her knees, holding her away from Arcturus who laid spent on the ground. Chuckling huskily he watched the other witcher manhandle the wobbly girl and desperately thrust into her in search of his release.

The act of Geralt actually holding her away, so Arcturus can’t do anything hooooo boy!

Shame suddenly overwhelmed her body; she covered her face with one hand while the other reached to hide her breasts. “Aww… sweet girl,” Geralt murmured and reached to cup her mound, feeling the heat that radiated from it. He peeled her fingers from her eyes and pressed a tender kiss onto her forehead while offering her a comforting glance. “First time’s always a bit tough.”

So sweet and fitting, especially Nell not covering her mound! Sure, she has only two hands and there are three places she could cover but she also could have pressed her breasts together and cover them with her arm and put her hand over her heat. But she didn’t and that is really telling!

“What do you think, White Wolf? Should we keep her?” Biting his lip, Geralt observed the look on her face intently. Her bottom lip quivered, her breath came out as tremors and little sobs. But under the glossy layer of water in her eyes, he could see the unmistakable will to descend deeper into the sinister cavern of sinful delights. “Yes, I think we will all benefit from this arrangement.”

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggghhhhhh

Now some more abstract things I liked:

It’s really, really fitting for Geralt to not initiate the fucking and it’s even more fitting for Arcturus to actually say out loud what he wanted to do in this night but couldn’t so is now planning with a substitute.

One of the best things I thought was Geralt “claiming” her pussy and her ass for himself, to be the first who has her. Plus, the only one having her ass. Maybe, he does this because he was the one Nell ran into? Maybe because he was the first to draw his silver sword?

In conclusion: I have died, went to heaven and hell and been resurrected. You. Are. A. Goddess.

#my things

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coffee-and-wolfsbane · 4 years

Text

Julian x MC Birthday Fun~

Characters: Julian Devorak, MC (with they/them pronouns) Fandom: The Arcana (after Julian’s upright ending) Word count: 1,827 Maturity level: PG-13 (suggestive content, swearing) Background: Julian took a job as the Palace’s physician in Vesuvia after a few months of adventuring with MC.

“Ow! Dang it,” MC complained, biting their lip as the edge of their hand dragged against the stove. “No, it’s not your fault, stove salamander. I’m just nervous,” MC tried to soothe the little reptile that resided inside the stove. They quickly transferred the fresh cake onto a cooling rack on the kitchen counter and ran their hand under cold water. “This is more like Julian. Injuring myself trying to do something nice,” MC muttered under their breath with a soft smile. It was his birthday today, and the weasel had slipped away earlier that morning before MC had awoken. He probably doesn’t want a big fuss, but it’s the first birthday we’ll celebrate together, MC thought with a faint blush across their cheeks. I want it to be special. As the cake cooled, MC started to clean up around the shop, sweeping and hanging some colorful strips of cloth for decoration around the windows and over the table. The moon was rising in the sky, and Julian usually came back from the palace at around midnight. MC had honestly been shocked when Julian accepted the position at the palace. After the whirlwind of the murder trial and then permanently getting rid of the plague, MC was grateful to take a breath and get into a comfortable routine. Using their magic, MC lit a few candles and placed them around the shop, creating a warm and hazy glow of light. With a little extra spell, MC changed the color of some of the candles to burn in bright blues and greens. Mazelinka had agreed to watch “the babies”, as Julian called them--Malak and MC’s own familiar, so the shop was eerily quiet as MC transferred the cake from the pan to a serving plate and started to spread icing across the top. The cake was done and on the table just in time for MC to feel the runes protecting the door to the shop get turned off briefly as the door swung open. MC whirled around, trying to hide the cake with their body as Julian eased inside, shutting the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He paused when he saw them, and a slow grin started to spread across his face. “I was hoping you’d be in bed when I came back,” he drawled, and MC blushed fiercely at his tone. “Don’t think you can use that smooth talk to distract me, Ilyushka Devorak,” MC scolded him, but they were fighting a smile of their own. “You’re in trouble for sneaking out this morning.” Julian shrugged out of his thick leather overcoat and put a hand over his heart. “In trouble? With you? How will you ever get me to behave?” he purred, and his pale blue eyes burned with the ideas swirling around in his head. MC’s blush deepened, but they stood their ground. “It’s not working,” MC denied, but they felt that all-too-familiar rush of heat through their body as his gaze dragged over them slowly. Julian tossed his coat over the counter and walked over to MC, his hands immediately seeking out MC’s waist to tug them closer. MC let Julian wrap his arms around them, but when Julian leaned down for a kiss, MC put their hand over Julian’s mouth. “You’re in trouble,” MC emphasized. “Why did I have to find out through Maz and Portia that your birthday is today?” Julian’s face became slightly flushed at MC’s probing gaze. MC slid their hand down Julian’s chin and wound their arms around Julian’s neck as he stumbled for an answer. “W-well...since my parents died, I don’t really celebrate my birthday. No real reason to, you know? Pasha was back with the grandmas in Nevinon, and I was bouncing from place to place, learning medicine. I guess I got into the habit of overlooking the date,” Julian mumbled, and his light blue eyes were skittering everywhere but MC’s face. Small waves of emotion--sympathy, sadness, distress that Julian still thought so little of himself--worked their way across MC’s expression. They pulled on Julian’s neck until their foreheads were brushing together. “You need to stop going through life like you’re still alone, Ilya,” MC whispered softly, biting their lip in worry. “We cleared your name together. We fought an Arcana together, with the help of our friends. Next year, there’s going to be a huge party at The Raven, and everyone will celebrate with you. But this year, I want you to myself,” MC added, heat creeping into their cheeks at the admission. That grin appeared on Julian’s face again, and he looked around, peering at the different decorations. “A private party just for two, hmm?” he murmured, and his arms tightened, bringing MC’s body closer. “I can’t imagine how we’re going to pass the time.” MC let out a small squeak when they felt their rear get cupped playfully. MC smacked Julian in the shoulder, blushing. “The first thing you’re going to do is blow out your candles,” MC said firmly. Julian craned his neck to glance behind MC, his expression becoming mystified. “You baked me a cake?” he asked, his eyes lighting up in the soft multicolored light. MC nodded, secretly relieved that Julian wasn’t being difficult about attention for once as they slid out of Julian’s grip. “Don’t forget, you have to make a wish,” MC said. They went to stand over on the other side of the table as Julian took of his leather gloves, discarding them on top of his coat. He gave MC a scorching once-over before he closed his eyes and bent down to gently extinguish the single candle that was on top of the cake. He waited a few moments before his eyes snapped back open, and disappointment crossed his face when he looked at MC. “This wish thing doesn’t work,” Julian said, and MC frowned. Was there something he wanted, gift-wise? They could always get him a new journal, or maybe he was expecting something more expensive? As doubt started to edge into MC’s mind, Julian spoke up again. “I was very clear in my wish. But here you are, still fully clothed,” he said tauntingly, arching one dark auburn brow at MC. “Julian!” MC gasped, and they suddenly felt naked as Julian continued to glare at the outfit they wore. “You didn’t waste your wish on that, did you?” “There was nothing I wanted more,” Julian explained as he chuckled. “Maybe you can help me with my wish, MC...” He trailed off and smiled hopefully at them. “C-cake first,” MC insisted, their breath catching in their throat. Julian cast MC a pitiful look, his lower lip sticking out. “What if I said please?” he offered. MC shook their head quickly, but their grip on the table’s edge tightened a little. Julian huffed, but his eyes were tender as he watched MC. “Damn it. As you command, darling. Cake first,” he said, and the tenor of his voice suggested he already had a plan for what happened after cake. MC was having difficulty concentrating as they cut Julian and themselves a piece, and when a smudge of icing got onto their thumb, Julian caught their hand in his grip. He leaned his head down to suck their thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it quickly before he released their hand. “Sweet. Just like you,” he murmured, and MC thought their heart was going to beat out of their chest. At least I know he’s going to like his next gift, MC thought faintly as they ate. When Julian was finished, he wiped up some of the leftover icing and painted it across his lower lip, giving MC a challenging smirk. Of course he doesn’t play fair, MC muttered, and they dutifully leaned forward, surprising Julian by biting onto his bottom lip before sucking it into their mouth, licking the icing clean. Julian’s deep, husky groan filled MC’s ears, and emboldened by his response, MC crawled over to Julian’s chair, settling their weight on his lap. MC looped their arms around Julian’s neck again and deepened the kiss, their mouth working against Julian’s. They shivered in delight as Julian’s hands gripped their waist, and he kissed them back with an edge of desperation. His fingers pulled at the hem of their top a few times, the silent question coming across clearly. Don’t back out, you’ve already decided you’d do this, MC said, and they broke off the kiss long enough to quickly whisk off the fabric. Julian growled in approval and he leaned back to watch, but then his eyebrows went into his hairline as he saw what the collar of MC’s shirt had hidden. He started to chuckle, but it turned into a full-bellied laugh as his fingers touched the small red bow that was tied around MC’s neck. “I wanted to be your gift,” MC said, flushing intensely as Julian’s molten gaze swept over their bare torso. Those sky-colored eyes flared, and Julian trailed one finger down their sternum. “It’s perfect. In fact, I want to unwrap the rest immediately,” he said, his voice deepening as his hips flexed underneath MC. Oh please, MC’s thoughts whispered, and like Julian had overheard the unspoken plea, he surged up out of the chair. MC wrapped their legs around his waist as Julian’s hands supported their bottom, grabbing them tightly. MC buried their face in the crook of Julian’s neck, and he strode up towards the bedroom, desire curling in their lower belly as Julian nipped their ear. “Happy birthday, Ilya. I love you,” MC whispered against his skin. Julian squeezed MC’s bottom and ran his tongue over the indentations his teeth had left in their ear. “I love you too, MC,” he breathed, and with one smooth motion he tossed MC onto their bed. MC sucked in a quick breath in surprise, and when they landed on the blankets, they moved to take off the ribbon. Julian stopped them with a shake of his head. “Keep that on,” he said, a wicked smile forming. He pulled his white shirt off over his head and pitched it onto the floor. He seized one of MC’s ankles and skirted his hand up their calf and over their knee, landing on the waistband of their clothing. “You looked incredible, bathed in the candlelight,” Julian murmured, and with a few quick tugs he had the troublesome clothing--including MC’s underwear--down their legs and the outfit joined Julian’s shirt on the floor. “But I can’t enjoy my gift if it isn’t completely unwrapped.” Julian let go of MC’s legs and he took a slight step back, drinking in the sight of MC on their bed, with that adorable ribbon and bow nestled against the hollow at the base of their throat. “Oooooooohoho,” Julian said on a dulcet purr, and his hands worked at the waistband of his own pants eagerly. “Happy birthday to me,” he growled, and Julian pounced.

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