#for the sake of your stupid mean cheap laugh

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Do you have any examples of shows that handle speech impediment representation well? As someone with a speech impediment, it’s frustrating to constantly see it used only in the contexts of “This person is socially awkward” or “This person has something wrong with them,” etc.

Nothing comes to mind — you're right that there's tons of examples, and most suck. Like, I'll give partial credit to Umbrella Academy for Diego's stutter, Septimus Heap for Sep's selective mutism, and It for Bill's stutter/lisp. They all get the usefulness of speech path, and the way that stress or tiredness can mess you up. But all three also have "I can't be successful unless I talk normatively" crap, and both It and Umbrella Academy briefly have the stutter be the butt of a joke.

Does anyone else have examples that are actually good? Please help.

#speech impediment #disability #speech pathology #it #septimus heap #umbrella academy #the RAGE when lilah mocked diego's stutter in season 3 #like - y'all were doing well! 7/10! #and then you just fucking *had to* go there #for the sake of your stupid mean cheap laugh

[tomieafterdark]

a/n: So I wanted to give this type of dynamic/pairing a try (YES I KNOW it’s so cliche, I’m a walking cliche for doing this let me live💀) since I’ve seen it around on the Eren fic tag sometimes…btw this is a short drabble. Nothing more. Also click here for part two.

pairing: fem!reader x bully!Eren

cw: degradation, kind of mean Eren, squirting, use of a marker as anal dildo, reader is stuck, noncon, fingering, use of good girl, some praise I guess ?

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CONTINUING TO READ, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT AND THE CONTENT STATED IN CONTENT WARNING

also here’s my masterlist to feed your smut addiction <3 /j

You hated that every year in college they’d make you guys get new lockers. What was wrong with the one you got the first time? This year you were very unlucky, you got a bottom locker. Every students worst nightmare.

It was a Friday afternoon and everyone had gone home, almost everyone. It was just the janitors left and you, the reason you were left was because you had prepared club activities for the upcoming week and you know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun.

You were bent over, trying to reach the last book and pencil in your annoying bottom locker. It’s small but you force yourself to squeeze your entire upper body in there, the only thing sticking out of is your ass. Bad day to wear a short skirt. All you’re focused on is getting that book and the pencil, you’re completely unaware that you’re stuck in a bottom locker on a Friday afternoon in an empty college. You hear someone in the distance..

Eren on the phone: yes I’ll be there soon, I just had some stupid paper to finish or the teacher threatened to fail me…(continues blabbering in the distance as he walks toward you).

“For fucks sake, is that Eren I hear” you think to yourself. You can recognise that voice from anywhere, he has made your life hell all through high school and somehow he ends up at the same college as you. You quickly try to wriggle yourself out so you can avoid him but your efforts are to no avail. This is when you realise you’re stuck and panic hits you, you’d hate asking Eren for help. You wish you had brought your phone in here with you at least, to call for a friend maybe..but no. It just had to be in your bag. As the steps and the voice get closer your movements get more frantic, this is your worst nightmare.

Eren ends his call and sees you. He walks up to you, at first not realising it’s you. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

You try to avoid talking so he can help you out, if he mistakes you for a random student he would definitely help you.

“I guess not” he says and walks away.

“WAIT” you yell. “I’m…we’ll- you see…im stuck. Can you please get one of the janitors to help me out or call my friend-“

“Wait? Y/n? Is that you?” Eren laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart and all that, why are you stuck in your locker with your ass up like in a cheap porno..” the last part gives him an idea. You’re stuck with no one but some janitors around and god knows what floor they’re on.

“Shit happens Eren. Look I know we don’t get along and everything, can you just get me out. Please..”

“We don’t get along? You really think so y/n? Aw my feelings are hurt.” He says in a mean sarcastic tone. “Don’t worry y/n I’ll fix that, today on this beautiful Friday afternoon we’ll get along, we’ll get closer than ever..”

He sounds so sinister right now, it is sending chills down your spine. Eren doesn’t waste a single second, he starts to stomp down on the part of your back that’s sticking out of the locker to perfect your arch. You scream in return, he just laughs at your reaction. “Now y/n, I’d like us to get along so stop screaming and resisting. And keep this arch for me okay??”

You don’t say a word and just sniffle in return.

He kicks your back down even harder, and gives a light kick right where your asshole is. That shouldn’t have felt good but it did, and it made both your holes clench on nothing. You reply with a meek “okay” and make sure to keep that arch up for him.

“Good girl y/n, see we are already getting along. Now spread your fucking legs for me, I think we can get way closer than this.”

Him saying good girl hits a spot inside you, and has you spreading immediately. You feel yourself getting wet and face heating up in the dark of the locker. You feel so isolated and out of control, he can do whatever he wants to you right now and all you can do is take it. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Eren takes of your pretty pink thong and puts it in his pocket. You feel the cool air hit your bare skin, and then Erens fingers all over your thighs, ass and essentially on your cunt. He slaps your thigh and ass, and he purposely slaps your ass in the direction that causes more pain than pleasure. Instead of slapping upwards he slaps down towards his direction, what a dick. Your asscheeks are turning red and you’re starting to cry out, but you know Eren. Saying stop to him means nothing, he will just go harder so you take it hoping it’ll end soon.

He continues slapping, but notices you’re dripping. “What do we have here y/n?? You’re getting off on this? You nasty little slut.” He slaps your cunt this time, slaps and starts rubbing sloppily until he finds your clit. Your legs are shaking, your toes are curling so much it shows even when you have your white sneakers on.

“Why so quiet y/n? I know you want to scream. Your body language is loud and clear!” He says, grinning at how a little clit rubbing has your legs almost spasming. He slaps your cunt again, this time causing you to cry out. “Atta girl, let me hear that pretty voice.”

Eren is so annoying and you hate him but right now he is hitting all the spots with his words and his fingers, you let your moans and cries out. No wonder everyone under the sun wants to have him, you had heard the girls in your math course talk about him and how he apparently made their friend squirt by fingering her ass. You didn’t even know that was possible. Your thoughts end up getting interrupted by Erens fingers entering your pussy.

“Aah- fuck! Eren-“ his fingers were so much bigger and longer than yours, he is reaching that spot inside of you that you were struggling to reach just a few nights ago when you were masturbating. It’s tight, and almost uncomfortable but the pleasure is way overbearing. It doesn’t matter that you’re being stretched out and it hurts a little, it just feels so good.

“See, I told you we’d get along. I’m so nice to you, giving you all my attention when I could leave you here any second with that skirt pulled up, no panties and cunt leaking all over the place. When I could leave you here and tell the creepy janitor there’s been a spill at this exact floor..” he notices how you tense up, believing he would actually leave you. Eren laughs, you’re not wrong for believing him but he wouldn’t go that far. “I’m joking y/n, I am really wondering why people think you’re smart.” He snickers.

“Shut up Eren. You’re not exactly nice to me, you might have scared me for fun and not left me here now but you have been really mean in the past.” There’s a hint of pain in your voice, and anger. Your stupid bully isn’t even taking it seriously, he probably thinks you don’t care. You do put up an act of being annoyed and unbothered but it makes you sad when he is so mean sometimes. Your sadness however quickly shifts into pleasure again, he is pushing on your G-spot and you’re about to have a different kind of orgasm you can feel it. You’re so in the moment you accidentally cry out “Fuck it Eren, I don’t care about our past please just make me cum!” You didn’t mean to tell him that, it was just supposed to be a silent thought inside your own head.

“Oh so that’s how it is? You’re mean and talk back until you’re close to cumming, then you want to use the word please and act all nice and cute??” He stops fingering you.

“Why’d you stop” you whine as you stick your ass out for more. You’re surprised at how fast your demeanour shifted, but there’s something about getting fingered by someone else. You kind of wish you had a boyfriend now, you could get this heavenly treatment without being stuck in a locker and toyed with by Eren.

“I think your pussy got to know me enough, but your other hole hasn’t been getting any attention at all. How rude of me” he says, as he spots one of your neon markers poking out of your bag. “Perfect” he thinks to himself. It’s long and thick, if lubed up with your slick it would be the perfect anal toy. Eren doesn’t hesitate, he quickly coats the marker and puts it inside your ass with no warning. This is the first time you’ve ever done anything related to anal, you don’t know how to react. All you’re doing is crying out, no words just incoherent noises.

Eren doesn’t care he just pushes it in and out, watching both of your holes and how they flutter. His intentions are clear, for the trained eye at least. He wants you to squirt through anal. He starts fucking you with the marker at a faster pace, which has your legs and eyes crossing. When you’re close, he stands up and stomps hard on the marker, your ass pushes it out each time and he keeps stomping. Pushing the rest of you into the ground into the most beautiful slutty arch he has ever seen, oh how Eren wishes he could see your face right now. A few stomps later and you’re squirting all over the floor, messy lewd moans leave your pretty lips. He waits around until you gain consciousness again and puts the marker back in your bag.

“Hey y/n, stay right here I’ll get the janitor. Don’t worry I won’t get the creepy one” he smirks.

“Fucking idiot” is all you reply to that. He could very well get you out himself, he just wants to embarrass you especially now that he has taken off your thong and won’t give it back.

© 2023 succubisblog | All rights reserved

#eren smut #Eren x reader #aot smut #Eren x y/n #bully!eren #eren jeager smut #Eren Yeager smut #attack on titan smut

[senanatheskenana]

Genshin Street Racers AU

Contains the OG Genshin boys (No inazuma/ Sumeru but may do them later idk)

TW- some implications of sex but not actually smut. Illegal driving. 

Please don’t break the law kids!

~~~~

Kaeya

Kaeya is infamous on the street racing scene. He's known for being unpredictable in the streets, so people often try to stay out of his way in case he drifts to close. He's agile and fearless, a combination that's both got him onto and out of a huge array of problems. 

His car is his baby- an icy blue classic Mustang, modified by the best mechanic in Mondstadt. Thanks to Albedo the car easily does 170mph,   0 to sixty in 3 seconds flat. Kaeya never races a car with a roof up, because he say there's no point without the wind in his face, so each night when he finishes a race, his blue hair is always windswept in that alluring way it had been the night you first met.. 

That's what he told you the first time he met you, shades pushed up his nose, hair completely messed with. He asks you if you've ever seen a car like his and when you say no he asks if you wanna take a ride. And like that, you ditch your friends outside the bar and hop in the passenger seat.

What you didn't expect was to be going 130 miles an hour down the Galesong highway, 'highway to hell' playing loud enough for the whole city to hear. He laughs at you when you grip the door handle like you're gonna fall out the car when he weaves between average, law-abiding drivers.

And when you get back on the unmoving ground, you surprise yourself by telling him you'd d it again.

~~~~

 Diluc

Diluc is not the sort of street racer people want to go against by choice. He's honourable, but he's completely brutal, with a car that breezes past 60 mph in less that 3 seconds. 

He drives a Chevrolet Camaro, all black on the outside, with a sleek vermillion leather interior.  It's honestly a car that completely suits him. 

The windows are tinted black- privacy more for your sake than his. He's adamant that you never stay in the car for a race but, every once in a while, you'll end up in there, wrists pinned to the Italian leather of the back seats as he kisses down your neck, making every moment count before a race begins.

Diluc keeps one of your necklaces around the rear view mirror, his good luck charm dangling like a symbolic air freshener.

~~~~~

Venti

Venti started motorbike racing at the age of 15, stopping and then restarting in his mid 20s after overcoming his alcoholism he developed in his teen years.. He's known as one of the youngest racing legends in Mondstadt.

He rides his Yamaha r1 like it's sationary, sometimes ever being so confident as to take his helmet off just so he can wink at you.  He's small but there's no rider more agile than Venti.

It took Venti a while to garner your affection- multiple races to impress you, even taking you out on his bike, going slower than he ever has before just to keep you safe. 

There's been times where Venti's risks caught up to him. He's legendary but he sometimes forgets that it doesn't mean he's immortal. It's after the close calls that he makes it up to you, leaning you against his bike while he gets to his knees in front of you. It's in those moments that he apologises for the stupid things he does. 

~~~~

Albedo

Albedo doesn't race but he knows a hell of a lot about racing. If anyone in Mondstadt needs a ride modified and chopped, he's their first pick. He's not cheap but that's the price of quality. 

It's in his body shop that you meet him, face smeared in oil as he rolls out frum underneath a car. At first he's only interested in the car, before you roll the window down and stare at him. Oh he's down for it. 

Albedo builds your car like it's his own, because he takes pride in seeing you win in a car he's chopped. Everyone knows it's a Kriedprinz car when it roars to life at the starting line and they shudder in awe.

Though he doesn't do it often, Albedo can drive- WELL. He hardly ever drives with both hands on the wheel because the other is planted on your thigh. If you weren't the owner of the car, you'd think he was the racer.

~~~~

Xiao

Xiao is always testing his limits. He's hardly ever off his bike- and make no mistake, it's fast. It's a Suzuki GSX-r1000, flat black with blue accents and an engine that roars. Easily it reaches 190 but he's always pushing it to the limit.

Xiao's identity was a relative mystery for a long time because he never took his helmet off, even after the races. In fact you were the first person to see his face. 

You had been caught in a dark alley by a group of thugs but before they could do anything, Xiao's bike had sped right between you and them. He rips the helmet off and hands it to you before ordering you to get on. Of course you do, feeling your heart pound in your ears as your arms wrap around his black leather jacket.

His manager, Zhongli often remarks about how you make Xiao more distracted but he always denies this fact, knowing full well that his first thought after and during a race is coming back to you and taking you in the dead of night.

~~~~~

Tartaglia

What a show off Childe is. He'll take any risk as long as it has a pay off of some kind. The adrenaline he gets from maxing out the speed dial is something he craves all the time.

He's a rich bitch who races purely for fun and it irritates people to no end that he's casually a driving prodigy. He drives a Lamborghini Huracan, hardly ever going the speed limit on any road- after all, who would be willing to raise a complaint to the Fatui mafia about one of their Harbingers.

He hardly ever attends a race if you aren’t there to impress. You're the only thing there that interests him. We all know what's on his mind during the races. He's only ever thinking about getting you in the car so you can fool around.

He's had to evade police multiple times for indecent exposure because of his excitable and insatiable nature.

He'll try it on anywhere. Sometimes he's even on the phone with you during a race, telling you about what he plans to do to you. Cocky fucker. 

~~~~

Zhongli

Zhongli's a now retired legend in the street racing community of Liyue, though he still drives from time to time, he really only manages his protégé, Xiao.

He's responsible but he does seemingly dangerous stunts because he's confident he can pull them off. In fact, he's one of the only guys that would be ok with you being in the car during a race.

Zhongli teaches you to drive his Nissan patiently, hands holding yours steady with you on his lap as he pushes the accelerator down and changes gear. Having you so close to him is undoubtedly making things happen but he hasn't shown any signs that he's lost composure.

It's when you meet his fellow street racer legends that things finally become clear as to exactly how renowned Zhongli- Morax was. They always called him his old stage name as a mark of respect. It's also in those moments that you're overcome with pride at seeing and being with such a master driver. And you make sure to call him by his rightful title once you get back in the car.

#Street racing #au #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact #Childe x reader #zhongli x reader #Xiao x reader #Diluc x reader #venti x reader #Kaeya x reader

[raina-at]

First Kiss

"What exactly is your problem?" John pants as he runs after Sherlock, cursing Sherlock's long legs that mean John always has to jog to keep up with him.

"Nothing. I don't have a problem," Sherlock grates out between clenched teeth, not turning around, still making his way through the long, empty corridors, past empty classrooms, towards the back exit.

"You nearly bit my head off in there, then you threw your punch glass against the wall and left," John says, still trying to catch up to Sherlock.

Sherlock abruptly whirls around, his overdramatic coat billowing behind him. "I didn't want to come to this stupid dance, and you talked me into it. And then you ditched me for your girlfriend. So I'm going home to spend my evening more productively than watching other teenagers engage in juvenile mating rituals."

"She's not my girlfriend, for fuck's sake, it was one dance!" John points a finger at Sherlock. "Plus, what even is it to you who I dance with? Why do you care?"

"Why do I care? How unbelievably thick can one person be?"

"Well, if it's so obvious, explain it to me, then, genius!" John yells, beyond irritated.

Sherlock huffs in aggravated exasperation, fists his hands into the lapel of John's cheap suit, pulls him in and presses their lips together.

John's brain stops. Sherlock is kissing him. Sherlock, his best friend since he was twelve, is kisisng him. Sherlock, who he's been in love with since he was fourteen and discovered he likes boys just as much as girls, is kissing him.

It's not a very good kiss, since it's the first, and neither of them know what they're doing. It's just a press of lips, really, just a brush. There's no finesse involved, no tongues, no technique. Also, they're both completely frozen in shock because this is monumental, this is a seismic event on an unprecedented scale, it's a continental shift of life-changing proportions. Sherlock Holmes is kissing John Watson, and John Watson is kissing back.

John pulls back and looks at Sherlock, who has a shell-shocked, fuck-what-did-I-just-do expression on his face.

"So apparently I'm a colossal moron," John croaks, voice unsteady and rough.

Sherlock seems to come out of his shock-induced paralysis, blinking once, then giving John a slight smile. "Well. I suppose it would be impolite to agree."

John laughs, a small hysterical giggle that's more tension relief than mirth. "So given that I'm a complete idiot," he says, fisting his hand in the lapel of Sherlock's coat. "Could you maybe explain it to me again?"

Sherlock smiles at him, gentle and soft. "My pleasure," he says as they both move in for another kiss.

A bit of teenlock for the first kiss prompt by @notjustamumj . Apparently, my brain can handle these snippets better than working on my WIP right now. Well, I'm having fun, so who cares, right? Might have to collect these and post them to AO3 one of these days.

Tagging @keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @lisbeth-kk @fluffbyday-smutbynight and anyone else who wants to play.

#johnlock #johnlock fic #microfic #teenlock #may prompts #notjustamumj

[denim-mixtapes]

Congrats with the 1k followers! 🥳 Don’t know if anyone asked yet, but I’d love to ask for Mistletoe with Robin.

Hi buddy, thank you!! <3 <3 She was the one I was most excited to write this prompt for so I got a little carried away! Giggly awkward Robin is my FAVORITE.

Robin's mistletoe kiss, w/c: 1k

Join the Christmas Party!

“What’s with you? You’re acting weird.” 

You glare across the drink table at Steve’s comment, but don’t argue. He has a point. You’re not usually like this at parties, distant, hovering around the kitchen and doing little more than sipping your drink and observing. Usually, you’re more social, flitting from room to room and saying hi to all the friends and acquaintances you can find, fueled by the false confidence that cheap beer provides. 

But that’s because she isn’t usually at these things.

Robin Buckley. Your neighbor Steve’s best friend and the reason you’ve been avoiding the rest of the party. She just makes you nervous. With her wrinkle-nosed smile and melodious laugh, the way her eyes always managed to find yours during band rehearsal and the cute blush that followed when you caught her looking. She’s stupid. And she’s mentioned before that she hates big parties so you’re not at all used to seeing her in this setting. 

“Oh, I get it,” Steve says, hiding a smirk behind the rim of his bright red plastic cup. “You’re avoiding Robin.” 

“No!” You say, too fast, too loud. 

“You know, you don’t have anything to worry about.” He sighs. He’s a good guy, he doesn’t want to out his best friend, but if he has to keep track of one more awkward lesbian he’s going to lose his mind so he’s trying to move things along for both of your sakes. “She’s not scary. Neither of you are, you just need to–” He throws his hands up in defeat when you cut him off with a fixed stare. 

“Fine, I’ll go mingle, but only because Eddie looks miserable all alone over there.” 

You pour another drink and kick away from the counter, if only to shut your friend up, and make your way to the living room to chat with Eddie for a bit. From your new spot on the couch, you can feel eyes on the back of your head, the warm, tingling feeling of being watched. Peering over your shoulder, you catch Robin at the window, talking to Nancy Wheeler and suddenly staring very intensely at her shoes as she takes a sip of her wine cooler. Your cheeks heat, but you force yourself to turn back to the conversation at hand. She was probably staring at Eddie, anyway. 

Later, when you’ve made your rounds and visited with (almost) everyone, you circle back to the empty kitchen for another drink. The white noise of a successful party is quieter here, but you can still hear the cheek in Steve’s voice when he yells, “I think I left it in the kitchen! Robin, could you look?” 

Oh god. 

She’s grumbling about his lack of self sufficiency when she crosses the threshold, but as soon as she looks up from her glare at the floor, she brightens. 

“Hi,” she breathes, knocking her fists together awkwardly. 

You’re just as awkward back, chewing on your lower lip and leaning back against the counter, “hey.” 

Maybe it’s the red Christmas lights hanging from the kitchen cabinets casting a rosy glow on her face, but you swear she’s blushing. 

“Did Steve leave a record in here?” She asks, looking around the room with a pinch between her brows. “He’s insisting on playing Blue Christmas like, right now.” 

“I haven’t seen it, sorry,” you laugh nervously, then gesturing to the array of bottles on the table, “but maybe a drink will help you avoid him longer? I've been told I make a mean cocktail.” You’re not sure where that came from, but the bright smile that breaks out on her face is worth it. 

She rounds the table and nods, ready to accept your offer, but before she can speak Steve’s voice rings out from the doorway. 

“I think maybe I left it on the, uh, ceiling.” He says, which prompts both of you to shoot him a confused look. Behind him, Nancy is rolling her eyes but still watching expectantly. “Try looking…up.” 

Despite his lame attempt, you fall for it, and glance upwards to see that in your time mingling, he’s haphazardly hung a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling fan. The hitch in Robin’s breath is audible, but you’re no better. 

“Steve this is–” you protest, but get cut off. 

“It’s the law of Christmas!” Robin blurts, a little too loud and with the hint of a shake in her voice. She clears her throat and tries to force an air of nonchalance, “you know, you can’t… you can’t leave unless you kiss, right? Like the mistletoe traps you, or something?” 

Your heart slams in your chest, fingers twitching where your hands dangle loose at your sides. “Y-yeah, okay.” Quickly, you dart your gaze to Steve in the doorway, suddenly hyper aware of your audience, but he just shoots you two thumbs up and he and Nancy dart away (thankfully). When you turn back to Robin, she’s minutely closer, stepping toward you expectantly but still buzzing with nervous energy. Your cheeks hurt from the force of your smile when you mumble, “c’mere, then.” 

Neither of you know what to do with your hands. It’s supposed to be quick, a peck to appease Steve the Christmas Gods or whatever, but as soon as your lips touch it’s all over. All the denial and every claim that Robin couldn’t be into you because she must be straight go out the window. 

It’s like static between you. A fizzle and a pop! against your skin where your lips meet, warmth flooding your cheeks, and you’re drawn to her. A small squeak of surprise escapes her throat and has you smiling into the kiss, unable to resist touching her now. You bring your hands to her cheeks, holding on for dear life as if she were going to disappear if you didn’t, and much to your delight, hers wind around your waist to keep you in place. 

You both giggle as you pull away, chapped lips sticking together slightly, and you rest your forehead on hers. 

“I knew that idiot was up to something,” she sighs, shaking her head, jostling yours where your foreheads connect and forcing another laugh from you. 

“I’m glad he was.” 

“Mmh,” she hums her confirmation and hugs tighter around your middle. “Me too.” 

#1k celebration blurb #robin drabble #robin buckley/reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley/you #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert

[softquietsteadylove]

Thena and Gilgamesh at beach party, you choose the AU

"Princess?"

Gil chuckled into his beer bottle. He looked over his shoulder, although Thena stepped over the log he was sitting on of her own volition anyway. "You takin' my lines, now?"

Thena settled herself on the log in front of his small little beach fire. She looked behind them, at the main - huge and roaring - bonfire most of the party was seated around. "Not a marshmallow person?"

He snorted, setting down his beer to give her ladyship his undivided attention. "Do I look like a marshmallow guy?"

"Hm," she smirked at him and his little challenge, resting her chin in her palm, "you are surprisingly soft on the inside."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, sweetheart," Gil balked at the suggestion that he was soft. He gave her his meanest look, "I give you my sweater one time, which I want back, by the way!"

Thena raised her brows at him and then looked down at that exact hoodie she was currently wearing over her sweater dress.

"Doesn't make me soft," he scoffed freely. He gave her a curious look, the fire in front of them offering a soft glow while the larger fire behind them illuminated the back of him. "So, what are you doing here anyway?"

Thena tugged her skirt over her knees, "well, Sersi wanted to come and see Dane."

"Oh," Gil gave her that stupid smug smile, "that so?"

"It is," she huffed, holding her chin high. "I let her loose into the gaggle of people over there, just so long as she doesn't reek of alcohol when I take her home."

Gil nodded, sitting up a little straighter. "And you decided to keep me company?--I'm honoured."

"Okay," Thena scoffed, pulling the hoodie around her tighter. "Get over yourself, please, for the sake of your own dignity. I don't want to be over there any more than you do."

"No, really?" Gil gasped loudly, leaning into her personal space. "Her Highness doesn't like a bunch of drunk idiots trying to convince her go skinny dipping?"

"Don't forget that they stink of cheap beer," she pointed out, even indulging in a laugh that drifted up into the air like the tiny fire's smoke. She looked at him, "what about you?"

"What about me?" Gil repeated, still not having picked up his beer since she sat down.

Thena peeked behind them again, "even if they're not your favourite people in the world, there is at least free food and beer over there."

Gil leaned back only slightly, looking up at the stars. "I mean, I mostly came because I like the beach at night anyway. I looked at what they had over there but there's nothing really good. Me and my six pack are just fine over here."

Thena tilted her head at him, her hair slipping over her shoulder. "You're much more popular than you think, given your willingness to deny the public your mysterious charms."

Gil grinned at her, "you think I'm charming?"

She froze, blinking at him, just for a second. Then she looked back at the fire, clearing her throat, "it is a figure of speech, actually. I can explain it to you, if you like."

Gil didn't mind her prickly response. If anything, he seemed excited by it. "Will you wear a sexy teacher outfit?"

"Are alcohol and sex truly the only interests you have room for in that head of yours?"

"As a matter of fact, no," he countered proudly, leaning into her space again. He even slid over closer again, this time meeting her hip with his. "I have a more recent interest I'm pursuing."

Thena shivered, although it was a funny contrast of feelings. She wasn't any colder--maybe half of her felt chilly, in comparison with the half Gil was leaning against now.

"What about you, Thena?" he asked in that softer voice he could have sometimes. "Any...interests?"

She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking, but it didn't seem like something she wanted to answer entirely honestly. She cleared her throat again. "If I do have interests, what exactly makes them your business?"

"I guess nothing," he shrugged, and the movement that left a gap between their shoulders let in the cold again. "Just asking."

Thena looked at the fire again, rendered quiet by the whirlwind of conversation, in addition to its rather abrupt end.

"Just that if you were interested in any-" Gil shimmied his shoulders, jostling her faintly, "thing...then you should follow through."

She fidgeted, left with the distinct impression that she both didn't know what he meant and knew exactly what he meant. She shifted on the log, his hoodie tucked under her posterior. "You think so?"

Gil looked at her, and despite his lazy kind of facial expression, his eyes were warm and intense, like they always were. He tucked some hair out of her view and behind her ear. "Yeah, I do. You're too kick-ass not to pursue anything you want, Thena."

She blushed. Her eyes drifted back down to the fire, unable to bear the weight of his undivided attention. She toyed with the strings of the hood. "Can I...hold onto this?--just for tonight!"

Gil chuckled, finally picking up his beer again, although it was further away than even he had thought it would be. He groaned as he stretched for it, "tell you what, Princess. You keep it for as long as you need. And when you have anything you wanna tell me - or ask me - then you can bring it back."

"Well," she squirmed, but Gil stood and dusted his butt off (from which she averted her eyes).

"Not that I'm not enjoying this," Gil chuckled, "but I think Sersi might need to be rescued."

"Oh?" Thena stood as well, looking over at where Sersi was being her ever popular self. "I thought she would have found Dane by now."

"Dane's not here, Thena."

"What?" she turned, but Gil had that look on his face that told her that he had known that this whole time.

"He's on house arrest since he was late getting home from that party last weekend," he smirked, tossing his now empty beer to the sand at their feet. Of course he would say 'house arrest' instead of calling it being grounded. "And he told me that he told Sersi that already."

"Wh-" Thena bit her tongue. It had been she who had suggested to Sersi that perhaps Dane would be at this little gathering. And now both Sersi and Gil had let her walk right into an ensnarement. "You-!"

"I'm flattered you wanted to come see me though," he grinned right in her face, showing off his teeth as the v-neck of his t-shirt billowed in the wind.

"That is not-!" Thena smacked him on the chest (which was unpleasantly hard). "I came to return your sweater! Although, since you said I could keep it, then I suppose I'll be off!"

Thena wasted no time in stepping over the log and back towards the crowd. If she looked back, Gilgamesh would just be wearing that stupid smug smirk of his. He thought he looked so good doing that. "Sersi!"

"Thena!" her younger sister jumped, startled by her war cry. She stood, unminding of the boys on either side of her.

"Come on," Thena grumbled, grabbing her by the hand and not even pausing in her step for Sersi to arrange her willow legs under her. She wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. "We're going home."

"But," Sersi sputtered, barely able to toss away the beer she wasn't allowed to have. "You still have-"

"I know I still have it, let's go!"

#Thenamesh 10 Things AU #I hope you like it anon! #we're starting to deviate from the plot of the movie at this point #and I'm fine with that #Gil goes to any and all of these stupid parties now #maybe at one time it was for the free booze and food and a fun night out #but now it's obviously in hopes a certain someone will be there #he absolutely posts whenever he goes to one so #Sersi sees that Gil is at the beach party #and Dane DMs her that he can't go :( #then lo and behold Thena pokes her head into Sersi's room and says hey I heard there's a beach thing do you want to go?...find Dane? #Sersi looks at the message from Dane and then up at Thena #who is already wearing Gil's hoodie #and goes yeah let's go! :D #Gil sits down again with the rest of his decent beer #he looks like the cool guy sitting over by himself #in reality he's basically going 'she loves me she loves me not' in his head #these idiots

[lacystar]

full disclosure this is a titanic au. also suicidal ideation warning

---

Your ring is heavy on your finger (later, Sapnap says you'd sink straight to the bottom if you went overboard with a diamond that size). The glare from it gives you a headache to look at too long so you ignore it. Stuff your hand into a pocket when you can. Sit on it. clasp your left one over your right when you talk to others like it's a disgusting secret. It isn't. You should be showing it off to the other bachelors and bachelorettes your age- it's your most exciting gossip and your father claims it something to be proud of. You don't know why you're not.

When you make it to the SMP, you will marry him. This sets in when you exit your carriage at the port and stare up at the massive ship that's to safely carry you over. The shadow it casts over the crowd around you is suffocating, like if it listed too far to one side it would crush you. You wonder, briefly, if that would be a better fate than having to step foot on it at all.

Your stateroom is luxurious when you are guided into it. Your arm is on his, and he chats up the staff with a yellowed cigar smile that you'll soon be forced to kiss. When you're dismissed, you do everything you can to clear your head from the impending brewing storm. You walk the decks, you rest your eyes, you speak with the crew.

It is only after the ship has left port and you're sitting crowded in the dining hall to the ambiance of clinking silverware and guarded voices that aren't allowed any hint of earnestly that you realize you are absolutely fucked.

You are stumbling over your own feet as you run aft. You haven't been able to run in a long time- haven't been given the permission to. Now you don't need it. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once and even as you are sobbing, breaths ripping from your own chest, it is all you can cling to. For the first time in years, it is the rarest semblance of control you have as the railing to the very back of the ship draws nearer and nearer and you collapse against it, relying on it fully to support your weight as you stare over it, the black water below churning angrily and you want to yell into it the way it seems to yell back.

It is the most terrified and most free you have felt your entire life, and as you step over the railing it's desperate, fleeting. A last ditch attempt to save yourself from an imprisoned life, your father's expectations, your fiancé's lust that scathes. And you are clinging to the railing, on the other side of it now, hanging off and taking your last breaths before you let go. The final freedom.

"Don't do it."

You nearly let go in shock at the foreign voice, but you don't. Your head whips back to search for the presence and land on a boy. Your age, if you had to guess. Blackened, smooth hair tied back with a dirty white strip, crinkled cheap button down. Definitely not first class. But he gives you space as you bite back for him to fuck off, and his dark eyes are filled with some semblance of concern, which is stupid because this boy doesn't know you, has no grasp on the world you live in, and you didn't ask for him to stop you.

You scream at him. You say you'll let go, you'll do it if he doesn't back off.

He looks you up and down. His eyes narrow. And somehow he realizes, cleverly, that blind concern won't work. So he meets your gaze levelly, doesn't shy away from it (even Schlatt shies away when you're in a pissy mood, says he doesn't want to deal with you), and says "No you won't."

"The fuck do you mean 'I won't', asshole!? You don't fucking know me."

"Well if you like, actually wanted to do it, you would've already."

You pause at that. In fact, you're not sure how long you've been sitting on the precipice to die, but you know deep down it's because of a hesitation. A hesitation you hate.

"Well for fuck's sake, can't I have a minute before I kill myself?" You scoff at him, laughing at the sheer audacity this man has. Like even when you're given the chance, someone is still trying to prevent you from your own destiny you want to choose.

He pauses, shrugs, then reaches down to untie and toss off his boots. "... Okay. Take your time. But the more you wait the more nervous I'm gonna get to jump in after you."

You blink, stunned. You laugh and call his bluff. "Fuck off. You won't."

He sighs, rolling up his sleeves. "Nah, man. No turning back now, y'know? I'm too invested now."

"To rob my corpse and sell off my clothing?"

Something, hurt or offense flashes by his face, and for a brief moment you feel bad for judging him so harshly. But he shakes his head, and like an absolute oaf claims, "Nope. Because this is like, destiny, you know?"

"... Excuse me?"

"I mean, I'm the only person here to see you. Gotta mean something, right?" His eyes flick down, you think to linger on the cross that swings in the wind on your chest, "Some sort of fate."

"You believe in that shit?" You laugh.

"I mean, living my life the way I do, you kinda gotta. Like, uh... actually, funny story- I grew up in the SMP in this area called Kinoko. It's uh, real pretty, but it gets cold in the winter and I, uh... I was out on the lake one day some years back and I got too cocky trying to show off to my old friend. I was trying to like, skate over the ice in my boots. Like, ice skating." He pauses, "Ice skating is when you-"

"I know what ice skating is!"

"Okay! Jesus, sorry. You just don't really seem like an outdoorsy guy, y'know?" He's inched closer to the railing, not far from you now, but you aren't scared of him touching you. You feel less and less like a cornered animal as he talks to you conversationally like this is a simple chance meeting rather than a life or death situation that you've decided for yourself. There's something grounding in his voice with its country twang, almost melodic in its cadence. "But the ice was thinner than I thought, basically, and it broke and I fell in. And with water like, that cold... it's like you can't even think, anymore. Like, all the heat gets sucked out of your body and you're just paralyzed. Can't move, can't swim, can't scream. I just bobbed there and I thought I was gonna die. But then this skinny kid just throws his arms in after me and pull me out from nowhere. Like, I don't even know this kid, and he saved my life just 'cause he happened to be there. Completely fate, right? And now?" He laughs, "He's my best friend. His name's Karl, he's uh- rooming with me on the boat now 'cause of pure luck, honestly. And just... sometimes people like that come out of nowhere. Can't be coincidence, I guess. Meant to be, or something."

You blink at him, gawking at the concept that such things can be random occurrences and not predestined events. You also think he's an idiot for believing in such fairytales. You ignore how your chest aches and wishes it could be that naïve too.

He holds your gaze a long moment before shrugging. "Which is why I'm not super stoked to jump in after you. Like, that water down there's gonna be twice as cold as that. I mean, I'll probably freeze up again, but I'm gonna try. But like, sorry in advance if I'm not like the most heroic rescuer. Because I'll be freezing my ass off."

And he was... still serious about jumping in after you. Your voice shakes embarrassingly as you ask, "That cold?"

"Yup."

"You're fucking insane."

"I mean, maybe, but... forgive me for saying this, uh, sir, but I'm not the one who's hanging off the back of a giant boat right now."

And you are not insane! The audacity of him to think... to think that...

This kid probably lived on the streets and you, coddled your whole life, was the one suffering? About to risk your life and his for your own selfish decision?

(Because as stupid as it seems, somehow, you believe him when he says he's gonna jump in after you. There's something in his eyes that deems it true.)

There's a hand extended towards you you see from the corner of your eye. You detach one hand, frozen on the rail, and raise it to rest it in his. Contrasting from the cold metal, his skin is warm and welcoming and calloused. A strong but sturdy grip takes you as he comes next to you, breaths mingling in steam in the air as he takes your second hand and turns you around. You are now face to face, separated by only the rail and the wind. Up close, you see his eyes are charcoal down to the iris, a soft but sturdy color.

"... I'm, uh, Sapnap. That's what my friends call me," He says.

With a shaking voice you politely say back, "Alexis Quackity HQ."

"I don't think those three words have ever existed in the same sentence ever."

You laugh at that, startling yourself as a warm bubble escapes your previously constricted chest. Your hands are being held by a caring person and you feel lighter, despite the tears that still dry on your face. He looks at you like you matter more than as a puzzle piece.

And even when you slip as he tries to bring you back over the railing, even as you dangle and scream above the waves and the realization that you don't want to die, you never wanted to die, strikes you fearfully and frantically, he doesn't let go.

#wrote this all in my anthropology class good lord im so bored #anyways sorry my demons #mcyt #dream smp #jschlatt #karlnapity #karl jacobs #sapnap #quackity #suicide tw #lacydoesherbest

[alltimefail-sims]

Girl why the fuck one of the kids only got an air mattress in your build...

Not gonna lie, this ask made me laugh. You're quite the eagle eye! Honestly, Beau has an air mattress for more than one reason, and I'm not sure if this is a rhetorical question but I'll take any opportunity to explain the lore around my sims! 👍

Let's unpack this under the cut ↓

It's important to note that the Brokes are a family from TS2 who are known for struggling financially and being, well, broke. (You might know this, but just in case I wanted to start there).

That being said, for the sake of realism I wanted all their furniture to feel haphazardly mismatched, hand-made with scraps, inherited from family members, or purchased very cheap at second-hand stores or yard sales (maybe even found in the dump/on the side of the road). For storytelling purposes, I imagine Beau just aged up out of his toddler bed and they don't have the money to get him a whole "big kid" bed yet with Brandi having a recently dead husband (who provided their main source of income) and a whole new child she wasn't expecting (hence why their bed is a pack-and-play and she has the changing table set up in her closet due to the lack of space).

Their household funds are currently under $1,000. Brandi is a waitress and is making less than minimum wage, largely depending on tips to make up the difference. The air mattress is obviously not ideal or a long-term solution, but that's what she can afford right now so that is what Beau has. I mean, Dustin's bed frame is made out of scrap wood and even Brandi's bed is very cheap (it's probably the first "adult" purchase her and Skip made when they got married). Beds in the Sims AND in real life are actually pretty expensive and a luxury item for people in poverty (ESPECIALLY bed frames which serve no function other than looking nice) so all things considered, I just didn't think giving all of them super nice beds was realistic. 🤷‍♀️ I promise it wasn't just something I did randomly for like the outdoorsy aesthetic of his room (I wasn't aiming to give his room a set "theme" anyway).

I also want to note that any "nicer" items you'll see in the build - like Dustin's gaming system (albeit it's the less expensive one) - are also "storytelling choices" on my end. I don't have my priorities mixed up or anything, Dustin just has a history of petty crime/criminal friends, so I imagine some of the nicer items in his room to probably be stolen or bought with money he made in a less-than-ideal way. Or like, there might be an antique decor item here or there (like the ceramic chicken in the kitchen) and I see that as something Brandi inherited from her grandparent's own kitchen (and little things like that emphasize my personal headcanon that her and Skip have country roots).

TLDR; I'm detail crazy. Like detail insane. No (normal) person needs to care about or have an explanation for these menial decisions but I do. Trust me when I say that the choices I make in a build always have a reason, even if that reason seems stupid lol.

#welcome to my brain... full of stories for blorbos. It's ridiculous I know #But speaking from experience - this isn't actually that strange and something that occurs irl #If you end up downloading the build feel free to swap out the air mattress! I just thought it made sense 🤷 #atfs ask #anon #the brokes #brandi broke #dustin broke #beau broke

[dimdiamond]

Rambling about how seriously underrated The adventures of Tintin (comics, cartoon series, live action and animated movies etc) is for @backtomyfirstfandom

When Herge said that Tintin is for ages 7-77 he REALLY MEANT IT! Honestly I have seen few media that have the ability to capture the attention and love of the general audience without losing their own identify for the sake of the target group. Someone could claim that most cartoons that are for all the family do that but let me remind you that they're still considered for children, their target group is still children and the elements that are put for the adults to enjoy are subtle so that children would not be affected. Same with the cartoons aimed for teens although in them you can see the adult themes more strongly than the others. Do children enjoy them? Yes but tell me how many parents would let their elementary kid to watch more mature cartoons or at least for older children or teens.

This doesn't happen to Tintin. Sure it's marketed for the children but you don't need more than few minutes to realize that "wait, this guy is in the middle of some serious business". The adult themes are strong in the stories but are shown in a way that even the younger audience can understand them in a degree. They're not an inside joke for your parent only to understand neither something that you'll understand when you grow up. No, the themes are approached with sincerity to its core. When you watch Haddock crying about his situation in his drank state you don't focus to a general theme of the plot or to the cheap laugh. You focus to the character and the general plot and that's something that all the viewers can do no matter the age. And when you reconsider what you just saw or when you see in later stories how is this character presented everything clicks on and you realize the theme of trying to be better and move on. It's not shouted in a teaching manner for the younger nor implied for the older. It's just showed in the whole concept of the story.

Maybe that happens thanks to the fast pace and the narrative being plot driven (although this is the first impression, in my opinion the stories are partly character driven but that's a whole other discussion). You don't have time to sit and think a lot of things, a mystery needs to be solved, an adventure awaits Tintin and his friends and you can't resist following them. And while you live this crazy adventure alongside them you notice them, their relationships and feelings, their fears and struggles in a simple but still honest way, a way that can be understood by both children and adults.

I can't help but compare Tintin with other comics and cartoons targeted for children and be pleasantly surprised how it approaches the more serious themes and plotlines and the more light, funny scenes in a way that completes the other rather than diminishing. The joke about the "goat" and the "hairdresser" doesn't diminish the seriousness and the suspense of the whole moon case, their fear and agony for what will happen.

Actually the way comedy and suspense are handled plays a big role in the general audience's enjoyment. Comedy is usually undermined in importance but it's meaning is significant and necessary for any piece of media. So when you have the running gags like Thompson and Thomson's shenanigans or Calculus' hearing problems constantly providing you the laugh you NEED it really shows how comedy helps with the intense plot because, let's be honest, there were light stories as well as heavy storylines in the whole continuity of the series.

Another thing that may explain why Tintin is enjoyable and still is for any age is the way it treats its audience. It doesn't treat the readers or viewers as "stupid" that have to either explain every little thing or make you feel like one for not getting what's happening immediately (something that happens to mystery focused media very often). It treats them straight forward, what it needs to be shown is shown and the messages are clear.

Does that have to do with lack of depth? Not in the slightest. I think what many new stories suffer from is the rule "must be complicated to be taken seriously", which is foolish to say the least. To be something complex and deep doesn't mean to be difficult to understand and follow. In the contrary, I have noticed the more simpler some things are communicated the more possible is to be remembered and reviewed. For example, in my first watch of the 2011 movie, I had almost no idea what Tintin is about exactly so it was like an introduction to me to this world. And then I rewatched this movie. Again. And again. And everytime I noticed something new, something that didn't get my attention although it was right there. And the movie itself is simple but not shallow. And that's why it's enjoyable without losing any meaning and instead gains more and more. The same with the rest Tintin media.

It's the world, in which Tintin lives, itself that gives a freedom and at the same time relatability in the audience's imagination (the world seems like our own but extraordinary things can happen) and then it's the characters themselves that win you over and want to revisit them and watch what they will do this time. It's the theme of friendship and faith and loyalty and kindness and the effort to be better and the thirst for adventure that makes you stay in this world and care for the characters in it.

"The adventures of Tintin" is honest and kind at the same time and that's what makes it a classic. Even if it's marketed for children it's made for everyone. It can be childish at times but that's what makes it honest and real and it can be mature but not for the sake of being mature. It stays true to itself and only for that shouldn't be underated.

#i could go on and on #sorry if it doesn't make sense there's nk edit or anything just raw thoughts #tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin

[zcottwhathuh]

OK SO WAIT

FOR ALL THOSE THAT ARE HERE FOR THE PUNCH OUT CONTENT.

THIS CAME TO ME OUTTA NOWHERE BUT IDC

(this post is long as fuck, if you don't wanna read, just scroll a bit,)

The other boxers go to Joe's apartment in Paris because he hasn't really been in many matches for a while.

They don't see him in the living room, sipping on cheap wine and actively enjoying bad French TV shows like he usually is, instead they find him in the room that was always empty, now decorated with Clay and Paints, he seems to be sculpting a Bust, of someone.

His hands are kind of messy with water and clay. They then look to the photo in his hands. It's a photo of Mac and him, at the end of Mac's first match against Joe. He looks to his side and notices everyone and nearly jumps out of his seat. Bear Hugger is the only one who knows French, so he asks what Joe's doing and why he hasn't been in many matches for a while. Joe says he hasn't been in any matches because it's getting to be too much, and his doctor told him that he may need to find another hobby, for the sake of his own health. He says even if he can't box, he'll still be there for the matches. He says the career wasn't really getting him anywhere, anyway, with his 1-101 win-to-loss ratio. (the extra one is from Gabby Jay fucking him up in his own school.) He says the sculpture was supposed to be a surprise and that it is, indeed, Mac. Eventually he was going to make the other boxers, but thought it only fair to make Mac the first one since he fucked everyone up, and thought that was impressive. Bear Hugger translates to everyone, and obviously, they're all pretty sad about it. They loved hanging out with Joe, and learning all about the culture of France, and all that jazz. Joe explained that they hadn't seen the last of him yet, and how just because he wasn't a boxer anymore didn't mean they couldn't be friends. He would still come to the matches, and he wasn't just gonna up n go, and how he'd still hang out with them, in broken English.

"Probably was not a good idea to put my weakness out in my name, live and learn, I guess." He says.

He gets up and hugs all of them, and gives them all little keychains he made out of clay, specialized for all of them.

"Those were my experiments. With clay, I mean. I ended up liking them. They're all yours. I'll never forget you."

More than half of them end up crying. The others have tears forming but they're holding them back. Even Aran Ryan has small tears in his eyes. Sandman and Von Kaiser are both holding onto him and sobbing. Big Guy's got a big heart, what can he say. Von Kaiser... Von Kaiser is trying his best to form words, but he's... He's having a hard time, but he's getting there.

Meanwhile Joe is holding onto them and shushing them like a mom, laughing to himself. He explains that, again, it's for his health, and he really does not want to drop dead in the middle of the ring, thank you very much.

They understand, and Sandman gets off of him, while Joe grabs a tissue box with his newly freed hand, passing it to Sandman. Von Kaiser is determined to make Joe change his mind, though. Joe does not. Eventually, he gives up. But makes Joe PROMISE to show up to all of their meet-ups, boxer or not.

"I guess, if it'll get you off of me."

They leave, all feeling better. Joe goes back into the room where he was sculpting, and continues. He laughs to himself, and takes a moment to look at the photo on the wall. All the WVBA's Best (haha, sure.) Boxers standing next to eachother, smiling. He smiles fondly, then goes back to his chair, finishing his sculpture. He gets a text from Aran. It's a photo of them all crying on the plane back. Including Aran himself.

(aran being < and Joe being >)

<you asshole.)

(I'm sorry that you all are crybabies. Thursday, right?>

<yeah. Careful. I might punch you in your stupid face.)

(you better not. then I could charge you for assault.>

<eeh, I should already be in jail anyway, with the stunts i pull in the ring. See you Thursday, im tired as shit and can't keep my eyes open.)

(Goodnight Aran. Tell everyone I'll see you Thursday. I won't miss it for anything. Promise.>

<you'd better keep your promise, joe.)

(i will.>

(SHOULD,, SHOULD I WRITE A FIC ABOUT THURSDAY?? TELL ME,, I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW AHAJKA)

#glass joe #punch out #punch out wii #aran ryan #mr sandman #von kaiser

[the-firebird69]

Watch "Michael Myers Halloween Kills Cosplay w/ James Jude Courtney at MM51" on YouTube

She's wearing my mechanics outfit and you wouldn't let me fix my car correctly Max and she's standing next to a Mac a full-blown smiling Kackling Mac. And she is supposedly in cosplay it's one of those cosplay events and she knew he was there she says and she strolls in after the movie begins and is nearby and it's in Ohio and it's during the day and people heard it was already on so there's a whole bunch of people dressed up like there like her and she lost some fingers in one of the movies and she's trying to say you're not looking at what I'm saying be horrified and behold your death

Zues

So we're listening to what you're saying and listen to The Three stooges and the same stuff and they're mocking and laughing and they don't seem to get it but the Mac here gets it right in the neck shortly after the video and he's missing and they don't find him for like a day and a stuffed in something and he's gone and he's sitting out here harassing my husband and he's in the wrong place at the wrong time and people are going to blame Lily thank heavens she's a huge a****** they can't really help it and they lost their act and you guys ruined them. But their act is ruined and they're going to go after you in any way they can and it's what it has become and your low-level extortionists and they're doing better than you are

Hera

Oh no it's true that is cheap pieces of s*** and I think they've always been that way and McDonald's have been helping and it just doesn't get any better and he says it was not bad and they dragged it down using you guys who can't master anything better but they're too small and we're getting beat up and you kept me around and I had decent times it's just that the max won't lay off and they're irresistibly wrong and it says that and now I see it the foreigners are trying to get him stuff too and it and they're trying to stop them from ruining society and for Christ's sake you're falling for Tommy f and he says they've been falling for a long time and this is hell we think that they're doing it and they just are really arrogant they do everything by extortion and it stuck to narrow out front to cover it this is not going to work I can't believe it we're actually better at it and he says it too I have hours of talking normal then after a while I get angry and we're in fighting and they're on top of us I'm going to have to get out of here this is terrible

Jason

This is more going on too but for real this is what's happened and what's going on and the max have been like that for a long time there they're pretty much just forceful people and a son nailed it he said you had this fleet and he lost half of it you pay it you got a few ships from the idiot and your bellies are fat and now you're worth you're willing to die and he says that to him and Lily and Hera and they start saying you see what I'm pointing out here and the guy is like blind he finally looks and says so you're missing some digits did you do that for the ACT it says do you Max do that for the ACT and also he said he says probably not and of course he did his little gifted and he can put it back on so he says I don't think I've ever seen that before and he started getting nervous and it started running around trying to tell people they're saying he's nuts and he dies the more the story is you should pay more attention than no attention at all and say the winners and horrified people and almost completely bury an adventure in in a tomb I mean the guy is suffering all the time and is our son and we want you gone and Tommy f too you're participants in the biggest f****** your stupid realm has ever had and you're going to see it tonight A little it's never enough trespasser comes out and ruins tons of stuff become a big bug and you should see what they call the crack and he's crafted to a huge spider so people don't get grafted to a spider he'd fall off it's completely different there's nothing the same about the DNA he's held on there he's held on there with what and how's he changed into a human what you can which he can never seen that before consider not really going to see it cuz you get eaten if you do see it then they started flipping out said what you doing so you're just sitting here threatening my life saying I'm going to prison and I said f*** that I'm not going to prison I'm going to kill you and you don't understand the word do you okay I l l k i l l Google it so the assholes are sitting there don't understand it and we're sending teams in I mean this is pathetic you guys are pathetic you fell down cuz he went on a trip and you start digging around with him and you don't get it you're going to get it and really you probably won't get it from Michael Myers or from Jason Voorhees you don't even get it from Tommy f and his ravaging you and he nailed your bases and you don't seem to understand that and you don't get it from huge bases being installed where yours were I bet we can kick you out of the deserts and you still wouldn't get it what we're saying is back the f*** off and you won't you're just want to run around with your little kids stuff pissing everybody off and pissing in the wind your heads are going to roll you won't get it I don't care for you stuff your British talk up your ass Robert Duvall it has no effect except pissing us off and will send people to rip you apart cut your fingers off take your doodoo for free steal your stuff and stick your face and s*** touch your brain out of your head and stuff it into a giraffe I mean what the f*** do language do you understand back the f*** off or you're done. I got to tell you these people are are not really with it I tell you what I'm going to have a cage with rip your tits off this week cuz you think it takes five days for me to get something together if you die from it you're going to stay there and run it's a challenge you know the physical endurance that's what we do we set up these races and stuff. So our son says that and it makes sense to me what are you saying is we're going to we're going to send this game up and you can knock us down at your leisure you know like pins and just play with us like we're 9 to 5 hours and we're brainwashed like your people did get. They don't understand anything we're saying it kind of disappeared from the Midwest isn't that spook you at all nothing you died years ago they were supposed to think it's cool

Now I'm kind of pissed off and we need to grab a bunch of these Max but he said was they think we have stuff and they're going about it the right way they aren't really extortion is going to make it worse but that seems like they might be doing that and he knows they are the question is for what I'm going to find out if it's Tommy f stuff they're screwed can't threaten us for someone you're f****** retards

Thor Freya

Olympus

[hanmine]

[ 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 ] — 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐉𝐈

last night, you and hanma got into the worst argument you both have ever had. it’s your first argument since moving in together, and even if it’s a bit dramatic, you don’t think he deserves your forgiveness until he apologizes correctly—and he certainly doesn’t deserve to sleep in bed with you until then either.

“ow,” a voice hisses, followed by a string of curses. “who the fuck put the fucking corner of the dresser in that fucking spot,” hanma grumbles to himself, rubbing his hip. creeping up to his side of the bed, he slowly lifts the edge of the covers up when—

“shuji, don’t even think about it,” you turn, glaring at your boyfriend. he freezes, staring at you like a child caught reaching into the cookie jar. and in a moment, he’s pouting like one too.

“why not?”

“you know why,” you raise a brow.

hanma’s always been a bit harsh, and he softens considerably for you, but down to the very last fiber of his being, he is who he is. he can’t stop sharp words from being thrown off his tongue, and though he tries his hardest not to aim for you, sometimes the heat of the moment clouds his mind.

he’d take it back in a heartbeat for you, but he can’t.

“baby,” he sighs, “you know i didn’t mean those things. i was just mad,” he protests, plopping in bed beside you. you scoot away, and he shuffles closer. you both keep it up until you’re at the very end of the mattress—he snickers at your predicament.

“you know what,” you grumble, sitting up and throwing the blanket off of you. hanma follows, sitting up and watching as you stand, getting out of bed.

“where are you going?”

“to sleep. on the couch.” you’re about to reach for a pillow when a hand grabs your wrist and stops you, making you glare up at your boyfriend. he doesn’t meet your eyes as he purses his lips in frustration.

“you’re really not gonna lay with me?” you shake your head firmly, making him groan. “fine, you keep on being stuck up then. i’ll sleep on the couch,” he grumbles, shoving the covers off his body and standing up. he moves to take a pillow, and you can hear the small mutters under his breath. just wanted to cuddle and always so naggy all the time make you want to laugh and rip his head off simultaneously.

“why? i was going, anyway.” his lips are curled into a frown, expression sour at how his attempt to lay with you was unsuccessful.

“cause that stupid cheap ass couch sucks,” he grumbles. “my back feels like it’s fucking folded in half.”

and for a moment, your heart squeezes at the fact that not only is your very rude at times, yet very caring at times boyfriend sacrificing his back for the sake of yours, but he also stuck through the uncomfortable sleeping situation all night for you.

if only he was as compromising when it came to apologizing, you think.

and maybe the ‘stupid cheap ass couch’ really does suck, but it’s the best you can afford for now as two freshly turned adults who barely know how to navigate through life alone. but it’s yours, together, and it’s infinitely better than the soft, cushiony couch of your parents’ house if you can sit on it with hanma.

you’d run away a million times over if it means you get to sit with your legs sprawled over his lap, feeling his hand run over your calf mindlessly.

you huff as you murmur, “well, you already contaminated the bed with your meanness, so i’m taking the couch now. you have the bed,” you insist. he stares at you blankly.

“i just came from couch, you idiot. that’s contaminated too,” he says the last bit with a pitch to his voice, mocking yours and making you scowl.

“then i guess i’m not sleepi—hey!”

and in an instant, he’s got you pinned on the bed underneath him, his weight sinking on top of you as he nuzzles his head into your neck. you smack his back a few times—though very gently—as you protest.

“always have something up your ass,” he mutters. “swear to god, y/n. just let me fucking sleep.”

“say you’re sorry then.”

“no, you say it first, you’re the one who was nitpicking—”

“you never listen to shit i say—”

“you’re hot when you’re mad,” he snickers. “couldn’t listen if i wanted to you.” and you’re so incredibly sick of hanma shuji and his stubbornness, and pride, and selfishness, and incessant need to always be right, but you suppose you’re the same way.

and even if you’re not always a perfect picture together, you fit better than than any two puzzle pieces ever could.

“shuji, one day i’m gonna run away from you,” you mumble. your hand finds purchase of his dark locks nonetheless, and you lean in ever so slightly when he pecks your jaw.

“‘s okay,” he grins, yawning. “i’m following you everywhere you go, baby.”

#how to run away with your boyfriend series #HANMA i will massage your poor little back my poor baby aw :( but first i’m ripping your head off for being a jerk ihy sometimes. but ily <3 #tee writes #drabbles! #hanma x reader #hanma fluff #hanma angst #hanma headcanons #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji #hanma scenarios #hanma imagines #hanma x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x you #tokrev x you #tokyo rev x you

[whysojiminimnida]

Hi-ee! So, first off, love your blog, love your hashtags and Kevin from Itaewon stories. 😄 Second, I am a Jikooker (Minkooker?) through and through. I don’t believe there is a possibility for any other couple in the group aside from them. And people are probably gonna hate me for being ‘insecure’ after that Vminkook live, butttt, here goes.

If they really were boyfriends (who live together, which I’ve mostly believed (til now??)), isn’t it weird for JM to make note of the fact that JK has been showing up to his room constantly including late at night and also that he just laid on the bed for two hours doing nothing? Like, if that was your boyfriend, especially a live-in bf, that seems like an odd thing to remark on, no? I feel like that would be their usual and assumed behaviour and if JK was sneaking in at 2am for sexy times, why would JM put it out there? Unless he was just teasing JK or trying to shut up antis by saying ‘listen, this guy you think hates me is obsessed with me (because we married but I can’t tell you that part), so leave us alone.’ ??

Whatever their relationship is, it’s obviously beyond close, but this made me question whether it is a full on committed relationship. What do you think?

I will add to this that I also think that JK probably sent JM to Tae’s room first because he did not want to go do that vlive with just Tae. Not any shade to Tae, just him not wanting to feed into that bullshit in any way.

Hi anon!

Listen, I’m not taking up residence in their boxers or anything but I waited until I could watch all three parts of the Live with translations so I could formulate a fair opinion about this.

One thing I'd like to point out: at work they are keeping things chill for the sake of the semi-public to avoid info leaks. Having separate rooms on tour is cheap enough to be a no brainer for the company. But really? We know they’ve been slipping each other room keys for years. I'm sure they do have a special knock but it's in case one of them leaves his key in there.

I mean Jimin already grabbed JeiKei to let him into his own room during Hobi’s birthday Live how long ago? This is not new operating procedure. Rent two rooms, kinda sorta stay in them. It does help keep things semi-professional. Which is not a bad thing when you work with your partner.

On a Human Resources note it also gives them private space in case of a need for that - not just if they had a fight, but what if one of them gets sick or injured? What if one is jet-lagged and the other isn't? They're being treated the same as any other member by having their own rooms. How often they stay in them is their business.

The rest of those Lives was one long improv skit I swear. It’s not that they think we’re stupid - it’s that they know that there are walls on that golden closet they live in. Tae showed zero surprise that "we" hadn't showered and "we" work out together every day and "we" shared a chicken and "we' fall asleep every night laughing [together]. Nobody blinked because it's normal. Just another Monday at the Jeon-Park household. Taehyung didn't bat an eye at patting Jimin's leg - not his own leg, mind you, but Jimin's - for Jungkookie to have a seat. That JK didn't was more out of his constant vigilance for Jimin's face in full view of the camera than anything else. I mean did you see him readjust that thing so Jiminie looked centered? He does it every dang time.

I actually think that the maknae line had decided they'd do a Live together. These things do get discussed. Now, JeiKei may not have immediately been down for it but once Jimin was in, he was in. I agree that he was not going to be doing a Taekook Live without Jiminie. That was not gonna happen. His face when he read some of the Taekook comments was NOT happy. None of them were happy. They were just too professional to say anything onscreen.

But at the end of the Lives we should all know that Jungkook and Jimin are indeed a couple. They spend all their time together. They finish each other's thoughts. They have inside jokes we don't get. They touch each other intimately but casually because they do it all the time. And they both wanted us to know that.

#anon #ask #that vlive #minggukkie supremacy #vminkook live #taehyung #jimin #jungkook #must be monday at the jeon park household #some folks about to make bts mad

[talesofstyles]

Reconcile II

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

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

Read part I here

Harry

“So… are we okay now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you and mummy aren’t together anymore,” she points out bitterly. “And you live so far away from us now. I miss having you at home.”

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

“I guess,” she says glumly.

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

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

Just like that. Without a fight.

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

“How’s your mum?” 

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

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

“Can I ask you something, daddy?”

“Anything, poppet.”

“Do you still get sad too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s gonna be okay, right, dad?”

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

“Yeah, Min. It’s gonna be okay.”

***

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

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

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

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

In hell.

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

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

And all hell breaks loose.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s-”

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

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

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

“Cheap shot, Ems,” I retort.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, H?” 

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

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

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

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

“You chose to be there.”

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

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

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

“Harry, it’s too late.”

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

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

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

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

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

I nod.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

“When really…”

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

“Emma…”

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

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

But where do we go from there?

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

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

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

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

***

Emma comes from a big family. 

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

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

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

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

I hear voices as we walk inside.

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FREYA!” Her dad barks.

Meg can barely contain her giggles.

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

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

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

“Luce,” Emma mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three of them nod in unison. 

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

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

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

Let’s just hope it stays that way.

***

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

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

Not yet. I need a moment.

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

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

“Harry?”

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

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I should be the one apologising, Em.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma laughs under her breath.

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

“He is.”

“That got legs?” I ask her.

“Possibly.”

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

“Harry…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The awesome foursome, huh?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be sad, mummy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Very well-endowed.”

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

Meg giggles and places her head on my shoulder. 

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

Both of them huddle into me like penguins. 

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

“Lovely. No.”

Lucy huffs. “You’re so boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you might fancy or need?”

She’s walking an incredibly thin, thin line. 

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

“Seriously?” She says.

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

“Like mentally?” I ask.

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

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

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

“Show me your bush,” she orders.

“Lucy! I prepare food with those scissors.”

“And we’ll wash them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stand up reluctantly and unbutton my jeans.

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

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

“Do you want a shape?”

“What?”

“Yeah, like a heart? It’d be cute.”

“No!”

Meg roars with laughter.

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

“Do I have to?”

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

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

“Thanks, Luce.”

“You don’t say this enough I feel.”

“We really don’t,” says Meg.

“Want me to look at yours, Meg?”

“I’m good.”

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

“Like?”

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

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

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

“That’s what condoms are for?” 

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

“How do I initiate it?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re overthinking,” says Meg.

“I haven’t got any condoms.”

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

“Any other excuse?” Lucy asks.

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

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

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

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

“Crisps?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we tidy up now?” He asks.

“It can wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

You know what, sod it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it your ex-husband?”

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

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

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

“I’m worried.”

“And what are you worried about?”

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

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

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

Harry

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

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

“Emma?”

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

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

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

She takes a step back instead.

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

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

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

“I don’t think I can.”

So I go to her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, tentatively, her hand slides into mine. 

And we go in out of the rain.

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

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

“A while. I was walking… thinking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please spare me the details,” I beg.

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

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

“Oh, Ems…”

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

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

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

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

Her eyes follow my every move, looking at me.

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

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

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

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

“Yer a bloody ice cube!”

She laughs kind of evilly. 

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

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m taking time off work.”

“But you never take time off work?” 

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

I see her smile in the dim light.

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

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

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

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

“A puppy, huh?”

“A puppy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“I… I’ve missed you. So much.”

And I’m done.

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

***

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

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

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

“You,” I smile. “You look perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I grin when I see red stain her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She moans softly in my ear.

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

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

“My face between your legs.”

***

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts.”

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

“You’re right,” she nods. “So…”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m serious.”

“You sound like Austen.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not true-”

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

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

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

“Wanna dance?”

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

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

“Thought you hate dancing?” I smirk.

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

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

“Emma?”

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

“You don’t need an excuse.”

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

***

“What the-”

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

“Heard of a bedroom lock?” Lucy challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” I ask her. 

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

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

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

“Eh, about time,” she replies nonchalantly.

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

“Have you got your Aladdin?”

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

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

***

A month later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, I say, “surprise!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Droolius Caesar?” I joke.

Emma laughs. “Jimmy Chew?”

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

“Sir Barks-a-Lot?”

“Deputy Dawg?”

“Bark Twain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

We laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She chuckles with a sly smile. “Possibly.”

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

“Oh, I will,” she teases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?” My eyes widen.

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

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

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

“Then what changed?” Minnie asks.

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

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

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

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

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

They both nod in unison. Gary blinks twice.

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

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

***

Emma

“Gary! This way, Gary!”

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

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

“Hell, why not.”

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

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

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

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

I nod. “I do.”

“The view was decent,” he grins. 

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

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

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

We laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve got Haribo in the car.”

He progresses to a light canter. 

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

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

A car flashes us. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, lovely. What’s his name?”

“Gary,” the kids say in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give our regards to June,” I say.

“Will do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Are you calling my turkey dry?”

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

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

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

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

“A mince pie.”

“With cow mince?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s called Christmas milk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s time.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” 

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

-

tag list: @gohometoacactus @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @kikisparadise18 @2am-2pm @rogersdirty-louse @harrys-cherriesss @icycoldbeanieweanies @niallbestie3 @peakascum @coucoukayy @awesomebooklover17 @sunflowerryvol6 @stylessugarhigh​ @umadirectioner​ ​

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles ff #harry styles fics #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #divorce harry #dad!harry #husband!harry #harry styles x oc

[calpalirwin]

Phantom Pain

Summary: Trauma bonding turns into a full blown crush with Bucky

Word Count: 2.9k

And away, and away we go!

__

You heard the startled gasps behind you as you lowered your body before pulling yourself up on the pull up bar again. “Yes?” you questioned, repeating another rep.

“I-I-I-” a teenage boy's voice stuttered. “Mr. Stark!” he yelled in slight panic.

You sighed, letting go of the bar and landing on your feet. “Yes?” you repeated, turning to face the lanky teenager with his mop of brown hair, and his companion, a girl a few years older, stifling giggles into her hands, both of their cheeks flushed. “Oh,” you said in realization. “You must be Peter. Uh, Tony’s in the lab, I think.”

Peter nodded mutely, before quickly dashing out of the training room, leaving you face to face with the young woman. “Gay,” you said simply. “And I think Vision’s with Tony.”

Her blush deepened, as she too, hightailed it out of the room with a muttered “Tony has a brother?”

You chuckled quietly to yourself. Of course your brother wouldn’t have told his newest members about you. Something about it not being vital information, and liking the shock value of it.

“And this is the training room,” a voice you did recognize said as Steve came into your line of sight, a man matching his stature trailing behind him silently. “Oh, hey, Stark.”

“Capsicle,” you greeted with a salute.

“Stark?” the other man asked in confusion. “I thought-”

“Fortunately there’s two of us,” you corrected. “Or unfortunately, depending on your opinion of Starks in general. Y/N,” you introduced yourself, offering out your hand.

“Bucky,” the man said, shaking your hand.

“Nightmares, again?” Steve asked you, his eyes glancing about the room.

“Sometimes you frighten me with how observant you are, Rogers,” you said grimly.

“Nightmares?” Bucky questioned, intrigue painting the features of his perfectly sculpted face.

“An unfortunate lingering side effect of my time in the Army, yeah,” you explained. “Something I’m sure you can relate to,” you added with a pointed glance at Bucky’s left arm which was completely metal, your mind already curious to how it worked, and how to make it better. “Working out helps. Something about physical exertion canceling out mental exertion.”

“Well, I might have to join you some time. See if your theory holds up.”

You held out your arms, gesturing about the giant training room. “Feel free. Everything here is open 24/7 to accommodate the mad geniuses and PTSD freaks.”

“And which one are you?” Bucky asked. And you knew it was a stupid question given what little information you had already provided him with. But you could also recognize a flirting edge when you heard one.

“I feel like the answer’s obvious. But, in the event that it’s not, I’m both. Pleasure to meet you, Bucky. And welcome to Avengers headquarters.”

~~~

A couple nights later, you were in the lab tinkering about, when you saw Bucky walk by in gym shorts and a tank top, his hair pulled back in a small bun. “Can’t sleep, huh?” you called out.

His body tensed as he whirled around, relaxing when he saw it was you. “Yeah. Thought I’d try out your theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” you assured, before refocusing on what you’d been working on.

“You have a lot of faith in a theory I’ve yet to test for myself,” Bucky said, stepping into the lab with you.

“I don’t do faith. I do facts,” you replied bluntly.

“Mmm, then how do you know it’s a good theory?”

“A good theory isn't whether it’s proven to be correct or not. A good theory is about being able to be repeated and replicated. Tested multiple times over and over. My theory just also happens to be correct.”

“Wow, you are a Stark.”

“I’m not an idiot, is what you mean. But rest assured I don’t have the same level of arrogance my brother inherited from our father. Or at least, I like to believe I don’t. But, results don’t lie. The physical exertion that comes from working out is enough to distract the brain from the mental exertion that comes from unwanted memories. Is it perfect? No, because it’s not a cure. But it does well enough anyway. And you can take my word for it. Or Rhodey’s, or Sam’s, or Steve’s. And that’s just the military crew. Or, you can test it for yourself. As I said, it’s a good theory. Very testable.”

Bucky’s tongue clicked in his cheek. “Mmm, and if it’s such a good theory, why are you here in the lab instead of in the training room?”

“A distraction, is a distraction, is a distraction. And I have work to do.”

“And what is it that you’re working on?” he asked, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder.

“Prosthetic limbs for amputees. Ones that aren’t hunks of metal. No offense.”

“None taken. I didn’t exactly get a say in the matter.”

“Right… Sorry…”

“No, don’t apologize. Something more… realistic looking would be nice. But the metal’s worked so far. Enhances already enhanced abilities.”

A shudder went down your spine. “Right. Super soldier strength mixed in with whatever tech is loaded up in that thing. I’ve taken a lot of hits in my day that I’d hate to experience again, but I’d do it if it meant a guarantee of never being on the receiving end of being hit by that. Like… the damage you were able to inflict on Tony, even in his suit…” you let out a low whistle. “Damn… no thanks.”

“Sorry? I think?”

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Please. It’s not that he didn’t deserve it. The amount of times I wish I could clock him myself… My only regret was having not been there to actually see it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you and Tony don’t actually get along?”

“Oh, we do. It’s just… typical sibling shit, I suppose. We had different ways of coping with our parents dying. He went the standard billionaire spoiled brat route. I went to the Army. He took over the company. I stayed in the Army. He realized the damage the company was actually doing and became Iron Man. I was part of that damage.”

“Shit…”

Again, you waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s my older brother. I love him. He’s rectified a lot of his past by helping turn Stark Industries into the Avengers. He's, dare I say, gained a conscience. But he’s also far from perfect. Still too arrogant for his own good. But I like him a lot better these days than I used to. I mean, I’m here.”

“So… you work for him? Doing what exactly?”

“Yes, and no. I live and work here, yes. But I don’t necessarily work for my brother. I help him and Bruce out a lot. Perks of not being an Avenger myself means I’m here to keep working when they’re gone. But, for the most part I keep to myself doing my own project.”

“Right, the prosthetic limbs. Personal reasons?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Seen my fair share of wounded vets. And seen my fair share of their struggle with shitty prosthetics. And even if they are complete shit, they’re also expensive. But I’m in a position where I can make non-shitty ones and, pun not intended, not have them cost people an arm and a leg. So, that’s what I do. Each prototype gets me closer and closer to making them as realistic as possible. Restoring range of motion you won’t get with cheap plastic wrapped around steel. It’s like… a complete limb transplant. Or that’s the ultimate goal anyway. Make prosthetics so real it’s like you never lost a limb in the first place.”

“That’s… noble of you.”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot for broken things.”

Bucky smiled at that.

~~~

For the next handful of months, it wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to find you awake in the lab, or for you to find him awake in the training room.

Some nights, the two of you would work out your frustrations of the memories that haunted you both, and you’d tease him about how it wasn’t fair you always drenched through your shirt while he barely broke a sweat, smiling at the way he’d laugh.

Other nights, the two of you would swap war stories while he watched you work in the lab, and when you gathered up the courage to ask to run tests on how the tech in his arm worked to further your own research, he willingly obliged.

“So… were you just an enlisted soldier, or an officer?” he asked one night while you tinkered away.

“An officer. Made First Lieutenant.”

“That’s just below Steve. Which…”

“Is still lower than Sergeant, yes,” you laughed. “Technically anyway. But as an officer, I would still outrank you.”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… no offense, but First Lieutenant isn’t exactly brag worthy. I imagine you meant to go further. What happened? Was it the damage you mentioned with Tony?”

You nodded. “Yeah. The same accident that started his whole Iron Man gimmick was the same accident that ended my career.”

Bucky nodded, and you knew he wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to pry or overstep. And you were grateful for that. It was one thing to own up that your PTSD stemmed from an incident that ended your military career. It was also one thing to own up to how your experience in the military drove you towards creating prosthetic limbs. But to admit that there was a deep personal connection between the two? That wasn’t something you liked to fess up to. “I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said, feeling the need to say something about your half confession. To acknowledge it without asking more.

You smiled wryly at him. “It’s f-” Your face twisted, and your fingers white-knuckled the table as pain flashed through your leg.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “You okay?” he asked, moving around the table towards you, his hands hovering nearby in case you fell.

“Knife!” you gasped out, gritting your teeth and humming loudly to keep from screaming out in the pain you knew wasn’t real. “Get me a knife!”

Bucky stood there, frozen, staring at you in horror.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you barked at him. “I know you have a knife on you! Give it to me! That’s an order, Sergeant!”

That snapped Bucky into action. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, rummaging in his pockets. “Here!”

The sharp steel glinted in the lights as you took it from him and promptly shoved it deep into your right shin.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky yelped, jumping back. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” he repeated when no blood came pouring out of the wound as you yanked the knife back out.

“Aaaahhhh,” you sighed in relief, the pain ebbing away. You relaxed the tension in your body, breathing slowly. “Fuck… hate when that happens.”

“What… the… actual… fuck?” Bucky asked for a third time in a low whisper.

“Relax, it’s fake,” you said, flashing the knife. “See? No blood.”

“I- I-” he stammered.

“It’s called phantom limb pain. Happens in amputees all the time.” You took a seat, pushing up your pant leg to your knee, detaching the prosthetic and tossing it uselessly onto the work table. “Piece of shit,” you muttered, before pulling a tape-recorder out of your pocket. “Prototype 27. Failure, as of,” you spared a glance down at the date on your watch, speaking that into the tape recorder as well. “What?” you asked Bucky who was staring at you with his mouth hanging open.

“That explains… so much. But… why didn’t you just tell me?”

You shrugged. “It’s not something I tell people. Lost my leg in an explosion caused by weapons my family made? Yeah, not exactly a conversation starter.”

“I get that, but… c’mon. It’s me.” He gestured at his left arm.

“Yes, you who- and please don’t take offense to this- doesn’t remember the trauma of losing his arm, and has never experienced the pain that is phantom limb pain.”

“I don’t remember the trauma thanks to years of more trauma that is being brain-washed, and having my mind controlled,” he replied in a clipped tone.

“Yes, the entire world is aware of your trauma, Barnes. Must be nice to have people be aware of what you’ve gone through.”

“People would be aware of what you’ve gone through too, if you’d tell us instead of hiding in jeans and sweatpants!”

“Why would I tell people?! For sympathy?! Or to hear them tell me that I deserved it?! Because news flash, both of those outcomes fucking suck!”

His face crumpled. “Why would anyone think you deserved this?”

You scoffed at his naivety. “It’s poetic justice, Bucky. My own family took my leg. They took Tony’s heart, too, but hey! Look what he made as a result! Isn’t it fuckin’ marvelous?! Tony Stark loses his heart, but gains a soul. Y/N Stark. Loses his leg, and nobody cares.” The words were bitter on your tongue.

“You don’t strike me as the pity party type.”

“I’m not. That’s why I don’t tell people. And yes, maybe there’s a selfish part of me that does what I do strictly for me. Maybe I never would have thought to do all this if I wasn’t an amputee myself. But I’m here, and I’m doing it. And I’m not going to use my story to gain attention and credit that I don’t even want in the first place. Tony thrives in the spotlight. Me? Never been my thing.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think your project’s pretty great. And I don’t see your personal attachment to it as a hindrance. If anything, I bet it pushes you further. To keep trying, even when what you have is already worlds better than what’s available already. But I also get wanting to keep parts of you to yourself. The sympathy vote isn’t the best feeling.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “And I’m sorry for what I said about how it must be nice to have people aware of your trauma. Well… I’m sorry for how I said it. There’s quite a laundry list of things that will turn me into an asshole, and phantom limb pain ranks pretty high on that list. But I didn’t mean it as an attack, and if it came across that way, I do apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it. To an extent you’re right. The whole world knowing what happened to me… it dulls the shock value of a lot of things. Justifies a lot of my actions. So, for the most part, it’s incredibly beneficial. But sometimes I wish I could just… I dunno. Be Bucky without people making their assumptions about what that means.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I try to make it a habit of drawing my own conclusions about people rather than listening to the assumptions others have made about them. So, at least with me, you can be Bucky, and that can be however you want it to look.”

“Thanks. I’d uh… I’d like that.” He smiled softly at you, and you smiled back, watching as a blush crept over his face. “Um… Are you going to need help back to your room? Cuz I can help, if you need me to.” The blush grew darker as he shifted his eyes about the room.

“Uh…” you stammered, a blush coming to your own face. Normally when you tossed aside a rejected prosthetic, you either stayed in the lab until you made a new one, reattached the useless one and begrudgingly dealt with it until you felt up to making a new one, or, in super rare cases when you were sure you were alone, wheeled yourself about the headquarters in a chair. But, here was Bucky, offering to help hobble you off to your room. And the thought of him helping support your weight, or God forbid carry you was enough to make your heart sped up. “Even without the weight of a leg, I’m still not exactly light, or small,” you told him. You weren’t as tall as Bucky, that was true, and you certainly didn’t have super soldier serum running through your veins. But you were still very much the standard rugged American soldier type with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles of your own.

Bucky just scoffed at the notion before picking you up in his arms.

“Jesus, fuck!” you exclaimed, throwing an arm around his neck to help support your weight as he headed for the door of the lab. “I swear if you drop me…”

Bucky chuckled, his chest rumbling into your side. “Relax. I’m not gonna drop you. Now, tell me where I’m going.”

You rattled off the quickest route to your room, both hating the vulnerability of being carried in his arms, and loving the security of it.

“See?” he beamed proudly, as he set you on your bed. “Told ya I wouldn’t drop you.”

“Thanks…”

“Anytime.”

“Bucky, wait,” you called out when he turned to leave. “Um… Would you mind maybe staying?”

“Here? With you? In your room?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the 1940s gentleman thing is real charming.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s um… You know I’m gay, right?”

“Well… That makes the, uh… oh, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but that makes having a crush on you a lot easier. Or a lot worse, depending on how things go.”

He blinked at you in confusion, not sure if he was hearing you correctly.

“I like you, Bucky. So are you gonna stay?”

He grinned, happily walking back over to you. “I like you too. And yeah, I’ll stay.”

__

Tag List

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#phantom pain #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #male reader #reader!stark #marvel #avengers #calpal irwin

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Hoarding Problem.

Pairing: Pro-Hero!Yandere!Touya/Reader (Boku No Hero Academia).

Word Count: 2.5k

Synopsis: Todoroki Touya has a problem, and he’s not sure he wants to fix it.

TW: Hero AU, Minor Spoilers, Kidnapping, Mutual Extortion, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Bondage, Implied Infantilization, Mention of Sedatives (No Actual Use), and Themes of Poverty. 

Todoroki Touya had a problem.

He had a lot of problems, technically. His secretary always managed to schedule the most important meetings at the least convenient times, his coffee never seemed hot enough but always burnt his tongue, and despite his fame and wealth and strange, cult-like popularity, the only thing journalists ever seemed to want to talk about was his father, why Touya didn’t inherit the ‘Endeavour’ title, how long it’d take him to live up to all those stacking, swelling expectations. He had a lot of problems, dozens, hundreds. He had a lot. Everyone did, but Touya didn’t have to deal with everyone else’s.

He just had to deal with you.

You were one of those concentrated types, your smile always a little too personal and your stare always a little too intense, like you were trying to see how much his organs would go for on the black-market before you bothered to cut him open. You were put together, too, and if he hadn’t taken the liberty of following you home so many times, he never would’ve guessed you were staying at some cheap, back-alley motel, the kind meant for people who just wanted to be anywhere but the place they used to be. A run-away, he’d guessed, at first, but you were too old for that, and you were too good at pretending you weren’t living out of the suitcase Touya was starting to get tired of rummaging through. Maybe you were a petty criminal, a villain too minor to be on his radar - he didn’t know, and he really wasn’t interested in finding out. All that mattered to him was that he’d met you, decided he liked you, and hadn’t been able to think about much else since. It was an issue, really, and it was starting to get in the way of his work. It was starting to get in the way of everything.

But, he’d had this kind of problem before. He knew what to do. He knew how to handle it.

You seemed to want to be handled, too.

You were laughing, again, but he wasn’t really sure why. It might’ve been something he said, your own little joke, but he didn’t mind the sound, all bells and wind chimes and a practiced ease that threatened to divert his focus, as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. You were slumped in the passenger seat, and if he checked, he was sure you’d be looking out the window, counting turns, memorizing street names, doing what little you could to track the convoluted, darkened route he’d been sure to plan out days ago. You’d come willingly, but you wanted to make sure you’d be able to find your way back without his help. For his own sake, Touya pretended you were just being cautious. 

“I didn’t expect a Hero to live so far from the city.” Your voice was just as light, just a notch more confident than it had been at the convenience store you both frequented, the one you’d been working at when he stumbled in, closer to sunrise than sunset and ready to fall in love with the first person who smiled at him. The job hadn’t lasted, but Touya couldn’t think of a reason to mourn the loss. You wouldn’t have been desperate enough to take him up on his offer, if you still had a steady income. “Didn’t mark you down as one of those ‘cabin in the woods’ types, either. I’m not going to find, like, a box of dismembered body parts or anything, right?” 

“Obviously,” He scoffed, his tone just playful enough to be disarming. “I try to keep my victims in one piece. Hackjobs aren’t as satisfying as you’d think.”

That earned a jab to his side, an offended ‘my hackjob would be’, but you lost interest in the exchange as soon as he reached the driveway, coming to a stop in front of that sprawling, climbing villa, three stories of concrete and glass, a stark contrast from the forest that surrounded it. You took a moment to take it in, scanning over the building, a predator evaluating its docile prey. When you turned towards Touya, your smile was just a little wider, your expression just a little brighter. “I really can’t thank you enough,” You went on, your tone so sentimental, Touya could almost ignore the hollowness behind it. “You sure you’re alright with this? My last place fell through, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find somewhere else to--”

“Don’t worry about that. All this is curtesy of the Hero Commission, and they don’t keep track of who comes ang goes.” Touya didn’t wait for you to finish, he didn’t have to, even if he did let himself enjoy your faux-gratitude as he undid his seatbelt. “Besides, it’s my job, right? I wouldn't want to find out you went and got yourself hurt because I couldn’t be bothered to clean out my guest room.” There was a slight pause, a short hesitation. You flinched when he raised his hand, but you didn’t pull away as he cupped your cheek, only learning into his warm palm. “Besides, I can’t say I’d mind a little company, all alone out here.”

In his defense, he wasn’t going to kiss you. Really, he wasn’t that mean, but he didn’t have a chance to refuse, not before your lips were on his, your hands in his hair, all sudden passion and over-eager excitement. He was stunned, at first, but Touya recovered quickly. Biting back a smirk, he leaned into the gesture, slinging an arm around your hip, tilting your head back and doing whatever he could to bring you close, to keep you close, just like he’d been dying to for months, now. He could feel you stifle a laugh, moving to pull away, but Touya only drifted to your neck, nipping at the edge of your jaw before he found your jugular, aiming for the sensitive area just above it. You only chuckled, blunt nails running over his scalp. “And I thought I was the needy one,” You chided, half-hearted pushing at his chest. “It’s cold out here, Todoroki. At least take me inside first.” 

Right. Of course. He got carried away.

He almost forgot why you were actually here.

He didn’t let you go. He didn’t want to, so he didn’t bother trying, pulling you over the center console in one swift motion, leaving you in his lap, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder and an arm under your thighs, supporting your weight as he jerkily kicked open the door, letting you duck your head and giggle, always giggling, always trying to pretend to be meek and harmless and innocent. He wondered if you’d stop, eventually, if you’d drop the act once he decided both of you should show your true colors. He’d be lying if he said he hated the idea of choking it out of you. 

The front door wasn’t locked. He didn’t bother, not with his profession, not when he knew he’d be coming home with you, tonight. If you noticed, you didn’t seem to mind, focusing on locking your ankles behind his back, on swallowing down that small, pained groan as he slammed your back into the nearest wall of his darkened villa just a little too hard, pretending not to notice as your smile wavered in the minimal light. “I don’t think this counts as protecting the--” 

You were cut off by a loud thud, metallic and hollow, like someone hitting drywall with a baseball bat. You paused, for a second, your gaze flickering to the space behind him, but he was quick to kiss your cheek, to bring your attention back to where it should be, on him. “‘s just my roommate,” He mumbled, hoping you’d be too used to the excuse to linger on it. “Don’t pay it too much mind. He’s probably just fucking around.” 

This time, your smile dropped completely. “The Hero Commission... lets you have a roommate?” 

He caught his mistake a second too late. He opened his mouth, ready to explain, but another noise interrupted him, a rattling this time, followed by another deafening, irritating thud. He grit his teeth, but you only stiffened, your next shove to his chest a little more insistent than the last. “He might be hurt,” You started, the concern in your voice more genuine than it’d been all night. “We should check on him, that sounds--” 

“It’ll be fine.” He spoke a little too quickly, a little too aggressively. Instantly, your eyes widened, your entire body going tense against his, and Touya had to fight not to lose his composure completely. It was too soon. It was too early. He wanted to be sweet. He didn’t want to be mean, not with you. “Just ignore it, sweetheart, it’s not important. You’re here for me, right? The brat shouldn’t--” 

It was a slip-up. A petname so common, he hardly noticed he’d said it until you were scrambling, writhing, digging your nails into his biceps deep enough to break the skin, forcing him to let you go out reflex alone. You barely managed to catch yourself, but you stayed on your feet, shoving past Touya while he was still hissing out curses, clutching at bleeding wounds and broken scars. There was another thud, and you moved to sprint in the direction it’d come from, but he was a Hero, he was trained for this. You were on the ground before you could take a step, Touya straddling your stomach, his hands around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, though, he didn’t want to strangle you. He was going to be patient. This was going to be different. “Just behave,” He growled, fighting to hold onto the last threads of his restraint. “It’s not important. I’m important, and that’s all you have to care about. That’s all you’re ever going to care about, from now on.”

You didn’t hesitate. As soon as he finished, you were jerking forward, your forehead colliding with his and forcing a ragged scream from both of you. He’d give you credit for that. Villains and Heroes fought with quirks, specialized weapons, tactics and strategies and purpose. This was blunt. This was thoughtless. It was impulsive, and it was stupid, and it worked, letting you push him away as he recoiled, suddenly too focused on his pounding skull to care about what you might find. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. None of your little tantrums would.

He’d find you, eventually. After that, the results would be the same.

That might’ve been why Touya took his time, pushing himself to his feet slowly, following the sound of your footsteps before they abruptly stopped. He tried not to be bothered by it, even if there was a familiar pang of anxiety when he saw you, your mouth agape and your body slack, leaning against a door that should not be open. He might’ve walked a little faster, out of habit, but if you noticed him, you were too distracted to care. He couldn’t blame you. Not when he knew what you were looking at. 

He got a little carried away, with the girls’ room. Pale pink paint coated on every surface, fairy-lights strung along the ceiling, and a white, circular rug, fluffy and stainless and just small enough to stop before it reached the three cots, settled along each of the walls, each with its own frilly sheets and plush mattress and bare, metallic frame, something Touya might’ve considered swapping out if their opponents were a little more grateful. Two were empty, the first a spare if he needed room for a future ‘guest’ and the second a reminder to check on the bitch in his basement, and the third was on its side. That was what you were focusing on, what he couldn’t seem to pull you away from as he slotted himself against your back, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist. 

That, and the girl sitting in front of it, a ball-gag stuffed in her mouth and a collar around her neck, thick and leathery and attached to a chain, keeping her tethered to the nearest wall. There were a few noticeable dents in the plaster around her bracket, but Touya had better things to worry about. 

There was a garbled scream, something that might’ve been a warning, but Touya silenced her off with a glare sharp enough cut glass. “Shut it,” He barked, all pretense of patience gone. “Shut up, or you’re going to spend the next week in a muzzle. I’ll deal with you later.”

“You kidnapped her.” At least you waited your turn, even if the delay did little too soften the disgust in your voice. “You’re a monster. You’re supposed to be--” 

“A hero?” You tried to shove him away, to pry him off of you, but he only tightened his grip. “And you’re supposed to be an innocent civilian, aren’t you? Something soft and appreciative I can feel good about helping, fuck, and forget about the next day, right?” 

“Don’t try to--” 

“Where do you keep the bottle, sweetheart?” Now, it was your turn to go tense, to know he saw something he shouldn’t have seen. “Don’t lie to me. It won’t be pretty, if we start off this relationship on a bad foot.” 

You hesitated, for a moment. He saw your swallow, watched your eyes dart towards anything that could’ve been considered a weapon, but his fingers slipped under your shirt and you bowed your head, giving in at the slightest threat of something worse. He liked that about you. Such a simple thing, too afraid of pain to take the risk. “My jacket. There are pockets on the inside - it’s on the right.” 

He’d give you credit. It looked realistic, if nothing else, a translucent orange bottle with a white lid, the label scratched off in a way that could’ve been mistaken for nervous fidgeting, if Touya didn’t know better. With one hand, he popped off the lid, barely glancing at the unmarked pills inside before letting out a pleased hum. 

Sedatives. Not lethal, but effective. The type you could get from any low-ranking Villain with a surplus supply and a greater need for clients than most. 

The type that could be slipped into wine glasses, mixed into water. The type that’d keep your trusting, unsuspecting host nice and unconscious while you helped yourself to anything that wasn’t nailed down. While you robbed him blind, stowed yourself away in another cheap motel room two towns over, and scouted for the next poor guy who’d be too embarrassed to say anything.

Touya couldn’t help himself. He laughed, loudly and shamelessly, watching as you withered, glaring at the tiled floor. He couldn’t tell if it was fear of loathing, half-suspended terror or that deep, ingrained hatred any good predator should feel when it’s caught in a trap, but your voice couldn’t have made it more clear. “What’s your plan?” You spat, all humiliation, all spirited, adorable anger. His grin widened, the lasting tension in his shoulders dissolving, but if you noticed how much he enjoyed your little show, you didn’t bother trying to keep your mouth shut. “Arrest me? Hand me over to the police and let me tell them all about your creepy, fucked-up dollhouse?” You never looked up. You never so much as tried to meet his eyes, let alone glance at the ‘victim’ you’d been so intent on saving a few minutes ago. “Let me go. You don’t have another choice, unless you’re willing to get your hands dirty.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m not gonna kill you.” It wasn’t a lie, but you didn’t seem to believe him, going rigid as his lips brushed against the nape of your neck. It was a fleeting gesture, but he didn’t let himself linger. He’d have plenty of time for that once he got you used to your new role, under his care. Once you got used to him. “I’m not gonna hand you over, either. That’d just be a waste.”

He might’ve been a little mean, after all. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have given you so much time to answer, so much time to tremble. At least you didn’t try to get away, this time. You were already learning. “I… I don’t--” 

“I’m going to take care of you, angel. Just like I’m taking care of her.”

There was a moment of stillness, a small, ragged sob, but Touya couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but satisfied. 

Because Todoroki Touya had a problem. Because he was awful and hungry and greedy, and he had a problem.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to fix it.

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