#my mother told me he came running when she scooped his litter thinking it was me 🥹

[decayingliberty]

Only 12 hours until i see my toki baby again!!!!!!

#rambling #ive been only gone for three days but i miss him sooo much #my mother told me he came running when she scooped his litter thinking it was me 🥹 #(because im the one who usually does this) #my baby boy i will be home soon!!! #😭

[enthusiasticharry]

Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won't be Second Best. 

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven't made it too historical at all.  i have done all of the translations myself and even though i'm semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i'll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep. 

masterlist   |    speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

She removes you from your awe of the paintings and pulls you towards the ballroom. There’s people everywhere, the most amount of people you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You watch as they mingle with glasses of Champagne in their hands, the expensive material of their dresses sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Men stood wooing the women before them, flicking their suit jackets and inviting them to dance. The dresses the women were wearing were something out of dreams. You weren’t the biggest fan of dresses, in fact, you lived in trousers around the house, but you couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about your tattered dress. You’ve had the dress for a year or so, and the holes and rips and anything else you’d manage to do to the material could be seen in the light even if you’d fixed it.

“Lizzie!” The call comes from somebody who you don’t recognise, but Elizabeth certainly did and before the syllables of her name could escape your lips, she’s gone. You watch as your sisters whisked away with the crowd, leaving you stood there with no clue as to what to do.

Gripping the material of your dress, you slip yourself to stand by one of the doorways, away from the hustle and bustle of everyone in the room, but close enough for you to be able to watch. Lizzie stands in the middle, just as she always is, with a group of people around her. She was always the centre of attention, the one that everyone loved — you included. You were only a few years younger than her, but you were the only siblings each of you had, so you were close. You had your disagreements, that was certain, but you always came back stronger. You weren’t shocked when you noticed her spinning around holding some man’s hand, dancing away with a smile on her face that always made your insides happy. If she was happy, you were happy.

“Not one for dancing?” You eyes almost bulge out of your head as you hear a voice next to you, a male one at that.

“Oh, um, not really.” You laugh, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I’m not a very good dancer. I don’t really like dancing, to be completely honest.”

“Everyone loves dancing.” The man says, and you’re able to get a good look at him. A black suit, with a crisp-white shirt sits upon his torso. His hair was a fluffy brown, a chestnut that you found yourself in awe of. His green eyes ones of masterpieces, better than any art you could ever see upon any wall in any gallery, “I believe you are just lying.”

“I am not.” You shake you head, “My sister told me that if anyone asked me to dance I must say yes, but I have decided that I mustn’t. I have two left feet and anyone who is to ever dance with me will regret it, I know of it.”

“I highly doubt that.” He shakes his head, sipping from the glass he had in his hand, “Your sister shouldn’t force you do dance either.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, “Lizzie isn’t forcing me to dance, she just wants the best for me. Dancing is how people meet.”

“It’s how we met.” He says after a few seconds.

You let out a small chuckle, running your tongue over your lips slightly, “Sir, pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry.” He smiles, “M’names Harry.”

“Oh!” You exclaim again, “Harry Styles! You’ve just moved in next door with your father! Mother saw you the other day.”

“You must be—”

“—YN YLN.” You hold your hand out for him to shake, immediately shaking your head and pulling it back, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, Lizzie forgot to remind me to not shake hands. It’s not very ladylike, I know.”

“It’s perfectly okay.” He holds his hand out, and you bite your lip and shake it, “And please don’t call me Mr. Styles. I’m not my father. Call me Harry.”

“Harry.” The name slips from your lips, “I think Lizzie would die if she saw me talking to you.”

“If I may, would you show me Lizzie?” He asks and you nod.

You nod and turn back to the crowd, fluttering your eyes across all of the people in hopes to spot your sister. She was wearing red, the colour which suited her the most in your opinion, so she wasn’t too hard to spot. She was dancing in the middle of the room with a man with blonde hair, a suit similar to the one that Harry was wearing upon his body. She looked happy, and the sight caused a smile to flutter across your lips.

“She’s in the middle there.” You say, nodding your head in the girls direction, “The one in the red dress.”

You turn to look at Harry and once his eyes fall upon your sister, you can tell that the whole world stops around him. His lips part, his eyes widen and if you look closely you can see the reflection of the red dress in his eyes. You’re unsure how long he’s staring at her, but you’re staring at him for the exact same amount of time.

“It’s a. . .” He fumbles with his words after a few seconds, lifting his hands to scratch the back of his neck, “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“It is.” You agree, “Mother let her save up her allowance to buy the material. I should’ve done the same but I spent mine on paints.”

“You paint?” His raises his eyebrow, finally looking back at you.

You nod, “I love to.”

“Then you have every right to spend your money on paints.” He says, and you try to hide the heat that falls upon your cheeks, “You dress is perfectly swell

“It’s not beautiful though.”

“It’s swell, YN.” He reminds you again, “I’m sure you’ll get a beautiful dress at some point.” 

Then you’ve lost him. You’re not surprised, though. Everyone prefers Lizzie to you, it’s just how it’s always been. You watch the back of him as he walks towards your sister, taking the world in his stride behind him as he does so. You watch as she courtesy’s for the man she has just danced with, and before Lizzie can go anywhere, she’s scooped up to dance with Harry. Maybe if you had bought the Emerald material your mother had wanted you to, Harry would be dancing with you right now instead of Lizzie. Maybe if you hadn’t been so against dancing in the first place he might’ve asked you to dance.

No, you wouldn’t stoop to that level for a man of all people. If Harry didn’t want to dance with you, ‘swell dress’ and all then you weren’t going to change yourself, no matter how much you wanted to, for a mere man.

“YN!” Lizzie delightful glee of your name came after their dance had died down. Lizzie came bouncing towards you, a just as bashful Harry following behind her, “Harry has offered to take us home in his carriage!”

“Now?” You ask, your heart hopeful that they’d both say yes.

Lizzie turns to look at Harry who shrugs his shoulders slightly, “If the two of you want to, we can.”

“Oh no.” Lizzie places her hand upon his shoulder, “We couldn’t dare take you away from the festivities. We will wait until you’re finished.”

“I’m ready to leave myself, Miss YLN.” He says to Lizzie, the same heat falling upon her cheeks as you had felt earlier.

“Please. Call me Lizzie.”

“Okay, Lizzie.” He grins, “I’ll just go fetch the carriage, see you by the front door?”

Lizzie nods, and you give him a small smile and watch as he walks towards the door. You try not to stare as he shrugs on his coat but it’s hard to, and you know that Lizzie is feeling the exact same way that you are.

“Oh YN.” She gushes, turning to you and placing her hands upon your shoulder, “He’s a perfect gentlemen.”

“Is that so?” You ask, walking towards the door also to fetch your shawl, shrugging it on your shoulders.

“It is.” She copies your actions with her own, “He asked to dance, saying that you were the one to introduce me to him. I can’t thank you enough, dear sister.” 

“It’s no issue.” You shake off, turning away from her so that she can’t see the fall in your face, “He seemed to take a fancy to you once I’d pointed you out from the crowd.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” You nod your head, turning to look at her. Her shawl was scraggly thrown upon her body, probably from how distracted she was, and you lean forward to sort it for her whilst she gleams over your shoulder at nothing. You wonder if this is what it was like to meet your husband, butterflies and distractions from that moment on. It hadn’t happened yet for you, and seeing the way Lizzie was acting, you decided that you didn’t really want it happen, “Couldn’t take his eyes off you, sweet one.”

She squeals and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you slightly. You were happy that she was happy, and you wouldn’t take that away from her.

The door opened, revealing a blushed faced Harry due to the cold outside, “Ready?”

“YN!” Your mother calls from the floor below you, “Can you please come and set the table?” 

You groan and remove your paintbrush from your canvas. The day prior you had been given a small sum of money from your Aunt Jemima after visiting and immediately gone to the store in town to pick up some new canvases. It was heaven to receive little amounts of money like these and you almost always spent it on canvases so you wouldn’t have to use paper, which was the cheaper alternative that you had to buy. 

“I’m a little busy!” You call back, moving so that you can shout out of your door, “Can you ask Lizzie?” 

“She isn’t here!” Your mother calls back and you groan. You place your palette down on the table beside you, as well as your brushes in the pot of water you had brought up with you. You wipe your hands on your apron before pulling it over your head and off your body. You drape it over your bed carefully, being careful to not get anything on the linen.

You bounce down the steps, tucking your hair that falls down in ringlets by the side of your face behind your ear. Entering the kitchen, you place a kiss to your mother’s cheek. She stands over the side, chopping some vegetables that she’s going to bring to boil for your dinner. She greets you with a smile and continues chopping. 

“Is Lizzie with Harry?” You ask, placing the cutlery beside each mat on the table, noticing that there were four like there had started to be now.

“Of course she is.” Your mother shakes her head, “They’re always somewhere causing trouble.” 

You had to suppress your grin. Lizzie had been the good girl of the family for so long, always doing everything that was asked of her and your were the one who tended to ignore requests so that you could continue doing whatever you wanted to. Since Lizzie had met Harry, that had been completely flipped upside down. You were the good girl of the family who did everything that was asked of you, and Lizzie was the one always getting out of doing things by sneaking off with Harry. 

Since the two had met just over two months ago, they had been inseparable. When the two of you weren’t being taught how to read and write by your mother, Lizzie was always somewhere doing something with Harry. The other week he had taken her to the theatre and words couldn’t explain how jealous you were. You and Lizzie did everything together, and you always had done, but now you felt second best to someone who she hardly knew. You knew a part of you was jealous, but you would never admit that. What you did admit to yourself was that you were lonely and missing your sister. 

“Is Harry staying for supper?” You ask, filling up the water jug to be placed upon the table. 

“I’m guessing so.” Your mother says, moving to bend down by the fire to check on the meat, “It’s ready. Will you go get them? I think they’re by the river.” 

You nod your head, moving to the front door to retrieve your shawl and boots. They were always at the river, as though it was there place. You couldn’t understand for the life of you why they’d chosen that place out of all, especially during the winter months. Snow was just around the corner and the two of them decided to spend their days moments away from catching a cold by the river. 

The walk itself was five or so minutes through the woods behind your house, watching your step for fallen branches and wild animals. Lizzie was usually the one who brought you to the lake, so it was a given that you hadn’t been in a while. 

Once the trees start to disperse, you stand in the middle of the opening to try and spot them. You do, quite quickly in fact. They’re stood by the water, picking up stones every now and then to skim across it, rippling the stillness with their movements. Skimming stones felt like a normal thing to see people doing, but once you watch Lizzie throw her arms around his neck, you feel like a little portion of you crumbles inside. You hadn’t seen them like this before, and you never ever wanted to see them like that again. 

“Lizzie!” You call, snapping them out of their trance so that they turn to look at you. Lizzie immediately removes her arms from around Harry’s neck.

“Is there something wrong?” 

“No.” You shake your head, “Mother just asked me to collect the two of you for supper.” 

The two nod and move around where they were stood to collect their things but you don’t wait for them. Instead, you turn around and walk back towards the house. You can hear them laughing but you refuse to look back, because you know that you won’t be able to handle it. The temperature drops dramatically as you walk back, and you pull your shawl closer to you to help preserve some heat. You had a suspicion that at some point this evening it would start snowing, which you weren’t too unhappy about. It would give you time to finish the painting you started today, and hopefully create some more. 

They aren’t close behind you as you reach the door, so you enter and immediately walk towards the table which is looking a lot fuller than it had been. 

“Are they coming?” Your mother asks and you nod, sitting down at the table. They enter a few minutes later, Harry greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek. 

The three join you at the table, Harry next to you, Lizzie next to him and your mother sat next to the spare seat — where your father usually sat. You all join hands in saying grace, your hand feeling completely natural sat in his. The way his encompassed yours was something that will be etched into your brain for the rest of the day, and for the days after that. It isn’t a light hold either, it’s a prominent one, and his fingers squeeze yours tightly. You drop your eyes to your plate, unable to look up at him because you’re unsure of what his features may hold. 

You don’t say anything over the dinner, you just listen to their words. It’s all about Harry’s time in London, like it usually was, and the rest about what the two had been up too. Your mother asks the dreaded question, and yet again, you ignore any word that comes out of their mouths.

It was inevitable at this point that Harry and Lizzie, at some point, were going to marry each other. You were surprised that Harry hadn’t proposed yet, if you were honest. If soulmates were a thing, no matter how much it pained you to believe, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were the example. You wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about this, but you do think a part of you wished that was you in her place. You wished that you were the one that he smiled at, held hands with, kissed upon the cheek as she left. 

After the dinner had finished, you had returned up to your room and lit your candle, leaning against the window frame to peer outside. They stood by the gate, Harry’s hand holding hers and her hand holding is. They looked as though they truly loved each other and what you expected to be a measly kiss on the cheek like it usually was, wasn’t that at all. A little part of you died inside when you saw him lean forward and place a kiss upon her lips, his hand lifting up to rest against her cheek. You managed to draw yourself away from the window after you’d watched for a while or so, slipping under your sheets and into your linen, turning so that you’re facing the wall. A few minutes or so later, you hear the door open and the rustling of clothes and you suspect Lizzie gets ready for bed. You try not cry but you can already feel the tears starting to fall down your face.

“YN.” You hear the soft whisper of your voice over the crackle of the candle that was still on in the room, “Are you awake?” 

“Yes.” You manage out through the hesitation within your voice. 

After a few seconds, and a slight giggles escaping her lips, “He kissed me, YN.” 

“Oh.” You try not to sound like you’re upset, “Are you going to marry him?” 

“He hasn’t asked me.” She’s quick to say, “But I think he might.” 

A month or so later, you’re stood in front of a carriage, one that sits Lizzie inside on her way to Etiquette Lessons. Every young lady in the village had to go to them when they reached a certain age to make sure that they are properly prepared for how to look after their husbands when the day comes. You weren’t quite at the age yet, but Lizzie was. 

You had given her a hug, and watched your mother kiss her cheeks and hug her, but you now found yourself watching something that you had seen so many times now. Harry and Lizzie stood by the door of the open carriage, her hands in his as they whisper and chuckle at whatever they’re talking about. You can’t hear what they say, but you can tell it’s emotional from the tears that are running down his face. 

You mother wraps her arm around your shoulder, squeezing your shoulder. You wondered if she knew. You hadn’t said anything to her, but she always seemed to know what was going on in your life even if you hadn’t told her anything. 

Harry helped Lizzie into the carriage, and closed the door for her before coming to stand next to you. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him for a second, but he didn’t even look anywhere near you, he was watching the carriage as it left. The love of his life was leaving in it, so I’m not surprised he did so. 

“Mother.” You say quickly once the carriage had turn off the path, “Can I return and paint?” 

“Of course you can.” She places a hand on one of your cheeks and a kiss to the other, “Take Harry with you. He’ll need the company.” 

You turn to look at him, and he just shrugs, so you nod. You return back to the house with Harry trailing behind you, looking like a lost puppy. The way his eyes seemed to droop, as well as his hair, all hinted to the fact that he was actually upset that she was leaving. He follows you into the room, and sits on the end of Lizzie’s bed whilst you pulled your paints out of your drawer. 

“I’ve only been in here once before.” He says after a few seconds, running his hand over the linen of her sheets, “You were out. Something about Aunt Jemima.” 

“Oh.” You start to face place some of your paints upon your palette, “I read to her, sometimes, and she pays me so I can buy paints. I’m hoping that one day she’ll take me to Europe with her.” 

“Europe?” He asks, “You want to go?” 

“More than anything.” You sigh, swirling your brush in the green paint you had just placed upon your palette, “More specifically I’m hoping she takes me France. I’ll be able properly practice my art then.” 

“Can you not do that here?” 

You hesitate for a second, hovering your brush over the canvas slightly, “I’ll be better suited if I go there. People will care more about my work.” 

“It’s beautiful work.” He says after a few seconds, “I don’t know how France would change that.” 

You think for a second about how to explain this to him, “Think of it like Etiquette school. The girls go and return as better wives than if they hadn’t gone. They would’ve been good wives, but not as good without the school.” 

“I don’t think I understand.” 

“My art is good without France, just like the wives are without Etiquette class, but they are better with it. My art will be better with France.” 

You turn around to see him nod his head, “I think I understand.” 

“A part of it is also me wanting to leave this town.” You say, turning back around so that you can place your paintbrush back upon your canvas. 

“I cannot fault you for that.” He says, and you turn to him again, only to see that he’s laid back upon the bed, a hand over his eyes, “Sometimes I wish I could leave.” 

“Why don’t you?” You ask, “If one of us had the beings necessary to leave it would be you?” 

“Beings necessary?” He pushes himself up on his elbow so that he’s looking directly at you, “And what would be those necessary beings?” 

“Money, for one.” You say, moving so that you’re sat on your bed, looking straight at him, “Carriages. Knowledge of the world. The furthest I’ve ever gone is the neighbouring town and that was to drop something off for my mother.” 

“Why don’t you leave then?” 

You chuckle, raising your eyebrows, “I plan on it.” 

“Ice Skating.” Harry says as he walks through your bedroom door, holding two pairs of ice skates in your hands. 

“Harry!” You exclaim, placing your hand upon your chest at the shocked sight of him, “I could’ve been indecent and you would have never known!”

“But you aren’t.” He tips his head to the side, “Ice Skating. We’re going ice skating. The lake has frozen over and it’s perfect.” 

“Are we now?” You ask, placing your palette down upon the table next to your easel, “Is Mr. Styles bored of his mansion.” 

“I’m going to loose my mind.” He drops down on your sisters bed, the skates clattering to the floor as he does so, “Please come ice skating with me.” 

“Harry.” You sigh, pulling your painting apron off, “I don’t even know how to ice skate.” 

“Then I will teach you.” He says. 

After a few seconds of contemplation, you nod your head, “I’ll do it if you let me paint you.” 

“Deal.” 

Over the past two weeks you and Harry had grown close. Not as close as Harry and your sister, but close enough for you to class him as one of your good friends. The two of you had started to do everything together, similarly to him and Lizzie but with some barriers. You hugged each other but you certainly weren’t as touchy deeply as they were with each other. You couldn’t do it to your sister, so you avoided doing anything that would be seen as wrong.

 You did feel sorry for Harry. He had told you that he had sent three letters to Lizzie during this time and she hadn’t even replied to one. You weren’t quite sure why, but that was quite despicable on her part. The poor man was making himself sick with how much he was worrying about her, and you were the one who had seen it, and been the one to try and get him out of it. One of the things that you had begged him to let you do was paint him, but he kept rejecting your proposal. Instead, he told you that he liked to enjoy watching you paint rather than having you paint him. 

You were excited to say the least that he had agreed to let you paint him, and you certainly weren’t going to miss that opportunity. 

“Slow down.” You call to Harry, who’s around ten strides a head of you as you waddle your way with your dress in your hands through the snow, “I can’t keep up with you.” 

“Walk faster then.” He says, turning to look at you with a grin across his face. 

You groan and try to pick up the pace, nearly slipping a few times on some particularly icy parts of the ground but you make it to the lake in once piece. Harry passes you the skates he had picked up for you and you thank him for passing them to you. You kick your shoes off and fasten the skates, just as he does the same. 

“Stay away from the middle.” He says, “It’s thinner than the edge.” 

“I think you’re forgetting something.” You say as you try to stable yourself on the blades, “I have not idea what I’m doing.” 

“It’s like walking, but on ice.” He deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I’ll let you hold my hand if you want.” 

He holds his hand out and without really thinking you place your hand in his, allowing him to guide you onto the ice. His hand was cold, but so was yours, but having his in yours sent little flames across the entirety of your body. 

At first you were unsteady on your feet, and you’re sure that you could’ve nearly broke Harry’s hand with how tightly you were squeezing it. He chuckled and made sure that you were continuously upright. After five minutes or so, you found the swing of what you were doing, and managed to move forward without any wobbles.

“I’m letting go of you.” 

“No!” You exclaim, gripping his hand tighter so that he wouldn’t be able to pull away from you, “I’ll fall.” 

“You won’t fall.” He chuckles, trying to pull his hand away again. “I will.” You shake your head, “Please, don’t.” 

“You’re not going to fall.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” 

He somehow manages to release his hand from yours and skate backwards away from you, leaving you on your own. You hold your hands out, straightening them as though that’s going to help balance you out. With the little momentum you had left, you moved forward slightly until you came to a halt, where you pick up one of your feet to push forward and move forward. You manage to do it, without falling which surprises you. 

“Harry!” You exclaimed, beaming at him, “I’m doing it.” 

“I told you that you would.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Shall we?” 

“We shall.” You smile, and the two of you continue off across the ice. 

Everything seems to be going well and good until you manage to catch your blade in a slit in the ice and go tumbling forward, going over on your ankle as you do so. You drop to the ground with a thud, a throbbing immediately falling upon your ankle. 

“Harry. . .” His name escapes your lips through the the hiss of pain you let out. 

“Are you injured?” He’s quick to ask, skating over to you as quickly as he possible could. 

“My ankle.” You say, “I think I’ve sprained it.” 

“You probably have.” He’s quick to say, “Lift up slightly, I’ll carry you back home.” 

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”  

“What are you going to?” He laughs, “Crawl?” 

“I might.” 

“You wouldn’t make it home for Christmas.” He bends down, “Come here.” 

You lift your hand up and wrap your hands around his neck, allowing him to place his hands underneath your knees. He looks at you with a small smile on his face and skates back to the edge of the lake, placing you on the floor for a second so that you could both remove your skates. 

“How did you get so good at skating?” You ask, returning to your prior position his arms. 

“Home.” He says, “In England. It’s cold year round there, and the lakes are often frozen. My mother taught me.” 

“You don’t talk about you mother.” 

“She died when I was young.” He says, not looking at you the way that he had been, “I don’t remember a lot about her.” 

“I’m sorry.” You say, “I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head, “You were merely curious.” 

You drop your eyes to the white around the two of you, “My mother says that my curiosity may get me in trouble one of these days.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He chuckles, “But that’s something that makes you, you.” 

Without really thinking, you say the next few words, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.” 

He shakes his head, “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” You nod your head, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m no Lizzie YLN.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, “You aren’t Lizzie, but you are YN. This world doesn’t need anymore Lizzie’s in it.” 

“I thought maybe you’d have a thousands Lizzie’s if you could.” 

“I wouldn’t need a thousand if I could have the one.” 

“You do have you.” 

He shakes his head, “I told her before she went that there was no need for Etiquette classes because to be my wife all I wanted was her. Lizzie wanted to go to get the best experience she possibly could.” 

“You respected that?” 

He looks directly over you again, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“We all know what actually happens at Etiquette classes, Harry.” 

Harry only nods his head once, not saying anything else. He still carries you home, one of his arms rested comfortable under his knee whilst the other rests behind your back. You hoped you hadn’t offended him, but there was no way for you to know. 

Etiquette classes, as a whole, were to teach young women the proper ways of being a wife during the day, and through the night thy would attend balls and such. The balls were so the women could hopefully meet eligible, rich men who they were hopefully going to marry. If you were already meant to marry someone else, it didn’t seem like a right thing to go to this place where the people were always after one thing. 

As your feelings grew for Harry, you wondered whether Lizzie’s had diminished and that was why she decided to go to the classes. You certainly shouldn’t want that, but you couldn’t lie and say that a part of you did.

“Mrs. YLN?” You mother comes running towards the two of you at Harry’s call of her name, “We’ve had a little accident.” 

“What have you done now?” 

“I went over on my ankle.” You deadpan. 

“Harry will you get me some ice?” He nodded and moved towards the kitchen whilst you mother freed your ankle and rested it upon her knee. 

He came back with ice wrapped in a cloth and passed it to your mother who placed it upon your ankle. 

“Thank you for bringing her home, Harry.” 

“It’s no problem.” 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” 

“I shouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “Thank you for the offer, though. But I should be returning home.” 

“Pass my love onto your father.” 

“I will.” 

He throws you once last look, one that you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion of. After a few seconds he drops his eyes, and walks out of the door without looking back. You turn to look at your mother, who’s got a skeptical look upon her face as she looks at you. 

“What is it?” 

“Does he know?” 

“Does he know what?” 

A small smile crosses her lips, “That you love him.” 

You lips part in shock before you clamp them shut, “I. . . I feel no such thing.” 

“You had just lied to me, child.” She shakes her head, “I know love when I see it.” 

“Mother.” You shake your head, “He loves Lizzie.” 

“I know.” She places her hand upon your cheek, “You’ll be the one to pick up the pieces when she breaks his heart.” 

Lizzie was due to return home today, on Christmas Eve of all days, and the house certainly looked as though it was ready for her.

You, your mother and Harry had spent quite a while this year decorating the house to be as Christmassy as possible. The thing that you still think about to this day was jumping on Harry’s back so he could lift you up to reach the star, your mother smiling as she watched the two of you. 

The carriage returned at around midday. You were stood next to Harry at the end of the garden, with you mother next to him. The carriage came to a halt and the driver was the one to open the door, Lizzie immediately tumbling out and throwing her arms around your mother who had taken a few steps forward. 

She didn’t look like Lizzie, in your opinion. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the dress upon her body looking more expensive than the ones that she had gone with. The material was a blushed pink colour, with fancy detailing upon the corset and a puffy skirt that was one of the biggest that you had ever seen in your life. Lizzie looks happy to see your mother to say the least, but you’re quite surprised when she moves to you next instead of Harry. 

“Hello!” She throws her arms around your shoulder, placing her head on your shoulder whilst you placed yours on hers, the material of her fancy coat hitting your cheek. You hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, never mind felt anything quite like it before, “I’ve missed you so much. How are you?” 

“Well, thank you.” You pull away. clearing your throat and wiping your hands upon your skirt slightly, “The same old. It’s you who I should be asking that question to.” 

She smiles and pulls away, holding her small bag close to herself as she looks at the person stood next to you. Harry looks as though he’s about to cry, and so does Lizzie if you’re being brutally honest. The two of them needed to be alone, and you understood that. When your mother motioned you to follow her back into the house, you didn’t hesitate with your movements, following her back into the house. 

“I feel as though dinner might be late tonight.” You mother says as she closes the door behind you, fumbling to take off her scarf, “I feel like they might be out there for a while. Why don’t you go up and finish your painting?” 

You nod your head, not wanting to say anything. You remove your outdoor gear and race up the stairs. You know you shouldn’t, but you immediately run to the window to see whether you can see the two of them, but you’re unable to. 

Lizzie looked like a different person, but she sounded like Lizzie when she opened her mouth. The clothes that she wore might have changed but she was still your sister, the same sister who had the man you loved following her around like a lost puppy. Lizzie was the same Lizzie as she always had been, and that meant that she probably did feel the same way about Harry as she did before she left. There was a selfish streak in you that wished that wasn’t the case, and she had completely forgot about her feelings for Harry and had met someone else, but until you properly had a conversation with the girl, you couldn’t be too sure that was the case. You couldn’t be sure either that if that had happened, Harry would want you in that way. 

You found yourself unable to paint, so you dropped down upon your bed and sat with your back against the wall, watching the outside world as your thoughts danced around within your head. You found the thoughts spiralling through your head that you were still a young woman at the end of the day, one who could have a line of men wanting to marry you but you instead found yourself second best to your sister, and that shouldn’t be happening. No matter how much you loved the man, or had grown to be accustomed to his company, being second best wasn’t something that you had set your heart on being, and you wouldn’t be for him.

You were the first YLN he had met, yet he had chosen your sister first and he was going to lay in that bed now. 

“YN!” You mother called from downstairs, “They’re here.” 

Christmas Eve dinner, to say the least, was one that you’d never forget. Harry looked as though he was either going to burst out crying or kill someone at any moment, Lizzie looked exhausted and your mother and yourself were sat in the middle of the two of you trying to make ends meet of what had happened. Harry’s eyes caught yours once, but he was quick to flutter them away and take another forkful of vegetables and place it in his mouth. 

“Lizzie, you haven’t told YN and I anything about your time away.” Your mother started, probably not the best topic of conversation but one that would split up the silence hopefully, “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“I did.” She wipes her mouth upon her napkin, “I had an amazing time. Met some amazing people. Actually, there is one person that I’ve invited for you to meet for the new year.” 

“You have?” Your mother raises her eyebrow, “How wonderful.” 

“His name is Theodore.” 

That’s all it takes for Harry’s fork to clatter to the plate, his chair screech across the floor and his body to stand up. 

“I’m, uh, truly sorry Mrs. YLN.” He says, “The meal was lovely but I’m not feeling very well so I think it’s best that I go home.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“I will be.” He nods his head, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, “So sorry again, have an amazing Christmas.” 

“You too, Harry.” 

Once the doors closed, Lizzie’s the next person to drop her cutlery and sulk off upstairs. The slamming of the bedroom door shakes the whole house. You place another bit of potato into your mouth and slowly chew whilst looking at your mother. 

She sighs, “Will you go check on your sister for me?” 

“But—”

“You’ll get to see him later, don’t worry.” She says, “I’m going to plate him and his father some food. God knows they won’t eat without it, and you can take it over for me.” 

You nod your head, taking a sip from your glass of water before standing up and making your way upstairs. You cam hear Lizzie’s cries before you open the door, and you know that its because of what had obviously happened before the two of them had come to lunch. You push the door open, to see her laid on her bed face down, her head deep within her pillow. You push the door closed behind you and back up until your back is directly placed upon the solid wood. 

“Are you engaged to him?” You say, looking down at your shoes so that you don’t have to make eye contact with her. 

You can hear the bed creek beneath her as she moves, but you still don’t look up, “To who?” 

“To Theodore.” 

“No.” You lift your eyes up just as she shakes her head, “I’m not.” 

“But you want to be.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

You scoff and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, “You forget that I’m your sister, Lizzie. I know you better than you know yourself.” 

After a few seconds, she speaks again, “He’s going to propose.” 

“He is?” You take a few steps forward until you’re sat upon your bed, directly across from her, “Why, Lizzie?” 

“We’re in love.” She quickly says, her eyes bulging out the way that they do when she starts to get upset, “When you’re in love, you get married YN.” 

“I thought you were in love with Harry.” 

“I love Harry.” She says, shaking her head, “But I’m not in love with him. I love him as a best friend.” 

“He loves you.” 

“I know.” She shakes her head, “I just didn’t love him the way I love Theodore. He’s just so kind, and so gentle and he makes me feel things that I just haven’t felt before.” 

The way that she stands up immediately makes your mind immediately fall to a place that you know isn’t where it should be. Your eyes widen and she looks at you the exact way that you know that what you thought is right. 

“Lizzie.” You voice comes out as a whisper, and you shake your head, “You didn’t.” 

“I love him, YN.” She shakes her head, “And he loves me.” 

“We always said we’d save that until marriage.” You shake your head, “You told me that’s what you have to do.” 

She sits down on the bed next to you, reaching so that her hands are placed upon both of your shoulders, “And you do. Promise me you will, YN.” 

“I will.” You quickly say, “I promise, I will.” 

“Good.” She sighs, dropping her hands from your shoulders, “You will not end up like me, I won’t let you.” 

“How have you ended up?” 

She looks at you with tears in her eyes, “I think I’m pregnant, YN.” 

You were holding a basket of food that your mother had collated for Harry and his father. You had knocked upon the door once and now you were stood, waiting for someone to open the door and let you in from the cold. The temperature had certainly dropped since you had been outside earlier, but you weren’t surprised at that fact. 

“Miss. YLN.” Harry’s father opens the door. You’ve only ever met him once, and from what Harry has told you, he’s quite a cold man, “May I ask why you’re here?” 

“Uh, my mother sent you and Harry some food over.” You say, holding up the basket within your hands, “I just came to deliver it.” 

“Please.” He says, “Come in.” 

You step through the threshold of the house, entering one that was three times the size of your own but just as empty as yours. 

“I’ll take that to the kitchen for you.” He says, holding his hands out so you can place the basket within them, “H is upstairs, in the library. Third door on the left.”  

“Thank you.” 

The stairs themselves were probably bigger than your entire house, and as you ran your hand across the wood of the banister you couldn’t believe how expensive it felt beneath your fingers. You followed Mr. Styles’ instruction and walked along the grand hallway until you found the third door on the left. It was slightly ajar, so you placed your hand upon the wood and push it open, the door creaking as you did so. 

Your mouth drops open at the sight of the room in front of you. When Mr. Styles said Library you thought it may have been a small room with bookshelves in it, but it wasn’t, it was a full library at the most. It was full of the most books you’ve ever seen anywhere, floor to ceiling bookshelves. You couldn’t help your want to run your fingers across every single cover. 

You spot Harry sat at the window, his knees bent and a book placed open upon them. You cross your hands in front of you, taking a few steps towards Harry. The sound of your shoes against the wooden floor notifies Harry that you’re there, and he lifts his eyes to look at you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, closing the book that he had open. 

You take a few more steps towards him, sitting at the opposite side of windowsill to him, “I should be asking you that question.” 

He chuckles, lifting his leg up again so that it’s on the windowsill, “I’m okay.” 

“I don’t believe that.” You shake your head, coping him so your feet are up also and you’re facing him, “Tell me truthfully. How are you?” 

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes down to his knees, “She doesn’t want to marry me.” 

“You asked?” 

“Today.” He nods, looking back at you again, “I had a ring.” 

After a few seconds you whisper, “Can I see it?” 

“See what?” 

“The ring.” 

He opens his jacket and fumbles around in the inside pocket, bringing out a small blue velvet box which he throws towards you. You catch it, nearly dropping it but you manage to keep it in your hands. You raise your eyebrow at him and he offers a small smile, one that you knew wasn’t the most truthful of how he’s feeling.

You open the box and see a beautiful ring in the box. The ring itself was silver, but the thing that drew your and probably Harry to it was the gem. It looked to be diamond, not a large one at that but one that was a lovely sized. The light from the window caused the diamond to glimmer slightly, a gasp escaping from your lips.

“Harry.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “It’s beautiful.” 

“I thought so too.” He says, running his thumb across his bottom lip before shrugging his shoulders, “Lizzie didn’t think so.” 

“It’s not because of you, Harry.” You quickly say, “Nothing to do with you.” 

“It must’ve been, YN.” He says, “You’re sister doesn’t want to marry me. Me! Not anyone else.” 

“She can’t marry you, Harry.” You say, the tears starting to collect in your eyes, “I don’t know whether if situations were different she would marry you, but in this situation it isn’t your fault. I can promise you that.” 

You watch a tear fall down is cheek, “Has she met someone else?” 

You look away, pursing your lips and closing your eyes to try and stop the tears from falling down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Is it Theodore? Is she engaged to him?” 

“She will be.” You say, standing up and moving so that you’re in front of him, placing your hand upon his knee, “I’m so sorry, Harry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“She’s my sister.” 

“You’re not in charge of her.” 

You reach forward and place your hand upon his cheek, using your thumb to delicately wipe the next year that falls out of his eye. His tilts his head slightly so that it’s nicely rested within your hand, and you smile at him, which his returns. 

“Did she ever love me?” 

“She did.” You say, nodding your head, “She loves you. She’s just not in love with you.” 

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think anything will at this point. You just need to wait, time will heal. I’ll be here for you.” 

“I think.” He says, dropping his knees so that he can move closer to you, “I think you might be able to.” 

“Whatever you need, H.” You say.

He moves closer, you can feel him closer to you, but you certainly hadn’t expected for him to place his lips upon yours. The kiss at first in gentle, his lips pressed against yours so gently that at the start you couldn’t quite feel him upon you. Then it’s more urgent, with his hand placed upon your cheek, his lips moving against yours at a quick pace. 

“H.” You whisper, pulling away slightly as he removes his lips from yours, using them to dance down your cheek, to your jaw and then resting against the skin of your neck. 

He removed his hand from your cheek and hooking it underneath your thigh so he can manoeuvre you to be on his lap.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed a boy, and you can’t believe that the boy of all people is Harry Styles. You hadn’t been this close to anyone before, straddled across his lap with your knees each side of his waist, your skirt bunched up at your waist. The second you were comfortable, his lips attached to your again, his hands rested upon the small of your back. A feeling brewed within you, causing your hips to involuntary buck towards his. You felt him smile against your lips, and that was when you snapped out of the daze that you were in.

Without really thinking, you pulled away and clambered off of his lap. He looked flushed as you pulled away, his hair a little messy and his lips red from the kissing. 

“No.” You hold your hand out at him, shaking your head, “You can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” He said, standing up and taking a few steps towards you. 

“Because. . . because you just can’t.” You shake your head, lifting your hands to run through your hair. 

“I thought.” He looks at you quizzically, “I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

“Maybe I did, a little bit.” You say, shaking your head, “But you didn’t want it to be me. You wanted it to be Lizzie.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, holding his hand out as if to touch yours, “I didn’t want that.” 

“You did, I know you Harry, and you did.” You sniffle slightly, shaking your head, “I’m not Lizzie and I’ll never be Lizzie, and I’ve accepted that. You’ll never love me like you love Lizzie, and I know that. But, Harry, I won’t be second best. I don’t deserve to be second best.” 

“You aren’t second best, YN!” 

You can’t help but let out a small sob at his words, “I am, Harry. From the first day that we met each other, Lizzie came first. She was the one who you couldn’t bore your eyes away from, not me. I don’t think I had a full conversation with you until Lizzie left for her classes.” 

“That’s not true, YN.” He shakes his head, “I swear to you, it isn’t.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You take a few steps back, “I won’t be second best.” 

With that you turn away, leaving the house and leaving Harry. You couldn’t help the tears that fell as you walked across to your house. 

You had made the decision that day that you weren’t to stay in America, that you were going to leave and you knew that Aunt Jemima was the person you knew would be able to help you with that.

Your Aunt Jemima was getting older, but before she died she wanted to go to Europe on last time, more specifically France. She had asked you years ago to be her companion on the trip, and you had agreed, but that was the last time you’d ever spoken to her about it. On Christmas day, you had been the one to bring the idea back up in conversation, dropping in little hints until Aunt Jemima picked up what you were saying. She had been the one to say that in the new year you were going and that you had to be ready to leave on January second with no complaints, not that you had any anywhere. 

When Aunt Jemima’s carriage came, you said your farewell’s to your mother and you sister, and Theodore who had proposed to your sister the day prior — and left. As you sat in the carriage, you couldn’t help but look at Harry’s house, and you weren’t shocked to see him at the window watching your every move. You didn’t look away from the window until you could no longer see the house, when you turned to look straight in front of your, your gloved hands resting upon your knee. 

“Forget him.” Aunt Jemima says, sighing slightly and shaking her head, “He isn’t right for you.” 

“I have no idea what you are on about.” You shake your head, looking out of the small carriage window so that you don’t have to look at your Aunt. 

“That Styles boy.” She says, and you immediately snap your eyes towards her, “Don’t think I don’t know about the two of you.” 

“There isn’t anything to know.” You shake your head at her. 

“There obviously is.” She says, “Or you wouldn’t be sulking the way that you are.” 

“I’m not sulking.” 

“I haven’t brought a liar with me have I ?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

“You haven’t.” She shakes her head, “I am sulking, I’m sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” She says, pursing her lips, “Are you going to tell me about him, then?” 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re about to cry, my dear.” She flutters her eyes to you slightly, “I could sense your heartbreak from a mile away. He’s the reason you wanted to come, isn’t he?” 

“I wanted to come.” You say, messing with your fingers that sat on your lap, “He just. . . gave me a reason to finally do it.” 

“I think he’s the idiot in this situation.” She says after a few seconds and your lips part in shock, before you clamp them back together, “He’s the one who got involved with you and your sister. I wonder if he can even get out of bed.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Well. First of all your sister broke his heart by not marrying him and marrying that other man, I’ve already forgotten his name.” She shakes her head, “Then you broke his heart by doing whatever you did when you went to go see him on Christmas Eve and you’ve been depressed ever since you left.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Who do you think?” Aunt Jemima clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “My daughter told me. Wouldn’t stop crying saying that you’re leaving the love of your life and her other daughters pregnant by some pretentious nobody.” 

You run your hand over your forehead, scrunching your face at the fact that everyone knew, “My mother knows too much.” 

“Your mother just knows you.” Aunt Jemima shakes her head, “At least you haven’t ruined your life before it’s even begun, with a child of all things.” 

“You’re just saying that because you never had children.” 

“Why would I want an offspring of myself and some other man?”

“It’s about love, Aunt Jemima.” You can tell that you’re about to cry, so again you turn your head, “When you love someone, that’s something to bring that love into a being.” 

“I just don’t see why.” She says, curling up her nose, “But then again, that’s why I’m seventy, unmarried and childless. Don’t think about the Styles boy too much. You’re going to a different country for heavens sake, think of all of the people that you’ll meet whilst you’re there. You’ll forget him soon, my dear, and he’ll forget you. That’s what we’ll hope for anyway.” 

The tears do start to fall now, in quick streams down down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them. Aunt Jemima, no matter how much you despised her sometimes, she certainly knew what she was talking about. You turned your head so that you were looking away from your aunt, looking out of the window and trying your hardest not to let any sobs fall out of your lips.

You did love Harry and if he had stopped your from getting into the carriage, your probably would. If he had asked to marry you, you probably would have said yes without any hesitation but at the same time you also felt as though you were second best, and that wasn’t a place that you ever thought you’d be.

No matter how much you loved him, and yearned to be with him, you knew for the sake of your sanity and for the sake of staying as a strong independent woman. You were taught from being young from your mother that no matter how many people try to say that all you were worth is more than just being the wife of some rich man. Your mother also said that you had a talent and that you had to use it. 

France was going to be the place that you were going to use your talents, and be a better person for doing so. 

Four Years Later

“Pierre.” You say, smiling at the man as he held his hand out to you, “Puis-je vous demander ce que vous faites?” May I ask what you’re doing? 

“Je demande à la plus belle fille de la pièce de danser.” You can’t help the blush that falls across your cheeks. You nod your head and slip your hand into his, standing up and following him into the middle of the dance floor. I’m asking the most beautiful girl in the room to dance. 

The music changes around them to one of the most popular songs in Paris to dance to. He lifts his arm up, just as you do to his, and start the movements in the same way that everyone else in the room had.

You had arrived in France with Aunt Jemima four years ago, fresh faced after the journey and ready to start your new life there.  At first it took a while for you to get used to the new life that you now lived. Aunt Jemima’s French house, if it was even possible, was bigger that her house back home with more nooks and crannies to explore but more importantly, a bigger garden that you could paint every corner of. The main thing that you focused on during the first few months of your arrival was settling in and learning the language which you knew would be hard, but it was something that you needed to do. 

Pierre was the person who had helped you do that. 

Aunt Jemima had hired him to be your French tutor. She said that he was one of the best for you, and that he certainly was. You learnt the basics within the first few months until you were able to finally communicate with the people around you in their native language. At first, you despised Pierre and his pretentious way of making you feel small, but here you were, fours years later, dancing with him and waiting for his proposal at some point. 

Aunt Jemima would be turning within her grave if she knew you were planning to marry Pierre. Even though she hired him when you first arrived to teach you, but she found him incompetent to do anything else. She could tell that you were falling for him, and told you multiple times to not settle for him but you were ignoring her. 

If you listened to every one who your Aunt Jemima told you to not settle for, you’d never marry at all. 

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He asks, in English this time, his accent seeping through with every word that he spoke. 

“Plans?” You raise your eyebrow, “To paint, yes, but I suppose I can clear my schedule.” 

After learning the French language, that was when you had started your painting classes. You started taking everything in, listening to every single word the teacher said to you until you were good enough to start on your own. The first time one of your pieces was shown in an exhibit, people loved it, and you found yourself creating more and more works and creating more and more links with people around. 

“Do.” He says, nodding his head, “Je veux t’emmener quelque part. Quelque part spécial.” I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere special.

You bite your lip, nodding your head whilst trying to suppress the large smile that’s ready to cross your entire face. 

Pierre was a hopeless romantic, always showering you in large gestures that caused your heart to flutter within your chest. He hadn’t kissed you, and even though you knew that you knew deep down that you shouldn’t compare it, you found yourself not feeling the way that you did the last time you found yourself with a man. 

At twenty-three you were late to get married, and if you ever wanted kids you would have to do so quicker than anything you had ever done in your life because you knew that your days were going to start become numbered. 

“What time should I be ready?” 

“I’ll pick you up at eleven.” 

The song ends, your courtesy and he bows and that’s when you walk back towards the table you were sat at, picking up your glass of Champagne and taking a sip. 

“YN.” You stop drinking immediately, nearly choking on the liquid that you had already started to sip. You know that voice anywhere, etched into your brain from when you were just a mere eighteen year old with a heart twice the size of the one you had now, “As I live and breathe.” 

You turn around, immediately seeing a man that you had left years ago stood in front of you. He looked exactly the same as when you knew him all those years ago, except his features were a tad harder and his hair curler that it was before if it was even possible which you weren’t too sure about. 

“Harry.” You swallow the lump in your throat, placing your glass down on the table and turning so that you were facing him, “It’s been a while.” 

“It certainly has.” He says, lifting his own glass to his lips, “You look good. Happy.” 

“I am.” You nod your head. You look at him, his eyes emptier that you had ever seen them before, not even when Lizzie refused to marry him, “I wish I could say the same for you, but. . .” 

“I look exhausted.” 

“You do.” You say, watching as his lips curled up into a smile as do yours, “How are you? Genuinely.” 

“I’m. . .” 

“Ma chérie.” You feel an arm slip around your waist, rest upon the small of it as he stands next to you, “Qui est-ce?” My darling. Who is this? 

“Ah.” You brush a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place away from your face, “Pierre, this is Harry. Harry this is Pierre.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, lifting the glass to his lips to drink the rest of it. As you watch, it doesn’t seem to even hits the sides with how quickly he drinks it. 

“Bonjour.” Pierre holds his hand out to Harry, “Comment allez vous?”

Harry looks at Pierre’s hand but he doesn’t shake it, and that’s when you lift your fingers to run against your forehead, “Are you two, marié?” Married.

“No.” You shake your head, stepping to the side slightly so that Pierre’s hand isn’t upon your waist anymore, “We are. . .” 

“Courting.” Pierre’s quick to interject, “I think that’s what to call it.” 

You watch as Harry’s eyebrows raise, and without saying anything to the two of you, he turns around and mutters, “I need another drink.” 

As he walks away, you can see the slight stagger in his walk, one that many intoxicated people hold and you know that him being not himself treads deeper than just seeing you there today. 

“YN.” Pierre places a hand upon your shoulder, “How do you know that man?” 

“He’s someone from home.” You say, watching as Harry drinks another full glass of Champagne where he’s staggered off to, “He’s an old friend.” 

He leans down until you can feel his breath at your ear, “Just a friend.” 

You nod, leaning into him as he places a kiss to your neck, “Bien.” Good.

Since Pierre wasn’t picking you up until eleven, you decide that you have the time to at least start your next painting. In the garden of your Aunts house that you had inherited, you had built a gazebo with the money that you had made from selling your art pieces to exhibits that overlooked the garden and the pond from the four different directions that it had around it. 

You had decided that the swans that swum in the pond were looking particularly delightful today and you decide that is the direction that you want to start your painting. You set up your easel and your canvas, as well as your paints that you brought on a palette and start figuring out the dimensions of the painting and what you wanted it to look like. 

You hold up your paintbrush, closing one of your eyes as you move it from portrait to landscape and back again. 

“You always were a perfectionist.” The paintbrush in your hand clatters you the ground as it slips through your fingers, due to you jumping. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here, and you certainly weren’t expecting to hear his voice. 

“And you always had a tendency to shock people.” He laughs, his dress shoes hitting the decking with loud pats.

“My apologies.” He says, slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his trousers, taking another step closer to you, “I didn’t mean to shock you, love.” 

You place your palette down, brushing your hands off slightly on your apron. You’d usually wear your comfortable clothes to paint in, the attire usually not even being a skirt but often trousers, but because you were meeting Pierre later, you knew that you had to dress up. It wasn’t the fanciest dress you owned, but the light blue material complimented your features in a way that you just couldn’t resist when you saw it in the shop. 

“Yes you did.” You lips curl up into a smile, “You forget that I know you Harry, even after all these years.” 

“Lots of things can change in four years, YN.” 

“You haven’t.” 

“You haven’t, either.” He smiles.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and take a step closer to him, clearing your throat slightly as you do so, “I want to apologise for last night. Pierre can be a little. . .” 

“Intrusive.” Harry leans against the pillar nearest to him and you nod, knowing that is exactly what he is. 

“I’m very sorry. I would have loved to have caught up with you.” 

“I probably wouldn’t have been in the best frame of mind to do so.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “I was drunk, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“I could.” 

“Now.” He lifts his hand up and motions to the garden around you, “Are you going to tell me what I’ve missed in the last four years?” 

“Uh.” You move so you’re stood next to him, leant against the barrier, “I moved with Aunt Jemima. This was her house but she died a year ago, if I remember correctly. She left me the house in her will, and I decided that I wanted to stay.” 

“Have you been at home at all during the last four years?” 

You nod your head, “I went home when Lizzie got married, that was when I met Anna for the first time. Then I went back for Aunt Jemima’s funeral because she decided she didn’t want to be buried here.” 

“I must have missed you.” He says, “I spent a lot of the last four years in England with my grandparents.” 

“Lizzie told me.” You say, “She said that she did invite you to the wedding but your father explained that you were in England.” 

He nods his head, “I left a few months after you. I think my father was fed up of my moping.” 

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but his words did. Your chest squeezed slightly at his words. Even though you knew you were doing what you were doing to benefit yourself, you couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. You had lost a friend when you left, as well as your first love. 

“Are you married?” You ask, not really knowing why the words escape from your lips in the way that they do. 

He shakes his head, holding his hand up to reveal his completely ring free hand, “Nope. I can’t really say that I’ve been looking.” 

“I’m sure you’ve had opportunities.” You say, “You’re the perfect gentlemen, Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve had women queuing to marry you.” 

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “People have tried but I haven’t been interested.” 

“Why not?” 

“Some may say that I’m still hung up on somebody.” His eyes flutter away from yours, and you take it as the opportunity to look down at your hands, “But that doesn’t matter. What about you and Mr. Intrusive.” 

You chuckle, lifting your eyes up to look at his, “He was my French language teacher. I didn’t like him, despised him to be fair but here were are a few years later and I think he’s going to propose to me later today.” 

“Do you want to marry him?” 

If you were asked this question but anybody else, you probably would have immediately said yes and that was enough for you to know that you should marry him. But seeing Harry stood there, the way that he is, waiting for you to answer what should be one of the easiest questions ever, reminds you that this may have gotten a lot more confusing now with Harry’s reappearance. 

“I. . .” You hesitate and drop your eyes down to the ground again, “I think so.” 

“You think?” He says, “I can’t say that I believe that you do if you only think that you want to marry him.” 

“I do.” You say, quickly. 

Harry stands up and takes a few steps towards the opposite end of the gazebo, “Do you love him?” 

This answer, so it should be another one, was easy to answer, “No.” 

“Then why are you marrying him.” 

“I’m twenty-three, Harry.” You say, your heels tapping the wood as you move to stand next to him, looking at the pond in front of you, “I’m certainly not getting any younger. If I returned home to mother and father without a husband and children I believe they would disown me.” 

“They wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “They love you too much.” 

“I’ve had three letters from them asking about grandchildren.” You deadpan, looking at him with a stoic look on their face. 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t want to marry someone who you don’t love.” He says.

“If I don’t marry Pierre, who will I marry?” 

After a few seconds, the smallest whispers escapes his lips, “You could marry me.” 

The whole world seems to slow down around you, and you turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you, with those green eyes that you became so accustomed to all those years ago. You knew each other in all for three months, but you spent every second of every day with each other when Lizzie was away, and it certainly showed with how close you became. Marrying Harry could be the thing that you need, have always needed. You haven’t been as happy as you were when you were back him with him in a long time. 

“Harry.” You say, the words coming out in a small whisper, “You can’t mean that.” 

“I do.” He says, quickly to say the least, “I haven’t been more sure about anything in my life before.” 

“Harry—”

“Madame.” One of the groundskeepers say, walking towards the two of you, “Monsieur Perney est là.” Mr. Perney is here. 

“Merci, Alfred.” You clear your throat to try and mask the uncertainty in your voice, “Ça ne prendra qu’un seconde.” Thank you, Alfred. I will only be a second. 

The man nods and walks away, and you turn back to look at Harry, who has the same look on his face as you do on yours. There’s a level of defeat between the two of you. 

“I need to, um, go meet with Pierre.” You say, hands gripping the material of your dress. 

“Is that a no?” He takes a step towards you. 

You sigh, “It’s a, I have to think about it.” 

He nods, “When will you know? This is probably a good time to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

That changed everything. It wasn’t as though now you had a few days to think through and make your decision, you had to make it quickly before he goes. 

“Tomorrow?” 

He nods, “Father’s ill. Paris was my last hooray before I go back home to be an adult.” 

You take a few moments to think, “Will you be able to return back here this evening?” 

“For you? Of course.” He says as though he doesn’t even have to think about it. 

You nod your head and take a few steps towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye Harry.” 

“I’ll see you later, love.” 

“C’est une belle journée.” Pierre says as the two of you walk side by side around a park, the spring heat light upon your skin as you do so. It’s a beautiful day. 

“It is.” You say, not being able to pull your eyes away from the ground below you.

You knew that you shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, that it wasn’t fair to Pierre, but all you could think about was Harry. You couldn’t get the look of his face out of your head as you kissed his cheek and walked away, as though he felt like that was it between the two of you. You were still unsure of the decision that you were going to make, but once you found yourself stood at the top of some steps, looking out at the park below, you knew that you were to make your decision sooner of later. 

“Is something bothering you?” 

“No.” You shake your head, finally lifting your eyes to look at his, “Everything is swell, thank you.” 

“Good.” He takes a step closer so that his fingers are brushing yours, “YN?” 

“Yes?” 

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” He says, and the two of you turn so that you’re facing each other, his hands gripping yours, “A very long time, and I was wondering whether I could ask you something?” 

“We have.” You know what the question is before the words have left his lips, and you’re already beginning to prepare yourself for what you’re going to hear the next time he open his lips, “And you can.” 

He clears his throat and fumbles within his inside pocket, drawing out what you know is a ring box. He lets go of your hand which he was still holding with his free one and drops down to his knee, using his other hand to open the small box. 

“YN YLN.” He sighs, “Ma chérie. Will you marry me?” 

The same feeling that you felt before overcomes you, when the whole world around you seems to be moving in slow motion. He looks so happy, his cheeks lifting in a wide grin that you can’t seem to shake from your sight. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the ring he had chosen for you, because it was at that time, seeing him on his knee, that you know what your answer is. 

“I’m so sorry, Pierre.” You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, “I don’t think I can.” 

“What?” His whole face drops, and guilt starts to wash over you. He immediately stands up, looking at you with wide eyes, “No?” 

You shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pierre.” 

“I thought that you wanted to marry me.” He shakes his head, “Comment ai je pu être si stupide?” How could I have been so stupid?

“You haven’t. I promise you, Pierre.” You reach your hand forward to touch his arm, but he moves away from you, not wanting you to touch him you suppose, “I did want to marry you.” 

“What has changed?” You look at him with sad eyes, tears threatening to spill and you watch the realisation flutter across his features, “He has.” 

You drop your head, lifting your hand to wipe away the tears that had started to spill, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Who is he?” His features switch to angry ones next, and his voice deepens and it shocks you to say the least, “You have never mentioned him and now you will not marry me because of him?” 

“He’s an old friend from hime, like I said.” You repeat your words from the party last night, “I haven’t seen him since I moved here.” 

“Do you love him?” The words are quick to leave his lips and you once again drop your head, in shame if you are completely honest, “Do you? I want to hear you say it?” 

“I do.” His hostile tone scared you into answering, “I always have.” 

“Did you ever love me?” 

You shake your head, the little movement causing him to throw you one of the worst looks you’ve ever seen in your life and stalk away from you. Tears stream down your face, and you know that you probably look the worst you’ve ever looked in your life at this given moment but you couldn’t care less. You thought that you’d feel worse than you do, but you you feel more relieved than anything. You feel bad that you’ve had to break his heart, but the idea of going back home with Harry, seeing your family and saying that he is the man that you’re going to marry was enough for your heart to burst with excitement. 

In your opinion, you couldn’t return home quick enough. The second you return to the house you’re fluttering around as quickly as possible, packing all the belongings that you’d need immediately when you returned but you knew that you could get the rest of your belongings shipped in at a later date. 

The evening rolled around quicker that you had imagined it would, but you supposed time went quickly when you’re packing to go across the world with the love of your life. When you hear the knock at your door, you race to open it, not caring what people think because all you want is to see him. 

You throw the door open, and there he is, stood in the exact same suit that you’d seen him in earlier. He did look tireder then he did earlier, but if you had spent the day worrying you probably would’ve looked worse than he did. 

“Come in.” You open the door wider, so that he can step in, “Please.” 

He takes a few seconds to look around at the entrance way to the house, his lips parting at the sheer size of it as you did when you first arrived. Aunt Jemima was an odd woman, you couldn’t lie, but she certainly knew how to pick a lovely house. You’d probably sell it now that you were going back to America. 

He looked around for a while before he noticed your pile of belongings in the corner, all packed away and ready to leave. 

His eyes meet yours and he looks as though he’s going to cry at any given moment, “Really?” 

You nod your head, “I want to marry you, Harry. Always have.” 

He takes two steps forward and places his lips on yours, his hands falling to your cheeks. It sent you back to four years ago, stood in the library after you’d just kissed him. You couldn’t believe that he was back with you, kissing your lips in the way that you had yearned for him too for so many years. 

He pulls away and rests his head upon yours with a sigh, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Ever since that day. I should’ve done more.” 

“It was my fault.” You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “I shouldn’t have left. I should have sulked for a while but gone back to you. I missed you so terribly.” 

“I know why you did it.” He says, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I shouldn’t have proposed to your sister when it was you who made me happy. I knew that I shouldn’t have the second I said it, and I’m sorry for that.” 

“We’ll start a fresh.” You whisper, resting your forehead upon his, “Forget everything that happened four years ago and start fresh. I love you, Harry. I always have.” 

“I love you too.” 

You lean forward and place your lips on his again, his hands resting comfortably upon your waist. It felt so familiar for you to be in his arms, his lips upon yours. He was the only person you had ever kissed, and now he’d be the only person that you’d ever kiss, and you certainly weren’t complaining about that. 

“You may now kiss the bride!” 

Harry smiles at you, and you beam up at him before the two of you lean forward and kiss each other. Cheers and applause erupt around the two of you, as well as confetti and flowers being thrown across the two of you as you walk down the aisle. 

You had arrived a few months ago from Paris, and immediately thrown into trying to nurse Harry’s father back to health, which didn’t go to plan. It was hard on Harry, but he had you and that was the most important thing to him. His Father gave you his blessing for the marriage, saying that it was the best thing he’d heard in a while. The funeral was a few weeks later, and the two of you decided to have the wedding two months afterwards.

The two of you were moving into Harry’s house, across the road from the house that your mother and father still lived in. You had so many plans for what you wanted to do to with the place, seeing as though it was way too big for the two of you to live in on your own. 

It was your wedding night, and you were walking up towards the front door of the house when you felt Harry’s arm slipping under your thighs. You squeal as he picks you up, wrapping your arms around Harry’s neck. Giggling, you lean forward and place a kiss to his cheek, causing the dimples to show within his cheeks. 

“I love you, husband.” You say, smiling as he places you down in the entry way. 

“I love you too.” He leans forward and places a kiss to your lips, “Wife.” 

It was as though the atmosphere within the room changed the second he said that word. His hands found your hips, resting on the material of your dress. You took a step backwards, causing you to press your back against the inside of the door, your lips immediately attacked by his. Your hips involuntarily buck up to Harry’s, causing a groan to escape from his lips. After a few seconds, he pulls away, kissing down your neck. 

“Harry.” You whisper, feeling a moan ready to tumble from your lips at the feeling of his teeth grazing your neck, “Take me upstairs.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod your head and he’s quick to pick you up again, this time carrying you over his shoulder. You squeal and grip his shoulders to steady yourself, “Better give my wife what she wants.”

Once you were up the stairs safely, he placed you down and connected your lips again. The first thing you did once your feet touched the ground again, you gripped the edge of his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the material tumble to the ground and drop. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” You mumble against his lips and he hums, allowing you to unbutton his shirt and shrugging that material off of his shoulders. This was the most you’d seen of Harry naked, and another human being at that. 

“What about you?” He says, walking you both back until he���s sat on the bed, “Can I see you?” 

“You’ll have to help.” You giggle, turning around. He starts to unbutton your dress, letting the material slip from your body into a pile upon the floor. He starts to unfasten your corset next, allowing that to slip from your body also. You were very exposed now, and you knew that, but the way that Harry looked at you sent all of your worries flying from your head. 

He leaned back on his arms and clambered back into his lap, similarly to the way you had done all those years ago when you first kissed in the library of this very house. You wrapped your arms around his neck, just has his rested upon the exposed skin of your waist. 

“YN?” You hum against his lips, “Can I make you feel good?” 

You pull away and nod, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. It made you feel nervous that he was going to see you in the way that he was but this was Harry, your husband and the person you had wished to be touching you and near to the years that you had been apart. He helps remove the rest of your undergarments until you’re completely naked in front of him, laying and waiting for whatever he is going to do to you. He removes his trousers and underwear as you do so. There’s something about seeing him like that causes your hear to flutter and the rest of you to follow it. 

He hovers over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips before moving down your neck and to your chest until he reaches your breasts, pressing kiss to the plushy skin around it until he wraps his lips around your nipple, lifting his hand up to pinch the other one between his fingers. 

“Fuck, love.” He smiles up at you as you whither beneath him, feeling all of your senses heightened at the feeling of him on your skin. 

He kisses down from your breasts to your stomach until his face is directly where you want it the most, where you’re literally throbbing for him. Without any warning, he leans forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue, causing your hips to buck up from the bed and moans threatening to spill from your lips. Your hand drops to the top of his head, tugging at the curls that rest there. You’ve never felt like this, ever, in your life and you believe that if you feel it too much you will become accustomed to it. Your thighs try to clamp around his head but he stops you from doing so by gripping your thighs with his hands. After a particularly hard tug of his curls, a moan erupts from Harry and vibrates against your clit causing you to shudder. 

He moved one of his hands up from your thigh to run over your wet slit, “Can I?” 

“Please.” You’re quite embarrassed about how breathy it comes out but once he slips one of his fingers in, and a whine escapes his lips you can’t be bothered to care about the sounds that are leaving your lips. 

“I need to stretch you out.” He says, curling his finger in you, “Can I?” 

You nod your head, “Please.” 

He pushes another finger into you, leaning his head back down to attack your clit again. He’s quite gentle with his tongue, using it to make a skilled attack on your clit, using it and his fingers to coax you closer and closer to the first ever orgasm you are to experience. 

“Harry.” You whine his name and the feeling washes over you quicker than you had expected it too, but at the same time the man knew what he was doing and you to bring you to that peak. He continued to move his fingers and kitten lick at your clit until your thighs stop shaking. Once you have, he moves up your body again and kisses you. 

“Good?” 

“Really good.” You laugh, wrapping your arm around his neck, “I want to feel you, H.” 

“Certain? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

“I do.” You place your hand on his cheek, pecking his lips, “I want to.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You smile, “It’s going to hurt whether we do it now or later. I want to.” 

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, the feeling contrasting the one that you had felt earlier. You weren’t in a lot of pain, but it made it a little harder to feel the pleasure that you know you can feel from this act, Lizzie had told you plenty about it when you were younger. Harry grunted as he pushed into you, scrunching up his features. From the way that little groans and deep breaths escaped his lips, you knew that he was feeling an immense amount of pleasure. 

“Feel good?” He grunts against your neck, pressing a small kiss to the skin as you smile, running your nails down his back. You knew that he was close, from the way he twitched inside of you, and your tried everything to coax it out of him. 

“Feel so good, love.” He comes soon after his words, spilling into you and filling you up. 

He collapses on top of you and you hold him close to you, pushing his curls off of his forehead that have stuck. You giggle as his pouts his lips, leaning down to play a kiss to them. 

“I love you so much.” You smile. 

“And I, you.” He pulls you close, “You were never second best, I hope you know that.” 

“I do now.” 

Three Years Later

“Mary.” You smile, placing your hand on the back of the little girls shoulder, “That looks beautiful.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Styles.” She says, continuing to add the green paint to her painting. 

You and Harry figured out not that long after what do with the large house you had been left by his father. With your art and French skills, and Harry’s love for reading and slight knowledge of simple maths, you decided to convert the house into a school for the kids in the village. It was a place for them to come without having to worry and learn and focus on new skills. 

At this point you had just finished one of your art classes and left the kids to let their creativity flow with some paper and paints, as well as pencils and other materials for them to use. You were making your way outside, smiling at the sight of Harry sat in the garden with a group of children sat around him, listening to every word he spoke as he read from a book. 

The next thing you saw was your sister, stood with her husband and her children. You were surprised to see your little boy, Oscar, sat comfortably in her arms. The second he sees you, he’s making grabby arms in your direction. 

He had just turned one and was now in a phase of not wanting to walk but be carried everywhere. He was certainly his father’s son, in more ways than one. He looked identical to his father, with green eyes and unruly brown curls and dimples, but he was also the exact same person as your husband, and if you thought it was a struggle to live with one Harry Styles, having an Oscar Styles as well was just as hard. 

“Hi baby.” You pick him up and place him on your hip, his hand resting on your neck lovingly. From the way he drops his head to your shoulder, you can tell he’s almost ready for his nap. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek. 

Harry comes over a few seconds later and kisses you on the lips briefly and places a kiss to Oscar’s cheeks. The two of you look over at what you have created for the kids around you and smile at each other. 

“I’m glad I didn’t give up on you.” 

“Me neither.” You smile, “I love you, mon chéri.” 

“I love you too.” 

Oscar looks up at the two of you with a pout on his lips, causing Harry to chuckle, “And we love you too, little man.” 

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing #harry styles au

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

[wizkiddx]

heyheyhey idk if u do req but love your dad tom stuff! PLZ PLZ do tom helping his kids with homework but cant do it and reader has to help and its all fluffy 😩💕

ye im down to do req and this had me going completely ott cos its v cute (and a lot less angsty than what ive written recently aha) so apologies for my ramblings:

Summary: tom has the kids for a day and maths homework throws a spanner in the works - tomhollandxreader

implied smut + v slight reference to porn but basically just fluff I promise xox

\\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

Tom had dealt with a lot of whining today. Nova and Leo were the absolute joys of his life, there was no doubt about it. Of course, he also loved you a hell of a lot too - sometimes to his detriment though, hence the position he was in now. 

You’d had a busy week at work and he had been away for the first half of it - leaving you as an almost single mother to a 5 and a 7 year old. So completely fairly, you’d asked if he wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a the day on Sunday, allowing you to go to a friends baby shower. There was no answer but to agree, Tom loved quality time with the kids and he wanted you to kick back and relax with you friends too. 

However the afternoon had not been nearly as idealistic as it were supposed to be in his head. You had left him only one real job (apart from the unavoidable essentials of keeping the kids alive with food and water, something you’d hope he need not be reminded about now). Really it shouldn’t of been that hard, it was just each kid had two pieces of homework. After convincing and cajoling the kids into sitting at the table which he’d already set up with Nova’s ‘Liverpool FC’ and Leo’s ‘captain marvels’ pencil case, the English was easy. 

In fact 5 year old Leo took great joy out of writing a poem with his Dad, which basically involved trying to rhyme any word with another - especially when he tried to convince Tom that all his completely fictitious words were real and worked together. A personal favourite had been ‘snakes’ and ‘palakes’ which Leo was convinced meant pancakes - arguing so vehemently Tom almost started to doubt himself on basic English. 

Thankfully though his eldest and most sensibly child eventually took him out his misery. If anyone had any control over the Holland boys, Leo and Tom - it was the Holland girls. You and Nova had both boys completely under you spell, often taking advantage of the fact too. It was only when Nova got bored of hearing Tom and Leo mock arguing, interspersed with the little boys giggles that Tom tried his absolute hardest to keep a straight face at, that she swooped in.

“Stop being silly Leo, mummy told you he’s not good at school!” She looked oh so innocent, eyes immediately flicking down to continue the little short story she was happily going on with. In response  Tom scowled, knowing your highly curious and intelligent daughter had asked you (for one reason or another) why he was not so academic. Yet instead of Leo bursting out laughing, instead he just nodded and accepted it too - making Tom scowl even more. Not even Leo thought it was a joke. 

So apart from his children apparently taking pity on his simple mind, it was all going smoothly. Perhaps, due to the thankful fact your children had inherited their brains from their mother - something Tom was forever thankful for, until he was shamed for his substandard intellect in the family. Then again though, he was Spiderman. So take that. 

Until Nova brought out her maths sheet. Then the afternoon quickly descended into chaos. It was fractions, something she hadn’t quite grasped from school yet - a concept that still hurt her head somewhat. Normally though it’d be fine, she’d bring the sheet to you and the two of you used ‘ girl power’ to figure it out… you prior experience as a tutor while in uni helping you know how to break through to her. 

Unfortunately Tom didn’t share this same experience. Nor did Tom share a maths qualification… something that had evaded him completely during his schooling career. Of course, it had never been a particular issue, acting didn’t require the use of maths and algebra and Tom was in a very lucky position of being able to pay someone to manage his finances from a very young age. So no, dividing 2/3 and 3/7 didn’t come the most naturally to him. Or at all to be quite honest. 

“I CANT DO IT AND GRACE IN MY CLASS COULD!” For context, Grace was one of her school friends, who forever liked to compare herself to the young Holland - especially because she was normally ahead. Nova had gone from quiet frustration, staring at the questions with her tongue sticking out slightly, to one of pure rage - yelling at her dad with tears in her eyes. Nova was normally incredibly intuitive, she always found it difficult when she couldn’t do something. Now, with a ‘teacher’ who was more useless than her - the frustrations inevitably bubbled over. 

“Hey, we can work it out, just calm-“

“YOU CANT DO IT EITHER YOUR STUPID “ She was just young and frustrated, Tom tried not to take it personally but … it wasn’t always easy. Chiefly because this was the height of offensive statement Nova knew - this was her version of adult explicit language. 

“Nova you can’t be rude.” He used his stern voice, something Tom very rarely used with his little girl. Though he never wanted to upset her, neither did he want her to think it was ever okay to be so rude to anyone like that- no matter how crappy at maths they were. It hurt him to do so but it was necessary - life lessons about the importance of being kind needed to be learnt. And it worked… if what Tom was aiming for was his beautiful baby girl’s eyes to brim with sparkling tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. 

Instantly Tom’s eyebrows drooped, trying to fight his natural reaction to scoop her onto his knee and reassure her everything was okay. But as you had lectured him many a time before, he had to put his foot down once in a while. So instead, the father and daughter were locked in a silence and intense eye contact, until Nova hesitantly began to speak. 

“I’m sorry Daddy.” During which, Nova shoved her chair back, making it screech against the tiled floors uglily before running off up the stairs. Tom knew she was crying a lot. Knew this was going to take a bit of fixing. 

With a sigh of his daughters name, Tom popped his head into the living to check on Leo who had already finished all his stuff. Seeing him completely zombified in front of ‘paw patrol’ on TV, Tom trudged up the stairs. He knew where she was, when Nova was upset she always hid in the corner of her wardrobe and cried in the darkness. So after steadying himself with a little internal monologue of how to approach the situation Tom walked in and sat down beside the wardrobe - knocking on the door slightly. 

“Nova… can we talk please?” All he heard was sniffing echoing from the wooden chamber until she tried to shout through the door.

“Go-go… go away daddy.” It broke his heart, the way her voice wavered, making Tom pout - gently letting his head fall against the wardrobe doors. 

“I don’t want you to be upset beautiful…. And you did apologise which I appreciate. You know why Daddy got angry right?” Her sniffles heightened before she muttered a quiet ‘yes’. “And you are sorry? Because that might’ve made me really sad too.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Then that’s good and we don’t need to cry. You want a cuddle little one?” Before Tom could even properly get up the door was being pushed open by her little hands, revealing a tear stained face and big glassy eyes looking up at her Dad. Swiftly Tom scooped her up and out of the cupboard, whispering to her while she buried her face in his chest. 

“Oh come here my little bean.”

//////////////////////

When you came home late that evening, only mildly exhausted from spending the whole day gossiping with your girls, it was weirdly quiet. All the lights were out in the front room, which made you close the door gently, thinking Tom had managed to exhaust the kids - and himself in the process. With a relieved sigh at the peace you pattered into the kitchen to get yourself a drink (it had been a little concern that Tom would’ve worked the kids into a hyperactive and delerious state that kept them up long past bedtime - which ultimately you’d have to deal with). The house was remarkably silent and though it was clear from the littered toys everywhere that it had indeed been Tom alone in charge, everything seemed pretty okay. 

It was only as you were about to head upstairs to join your hubby in bed that you realised the study light was still on, streaming through the small crack in the doorframe. Assuming Tom had just neglected to turn it off, in otherwords Tom being Tom, you nudged it open with your hand. Surprisingly though, there was your husband, hunched over the desk, looking almost angrily focused - between the computer screen and a piece of paper below him. Normally you would’ve just assumed it was another script sent over or an edit Harry had sent of another screenplay they were writing together. 

But no, the blatant red flag was the screen that you could see. A screen on YouTube, of a man pointing at a whiteboard of fractions. 

So with a soft wrist you wrapped your knuckled on the side of the door, even if you had technically already entered the room. The reaction had you stifling a laugh, it was as if you’d caught him watching something *less PG* the way he jumped out his seat, closing the browser immediately. 

“Love!! I -er … didn’t know you’d got back?”

“I just did.” You smiled gently, while walking into stand behind his chair, wrapping your arms round his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Soooo…. what’ca doingggg” The glee in your voice was evident, making Tom groan and shut his eyes. 

“I hate you, you know that right?” 

“No you don’t… but you were watching a primary school video on fractions, if I’m not so mistaken?” He sighed deeply, making a point of turning the paper with his scribbles over to obscure it. 

“Nova’s homework.. she couldn’t do it and neither could I, so then she basically screamed at me for being thick and udseless and then had a breakdown.” 

Now you felt guilty. This was a bit of a sore spot with Tom, he always for some reason felt inferior because of his academic ability. Which was stupid- mainly because he was the most clever and talented man you’d ever met. Just…. Just not at fraction. 

“Oh T… you could’ve just left it for me to do with her, I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point Y/n.” He snapped a little, shrugging your arms off him and spinning in the chair so he could face you. “She’s my daughter and I should be able to help her! It’s not like it’s that hard, it’s just I’m unbelievable thick.”

“Tom stop. Look - you can do this I assure you, it’s just been a long old time ‘kay? Your rusty and that’s only natural.”

“I really don’t think I could ev-“

“Can I teach you? It’s just the method and then I promise you’ll get it.”

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Tom agreed, letting you pull the corner chair forward to beside his desk so you could demonstrate it to him. To be fair, he really could do it- just a bit of familiarising on the ‘stick-change-flip’ method. The way the lightbulb moment literally caused his face to light up; scurrying to do the question for himself, tongue sticking out in the process; then presenting it to you proudly - well it had you melting in your seat. 

“See! That took all of 5 minutes and you got it.” You elbowed  his side by leaning forward in the chair, which instead of letting go, Tom reached and caught, before pulling you up and round. You landed with you bum perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, Tom now stood up- his legs in-between your parted thighs - your feet hooking round the back of knees. 

“It’s all down to my incredibly talented teacher.”

“No…. No I really don’t think it is” You mused with a soft voice, fingers instinctively going to the nape of his neck - twirling the little curls round your fingertips. 

“Well even so… I think I could teach you a thing or two too.” Never one to mull on anything, Tom’s tone had immediately switched to something a lot more… mischievous. 

“Not even going to ask about my day? Wheres the chat mr smooth?” He had to repress the grin at your smirk because as much as you infuriated the hell out of him - you also had this weird ability of making him feel so entranced and helpless. He relented with a sarcastic chime.

“Fine, how was your day love.”

“Good…. but I have a feeling you’re about to make it a whole lot better.”

That was all the signals he needed to lean forward, in doing so forcing you back until your back landed completely on the cool wood. His lips feathered yours, both hands pinned either side of your head.

“Oh darling… you have no idea.”

#tom holland #tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #fluff #Tom Holland angst

[tallstars-rewrite]

Prologue

chapter list / next

“Where are they going?”

A little orange kitten peeked out from behind his mothers side, watching the tall figure walk away and slowly close the big barn door behind him with a soft thunk. It was far too dark to see outside, even if he wanted to look.

The last of his siblings had simply been scooped up and taken out into the dark and unknown outside the barn doors. Were they going to the fields or somewhere else? Jake didn’t even know what else there was, though his mother had told him that there was far, far more to the world than this barn. But the barn was all he knew, and imagining anything else felt impossible. Part of him wanted to go after them, the other part wanted to stay here, close to his mother’s side, and just bury his nose in her orange and white fur. 

She purred and rasped her tongue over her son's head, seemingly perfectly at ease. “There’s nothing to be sad about my little one, they’ll be ok. They’re just going somewhere new to start their lives.” 

“Is there a reason they have to leave for that?”

“I don’t know if there’s a reason exactly, it just...happens.” She purred thoughtfully with half closed eyes. Perhaps she’d had this talk before, with past litters he’d never met. “It’s how it goes. Your life’s a long twisting path, Jake. There’s a lot of forks in the road, many you choose for yourself, some are chosen for you when something unexpected comes along. Like when you live with housefolk, you might get picked up and dropped somewhere strange at any time. But a seed can take root and grow any place the wind takes it.””

She always sounded so confident and sure of herself that he couldn’t help but want to believe her. When the loud storms passed by, or the farm dog came thundering through the barn, she remained as relaxed as ever. Even so, he couldn’t find the same ease she did. All he found were more questions.

“What if I don’t like where I go? What if I turn wrong and get lost, or what if I end up cooped up inside one room all day like that old cat that never leaves the farm house?”

“Like old toothless Lucy?” she laughed.

“Yes! What if my choices make my teeth fall out like hers?”

“Well, old Lucy likes her life inside, so I hear. If it’s not right for you, you’ll find a new path to take--so long as you’re clever. That’s what I did. I’ve lived in many places and known many housefolk, and now I’ve ended up here. I’m rather glad of it too. Cats like us are born to wander. No matter what happens, you can always find your paws again. Listen to your gut and let it guide you. You’ll find where you belong.

“But didn’t you at least know where you were headed?”

“Of course not, you can never know for sure,” she winked at him. “But I think that's what makes it exciting. You make it up as you go, and see what happens next. One day I'll move along again as well, and you too. Maybe the housefolk will take us somewhere new, or maybe you’ll find somewhere on your own, and then you’ll be on your way.”

“I don’t know if I can sit around and wait. Can’t you at least tell me where to go? You already know everything so well.”

She laughed at that. “Oh, I barely know a thing! That’s a little secret I’m letting you in on, you know. Mothers aren’t supposed to admit that to their babies, but it’s true. It’s ok not to know, Jake. Finding is a lot more fun than knowing. I don’t trust anyone who thinks they know everything.”

Her voice trailed off in a sleepy yawn. She pulled her kitten to her chest and let him snuggle beneath her chin. Whether Jake understood her colorful tangents or not wasn’t really important. Just the confidence and gentle tone of her voice was enough to soothe him for now.

 Maybe the housefolk would come to take him as well, maybe not. Maybe he’d run out to the fields tomorrow and just keep going, see what else was past the barn doors.

 But tonight he was here, curled up with his mother, matching his purr to hers, memorizing the pattern of her swirling red stripes, and listening to the quiet rising and falling whistle of the wind against the eaves. Tomorrow could change anything, and despite his best efforts he was still a little afraid of that. But at least he was grateful for tonight.

chapter list / next

#FRU0 #prologue #new prologue for Reasons #i unprivated the old one but its titled 'deleted scene' now #now Jake gets to be baby

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️ #bonfire bonfire

[sweetestlamb]

All I Want for Christmas is You- Part 2

Summary: Mun-yeong realizes somethings about herself and gets an unforgettable Christmas. . 

Author's note: Thanks for all the love for part one, part two made my heart ache a lot while writing and there’s only one more part to come! Once you finish this part it will be pretty obvious what the next part will be LOL but thanks for joining me on this Christmas journey y’all. HAPPY READING. 

Trigger warning: mentions of child neglect, domestic abuse. Don’t read if those are triggering to you, do what’s best for you. 

It's her fault, she knows that entirely, she was the one to get her hopes up. When she came home and saw the suitcases on the ground, her heart beat skyrocketed thundering through her brittle ribcage babum babum it thumped as she dropped her backpack on the ground and ventured further into the lavish space. Fingers lightly caressed the matte black case as her eyes darted around looking for any signs of humanity.

Glasses.

On the pristine clear center table sat her father's reading glasses. The ones he would perch on the edge of his nose while he would look over his blueprints, nudging them up with a single digit when they slid down the bridge of his nose.

"Father?" The foreign word left her tongue, a word she hadn't uttered for months. She spun around desperately longing to catch even a glimpse of the elusive figure.

There was a distant sound of a door opening and then her father stood there in the hallway. Her lungs almost collapsed as she struggled to complete a simple bodily function she'd mastered since birth.

"Mun-yeong."

That was all he said. And it was the sweetest sound, suddenly flashbacks washed over her of running to meet her father by the door when he would arrive home. He would lift her up and spin her around, her gleeful squeals bouncing off the mansion walls. He would ask her about her day and tickle her little belly before she could answer.

Once upon a time they'd been happy. Too happy. She'd spent so much of her life laughing, maybe that was why the universe was balancing it out now. Before Gang-tae crashed into her world she had no reason to smile.

Flashes of her huddled under her blankets listening to the screams of her parents in the kitchen below, her mother's manic screech as she accused her father of cheating. Her father's adamant denials and then the metal crashes, her mother always became physical, bruises would litter her father's body. Then one day her mother was just gone. Without a single goodbye suddenly she was motherless. But she still clung to the idea of having her father, his love would be the balm on her wounds.

Then he moved them to the city, busy and bustling with life and movement and her eyes widened with wonder and she thought this would be their new beginning.

Her father took countless business trips, so much so that she never saw him, would glare at the other girls at the father daughter events. Remembered shoving a group of girls who called her an orphan, the rage singing through her blood.

Sang-in was hired soon after and she was a demon, she knew it and reveled in making his life a living life. She was demanding and bratty, crying and screaming in equal terms but he was persistent, disgustingly patient. He would smile at her antics fondly and never rise to her bait. Without her permission he was the first one that came to her mind when something good happened in her life.

When she'd written her first story, a morbid thing about consuming the things you loved, it had gone missing temporarily and then popped up in the visor of his car. When she demanded to know why he took her story his only response was, "It deserved to be shown off." She'd scoffed at the sentimental response twisting away to wipe at moisture that escaped.

So all in all it was her own fault for expecting something from someone who had given up on her a long time ago. Who she should have given up on too.

So she'd stood there silently with her father, deep wrinkles marring his skin.

Waiting.

"I didn't think you'd be home, I should have called first. I just came to get some important things, I have another business trip. Switzerland."

Important things. She took in the ties and pens in his hands, carefully folded clothes and sketches. Those were the objects he'd considered important here, she was discarded and left behind but those objects they were essential.

She wanted to scream, to hurl words at him like knives, slicing him up into shreds just like his words had done to her heart.

"Okay."

She collected her bag off the floor, walking past the stranger in the room without a second glance. It wasn't until she heard the front door close that she finally allowed the emotions simmering below the surface to erupt.

The decorations had been the final straw. It was salt on her festering wound.

She didn't expect Gang-tae to show up, thought that he too would forget about her existence. But instead he had tilted her world off axis, uttering words that her ears hadn't heard for years.

Love.

She didn't know what she felt for him exactly, she needed him that much she knew. She knew her jealousy and possessiveness wasn't healthy, knew that he wasn't hers, he wasn't an object or something she could own. But she wanted to. Wanted to lock him away and keep him to herself, there would be other Ju-Ri's- pestering ants- ready to steal him away and she wanted to smash them all to pieces. But did that translate to love, was she even capable of such a fragile emotion?

She falls asleep in his arms, rocked into a fitful sleep as he strokes her head whispering sweet nothings into her starved ears. She wakes up bewildered in her plush bed, thick blanket tightly tucked around her frame. When she ventures out into the living room after brushing her teeth and brushing her tangled hair, the sight of her boyfriend with an apron around his broad chest is enough to knock away some of the ice around her heart.

"What are you doing? You didn't go home?" Her voice is sleep laden and raspy even to her ears and she watches with feminine satisfaction as a chill runs down his body.

Twisting to meet her eyes, he locks eyes with her. The warmth in his deep orbs could rival that of the sun. It's almost painful to look at.

"Good morning. I didn't want to leave you. I called my mom last night, told her I was staying with Jae-su. How are you feeling?"

Like shit. Her eyes are sore and her throat is scratchy like she swallowed a bucket of sand.

He nods as if she spoke words, reading her face like an open book.

"Here." He hands her a cup of tea. "The soup will be ready soon and the rice is finished. Can you get us some plates and chopsticks?"

She absently listens to his requests, getting what they need on autopilot before sitting at the table and watching him move comfortably in her kitchen. After a minute of stirring and tasting he deigns the soup perfect and he brings the hot pot over to the table, before going back to scoop fluffy white rice into a deep round bowl.

The aroma perfumes the space with smells of spice and warmth, and she watches as he serves the food, handing it to her first.

"I hope you enjoy the meal."

She can't remember the last time someone made food for her, the closest thing she has is room service and one time Sang-in made a grilled cheese for her, too burnt around the edges and the cheese not all the way melted but she'd seen the treat on an American drama and demanded it.

"Thank you." She replies barely a whisper feeling vulnerable before him, he's seen her at her worst so many times but for some unfathomable reason he hasn't left. Unlike Sang-in he's not getting paid so she truly doesn't understand.

The first sip of soup is delicious, salty and thick with chunks of fish, potatoes and soft tofu. She hums at the flavor eagerly going back in for more, stuffing giant spoonful's of rice into her mouth until her cheeks puff out.

His airy chuckle breaks her single minded focus and she peers up at him inquisitively.

"What?"

"You're cute." He shrugs, looking her right in the eyes as if he isn't the same boy who blushes when she holds his hands.

"Cute? I'm not cute. And why are you so brave lately?" His confession replays in her mind, her traitorous heart thumping away frantically in recollection.

This time he does pause, putting down his spoon and looking at her over the  table with a serene little smile on his achingly handsome face.

"Love makes you brave."

She chokes on air, sputtering and coughing at his boldness again.

His laugh is loud and booming this time, rattling her bones and then he dives back into his soup with a happy chuckle.

"We're leaving after we eat. Wear something warm."

"Don't tell me what to do." She fires back. But she walks off to her room to change after slurping the last bits of the soup, ignoring his amused brows and knowing smile. Annoying.

He's changed too when she comes back out and she looks at him confused.

"I had Sang-tae meet me with a change of clothes earlier."

She wonders what time he woke up to do all these errands and why he's even going through all this trouble for her, she's not worth it.

But he looks gorgeous as ever in an emerald green turtleneck and dark wash jeans, his eyes are positively gleaming as he looks at her. She's swaddled in a cashmere cream sweater that hangs over her thick plaid skirt and tights. The way his eyes graze over her form makes her warm and she escapes before he can burn her up.

As she bends to tug on her winter boots she feels his presence behind her, he tugs her backwards into his hold. She immediately stiffens at the affection, unprepared for it.

"You look pretty."

Her heart flutters at the soft words whispered directly into her ears and she scoffs, leaning back further into his embrace.

"Why are you so mushy today?"

He hums instead of replying, suddenly spinning her around and she almost falls at the rapid move. He catches her with a strong grip on her waist.

"I really want to kiss you."

Her breath hitches as she gazes up at him, taking in his hungry stare and red lips. She reaches out to latch onto his sides, tugging him closer until their faces are inches apart.

"Do what you want."

He doesn't need to be told twice and almost instantly he's devouring her, licking at the remnants of soup on her tongue. She rises on her tiptoes to fully meet his passionate embrace, his love driving out all the cold that still stubbornly remained. His hands slide into her soft tresses as he bites at her plump bottom lip, sucking the sore flesh into his hungry mouth. A moan escapes her throat and she can feel how his fingers tighten on her scalp. When they break apart, he looks dazed running his tongue across his lips as if chasing her taste. It lights a fire in her belly.

"Okay now we can go."

"What the hell is this place?" She sneers looking around in contempt at the beaming families.

"A tree farm. I come here every year to pick out a tree with my family. I wanted to pick one with you."

She turns around walking away, skin crawling from being in such a place. He must have lost his mind. But he catches her hand in a large clasp and when she looks back vehemently, she meets his puppy dog eyes and pleading bottom lip.

"Please?"

She's not going to fall for that, he's not even that cute. No, she's definitely leaving and locking her door and telling security but to let anyone up.

"What about that one?" He inquires dragging her to another tree, identical to the one before it.

"They all look the same, I don't care. You pick." She whines for the hundredth time about ready to stomp and throw a tantrum like a child they'd walked past earlier.

He shakes his head and walks away again spewing some crap about finding the perfect tree for her. And then she spots a crooked tree in the corner, far away from the other trees. It's a decent size but it leans slightly to the right and the pines aren't as full as the other trees they've seen. It looks discarded and abandoned as a family walks past it, "Definitely not this one. Who would want an ugly tree like this? They all snigger. Something like sympathy swirls in her belly and she catches Gang-tae's eyes.

"I want that one."

He nods asking no questions, "It's perfect. I'll go get someone to pack it up for us."

It's not until they have the tree wrapped and tied that she remembers that they took a cab here.

"How are we going to carry this thing home?"

Gang-tae looks up from his phone with a smile before a car horn sounds behind them.

"With help." He points behind her and when she turns around she meets the grinning face of one Lee Sang-in, waving from the front seat. He hops out and immediately picks up the tree going back to strap it to the hood of the car.

Then he opens the car door for her with a bow, "Young mistress. It's good to see you."

She rolls her eyes at the title, he hasn't called her that since she was young and wanted to pretend she was a princess.

She hears Gang-tae thank him quietly before sliding into the car right after her, their thighs pressed closely together.

"Where to now? Sang-in asks adjusting his mirror

"Hom--"

"The mall." Gang-tae interrupts and she looks at him in surprise. "It's part of your experience, trust me?"

She doesn't respond but it scares her that her heart immediately says "yes", she does trust him.

When they reach the mall he grabs her hand again, pulling her out with a quick "See you later" directed at her driver, who nods in response driving off to find parking.

"Why are we here? I don't need anything."

He looks at her mysteriously before speaking, "You're going to buy gifts for the important people in your life."

Her father's voice echoes in her head and bile collects in her throat. He must notice the shift in her mood because he pulls her close.

"Shhhh. Not them. The important people in your life. The people who you love."

"Who....who I love?"

He drags her away from his hold and looks into her eyes softly brushing her cheeks.

"Yes. The people who make you happy. Only think about that."

Nodding she finally breaks from his embrace and steps into the mall, it's busy and crowded but Gang-tae uses his body as a shield and the shopping begins. By the time they leave the sun has began it's descend, vivid yellows and pinks painting the sky.

As if summoned the car pulls up by their feet, Sang-in hopping out to open her door once again.

This time when they both get in he doesn't ask them for directions and starts the familiar route back to her place. Head too heavy with ideas she stares aimlessly out the window, too overwhelmed to converse to Gang-tae.

When they reach her apartment she is unprepared for the sight that greets her.

On the sidewalk standing in the blistering cold are Sang-tae, Seung-jae, Jae-su, and Gang-tae's mother. They all begin to wildly wave when they see the car pull up.

"What?" She barely gets out before Gang-tae is tugging her from the car. Bounding over to the small group.

His mother is the first to speak, "Interesting how you slept at Jae-su's house but here you are at Mun-yeong's apartment." Her face is hard as ice while looking at her son but it melts to the warmest smile when she sees Mun-yeong. She ignores her son's breathless excuses and his older brother's mischievous sniggers at his little brother's discomfort.

"Oh Mun-yeong don't you look pretty? You must be cold, let's head up." The woman links their elbows and begins to tug her into the building. Seung-jae skips along with them happily linking arms from the other side and introducing herself to Gang-tae's mother.

Behind her she misses Sang-in trying to leave only for her boyfriend to block him, dragging him along with the group.

"So fancy." Gang-tae's mom whispers looking around, clutching at her threadbare sweater looking self-conscious and Mun-yeong tightens her hold.

"I like your house better." She says honestly, thinking about how much love is soaked in every surface of the small home. The smile she receives is better than all the riches in the world.

It's not until she reaches her front door that she remembers the mess she left behind, turning to Gang-tae with terrified eyes she looks for help.

He smiles at her, shaking his head and waving her in.

With trembling fingers she pushes the key into the hole and opens the door.

It looks at neat as ever, not a decoration in sight but all the broken glass and tinsel is gone. It looks reborn.

Breathing out a breathe she didn't release she was holding she steps inside, there aren't enough slippers for everyone- she's never had this many people over- and Sang-in rushes off to get extras from the front desk.

"Well, let's get started." Gang-tae's mom says, opening a large box she was clutching in her hand. Inside are the prettiest ornaments she's ever seen, homemade ones and lopsided ones that look like they were created by a child's hand.

As if reading her mind the woman lifts one bringing it closer to Mun-yeong before leaning in as if sharing a secret, "Gang-tae made this for me when he was six. He was so proud to show it off. Every year we put it on the tree, it deserves to be shown off."

The motherly pride bursting from her eyes steals Mun-yeong's voice and she remembers when someone said those very same words to her. Finding his eyes in the room, the urge to hug him washes over her but too frightened by her own emotions she hugs herself tightly instead.

"It's pretty."

And then it's a whirlwind of movement, Gang-tae's mother putting everyone to work- the men are setting the tree up in a corner by the window, while Seung-jae is on decorating duty leaving her on chopping duty in the kitchen.

"I'm not very good with a knife." She admits, embarrassed by her uselessness, it's clear that Gang-tae and Sang-tae were taught to be self-sufficient, both comfortable in the kitchen.

Instead of chastising her the woman takes the knife she was holding awkwardly in her hands.

"You need to hold it like this unless you'll chop those dainty little fingers off, I hear you're a writer so be extra careful. Just hold it like this and let the knife do the work." She models as she instructs Mun-yeong slicing the carrots into perfect rounds, before handing the utensil back to her.

"Try."

And so she does and they're nowhere near as perfect, not as even but they aren't too bad and pride sears under her skin.

"I did it."

"They look great. Keep going just like that." The praise makes her light-headed and she keeps chopping, wide smile spread across her lips.

"Hey Mun-yeong-ah, do you like this here?" Seung-jae calls from her spot on the couch, standing on it to put a sparkling string of snowflakes draping from the curtains.

She nods in reply. Too choked up to find her voice.

Her friend looks at her with warm knowing eyes before turning back to her decorations.

"We should let Mun-yeong put the star on top. Hey, Mun-yeong we're done over here, you wanna put the finishing touch?" Jae-su calls out to her, bits of tinsel lost in his hair as he waves her over to the almost completely decorated tree. The lights are twinkling, reflecting beautifully in the glass and she steps forward with her heart firmly lodged in her throat.

She stands in front of the tree, staring up at the empty spot for the star.

Gang-tae places it in her hand, his thumb gently swiping across her trembling skin.

"Here I'll help." Sang-in whispers, stepping behind her and lifting her off her feet so she can reach the top of the tree. Tears glisten in her eyes as she finally places the star on top.

"It's perfect." Her voice is too soft, she doubts anyone heard it.

But then they all explode in a small applause.

"It looks great Mun-yeongie! Nice job!" Sang-tae calls out, clapping the loudest before meandering off to try to steal food from the kitchen.

They all snigger at his pained "ow!" as he's thwarted once again by his watchful mother.

By the time they're sitting down to enjoy the feast her mind is going a mile a minute, listening to the rambunctious conversations around her as her world collides with Gang-tae's. She's never sat at this dining table before, opting to eat her meals in the safety of her room. But now she understands why others do this, eat together. It makes her fuller than the food she's shoveling into her mouth.

"One more minute." Sang-tae says loudly checking his watch.

When the clock strikes twelve, all is moving and she's passed from arm to arm until she's finally in familiar arms, Moon Gang-tae. He rocks her side to side as he tucks his head into her hair.

"Merry Christmas Mun-yeong, I love you."

She clings to him, emotions bubbling up as she fights back her tears. I love you. She thinks it loudly in her mind, this must be what love is. The way that she feels about him has to be love, it's too big to be anything else. She's certain.

"You don't need to say anything. Just know that I'm not going anywhere. That's love. It doesn't ever leave."

All these damn confessions. He'll be the death of her.

"Annoying."

He giggles before pulling away to hug his mom and Seung-jae fills his void, lifting her off her feet and she can't stop the cheerful laugh that explodes out of her.

She's happy.

They all clean up, pushing her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate with large marshmallows. And then she realizes they're all going to leave, she's going to be alone again.

Cold icy dread fills her gut until the inevitable moment comes.

"We're all done. It's pretty late. We should start heading out." That's Gang-tae's mother as she packs away her things neatly and Mun-yeong wants to get down on her knees and beg them all to stay.

She's pulled into a warm embrace again.

"You make sure to come over often okay? We need to practice your chopping skills and fatten you up, you’re too skinny.” 

It's not a question but she still nods letting the woman hug her and Sang-tae ruffles her hair, punching at her chin and asking her to keep Gang-tae in line, she smirks in response nodding.

Seung-jae hugs her and promises to text when she gets home, skipping out the door to catch her taxi.

Gang-tae kisses her head and she presses her face into his neck, "Thank you."

He hugs her closely, breathing her in before twin coughs cause them to break apart.

He rubs his neck bashfully under the hard looks from his mother and Sang-in.

With a final bow, Gang-tae leaves with his family. But not before promising to come over tomorrow. Love never leaves, it always comes back.

Then it's just her and her driver.

"He's a good kid. Did you have fun today?"

She turns to look at him with wet eyes, tears finally falling after all the kindness she was shown today.

"Sang-in," she chokes out, "Why didn't you ever quit?"

He looks at her curiously before walking to sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to him in invitation. After a moment she sits down beside him melting into his arm around her shoulder.

"You were such a demon." He finally speaks and she turns to stare at him, his eyes are filled with fondness. "You were demanding and I was scared to come to work sometimes honestly, I did think about quitting once. Just once. But then I read that story you wrote, do you remember?"

She sniffles, "Yeah. The girl who ate everything."

He nods in agreement, "The girl in that story was so lonely that whenever she made a friend she would swallow them whole. Or they would run away. I knew that girl just needed someone to show her that you don't need to own everything you love. They can just live beside you, loving you too."

"I bought you a gift." She pulls away, brushing away her tears to collect the gift that Gang-tae helped her wrap in her room when everyone was busy.

She runs off to get the gift and brings it back to Sang-in, thrusting it at his chest. He looks at her with wide eyes before grabbing the shiny red square.

He opens it gently, peeling away the tape instead of ripping the paper, reverence in his very move.

He stares at the black box before prying it open.

Two buttery soft leather gloves stare back at him.

The gift feels stupid and too little in the wake of the words he just said to her and she's about to tell him that she'll get him something better and this isn't his real gift, she's never done this Christmas thing before she needs practice and--

"I love them."

He slips the driving gloves out of the box, sliding them over his calloused hands.

"Thank you Mun-yeong."

His reaction forces her to be honest with him, "I want you to be my driver for a long time. So you need to take care of your hands."

He nods softly, "Yes. I'll make sure that I do."

"I also got you this. If it's too weird you don't have to use it."

It had caught her eye at the mall, seeing it on others before but knowing she would never get to give it to anyone. But then Gang-tae had been there telling her to get it, she looked at him like he was insane but he insisted, "You know who you want to give it to. Stop hesitating, your heart knows best."

So she shoves another box at him, looking away in embarrassment, not emotionally ready to watch him open it.

He gasps when he does. A loud gasp that bursts out of his chest, he leans back into the couch as if sitting is too difficult.

"I.. Mun-yeong... I don't....thank you."

#1 dad.

Those are the words on the tie that hangs from his finger, the tie is silky smooth a deep hue of blue that has bits of silver when it catches the light.

In every sense of the word he's been like a father to her. More than her own father ever has.

"He's really rubbing off on you isn't he?"

She can't argue. Without his guidance she would have never done any of this, wouldn't have looked into her own heart to find these hidden dormant emotions. 

"I think I love him."

Sang-in stills before brushing her hair behind her ears, "Then I'm not the one you should be telling. Love should be expressed. “ 

“I will. I’m going to tell him.” 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough. She has to tell him how she feels.

I'm in love with Moon Gang-tae.

#psycho but it's okay #It's okay to not be okay #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #family feels #the life she deserves #pure Christmas smut next chapter #had to get the feelings and emotions out first

[this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms]

Revenge || The Thundermans ||

Request: if you’re taking request, would you mind doing some max angst? Something about him being protective to uhh a self-sacrificing extent?

Pairing: Max Thunderman x Reader

Warnings: Angst, few swears, minor kidnapping, break ups

Words: 3.6K

A/N: Finally finished this request and to the anon who requested it, I hope it came out to your satisfaction. Lol what’s more self-sacrificing than going up against a crazy villain wanting revenge. And ended with a cliff hanger because might make a part two, if anyone’s interested. Anyway, let me know what you thought!

There was a heavy feeling in Max’s heart as he approached your door, dreading what he had to do. But it was something that needed to be done, it was to protect you. To protect you from the man who swore revenge on him, his family, and anyone they loved. That included you, you were his girlfriend, the person he loved most in the world. Which meant that you were at risk of being hurt from Dark Mayhem and whatever evil he was concurring.

The man had managed to escape from Metroburg SuperJail a couple weeks ago. The family had been alerted of his escape by the president and they had since taken extra precaution. And then he had contacted them, hacked their smart home monitor and delivered his message. He was coming for them and anyone they’ve ever come in contact with. Thankfully for them, most of their friends were superheroes and were already on high alert for him. That just left their non-superhero friends that they had to watch out for.

Phoebe had already told Cherry and even managed to get her and her family an all expenses paid cruise ship. They set up watchpoints around the town, other superheroes helping out when they had a chance. The only thing that left was protecting you. Max had informed you of what was happening and you wanted to stay nearby to help. He was more than okay with that since that meant he could keep a close eye on you. Or so he thought. But then there had been some close calls with other superheroes, making it known that no matter how good and prepared they were, Dark Mayhem could still get to them.

He had to get you away from all of this, to keep you safe until they managed to capture him again. But he couldn’t do that if he was the reason you kept hanging around. The only way to get you far away from him was to break up with you, to give you a reason to go. That’s why he was here today, standing outside your door with a heavy heart. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for you to answer. You were home alone so it would make things easier, both your parents were away at work.

You answered the door, your face lighting up when you saw him only broke his heart further. “Max, hey, what’s up?”

“Can we talk?” He asked, swallowing thickly as the dread continued to weigh on him.

Your smile dropped when you noticed the serious look on his face. You could only nod and move out of the way to let him come in. You followed him over to your couch where you sat down, neither of you saying a word. You could only imagine what was going through his mind, no doubt something about Dark Mayhem. You certainly didn’t expect what came next.

“I’m breaking up with you,” He said.

His words barely registered in your head as you tried to wrap your head around them. You didn’t understand, everything was good between the two of you. So why was he saying something like this?

“W-Why?” You uttered.

Your voice was hushed and strained and only broke his heart further but he couldn’t back out. He had to do this, it was the only way to keep you safe. You felt tears prick the corner of your eyes and you did your best to blink them away before Max could see.

“It’s for the best {Name}. I need to concentrate on catching Dark Mayhem,” He answered.

“I don’t understand. I-I thought you said I could help, I was helping. So what’s changed?” You questioned.

He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ensue an argument between the two of you. But there wasn’t anything that was going to prevent that because you weren’t letting go without a fight.

“You were! But now the situation changed, taking him down could take months. It’ll take all of our time, we might even have to relocate. I can’t put you through that, you shouldn’t have to go through that,” He argued.

“I’m choosing to stay with you and help, you’re not making me go through something I’m not okay with. I don’t care how long it’ll take to catch him, and if you relocate, I’ll come with. We can make this work!” You fought.

“We can’t, you can’t just uproot your life to follow me. What about school? Your friends? What are you going to tell your parents?”

“I-I don’t but I’ll figure it out. I can’t just let you go through this alone.”

“I won’t be alone, I have my family and we have every superhero on the lookout. We’ll be fine.”

“Th-Then I don’t understand why we have to break up! Do you-Do you not love anymore? Are you just trying to be nice by telling me that it’s because of this?”

Like he thought, you weren’t going to let this go without a fight. So maybe, maybe he should agree with what you just said. “I don’t.” He found himself saying before throughly thinking it through.

You let out a strangled gasp and tears welled up in your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

He took a deep breath, it was now or never. “I do. You’re right, I was just trying to be nice about it. I don’t love you anymore. In fact, these past couple of weeks all you’ve been is a distraction to all of us. I can’t concentrate on finding Dark Mayhem because I have to keep an eye on you all the time. It’s tiring having to do both things at once.”

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t ask you to protect me! I can protect myself. All I wanted was to help track Mayhem down not to play damsel in distress. If you didn’t want me there, you could have told me to fuck off in the first place.”

“Would you have listened, if I told you to stay home or away from this? The only thing I could do was keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t go running into danger. But now I guess I don’t have to because I’m done!”

A stray tear rolled down your and it took everything in you not to break down right then and there. “Yeah, I guess you don’t. So go, go catch your bad guy and don’t worry about me. I’m fine on my own,”

You looked away from him, not wanting to let Max see you crying. It didn’t matter, he already knew you were and it was all because of him. But at least this way, you’ll stay away from him and everything that’s going on. At least this way he’ll know you’re safe from Dark Mayhem…right?

He didn’t say anything after that, there was nothing left to be said. Instead he got up and walked to the door, taking one last look at you before he left. You were turned away from him, hiding your silent crying from him. His heart hurt and all he wanted to do was run over to you and scoop you up in his arms. He wanted to apologize and tell you none of it was true. But he couldn’t. So he left, leaving you alone to cry your heart out. You waited until the door closed before letting out a strangled sob, feeling your heart break completely.

-

He should’ve kept you closer, should’ve locked you away in his room until this was all over. But no, instead he broke up with you because he thought it would be safer. He fucked up and now you were gone, taken by Mayhem as revenge. Max was pacing around in the living room as he and his family brainstormed where Dark Mayhem could’ve been hiding you. But he couldn’t think, the only thing on his mind being you and what could be happening to you at the moment.

“Max, honey, you need to calm down,” His mother said, stopping his pacing so he could face her.

“I can’t calm down, not while she’s out there with him,” He exclaimed, running his hands through his hair roughly and breathing heavily. “I broke up with her because I thought it would be safer. If she was away from all of this, then nothing would have happened. How could I have been so stupid?”

He slumped down on the couch, head in his hands, trying not to pull his own hair out in frustration. “Max, none of this is your fault. You thought you were protecting her, on one can blame you for that.” Phoebe spoke up.

He knew she was trying to comfort him but it wasn’t doing anything for him. He could only think about how this was all his fault. The Thunder Monitor started ringing, catching the family’s attention as a transmission from the president came through. They had informed her of the situation, how Mayhem kidnapped you, in hopes of her helping them find you.

“President Kickbutt, anything?” Max asked desperately.

“Maybe. We managed to get a location after locating where his signal from his message came from,” She informed them.

“Great, let’s go then!” He exclaimed.

“But before that, there’s something we should discuss,” She said.

-

You stirred awake, feeling an aching pain coming from the back of your head. Your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the slight darkness of the room. You tried to move, to lift a hand to the aching spot behind your head and soothe it. But you couldn’t, finding yourself tied to the chair you were sat in. The awareness of being tied up awoke you further and panic started filling your being. You looked around the semi dark room, there wasn’t much that you could make out. There was light coming from the other side of the room but it didn’t do much to light up the place. There were cement floors and walls, with metal barrels full of whatever littered all over the place. It looked like you were in an abandoned warehouse or factory.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Wouldn’t want you to miss any fun,” A deep voice spoke up.

Coming into view was the very man who was on the run from every superhero, Dark Mayhem. You thrashed against the chair but your bindings did nothing to free you. He merely laughed at your feeble attempt of escape, knowing that there wasn’t any.

“Now now, no need to be like that. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself,” He said menacingly.

You glared at him, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing, trying not show him any reaction. “What do you want?”

“Revenge mostly. For what your little boyfriend and his sister did. And you are going to help me get it,” He told you.

“Oh yeah? And how is that?” You asked.

“You’re gonna help me lure them out here. And once I’ve trapped them, they’ll pay for everything they’ve put me through,” He explained.

“Great, except one tiny little problem. Max isn’t gonna come for me. We broke up, genius. Practically hates my guts, so good luck with that,” You told him, giving him a sarcastic smile.

“Is that so? Didn’t seem that way when we spoke. He’s probably driving himself insane trying to look for you,” He replied, laughing like the maniac he is.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.” You whispered out.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” He said.

You could practically hear the smug smile behind his mask and you wanted nothing more than to punch him. He walked away, laughing evilly as he did, probably off to do god knows what. You leaned back against your chair and sighed heavily, thinking about what he said. Max was coming to get you? Impossible, not after practically telling you you were nothing but a nuisance and telling you to fuck off. So why would he come for you? Why not just let Mayhem hold you and do whatever he wants? Hero or not, he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t care for you. Well, you’re just gonna have to wait and see.

-

Max and Phoebe stood outside the abandoned warehouse where Dark Mayhem was hiding out in. They were going over their plan before entering. They had no doubt in their minds that Mayhem had set up a trap for them. Whatever it was, they could handle it, their main priority right now was getting you out safely. Then they could deal with Mayhem knowing you were safe and away from all of this.

Getting inside the warehouse was easy, too easy which meant that at any moment Dark Mayhem could come out. They maneuvered through the mess inside, spotting a figure in the corner. Max rushed over to you, noticing that you were tied up and unconscious. Worry flooded his entire being as his hand held your face, trying to wake you up. You felt yourself being shaken awake, you must’ve dozed off at some point. You looked over at who woke you, expecting to see Mayhem but it wasn’t him.

“You’re here,” You whispered, seeing Max’s face light up.

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” He asked.

“No, I’m fine, I just dozed off. Why are you here? You can’t be here, this is a trap,” You replied, starting to panic as you became more alert.

“I know, I figured it would be. But I wasn’t going to let him keep you hostage,” He said.

“Why?” You asked, it being the only word you could manage out.

He was confused as to why you would ask before remembering that you thought he hated you. “Because if anything ever happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore?”

“I lied. I love you more than anything. When I found out Dark Mayhem kidnapped you, I almost lost it. I thought I’d never see you again.”

His voice was slightly shaky and you swore you saw tears in his eyes, it made your heart ache. “R-Really?”

“Yes really, god I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” He said.

You laughed lightly at his joke, your own tears welling up in your eyes. “I love you too.”

He grinned widely before leaning in and placing his lips on yours, kissing you deeply. You kissed back, almost sighing in relief as you remembered how much you missed his lips. You never wanted to break away but right now wasn’t the time for that.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here before Mayhem comes back,” He said after pulling away.

“Too late, I’m here,” You heard the deep evil voice of the most wanted villain coming from behind Max.

He turned around to see Dark Mayhem standing there, him and his sister already in fighting position. “Glad you two could could join us. We are gonna so much fun.” He said, laughing loudly.

“Phoebe, get her out of here. I’ll deal with him,” Max said.

Phoebe didn’t need to be told twice before she was at your side undoing your bindings. Max was quick to jump into action against Dark Mayhem, using his heat breathe against him. The man was quick to dodge, easily getting distracted by fighting Max, fighting with his own powers. How he got powers again were a mystery to all of you. Phoebe was quick to finish your bindings before helping you up to get you out of there.

“C’mon, lets get you out of here,” She said.

The two of you started moving out of the way but before you could even get a few feet away, a plasma ball was thrown your way. Phoebe barely got the two of you out of the way before looking over at Max and Dark Mayhem.

“Not so fast Thundergirl, you wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun,” Mayhem said.

You were all confused by what he meant before he reached over and pulled a sheet off of something. Right in front of you was what looked like a bomb strapped to a metal barrel. They noticed how there were wires extending off and connecting to other barrels. It was counting down, only two minutes left on the clock.

“Phoebe, get her out of here now!” Max yelled out.

Phoebe gave a short nod of her head before gently pushing you foreword to get you moving again. But you didn’t budge, you weren’t going anywhere without Max. “No, no, I’m not going without him.”

“I’ll be right behind you, just go,” Max replied.

You didn’t want to leave but Phoebe was far stronger than you and easily led you out. Before you knew it, you found yourself outside of the abandoned warehouse. You started to panic at the idea of Max still being inside when there was a bomb ticking down.

“We have to go back, Max is still in there!” You cried out.

“Okay, okay. Calm down {Name}. I’m gonna go back inside and make sure Max’s is okay,” Phoebe told you. “I called my parents, Chloe should be teleporting them here any second to keep you safe. Okay?”

You could only nod at her words, and just seconds later her family showed up. She didn’t have time to explain anything before starting to run back inside. But she didn’t get far because no sooner did she try going back for him did the building exploded. You didn’t get a chance to react before you found yourself inside the Thunderman’s living room. It took you a while to register what happened before you started hyperventilating.

“No no no no, we have to go back! We have to go back. Max was still in there!” You exclaimed.

You tried walking to the front door but everything was spinning around you and your knees felt weak. They gave out before you and before you could collapse to the floor, someone caught you. Barb had you in her arms, trying to calm you down while you cried hysterically. You tuned out everything around you, still trying to wrap your head around everything that’s happened.

Phoebe conversed her dad, telling him she was gonna go back and check to the damage. To see if Max had escaped or if… he didn’t make it. She had Chloe teleport her back after telling them to watch over you. Barb sat you down, still holding and soothing you gently while you continued to cry on her shoulder. You tried to keep hope that he was alive but that such a big explosion, too big to think anyone could have survived. But if he didn’t survive that meant that neither could Dark Mayhem.

Maybe that’s what he wanted when he said he’d get revenge, he had to know the chances of survival. You just never thought he’d be crazy enough to do something like that just for the sake of revenge. It made your heart ache more and you couldn’t help but cry harder.

Phoebe and Chloe returned some time later, just the two of them. Both had sullen looks on their faces, Chloe looking like she was on the brink of crying. You felt your heart shatter completely and all your energy drain from your body. You broke down again, crying against Barb’s shoulder while she brought you close to her. They all shared a look on their faces, a knowing look about something they were hiding amongst themselves.

-

A few months passed by since everything happened and it felt like life stopped for you. Max was gone and a part of you had gone with him. Everything felt numb and you were just going through the motions of life. You stayed home mostly, not bothering to go out unless you absolutely had to. You attended classes but came home straight and holed yourself up in your room. You’d come down for food and water before going straight back.

Your parents frequently checked up on you as did Phoebe and her family but you just turned them away. You didn’t care about anything anymore, not after losing Max. You just wanted to be left in peace so you could wallow in your own misery.

You were home alone now, your parents out doing something, you didn’t pay much attention. You were up in your room, in bed, the covers drawn over your head. You weren’t crying, just kind of laying there, you had stopped crying weeks ago. The ringing of your doorbell brought you out of your almost comatose like state. But you didn’t make the effort to get out of your bed, it was probably Phoebe coming to check up on you. Eventually she’d get the message that you didn’t want to be bothered and leave you alone to try again the next day.

But it didn’t stop, whoever was standing outside your door was being persistent. You sighed heavily and pushed the covers off you before sitting up in bed. You slipped into your slippers before getting up to go answer the door. You flung it open once you got there, ready to tell the person on the other side to leave you alone. When your eyes met theirs, you let out a gasp, eyes widening as you saw who stood on the other side.

“Max.”

#oneshots #oneshot #one shots #one shot #the thundermans #the thundermans one shots #the thundermans one shot #max thunderman #max thunderman one shots #max thunderman one shot #the thundermans imagine #the thundermans imagines #max thunderman imagines #max thunderman imagine #max thunderman x reader

[lu-undy]

Chapter 106 - SBT

Here it is!

“Alright, here we are." 

"Meow." Perle sat down and Soot imitated her. A couple of weeks had passed since the birth of the kittens now and they had opened their eyes fully.

"Mundy, I would rather stay outside, I really don't think that-"

"No." Mundy cut Lucien's speech. "No excuses, no half-truths. We go together." Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and sighed. "Don't look so sad, Lu', you're not the one takin' risks here."

"Of course I am." Lucien answered. "If this whole idea fails, who is going to carry your sorrow with you?" 

"I… Yeah, I'm sorry." Mundy sighed and adjusted his grip on the basket he was holding in his arms. The kittens were squeaking and squealing gently there.

"It is fine." Lucien answered. "Mundy?"

"Yeah?" Mundy raised sorry eyes to his lover. 

"Je t'aime, mon loup. You will make it."

[I love you, my wolf.]

"Hope so… C-Can you knock on the door for me, please?"

"Before I do," Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy. "Take a deep breath."

Mundy melted and his shoulders sank. He smiled, albeit sadly. 

"Love you, Lu', you're my everythin'." He whispered and their eyes locked, both blushing. 

Lucien raised his hand and gave the dark brown door a few knocks. 

"Oh, hey boys, come in, please…" Caroline opened the door and let both men through. 

"Who's that?" Mike asked from his sofa. 

"It's Micky and Lucien." Caroline answered while throwing a mildly scared glance at Lucien. The Frenchman nodded to her. 

Mike appeared at the living-room's door, his hand on the door frame. 

"What d'you want?" He bluntly asked. 

Perle took a step forward and her fluffy hair spiked everywhere along her spine. Soot joined her, standing defensively between his wife, his children, his fathers and grandmother, and Mike.

"The cats had babies, we've come here to show them to Mum and you, Dad." Mundy answered.

"Pff…" Mike looked down at Perle and Soot. They were showing their fangs and hissing. 

"Pearl, Soot, no." Mundy said, but the cats disobeyed, their posture was defensive. "Please, guys…" 

The old man took the stairs up and disappeared. 

"You guys come in and make yourselves at home, I'll go and talk to him." Caroline almost whispered to them, and both men agreed. 

They sat in the living-room, Mundy on the sofa and Lucien on the armchair. Mundy put the basket on his lap and Perle jumped to her little ones. Soot helped her bathe them all.

"I'm not so sure it'll ever wo-"

"Shh." Lucien cut him. He was pricking his ears up, trying to hear what Caroline and Mike were saying, but to no avail. "I cannot hear them…" He finally gave up. "Not with the babies mewling that much."

"Bah…" 

"Meow." Perle took them out of the basket one by one and lay down. The babies were hungry and the Mummy had felt it. She started feeding them when Caroline and Mike came back downstairs. 

"So! Where are my great-grand babies…?" She excitedly asked.

"Here, Mum, look." 

Caroline took a seat next to Mundy.

"Aw, look at them… There are… four! They're adorable! How old are they?"

"Just two weeks today." Mundy answered. 

"Aw…" Caroline stared at the little ones feeding from their mother who was trying to bathe them at the same time. "Do they have names?" 

"Yeah, Lu', c'mere and tell Mum." 

"Uhm, of course…" Lucien rose from the armchair and crouched in front of the sofa. "This lady here is Marshmallow, this one is Inky, and then we have two brave little males. This black one is Bushcat, or as Mundy calls him, Bushkitty, and this white one with black paws is Glovy the Second."

"The Second?"

"Yeah," Mundy answered. "Previous litter had a similar kitty but with inverted colours and we called him Glovy. He liked his food a lot too, a bit like this one. He's always the first on his mum's milk and the last to go away from her. He even sometimes falls asleep still sucklin'..." 

"Poor baby…" Caroline smiled. "Ooh, they look gorgeous, look at their eyes…! Bushkitty has one green and one blue, eh? That's very pretty!"

"Yeah, one from his mum and one from his dad." 

"Congrats, Pearl, your babies are gorgeous…!" Caroline gently patted Perle's head who closed her eyes under the tender gesture. "Mike, come have a look-see, they're adorable…!" 

Lucien went back to the armchair to leave some space and Mike approached, not without glaring at the man…

"Listen to them mewl, aw, cutie pies…" Caroline insisted, trying to get a reaction out of Mike, but the old man remained as lively as marble. 

Mike took one more step and Soot jumped to his feet to hiss and show his fangs, digging his claws on the couch's armrest. Perle's ears were pulled back too. She curled on her babies defensively before slowly rising to her feet as well. 

"Right. They don't want me to get close." Mike sighed. 

"Pearl, you get down and Soot too. What's this now?" Mundy's voice was authoritative and it surprised everyone in the room, from Caroline and Mike, to Lucien. The cats immediately stopped and Soot withdrew to Mundy's lap. "There. And stop hissin', we raised you better than that." 

"Meow…" Both adult cats lowered their heads apologetically.

"It's ok, but don't hiss like that ever again, not at Dad's dad, alright?" 

"Meow." 

He scratched Perle and Soot's heads.

There was a second of silence in the room. Everyone was processing what had just happened differently. Lucien was melting on his seat, only he didn't let it show. He didn't know Mundy could be authoritative, and gosh, his insides were molten lava. 

Caroline was overwhelmed by the pride she was feeling. If this was what Mundy was like as a father, then her job on that planet was done. He knew when to step his foot down but showed compassion too. The mother couldn't help but take some pride for herself, surely Mundy had learnt that from her, at least a bit?

The one whose emotions were hidden as well as Lucien's, was Mike. God only knew what he thought of that, but he came closer and sat at the edge of the sofa, on the armrest. Perle looked at him intensely and turned her head to Mundy, who nodded. 

The lady cat carefully approached the old man, who was offering his fingers. She smelt them from a distance and got closer, ever so slowly. Soot jumped on the sofa and tended to the babies.

Perle looked in the direction of her Papa, who nodded too. He wanted to speak, but Lucien was trying to make himself as small as possible in the room. 

The lady cat finally brushed her head against Mike's fingers gently. The old man softly scratched her and she purred, her meows wrapped around the rolling of her purrs. 

"There ya go, baby, this is your Gramps, he's nice."

"Meow?" 

"See how I'm your Dad?" 

"Meow." 

"Well this is my Dad."

"Meow?" 

"Yeah, this is my Mum, and my Dad." Mundy explained. 

"Treat her like your kid, huh?" Mike finally broke the silence. 

"Yeah, she listens." Mundy said and scooted over. He pulled Perle to himself to create some space and Mike joined them on the couch. Caroline and Lucien exchanged an eager gaze. 

"Lucien, d'you mind helpin' me with the tea?" 

"Of course." Lucien took the bait and followed Caroline out. They went to the kitchen and shut the door. Then, both promptly stuck their ears to it… 

"So, how've you been, Dad?"

"Not too bad. Last week, we sold most stuff at the market. With the extra, I had the car fixed."

"What was wrong with it?" 

"The cylinder head gasket needed replacin'."

"Ah, fair. Is it fixed now?"

"Yeah, it's alright now."

Both were nervously petting Perle while the little ones mewled and explored the sofa, wrestling with each other while wobbling on their short legs. 

"And uh… What's up with you, son?" 

Mundy's ears pricked up at "son". 

"Not much. Been busy with these fluff balls. Hard to raise them proper with the daytime job and all, but we manage. Lu' works in the mornings, I take the afternoons, unless there's an emergency."

"They're alright? Growin' well?" 

"Yeah, so far, so good. Today's their first day outside the house."

"They're curious, eh?" Mike said as Glovy and Bushcat tried to climb on his thigh. 

"Yeah, sorry about that, I can take them back…"

"No, no, they're fine." Mike gently let his finger run on the little ones' heads, and Mundy grinned. "Son?"

"Yeah?" 

"I uh… I still don't get it." Mike said in a serious tone. "For Lucien and you."

"Ah yeah, well… It's uh, it's alright. You don't need to-"

"No." Mike cut him short. "I… I wanna understand this. Been talkin' to your Mum about it." He scooped Glovy and petted him between his hands. "I don't know, son…" 

Perle took Bushcat in her mouth and gently dropped him on Mike's lap. The young black male curled down and looked up at Mike.

"I listen to your Mum, see? She's been tellin' me a lot about you and Lucien. Every time she visits you guys, she comes back and tells me about it, gives me the news." 

Perle took Inky and dropped her on Mike's lap. She sat down there and didn't move.

"I don't get it cause I don't feel it in me. Never felt more for a bloke than just bein' friends. Hell, it never came to me that you could be more. And we didn't raise you like that, son, nah, we didn't. So of course, I thought about it all for a long time. Where the hell could you have got the idea from? You can't have just thought about it on your own, can you?" 

Perle finally took Marshmallow and brought her to her great-grand father's lap. The poor kitten lay down, curled in a ball against Bushcat, she seemed afraid.

"But then, when I thought I could never get it, I asked your Mum. And as always, she knew."

Perle lay down, curling her body around her babies, on Mike's lap. 

"She asked me why I chose her. I told her that it was because she was kind, and pretty, and compassionate… I went on until I couldn't think of any words anymore. D'you know what she said then?" Mundy shook his head. "That your Auntie Sally was the same." Mike chuckled and Mundy smiled. The old man laced his arms around Mundy's shoulder. "Then she told me that there is no rhyme or reason as to why I chose her. Yeah, she's nice and all, but lots of other girls are like that too. But your mum has somethin' special that speaks only to me, on the inside, somethin' that no one can put into words. And that's why I chose her." 

Mundy smiled at his father's dreamy eyes. He could clearly see that even after all these years, Mike still loved Caroline, a bit out of habit of course, but the feelings deep down, they were still the same. 

"Then she said it was the same for you and Lucien. You chose him cause he's nice and all, but also, there's stuff you can't explain to me, you can't explain it to anyone, but when you think of him, it feels alright." 

Mundy nodded. 

"Y'know, I still find it a bit weird but… I'll try. I can't promise I won't give weird looks, I'm sorry, it's just so strange to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love you, Micky. It's just that I'm a bit… surprised, if that makes sense." 

"Does that mean you're ok with Lu' and me?" 

"I'm… I'm tryin' my best, son and uh… I'm sorry I didn't just understand it sooner." Mike pulled Mundy in an unexpected hug. "I made your mum and you worry about me and for what? Cause you were happy with a bloke. God damn it, I asked Maurice and he told me he was a war hero that Lucien of yours, did you know?" 

Mundy nodded, returning his father's hug and holding him close. 

"Y-yeah, I know." 

"He's… Maurice told me he's a hell of a guy, traditional, and honest, hard-workin' too." 

Mundy nodded again. 

"Micky?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you really happy with him?" 

The Aussie closed his eyes. 

"Yeah, I am." 

"For sure?" 

"Yeah. He saved me and sacrificed everythin' for me, even his own self. I won't find anyone else like him, Dad." 

"Right. Then, please go and get him out of the kitchen, I need to talk to him." Mike gently pulled himself out of the embrace.

"Alone?"

"Nah, bring your mum too." 

"Ok… Uh, Dad?" 

"Mh?" 

"Thank you." Mundy smiled. 

"Heh, I should be the one apologisin' and you're thankin' me? Gosh, son…" Mike ruffled Mundy's hair. "You're a good boy. Now go and get Lucien." 

"Alright." 

Mundy went to the kitchen and gestured to Lucien and Caroline to come. They brought Caroline's usual tray of tea and biscuits. 

"You wanted to see me, Mike?" Lucien asked. 

The old man gently scooped the kittens out of his lap and Perle helped him remove them. He then stood up to Lucien and looked up at him. 

"You sit down next to me." 

Lucien nodded and obeyed, Mundy went to the armchair.

"Now you listen here… I talked to Micky. I talked to Caroline too. I'm not sayin' any of this makes sense to me at all, alright?" 

Lucien nodded. 

"I wanna ask a few things." 

"Pray do." 

"What d'you think of my Micky?" 

Lucien took a deep breath. 

"He is… unique. Without a doubt, he is the most compassionate soul I have ever met. His unconditional love for you and Caroline speaks at length for his faithfulness, his patience and his loyalty. I have seen him show love for his family, for his friends, and for animals in an outstandingly respectful way. I have also seen his wrath and his frustration, and I admire him for them too. There is something beautifully frightening in seeing a man so gentle become furious. But as of late, I have had the privilege of seeing a more confident Mundy, and what a sight… I think you have raised an example for the human kind, Mike. You might not even see it, or not the way that I do, but please hear my words and believe them."

Mike had listened, frowning all along and nodding from time to time. From the armchair, Mundy was shaking, his limbs were trembling silently as his jaw clenched. 

"Is Micky happy with you?"

"This is my only worry." Lucien answered. "I strive to make his life complete, to make him feel as whole as possible. If in your eyes I am not doing enough for it, then please understand that no one else on Earth would do as much as I have, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I am, and will remain, the only person who will go to unthinkable ends for Mundy's happiness."

"Lu'-"

"Son." Mike raised a hand to silence Mundy. He turned to Lucien again. "You takin' care of him as best as you can?"

"Oui." 

"Hm." Mike nodded to himself. "You… You really make him happy, huh?" 

"More than I thought I could make anyone, including myself." Lucien answered. 

"And d'you have plans for the future?" Mike asked. 

"Neither him or I are young anymore. I do not plan anything else but live with him for as long as God allows it. Whatever his wishes, whatever he dreams of, I shall know of it and bring it to him. Those are my plans for the future." 

"Hm…" 

Mike remained silent for a minute that seemed like an entire life and a half for everyone in the room. 

"Meow…" Perle moved her babies to both Lucien and Mike's lap before sitting on Lucien's lap. She raised a paw to him and he gently held it and put it back down.

"Attends, ma chérie, je parle avec Mike, c'est important."

[Wait, my darling, I am talking with Mike and it is important.]

"Caroline?" Mike asked. 

"Yeah?" 

"Anythin' you wanna ask him?" 

"N-no…?" She answered surprised. 

"Well, c'mon, y'have to, we can't let Micky go with him without askin' a few things…!"

"Mike, they already are together, what are you on about?"

"Yeah, but you know that this isn't about them bein' together, it's about you and I givin' our blessin'." 

Mundy's eyes watered up. Lucien saw it and looked at Perle before nodding in direction of the poor Aussie, melting on his island of an armchair, further away from the action. Perle turned her head to her Dad and both Soot and her went to comfort him. The kittens squealed in Lucien and Mike's lap, seeing Mummy further away, but both men kept them warm in their palms. 

"I have nothin' to ask, I've seen them. I've seen them and I've heard them at home, they're… They work perfectly, Mike, they might even work better than you and me!" 

Lucien was sandwiched between Caroline and Mike and leaned back on his seat to not block their conversation. 

"C'mon, Carrie, ask him one thing at least, just for good measure…!"

"Right, right…. Uh, Lu'?"

"Oui?" 

"Will you excuse Mike and his century old manners with you?" 

"Carrie!" Mike exclaimed and Lucien smiled. 

"Non, please, I am an old man, and a man of tradition too. It is only normal that Mike asks me a few things." Lucien tried to calm both parents down. 

"See? He gets it!" Mike said. 

"Oh well then, now you agree with Lucien, Mike, hm?" 

"Course, I do! He talks sense! Now, please Carrie, give us some tea, throats are dry here and we can't think anymore."

"Right, right… Here, Lu', pass this on to the old man from the last century, yeah?" 

"Of course, Mike? Here is your cup." Lucien handed him the cup that Caroline had given him. 

"This is for you, Lu'... And this is for… oh?" 

Mundy had been staring, his back hunched and tears were streaming down his face. 

"Mundy…!" Lucien put his cup aside and the kittens on the carpet before going to Mundy. "What is wrong, Mundy?" 

"Step aside, son, I think this is for me to handle." 

Lucien felt a hand on his shoulder and withdrew. 

"Stand up, Micky." 

The Aussie pushed on his wobbly legs and Mike pulled him into a hug, to which Mundy couldn't resist and burst out sobbing, his knees gave up but Lucien held him from behind and helped him stand. 

"Dad…"

"Shh, son, don't cry… What's Lucien gonna think, eh? Didn't raise you to cry like that, eh?" Mike patted his back and held him close. "What's yer… uh… companion gonna think, eh?"

"Dad…" Mundy sobbed again, the only word he repeated was Dad for long, long minutes of wringing himself. 

"C'mere now, sit down." Father and son took a seat on the sofa. "There, there, thanks, Carrie. Look, your Mum's handin' you a tissue, yeah, wipe that mess off yer face, good boy… Now, can you speak?" 

Mundy's breath was hitched, his whole ribcage was trembling in erratic waves.

"Y-yeah… I-I'm sorry… I…" 

"Now, now, shh… You have nothin' to be sorry about. I should apologise to both of ya. Sorry, Micky, I didn't want to be mean to you or anythin', I just thought… I couldn't imagine how you could be happy with a man. And you," Mike turned to Lucien. "You continue takin' care of my Micky, alright?"

"Oui, Monsieur." Lucien nodded.

[Yes, Sir.]

"See how sensitive he is? He's fragile, my boy. But he's strong too, eh? I didn't raise a sissy! He's strong and sensitive. He's my boy, and if I learn that anyone's been mean to him…!"

"Mike," Caroline answered. "So far you've been that one…"

"Yeah well, I was… not really bright, anyway! That's not the point, point is, I love you Micky, you're my boy, the baby we chose to raise and we both love you. As I said, don't expect me to not give you the occasional weird stare, I can't help it, you can't change an old man, but I don't mean any harm. I'm just… I'm just surprised, is all." 

"Thanks so much, Dad, I…" Mundy hugged his father, clawing and clinging to him. 

"There, there, it's alright… Now, Carrie, give the boy his cup of tea, he's lost lots of water and will need the hydration. There we go… Now…"

Everyone held their cup and Mundy turned to take Lucien's hand in his. The Frenchman blushed intensely.

"Lucien?" Mike called. 

"Oui?"

"Did I tell you that one time we went fishin' with Micky and he caught a fish with his bare hands, or rather his bare foot?" 

"Oh, non, I don't believe you have." Lucien smiled in anticipation. 

"Well, it's not a flatterin' story, not at the beginnin'..."

"Dad, please…"

"Let me tell him, it's a good story."

"Dad…!" 

"He caught the fish, see? But the fish caught him too! It was a vicious thing that grabbed his foot!"

"Oh, God…" Mundy hid his face in his hands. 

"See, we were on a lil' row boat and Micky fell in the water trying to pull on his fishin' rod too hard. When he came back to the surface, the damn thing was on his lil' bare foot!"

Lucien chuckled and Mundy shook his head. 

"Dad, he doesn't need to know that…"

"Yeah, he does. Now there was also that one time where he tried to hunt bees, now I'm sure you can guess how it ended, eh?" Mike chuckled. "Carrie, get us the photo album, Lucien's gotta see the picture…"

"Dad, no, please…!" 

"Come on! It was ages ago, let me show him what specimen you were… See, he caught the bee in the end, but the poor thing stung him on his ear as it tried to escape and the poor kid got an ear as big as a frying pan!" 

Caroline brough the photo album. 

"Now, squeeze a bit boys, c'mere Carrie… There we go… Now, let's have a look, yeah?"

"Dad, do we really have to?"

"Yeah we do! Lucien has to know what kind of a kid you were. Now, where was I…?"

Perle gathered her little ones and with Soot's help, they all went on their parents and grandparents' laps. As it turned out, the kittens were as curious about the pictures as Lucien was. 

The Frenchman turned his head to meet his lover's gaze and smiled. Mundy's eyes were still a bit red with the crying, but he grinned back, and he slid his fingers between Lucien. 

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

[justahopelessssromantic]

Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys here’s another update of this story for y’all! Sorry I haven’t been posting much I promise I am working on updates and your requests that you have kindly given me. I’ve just been in a little rut but I promise I’m trying my best to work through it. Thank you so much for reading and your patience ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and violence

Daniella followed Angel into the scrapyard. Her nerves only increased the closer she got. She held Hope tightly to her, the little girl nuzzled against her shoulder. Her palms were sweaty and her body felt like it was shaking internally, all normal sensations for Daniella when she was nervous. She didn’t understand why she was making such a big out of this. He didn’t care about her so why should she care what he thought? Still she couldn’t shake the feeling of him wanting to be proud of her. To show him how well she turned out without him, without anyone. Even though it was hell to get there.

Composing herself, she followed Creeper and Angel into the clubhouse. She immediately looked around taking in her surroundings. A habit she had developed over the years.

“He’ll be out in a minute.” Creeper said before leaving her and Angel alone in the room.

Angel smiled looking down at Hope. “She looks just like you. You’re gonna be a little heartbreaker like your mother, huh?” He asked tickling Hope with zero reaction from the girl besides her squirming away from him and closer to Dani.

Daniella rolled her eyes as she looked around the small space. The place was littered with Mayans memorabilia making the place seem more homey, but that seemed to be the purpose of the clubhouse. A home for the members of the club. Daniella knew enough about MC’s to know they were much bigger than just a club, they were a family.

She could relate, she had her own sense of family away from blood with the women she worked with. They were more of a family to her then she ever had, always looked after. They had her back just like she would always have thiers.

Many people looked down on them, like they were less than because of their line of work. Thinking of them as only an object to get off too, a warm body at their disposal, but they were so much more than that. Those women were the strongest, most incredible people she had ever met. As fucked up as a situation that it was that got Daniella into prostitution it was one of the best things for her. Another step in the right direction that led her to where she was now, who she was now.

“So, is her father in the picture?” Angel asked.

Daniella turned her attention back to Angel actually welcoming the conversation as a distraction for her bundle of nerves about meeting her own father. “No, it’s just us. Her dad is kind of a piece of shit anyways, it's better this way.” It wasn’t a lie.

Angel nodded, tucking that information away. At least he didn’t have competition with that douchebag. “Anyone else?” He asked. He had to know if there was any man whatsoever in the two girl’s lives, had to know if there was an opening for him.

“Nope, just us.” She repeated, “And before you say anything else no, we aren’t looking for anyone else.” Well besides Bishop Daniella thought. “And we don’t need anyone else.” She wasn’t here to flirt, or find love, or any of that shit. She was here for only one man. He was her top priority. She couldn’t afford any distractions and Angel was just that, one tall, attractive distraction.

Angel went to speak up again only getting cut off once more as Daniella’s attention was immediately drawn to the Templo’s door opening.

Bishop and Taza came out of Templo to meet their potential new girl. With Taza just behind him Bishop momentarily froze in his place when he met the eyes of the young woman. Eyes he knew so well, eyes he never thought he’d see again. The eyes of the love of his life staring back at him. It was like seeing a ghost or being shot back to his past. His heart clenched in his chest at the memory of what was lost to him, of what he tried to bury all those years ago when he gave up all hope.

It was all so surreal.

She looked just like her mother. Being in the same room with both her and Bishop the likeness couldn’t go unnoticed by Taza either.

Bishop composed himself quickly, looking cool on the outside as he approached her, his daughter.

He just knew it was her.

“Bishop Losa,” He introduced himself with a smile. He was so caught up in his own thoughts when he saw her that he almost didn’t notice the small child in her arms.

Daniella was praying he wouldn’t notice her trembling hands as she kept her grip on Hope. One thing for sure the two had in common was being able to remain their composure on the outside despite the rushing thoughts and emotions running through them.

“Daniella,” She said with a smile, “and this is my daughter, Hope.”

Daniella, Bishop thought to himself, and Hope. His daughter Hope, now went by the name Daniella and ironically named her own daughter Hope.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daniella.” Bishop said. “Why don’t we have a seat,” He suggested nodding over to a table in the back. “Angel can take your daughter. “ He saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she contemplated his suggestion. “They’ll stay close, won’t go out of sight.”

“Okay,” Daniella agreed, passing Hope over to Angel. She tenderly tucked a strand of Hope’s hair behind her ear. “I’ll be just over there, okay?” She told the young girl, “I won’t be far.”

“I’ve got her.” Angel reassured her before taking Hope over to the bar and setting her on top of it. He watched as she kept her eyes on her mother, sucking her thumb before turning her head to look up at him, her big eyes melting his heart.

Daniella stole one last glance at Hope before taking her place across from Bishop at the table. It was crazy how in just the few days she had known Hope she had become so attached to her. She couldn’t imagine being here alone anymore. Deep down she needed Hope maybe more than Hope needed her.

“So, Daniella.” Bishop started, “Where are you from? We haven’t seen you around before.”

“All over the place, really,” Daniella said with a friendly smile. One that anyone during an interview would have. “But most recently Stockton.”

“Stockton?” Taza spoke up from where he was standing behind Bishop. “What were you doing there?”

Rowena suggested she stick as close to the truth as possible that way she would be less likely to slip up so that was exactly what Daniella was going to do. “I’m going to be honest with you,” She started. The way the two men perked up at those words and how they were observing her rather carefully was not unnoticed by Daniella.

At the same time, she was doing the same thing to Bishop. She took in every detail of him that she could. The way he spoke, how he held himself, and any little movements he made.

Bishop was waiting for her to tell him she was his daughter. He tried to plan out what he would say to her, what he should say to her. What do you say to your daughter who was taken from you so long ago? Who probably did not have an easy life, who you loved with all your heart but was not there for?

“I just got out of a luxury stay I had booked at Stockton State Prison.”

That was not what the two men were expecting to hear. Taza smiled to himself, like father like daughter. Both were clearly trouble makers.

“I was booked for possession of heroin with intent to sell, being under the influence of heroin, and resisting arrest.” She watched the men, mostly Bishop trying to read any reactions. “The heroin wasn’t mine, it was my step dad’s.” She explained. Leaning down on the table she clasped her hands together. “Look, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of but I’m clean now and just want to start fresh not only for me, but for Hope.” 

“I appreciate the honesty, Daniella.” Bishop said. He wanted to reach over and grab her hand in his but didn’t. To hear what she had been through broke him. His baby girl was never supposed to have that life, but it’s the life Joselynn had so it was no surprise that she had been dragged under with her. He wanted to kill Joselynn for what she did, and kill fucking Billy too because he was almost certain the scumbag was involved as well. “We believe in second chances here. I can see you are trying to start new, that’s admirable.”

The warmth practically radiated from him making Daniella almost forget every horrible thing she knew about him, almost. She knew better than to let his act fool her though.

“What about any of your other family?” Bishop questioned. Daniella couldn't really see how that would pertain to the job but kept listening regardless. “Is your mother around? Or your father?”

“No.” She said plainly sitting back in her seat.

“What about her father?” Bishop asked nodding back to the little girl on the bar who was staring back at them waiting patiently for her mother to be done paying no mind to Angel who was trying to give her his keys.

“Not in the picture. It’s just us.”

Bishop nodded. Whoever the prick was did not deserve her time or to be in the young girl’s life in his opinion and he really hoped to never meet the man. “Okay, well we will of course have to do a background check.” He informed her. Now was her chance to speak up.

“Of course,” she smiled that fake smile again, that smile her mother used to give to anyone she was not too fond of. To anyone else it looked like a normal polite smile but Bishop knew better. “I don’t have anything to hide. I’m an open book.”

“Well, Daniella, find a sitter for your kid and you can start as soon as tomorrow. I think you will be a great addition around here.”

“Great,” her smile became more genuine. She was not expecting it to be so easy to get a job. “I already have a girl. You won’t regret this, I promise. Thank you so much, Bishop.”

Bishop smiled at her shaking her hand before she headed back towards Hope scooping the girl up in her arms and exciting the clubhouse with Angel behind her.

Stepping forward Taza set his hand on Bishop’s shoulder giving it a squeeze. “She's finally home, hermano." Taza said looking at the door where they just disappeared from. "Do you think she knows?"

"She knows." The way she was carefully watching him during their interview was what really gave her away. She knew who he was, he was certain of that. Maybe she didn't know he was her father but she definitely knew of him. "There's no way her showing up here is a coincidence."

"Are you going to tell her?"

“No,” Bishop shook his head. “I want her to come to me. She’s been through enough already. Who knows what lies Joselyn filled her head with. Now is not the time. I just got her back," Bishop's voice softened as he thought of losing his daughter once more. "I don’t want to push her away already.” More than anything he wanted to learn more about the woman she had become.

Taza understood where his brother was coming from. He never personally met Joselyn but as one of Bishop’s closest confidants he had heard the story of how he lost his love and his daughter in the same night. Bishop would not often talk about it but he never truly gave up looking for her either, even after all these years. None of them could have expected that she would be the one to find them first.

“So how does it feel, grandpa?” Taza teased.

Bishop shook his head with a smile. “Fuck off.” Standing up from his seat he passed Taza with a pat to the shoulder before making his way back to Templo. Taza watched his brother head in and close the door behind him before heading outside with the other’s to give him a moment alone.

Sitting down on his chair at the head of the table Bishop pulled the old diamond engagement ring out of his cut where he had kept it since the day he lost his family. It was nothing fancy, a simple small diamond on a silver band but his Evelia would have loved it. She was a simple woman who only needed two things in her life, Bishop and their daughter, her family.

As much as he missed her he was thankful that she did not have to live with the pain of losing their daughter like he had. At least she was spared that much. She would not have survived that.

Brining the ring to his lips he gave it a small kiss before placing it back into his pocket just over his heart. He rested his hand on top of the leather where he could just barely feel the delicate jewelry as he thought about his family and how he now had a chance to know his daughter. “She’s home, amor. She’s finally home.” He murmured. “I promise I won’t lose her again. I won’t fail her or you this time.”

Carrying Hope, Daniella headed back to her vehicle in a bit of a daze trying to fully wrap her mind around the interaction. She finally met him, actually talked to her father. She wasn’t sure how to feel in this moment and Angel walked beside her going on and on about who knows what was not helping. She could only faintly hear his voice as he talked her ear off, his words sounding muffled as her mind was elsewhere. She wasn’t listening to him but he didn't seem to notice or care. He could be telling her his deepest darkest secrets and she would never know.

“Yo. Earth to Dani.” Angel said, sticking his phone closer to her face until she subconsciously reached out and took it. He was just talking about getting her number for work which she had nodded along to but now it was like she had not listened to a single thing he had said.

“What?” Dani asked looking over at him. They were now stopped in front of her black ford focus.

"Your number?" Angel nodded down at his phone in her hand. "For work."

She shifted Hope on her hip as she looked at Angel’s bright screen with the beginnings of a new contact with her name across the screen. “Is this your way of getting my number? Man you really don’t give up. You’ve hit on me what, three times now in one day? That’s gotta be some type of record.”

Angel licked his lips leaning against her car annoying her further. She wanted to play hard to get than that was fine with him. He liked the chase. “Just for work purposes, I swear little mama." Angel smirked.

Daniella was more irritated now as she glared back at him. “So you’re telling me you aren’t going to use it as a way to send unsolicited dick pics of your,” Daniella paused to glance down at the crotch of Angel’s jeans before back up to his face with her own smirk, “less than impressive package?”

“Trust me one night in my bed and you won’t be saying that.”

Danielle chuckled, unlocking the door to her vehicle. “Trust me,” she said opening her back door nudging Angel out of the way. Bending over she set Hope into her car seat making sure she was secure all while feeling Angel’s gaze directly on her ass. Once she had Hope fully situated and buckled she turned back to face Angel. “That won’t be happening.”

Now that sounded like a challenge to Angel. “We’ll see about that.” Walking backwards he smirked as Daniella glared at him. Looking past her he waved to Hope. “Bye Hope,” He said before meeting Dani’s eyes. “See you tomorrow little mama.” Smirking Angel left her with that turning around heading back to the scrapyard. The car door slammed behind him before the vehicle started up and headed down the road. He wanted to turn back around and give her one last look but he was not going to. He was exactly where he wanted to be, under her skin.

****

Daniella shot up in bed clutching her stomach as the pain pierced through her abdomen so vividly. She was drenched in sweat and consumed by panic as she tried to come to her senses. Looking down she found her shaking hands free of blood bringing her some comfort as she came back to reality.

It was just another nightmare.

“Fuck,” she breathed out running her hand through her hair. Reaching over she grabbed a scrunchy from the bedside table and piled her hair on top of her head securing it loosely. Looking over she found Hope sound asleep and sprawled out across the other side of the bed, her hair sticking to her face from the heat that radiated from the young girl while she was asleep. She brushed the strand off her forehead before slipping out of bed in hopes of not disturbing her.

Padding down the hall she made her way effortlessly through the dark apartment snatching her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table on her way to the window. She unlocked it and slid the pane up. Daniella situated herself on the windowsill, one leg dangling out the edge with her back resting against the side. Lighting up a cigarette she took a long drag holding it a moment before blowing the smoke out and into the night. She leaned her head back and stared out at the full moon. They say strange things happen during full moons. Maybe that was the reason behind the violent nightmares. But if that were the case she wouldn’t have so many so often. No she knew that wasn’t true and didn’t believe in all of that anyways.

No matter how many times she had the nightmares they always seemed to shake her up, feeling just as real as when she was in prison. Most of the time it was just flashbacks of her time inside, more often than not the day she was jumped in the hall. She would never forget that moment, the rush of adrenaline when they grabbed her, the piercing pain, the metallic smell mixing with the sickeningly strong aroma of bleach from the cleanup that happened just prior.

Two women grabbed her and held her tightly in their grasps against the wall as the third, some woman with red hair and the most sinister smile on her face pulled out the shiv and waved it in front of her face, teasing her with the sharp object. “With love from Billy bitch!” The woman sneered. Before Daniella could really register what was happening the shiny metal was pierced through her abdomen, not once, not twice, but three times before they finally let up, releasing her. She clutched at the open wounds, the blood coating her hands as she collapsed onto the cold hard tile, one hand reaching out to catch herself but slipping across the floor doing nothing to lessen the impact. Leaving her with a swift kick from each the last thing she remembered is watching the women be let out by the guard as her vision clouded around her.

But this time the dream was different. Instead of being in the prison she was back in her childhood home and this time it was Billy holding a knife as he sneered down at her, her mother watching on from behind, encouraging him to finally rid her of the worthless, ungrateful reminder of what she lost, of what she’d never be.

Daniella caught the brief movement from the side of her eye and looked over into the living room almost slipping out the window. Her heart leapt into her throat as she reached out catching herself before she could go anywhere. “Jesus Christ.” She muttered with her hand on her head. Daniella looked back into the brown doe eyes staring at her. “We really need to get you a damn bell or something.”

Hope sucked on her thumb as she stared at Daniella wide eyed with Mr. Bear as Daniella called him held tightly against her chest.

“Can’t sleep?” Daniella asked, putting the cigarette out and sliding back into the apartment. She pushed the window back down, latching the lock securely before closing the curtains. Crouching down in front of Hope she ran her thumb across her face, caressing her skin where a stray tear had found its way down her plump little cheek. “Me neither. How about we put on a movie, yeah?”

Standing up she walked with Hope to the couch helping boost her up onto the leather sofa. Bending over in front of Hope Danilla caressed her face. "This is our fresh start, okay? They can't hurt you anymore. No one will ever hurt you again." Kissing Hope on the forehead she gave the girl a small smile. She meant every word. She would do anything for Hope.

Stepping back to the entertainment center Daniella sat down on her knees looking through the various titles on the shelf. Unfortunately when Rowena set everything up it wasn’t with a toddler in mind. She ran her fingers across the spines of the many DVDs before pulling out Stranger Things. “How about this?” She asked holding the case up for Hope to see. “Ro said it was the first thing I needed to watch once I was out and there’s kids in it so that means it’s kid friendly, right?” Hope stared back as always snuggling into one of the purple pillows on the sofa. “Yeah, we’ll try it.” Daniella decided, popping the disc into the DVD player and grabbing the remote before sitting down next to Hope.

The show began playing the theme song quietly as Daniella stared ahead watching the colors flash across the screen. Her mind wasn’t on the show however but her meeting with her father just hours before. “I know I should have told him, but we don’t even know the guy Hope. Right now we have the upper hand, the chance to see just who he really is before we give ourselves away.” She explained. Maybe she was a coward but she had been burned too many times in her past. She wasn’t about to open herself up to him leaving herself and Hope included vulnerable to him or anyone for that matter.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she replayed the meeting over and over in her mind. “He wasn’t what I was expecting Hope.” Daniella said, turning to look at Hope. “He didn’t seem like the shitty person mom made him out to be.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch sitting criss crossed. It was weird seeing Bishop in person to Daniella. He seemed nothing like what she had envisioned from the few details her mother would give her. He seemed like a good guy and she craved to get to know him better, craved the love she didn’t receive growing up but she knew better than to get her hopes up. “But first impressions don’t mean anything, Hope.” She explained to her as Hope listened intently. She was a good listener at least. “Most people won’t show you their real colors until they’ve already sunk their claws into you. You can’t trust anyone. It’s just you and me against the world now. We gotta look out for us.” In time he’d slip up and show her the real him, it was really only just a matter of time.

Tagging: @everyhowlmarksthedead @cind-in-real-life @ifoundmyhappythought @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @carlaangel86 @sammskellington @chibsytelford @mheart27 @scuzmunkie @vsfavs @starrynite7114 @gemini0410 @whyisgmora

#angel reyes #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfic

[e-milieeee]

i love you a latte—adrienette

Summary: Running on 5 cups of coffee and the extra boost her transformation gives her, Marinette’s determined to finish her project before the sun rises.

(Adrien’s just here to distract her, and honestly, it’s working.)

Notes: honestly i labelled it adrienette but it has a mix of ladynoir, ladrien and adrienette but its post reveal so it doesn’t actually matter LOLOLOL 

Or read on AO3! 

Marinette was stressed.

Her desk was a testament of that: it was littered with papers, candy wrappers, string, fabric and the coffee stain from two hours ago that she hadn’t bothered wiping up. The flat wasn’t any better. Like a risky game of jenga, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. Takeout boxes were stacked just as precariously in the trash. Her closet, a complete and utter nightmare, fared no better. Marinette had a headache just looking at the mess, and thinking about having to clean it made her nauseous. So she just didn’t clean it.

As Adrien often told her, she was awful at dealing with stress.

It didn’t help that the project was due in three days. Marinette had been slaving through it for weeks on end, but the last design was particularly difficult. There was always something that didn’t seem right, but she could never pinpoint it. Now, as the end product was slowly but surely beginning to assemble, and Marinette didn’t have time for distractions. And tidying and doing dishes and sleeping were all distractions.

The clock read two thirty in the morning. If she worked hard enough, she could be finished by dawn. Then, she could sleep all through the morning, wake up in the afternoon, and start the revisions. It was a relatively foolproof plan if she didn’t count the fact that she might not be able to make it until morning.

The fifth cup of coffee just wasn’t doing it. Marinette needed something stronger.

For a moment, she sat still in her chair, contemplating her options. Then a burst of sleep deprived brilliance struck Marinette.

“Tikki,” she called.

Her kwami had dozed off on Marinette’s desk rather early in the night, but she startled awake quickly with a, “Yes?”

“I’m going to transform,” Marinette decided. “It’ll fight off the sleep better.”

“Don’t you think sleeping would be a better option? Then you can work on it in the morning!”

“Sleeping is not an option.” Especially not when she was in the final run, and all she needed to do was finish…

Tikki gave her a look that Marinette was well accustomed to: bad idea, but your choice. Given that there was no verbal or physical resistance, she took it as an agreement, no matter how reluctant. Tikki had witnessed firsthand how wonderfully terrible Marinette was with deadlines and always did her best to accommodate.

“Tikki, spots on!”

A flash of pink later, Marinette was suited and ready to work again. She downed the coffee for good measure, fought back a yawn, and positioned herself in front of the sewing machine.

“I’m Ladybug,” she said aloud, turning to her sewing machine. “I’m Ladybug, and I’m going to finish this—”

A tapping sound interrupted her. Ladybug whirled around. Even her muddled brain could comprehend that if somebody were to see Ladybug sitting in Marinette’s apartment, the dots wouldn’t be so hard to connect.

To her relief, it was a familiar pair of green eyes that blinked at her through the window. Chat Noir was crouching on the ledge, mouthing something that Ladybug couldn’t hear. She scrambled from her chair, nearly knocking her cup down in the process, and slid open the window.

A gust of cool, night breeze swept inside. For a moment, she wondered if leaving the window would help her stay more awake… then a particularly strong gust sent the papers on her desk flying out of order, and she slammed it shut behind Chat.

“What are you doing here?” Ladybug asked when a semblance of order had been restored.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied simply. “What about you?”

She winced. “Final project.”

He eyed the room contemplatively, and it hit Ladybug just how messy everything was. She let out a mortified squeak of shock, but the dirty dishes and takeout boxes and unfolded laundry weren’t going anywhere. “Out!” she shrieked. “Oh my God, out!”  

“Plagg, claws in!”

Before Ladybug could shove him back through the window out of embarrassment, it was no longer Chat but Adrien that stood there, hands raised in a placating gesture. She froze. She couldn’t send him tumbling down thirteen stories like she could with Chat Noir.

He was donning the Ladybug pajamas he was so unabashedly proud of, hair loose and messy—his Chat hair. He definitely looked like he had rolled right out of bed.

Slowly, Ladybug backed down with a groan. “Don’t you dare comment about the state of the apartment. I know it’s bad.”

“Wasn’t going to, m’lady.”

“As long as you have food in your fridge,” a grumpy voice interrupted, “I don’t mind how messy it is either.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at Plagg as he zipped out from Adrien’s hair. “This idiot here couldn’t sleep, so he dragged me up, and for what? Oh, Plagg, I just want some fresh air! Plagg, please? I’ll buy you extra camembert. Plagg, you know how my insomnia acts up sometimes.” Plagg retched. “Fresh air my ass. I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew he was just going to be sticking his tongue down your throat.”

Adrien’s face went pink. “Plagg!”

“Shut up and feed me.”

“Glutton,” Adrien shot back, sticking his tongue out petulantly at his kwami. “Marinette, do you have food? And why are you transformed?”

“Uh,” she managed. She tried to think what was left in her fridge, but her brain wasn’t functioning enough for it. “I think I can focus better as Ladybug? Anyway, there’s cookies in the cabinets for Tikki. Plagg can either eat that or the raw meat in the freezer.”

Plagg, bemoaning how he hated Adrien, floated off to the cabinets in search of sweets.

Meanwhile, Adrien rounded her desk to lean on the other (slightly cleaner) side. “How many cups of coffee?”

Ladybug returned to the sewing machine. “Five. I think it stopped working.”

“I think it’s because you’ve drank so much coffee these past couple years that you’ve slowly built up immunity to the caffeine. Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes.” She paused, counting the time. “Two and a half hours.”  

Adrien looked horrified. “Marinette!” he exclaimed. “You still have three days to finish. You need to take a break.”

He was right, but while she did need the break, the project also needed to be finished. Sure, there were three more days, but Ladybug needed to have the wiggle room for revisions and checking and double-checking for perfection.

“If I finish tonight, I have time to relax and revise without stressing about it,” she explained, although Adrien looked less convinced after each word. “I’m already behind schedule, since I’ve been working on the last dress forever and this is the fourth try.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you look like you’re about to pass out.” He gave her desk another scan as if to prove the point. “Seriously, Marinette, you’ll produce better work if you’re well rested and not running on caffeine.”

Once again, Adrien was right. She could barely go ten minutes without scrubbing her face with water or rubbing her eyes and yawning. Then a wave of panic rushed over her. The dress she had been working on had been made when she was not well rested, which meant it wasn’t under the category of better work, which meant she should redo it all from scratch so she could submit her best quality work—

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Just sleep.”  

“But—”

Before she could formulate the rest of the protest, Adrien had scooped her out of the chair. Ladybug was too tired to put up a struggle. “Have you eaten any fruits or vegetables in the past couple of days?” he demanded as he carried her towards the bedroom. “Wait, have you even been eating three meals? Have you been eating two meals?”

Ladybug scrunched her nose. “What are you, my mom?”

“Your mom would ask you the same,” he shot back immediately. “Seriously, Mari, you need to take care of yourself more.”

Too tired to argue with him, she shut her eyes and curled up against his chest. Sleep was a dangerous thing; once she gave into it, there was no way out. “S’okay,” she mumbled. “You’ll take care of me.”

“Then you better let me do my job.”

She giggled. “You are like my mom.”

“And as your mother, I’m putting you to bed.”

Bed. The word sounded comforting and lovely and warm ( Adrien was all that as well). The last thing she felt was Adrien setting her gently down on the mattress, pulling the duvet over her, and then the rest was oblivion.

***

Marinette woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting into her room. Which was a rare commodity because breakfast was her favourite meal to skip.

The bed was comfortable and warm, blankets tucked all around her. Given her penchant for kicking her covers off in the middle of the night, that meant she had been recently tucked in, and—

Adrien. Everything came flooding back. Adrien was here in her apartment—her unpresentable, messy apartment—and he had somehow coaxed her to sleep last night when she could’ve spent the time finishing up her project. He had also managed to get her to detransform, because she was once again wearing the same clothes she had been wearing for at least two days.  

Marinette shot out of bed, now properly horrified. She scrambled. She flailed. She stubbed her toe on the drawer and fled into the living room, where the delightful smell of breakfast was the strongest.

Adrien was standing at the stove, wearing her pink apron, still in his Ladybug pajamas. That wasn’t the most surprising part, though: every mess in the kitchen and living room had been straightened, cleaned, or disposed of.

Marinette gaped.

Having noticed her presence, he turned around and waved, spatula still in hand. Sunlight slanted through the windows and onto the couch—the couch that just last night was so full of clothing and papers that no one could sit on—which was now clear. Only cushions sat in their rightful place. It looked like he had performed a full-on exorcism on the mess.

“Adrien,” Marinette managed aloud, “what happened here?”

He flipped an egg. “I tidied up a little when I woke up this morning,” he replied. “And, uh, restocked a bit of your groceries. You were running low.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “In full honesty, I only got up because Plagg was yelling at me about having no proper sustenance, so I decided to clean to pass the time.”

The little black kwami floated out as if summoned. “Just because Tikki likes cookies,” he sniffed, “doesn’t mean I do.” As if to prove his point, he waved a whole wheel of camembert. Marinette stuck out her tongue at Plagg before turning back to Adrien.

“You had time to clean and get groceries?” she asked. “There was… a lot of stuff around here. Like, a lot. It would’ve taken me at least hours to tidy.”

Adrien transferred the eggs from the pan to the two plates. He gestured at the counter, where the digital clock sat. “It’s eleven, so I had three hours to do all of that.”

Eleven. The realization dropped like a bomb and Marinette nearly screamed. “Eleven?” she yelped, whirling on Adrien. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? Why didn’t you wake me up? I wasn’t even supposed to sleep last night and I’m not finished and this means—”

“Marinette, relax!”

She slowed to a halt. “You still have time,” Adrien continued soothingly, in the specific tone he used every time he needed to calm her down. “I let you sleep in because you need to be well-rested to put out your best work, and you need to eat a healthy, balanced meal in order to focus later. You can work all day afterwards. But right now, we’re going to have brunch together, and you’re not going to think of your project until we finish.”

Marinette didn’t want to wait. The fact that she was so close yet not quite made her uncomfortably jittery and the only remedy would be to work work work so she could just get it done with, but that wasn’t rational or reasonable. Besides, the meal Adrien had cooked smelled delicious and it would be rude to not eat it with him…

Relax, she told herself. I’ll finish in time. It’ll be okay.

Marinette breathed in a full body inhale, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, let’s eat.”

Adrien’s eyes crinkled and she felt herself relax slightly. “Just sit,” he told her. “I’m supposed to pamper you today.”

The table was already set, so Marinette slid into the chair as Adrien set down her plate in front of her. On it were the eggs he had been frying, a scallion pancake, strawberries, and a generous serving of hash browns. Ever since his father had been defeated, Adrien started dropping by their family’s bakery more and more, and her mother had taken to both feeding him and teaching him how to properly cook. It turned out that Adrien had what Sabine called the Culinary Touch, because once he started learning, everything he made was heavenly.

Her mug was set down before her, and Marinette let out a squeak of delight. “You learned how to do this?” she asked, beaming at the cream heart decorated perfectly on top.

Adrien gave her a cheeky grin. “I love you a latte,” he announced proudly.

Marinette moaned. “You ruined it.”

“Nah, you love my puns.”

“I love a lot of things about you, but your internet-stolen puns aren’t one of them.”

He feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “All of this,” he cried, gesturing grandly, “was for that pun. I only ask for a minuscule amount of appreciation, Bugaboo, yet you wound me with your insults—”

“Shut up, drama queen,” Marinette laughed, picking up her utensils. “Ugh, I’ve been craving scallion pancakes for so long. And you make these exactly like my mom.”

Adrien preened. “We established that I am your mother last night,” he reminded her.

“I don’t claim responsibility for anything I said, agreed to, or didn’t agree to last night. Also, how did you get my transformation off?”

It was Adrien’s turn to groan. “I had to bribe you into saying Tikki, spots off, ” he grumbled. “You don’t know how hard it was. For someone who put up such a struggle about not wanting to sleep, as soon as you touched the bed, you were out like a light.”

Marinette, not remembering anything that happened last night, was more than happy not to recall. “But you managed it in the end, didn’t you?”

“But at what cost?” Adrien speared a hashbrown. “What would Paris think to know that their beloved Ladybug was actually such a bratty menace?”

Torn between curious and mortified, Marinette asked, “What did I do?”

Adrien gave her a wicked little grin. “I’m not telling,” he sang.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for the answer, Marinette dug back into her breakfast and tried to appear disinterested. Apparent lack of interest was always the easiest way for Adrien to crack.

It only took a minute or so before he spoke up again. “Do you want to know what you did?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking, not me.”

“C’mon, humour me, buginette.”  

“Only because you said so, chaton. What deal with the devil did you strike last night?”

He grinned. “I think I’ll save that for another time. You need to get to work soon.”

Marinette glared at him, mentally filing away the fact that she was going to wiggle the information out of him one way or another. Stuffing the last piece of scallion pancake into her mouth, she sat back with a content sigh. “This was good.”

“And it was a well balanced meal,” Adrien added drily, also cleaning his plate. “Which you should be eating despite the fact that you have a final project due. I saw at least three Chinese take-outs in your trash can.”

“One was from last week!”

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “Is that supposed to be better or worse?”

Shaking her head, she smiled at him instead. “Thank you,” Marinette told Adrien, and she meant it. “You’re the best.”

He returned the smile, green eyes crinkling. Back in lycée, her heart would’ve turned to mush if he smiled at her in such a way. Now, five years later, Marinette was no closer to stopping the butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t her fault he had such a lovely smile.

Adrien was the first to look away, sweeping her empty plate from in front of her in one smooth movement. “I’ll do the dishes,” he offered. “Finish your project, and maybe we can cook dinner together.”

Before Marinette could agree, he leaned down and planted a quick kiss against her cheek in one fluid movement. “Good luck. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

She stared at him for a couple seconds longer as he headed towards the kitchen. She didn’t deserve Adrien. Amazing, kindhearted, hardworking, considerate Adrien who was everything anybody could ever ask for.

“Marinette?” he stuck his head out. “I love you a latte.”

She groaned. Of course he had to pun.

"I also love you a latte," she replied reluctantly.

(All the embarrassment was worth the grin that spread across his face.)  

Notes: This is part 3 of my lovesquare drabbles, although they’re all loosely interconnected and each work as a standalone. If you’re interested, here’s part one, and here’s part two! 

Here’s my fic masterlist.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #my writing #mlb fic #stressed marinette LOL whoops

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Reaction| They find out you are having twins

Namjoon

“Your babies are both perfectly healthy! You two have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m sorry, did you say b-babies? As in more than one?” 

“Yep! You’re having twins. Congratulations!” The doctor walks out of the room and you both sit there in shock staring at the ultra sound photos where they’ve circled baby number 1 and 2 clearly for you to see. You throw your arms around him, laughing happily. 

“Twins.. were having two babies.. Oh my gosh!” You look at Namjoon and see his adorable dimpled smile. He jumps up and cheers and even does a little dance you can’t help but start giggling.

“I’ve always wanted to be a father and now I get to have two babies! Think of all the adorable baby clothes and shoes I can buy for them oh god. Can’t they just be born now?” Seeing his reaction makes you feel so incredibly happy. You were worried for a moment that he may not take the news well that you were having two babies, but seeing the sheer joy on his face immediately sets your mind at ease. He leans down and places a kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you both. I hope you think I am a good dad.”

Jin

“Babe why did you put the hamburger buns in the oven?” 

“Haven’t you heard that phrase before Jin?”

“What? A bun in the oven for when you’re pregnant? I already knew that though jagi you told me a while ago.” 

“But how many buns are in there Jin?” He throws the oven door open again and stares for a minute, trying to process.

“Two?”

“Soooo….”

“So… that means you’re having two babies? You’re having twins?! We’re gonna have two adorable little babies?! OH MY GOSH!” He slams the oven door shut and runs over to you, scooping you up in his arms and spinning you happily.

“I’m gonna be a dad to the two most beautiful babies in the world. And they’re going to have the most beautiful mother and we are just going to be the most beautiful family in the world. Oh my god twins?!” He’s still spinning you and you start to feel nauseous so you ask him to kindly, set you down. He does so immediately and apologizes.

“I’m so excited to have a family with you sweetheart. Even if it’s a little larger than I was expecting that’s just more for me to love.”

Yoongi

You and Yoongi were at your ultra sound appointment when the doctor made a noise of surprise.

“What? Is everything okay? Is something wrong with my baby?” You’re on edge until she turns to you and smiles. 

“Actually no, quite the opposite. Your babies are perfectly fine.”

“Oh well that’s great news, angel our babies are fine…. Wait a minute. As in more than one? Y/n is having more than one baby? What? I don’t even…” Yoongi is staring at the screen in shock as she points out where your two babies are. 

“I’ll leave you two alone for a moment. Congratulations!” She softly closes the door and Yoongi still hasn’t said anything which worries you.

“Um.. Yoongi I know this is really unexpected and you only wanted one child but-” You’re cut off by Yoongi pulling you into a tight hug and littering your face and neck with kisses.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have two amazing little angels running around the house. This is amazing. Twins.. wow. I get to be a dad to the two most precious humans on the planet. And I get to be your husband and father of your children. What did I ever do in a past life to deserve this happiness?” You run your fingers through his hair, now more excited than ever for your babies to be born and see what a wonderful dad Yoongi is going to be.

Hoseok

To say Hoseok’s reaction was extra was the understatement of the year. When your doctor happily announced you were having twins the bright smile on his face rivaled the sun. He immediately stood up and stated dancing and happily cheering that he was having 2 babies.

“I’m going to be the father of two babies! TWO! TWO PRECIOUS AND ADORABLE CHILDREN! WHAT A WONDERFUL TIME TO BE ALIVE!”

 He ran out the door and promptly told all of the office staff that he was going to be the father of two amazing children. They all found him extremely endearing and laughed along happily at his reaction. When he came back into the room and finished his laps around the doctor’s office he immediately pulled you into a hug and kissed you firm on the lips. You tried to squirm away, uncomfortable with all the eyes on the two of you but he wasn’t having it.

“Ah, jagi thank you so much. Not only are you blessing me with one baby, but two?! I couldn’t ask for anything else. I love you so much. I can’t wait for them to be born.” 

Jimin

Jimin came home from the dance studio and was exhausted. It was quite late and he was surprised to see you still awake on the couch reading.

“Baby? What are you still doing awake, it’s late. You need rest you know?” You set your book down and immediately jump off the couch, excitedly running over to Jimin. You shove the ultra sound in his face and he has trouble focusing on it. He pulls it away and what he sees are two circles, with baby A and baby B. He drops the photo as he bring his hands up to cover his mouth. 

“You’re having twins?!” You nod enthusiastically and before you can say anything Jimin’s lips are against yours in an instant. You’re surprised and don’t kiss back for a few seconds but when you do you absolutely melt. He’s kissing you so gently and you can feel your cheeks dampen from his tears.

“Jimin? Are you okay?” You wipe his tears away with your thumbs.

“Of course I’m okay. More than okay. I’m so happy right now I can’t even put it into words. Two babies! Oh my gosh. I can just imagine all the cute outfits we can buy for them. And the nursery. OH we need to buy more stuff then! We need another crib and-” You cut him off with another kiss.

“Hey, we got plenty of time Jimin don’t worry. I just want to enjoy this night with you and celebrate the good news.” His eyes disappear as he smiles widely at you.

“That sounds perfect.”

Taehyung

Taehyung was all too excited to go to your appointment with you. He was so happy to finally be able to see his baby. Even though you weren’t that far along he didn’t care. Just knowing your baby was there, happy and healthy was enough for him. Taehyung nearly cries when he sees the first images of his baby, but he’s confused when he’s handed three photos from the doctor.

“Um.. what is this? Why are there 3?”

“Well Mr. and Mrs. Kim you’re having triplets. All 3 of your babies look like they are doing fine. Although it’s still too early and there’s always risks of complications, as of right now everything is right on track.”

“3 babies?! What?!” You shoot out of the chair and grab the photos out of Taehyung’s hands to examine them. A smile spreads across your face as you realize you and Taehyung are going to have the large family he’s always dreamed of sooner than anticipated.

“I’ll let you two have a moment. Just go to the check out desk when you’re ready. It’s very exciting news!” 

“Th.. there’s 3 of my babies inside your belly right now? We’re going to be having 3 kids together? Oh my god, sweetheart.” Taehyung nuzzles against your neck and wraps his arms around your waist, grinding his hips into you from behind.

“No way Taehyung you keep that demon sperm of yours away from me. With my luck we’ll have sex and then I’ll somehow find out I’m giving birth to 5 children instead of 3.”

Jungkook

Jungkook came home from practice early, all too anxious to spend time with you. He made sure to get home early ever since he found out you were pregnant, not wanting to miss a single moment and wanting to make sure he was there for you. He found you curled up in bed, sleeping with a smile on your face and he thought you looked absolutely precious. He kisses your forehead and places a hand on your belly and rubs his fingers gently over it. You begin to stir and smile when you see he’s home.

“Hey Jungkook. Welcome home. We missed you. All three of us.” You tug him down on top of you and kiss his lips firmly. He melts into the kiss until his brain catches up to what you just said.

“Wait.. what do you mean three of us?” You giggle and kiss his nose, causing him to scrunch it slightly.

“We’re having twins Jungkook. I guess your bunny nickname has other meanings to it as well huh?” He stares at you in shock for a moment before he starts giggling happily. He rolls off of you and starts trashing about in the bed, getting tangled up in the blankets as he does. 

“Uh, babe can you help me I’m a little stuck.” You help untangle him from the blankets and attempt to move his hair back into place but he’s still squirming and dancing happily in the bed.  “We’re having twins! Oh my gosh 2 babies! I can’t wait to meet them. We’re going to have the coolest kids to ever grace this earth.”

#BTS reaction #BTS reactions #BTS scenario #BTS scenarios #BTS imagine #BTS imagines #BTS #kim namjoon #rm #kim seokjin #jin #min yoongi #suga #jung hoseok #jhope #park jimin #kim taehyung #v #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook

[nuggets-and-french-fries]

Taking Chances: Chapter Three.

Note: Hold onto your hats. This chapter’s ending is angsty.

Enjoy!

===

While Taron and Mikey were out of the house, Pickles had decided to take a nap but he had a hard time with it due to a pesky fly that kept buzzing in his ear. He tried to ignore it but the more that he did, the more it got on his nerves. So finally having enough of it, Pickles stretched and did a little pouncing practice.

By the time that he’d caught the fly, he had trashed the house with cat litter and if that wasn’t enough, Pickles had even tipped over his water and kibble as well. Being a kitten though, he wasn’t phased at all. He went and found himself a hiding spot and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Taron had made the decision to go and do some grocery shopping after dropping his son off at nursery.

Taron took his time and picked out a few fun treats to put in Mikey’s lunches for school. Just as he reached for the Haribo Star mix, his phone rang. He quickly threw the bag in the shopping trolley before answering the call, completely unaware that there was someone behind him waiting for him to move.

“Hello.” He said as he looked over the items on his shopping list.

“Have I called at a bad time?” Tina asked from the other end.

“Not at all. I’m just doing the shopping.” He replied.

Tina smiled.

“Right, I’ll make this quick then. I was wondering if you and the kid wanted to come over tomorrow afternoon.” Tina questioned.

“Sounds good but please don’t go out of your way to make anything. Mikey doesn’t really eat after nursery as he’s usually tired from all the activity.” Taron explained.

“Ok. I promise that I won’t make anything extravagant. Just tea and biscuits.” Tina said and Taron hummed in response.

They talked for a few more minutes before Tina let her son go and continue his shopping. 

On his way out of the sweet isle, he smiled at the woman that had been behind him but she seemed to ignore him, making Taron internally roll his eyes.

=

Back at the nursery school, Mikey was busy playing with the train set he always played with when a girl he’d never seen before walked up to him.

“Can I play too?” She asked shyly.

Mikey kept his eye on his toy but spoke anyway.

“You play with the green one. It’s bigger.” He said as he handed the girl the green train he’d just been playing with.

“Thank you.” She said as she sat down and started playing trains with him.

“You’re welcome.” Mikey replied as he reached for another train that wasn’t being used.

While they were playing, another girl walked up to them and started picking on the girl.

The little boy stopped what he was doing and looked up.

“You’re mean.” He said a-matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.” Jasmine agreed with her new friend.

Ivy snatched Jasmine’s train and started playing with it.

“Hey, give it back.” Jasmine whined as she tried to take it.

Ivy held the toy to her chest as tightly as she could so that Jasmine couldn’t grab it.

Jasmine started crying when Ivy refused to give her the train.

Mikey got angry and moved toward Ivy and snatched it back, handing it over to a tearful Jasmine.

“Hey.” Ivy whined as her lower lip wobbled.

“You took it first.” Mikey said.

Ivy glared at him and went for Jasmine again.

Mikey didn’t hesitate to push the girl away.

Ivy fell backwards and burst into tears after hitting the ground.

This alerted the teacher who immediately rushed over.

“What is going on here?” The teacher asked firmly.

“He pushed me.” Ivy said through her sobs.

“Michael, is that true?” The woman questioned, giving him a chance to own up to his actions.

“She snatched her train.” Mikey tried but the teacher wasn’t having it.

“That’s not nice at all. You can’t do that Michael. Come with me, Ivy you too.” She said as she took their hands and took them to the time out area, making sure to keep them separated.

=

Nicola had been wandering around the grocers trying to find her sister’s favorite fruit. Just as she found what she was looking for, the man from before moved in front of her, not realizing that she was there.

“Are you kidding me. What is wrong with you?” Nicola snapped, having little to no patience for people today.

You see, Nicola’s mother was a drug addict and married her awful step father. She had recently been granted full custody of her sister but with that came a whole bunch of issues that she hadn’t thought of until now.

One of the issues was the fact that she lived in Aberystwyth and her mother, step father and her sister lived in London. Her sister who had just turned 4 the day before, had been uprooted and was made to start a new school that morning. boy did Jasmine put up a fight that morning, instantly setting Nicola into a bad mood.

“Excuse me?” Taron asked, slightly taken aback. 

“This is the second time that you’ve been in my way today and it’s really annoying.” She snapped again.

Taron rolled his eyes visibly this time and scoffed.

“On your bike, asshole.” She said as she flipped him off before storming past him, making sure to flip him the bird.

“Bitch.” Taron muttered.

By the time that he was done shopping, he had run into the woman two more times and they both muttered comments under their breaths as they passed one another in the isles.

Taron was in a rank mood when he got home and was not prepared for the mess that Pickles had so graciously left for him.

“Stupid cat.” He grumbled, kicking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen to put everything away.

Just as he went to put the crackers in the cupboard, Pickles pounced on Taron’s foot and bit him. The man jumped and dropped the cracker box on the ground.

Of course when he looked down at the little fur ball, Pickles was looking up at him with big eyes; making Taron’s anger subside somewhat.

“You are such a pest sometimes.” The Welshman spoke as he scooped Pickles up and kissed the top of his fuzzy orange head. 

Pickles purred and cuddled into his owner’s neck.

Together Pickles and Taron put the rest of the groceries away before Taron got to work with cleaning the house.

While he was in Mikey’s room organizing his toys, Taron’s eyes landed on his wife’s favorite yellow hoodie. 

Taron sighed angrily. He had told his son over and over that his mother’s belongings were not a toy and that he wasn’t allowed to touch them. 

He took the hoodie in his hands and went back to his room and laid it on her side of the bed.

=

A few hours later Taron was waiting outside his son’s classroom ready to pick Mikey up. The father had a surprise when the teacher wanted to talk with him first before he and Mikey left.

The woman explained what had happened and Although Taron was proud of Mikey for standing up for Jasmine, he was thoroughly disappointed in him for pushing Ivy the way that he did.

He promised the Teacher that he’d talk to Mikey and make sure the little boy knew that what he did was inexcusable.

“Again, I’m truly sorry.” Taron said as he and Mrs.Graves stood up and walked to where Mikey was happily playing with some blocks.

“Thank you Mr. Egerton.” The woman replied.

“Bye.” Mikey said as he waved to his teacher.

“Goodbye Michael. You have a good night.” Mrs. Graves called.

Taron got his son situated in his booster seat before getting in himself.

Most of the car ride home was silent and Mikey couldn’t take it.

“Daddy, are you mad at me?” Mikey asked in a small voice.

Taron sighed.

“I’m not mad but I am disappointed in you.” The father admitted. 

Mikey hung his head and tried not to cry.

“What made you think that it was ok to push someone, a girl no less?” Taron asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Mikey decided to stay silent so as to not cry.

“Mikey mate, I’m talking to you.” Taron said with a bit more annoyance in his tone.

The little boy's chin started to wobble. He thought his father would be proud of him for standing up for someone.

“Michael Kade Egerton, answer me.” Taron snapped. That was the last straw. 

Mikey burst into tears, not caring how loud his cries were. All he wanted was to go to his room and hug his mum’s hoodie because it still smelled like her and it made him feel like she was there with him.

Soon enough Taron pulled into the driveway and parked the vehicle. 

“Mikey, look at me.” Taron said a lot softer this time.

Mikey ignored him and tried to undo his seat belt as fast as he could, wanting to get away from his father. Taron got out of the vehicle and went to unbuckle his son.

As soon as Taron unlocked and opened the front door, Mikey ran to his room and slammed the door.

The little boy frantically looked for the top he had taken but when he couldn’t find it, he laid on his bed and hid his face in his pillow and cried louder than he ever had. All he wanted was his mum.

Taron could hear Mikey’s cries amplify and knew that it was because he had taken the hoodie back.

He couldn’t take Mikey’s tears. Yes Mikey needed to be disciplined but Taron was supposed to be the fun parent and Kate was supposed to be the strict one. That’s what they had constantly joked about but then when Mikey was born, Taron suddenly found himself as a widower with a brand new baby.

The Welshman tried to keep his emotions at bay but when he walked past Mikey’s room, Taron heard his little boy call out for his mum and it broke him.

It was times like this that Taron felt lost and like he needed his wife.

He went to his own room and reached for the hoodie he’d previously laid on the bed and buried his face in it and breathed in her smell. His heart ached and his eyes stung as his own tears fell.

Strangled sobs filled the master room that were louder than Taron intended.

Eventually Mikey had stopped crying and listened to his father crying.

The young one slid off his bed and toddled carefully over to where Taron was leaning over the bed with his face hidden.

Mikey rested his head on Taron’s back and started crying again, feeling like he was the cause for his father’s tears.

“I’m sorry I made you hate me.” Mikey said as his small arms tried to wrap themselves around his dad’s back, trying to brave.

Taron put the hoodie down and gently moved his son into his strong arms.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” Taron replied through sniffles.

“I want mama.” Mikey admitted, unknowingly making Taron’s heart shatter.

===

Tag List: @sarahegerton96 @softeggsy @jobanan23 @hauntedflamingo @superthiccthighssavelives @cilldaracailin @holdmeclosertinytaron @hitmeonmytspot @aberystwythboy @stronglyobsessed @dogmom2014 @rocknrollmadden @fuseburner

#dad!taron #it'sjustpickles #taronegerton

[gh0stfacesho3]

Memories

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Word Count: 2,227 words

Warning: Mentions of rape and self harm.

Author’s note: This was a commission by a friend, please be warned. This is very dark stuff so read at your own risk. 

Quirk: Brain. You can remember things extremely well and have an incredible iq. The only draw back of this quirk, besides remembering things you wished you didn’t, you get horrific migraines after using your quirk too long.

“Come on Mika.” You spoke softly as you shook your child awake. “It’s time for breakfast.” You said with a smile.

“Otay!” The three year old spoke, wrapping her arms around your neck for you to pick her up.

You pick up your child and bring her to the dining room, buckling her in the booster seat at the table. You placed a plate that had different sections in front of her. She smiled, looking down at the rice with scrambled eggs, cut up sausage, and some strawberries.

—Flashback—

You were walking back home from the convenient store with a slushee in one hand while your phone resided in the other. The sun was setting but it didn’t bother you much, being that you always went for late night walks to get your mind off of things, and also to get a cherry slushee from your favorite 24 hour convenient store. While walking, you hear some shuffling down an alley way. You look to your left but shrugged it off, assuming it was a raccoon. You started to walk again but felt as if you couldn’t move. You stood still, looking around while your head stayed still before you started to non-conscientious turn towards the alleyway.

‘W-what is this?’ You thought to yourself. You tried to speak but couldn’t, it felt as if you were out of body or paralyzed. A figured showed up in your vision as you continued to walk.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. What a beauty.” The mystery man said as his face came into view. You remembered that voice, he was some random guy at the store. When he walked past you, he placed his hand on your shoulder before apologizing about passing by.

“Oh will I have fun with you.” He said, as he pushed you against the brick wall. You came to the conclusion that his quirk had to do with control but he needs to touch someone with all five fingertips in order for it to work.

“W-.....why!” You were finally able to speak. “What are you doing?” You said in discomfort as his hands revenged your body.

“Don’t worry darling.” He said as he placed his chapped lips against your cheek. You cringed at the sensation, trying to remove yourself from him.

“STOP PLEASE. SOMEONE HELP! FIRE! FIRE!” You yelled out.

“Keep yelling, it only gives me more pleasure. No one will hear you because my friend created a sound barrier. No one will hear you so keep going.” The man explained. It went on and on, the touching and groping. After everything was done, you were left in the alley, stripped of everything you had: your clothes, your pride, your confidence, everything.

“Help...someone...please.” You laid there, sobbing, coughing up blood from the amount of screaming you did. You laid there for about an hour before pulling on the remains of your clothing. You walked home slowly, crying softly before pulling yourself into the shower. Sitting on the floor of the shower, you sobbed into your knees. You were sick to your stomach, causing you to vomit in the toilet. This process happened for about a week before you went to the doctor to tell them what happened. You filed a police report and went through the entire process of telling them what happened, when, where, and taking DNA tests. The doctors made you take a pregnancy test and once you got the results, it said you were pregnant. You were about 5 months into the pregnancy by the time you told your parents. You wore a lot of over-sized hoodies, that’s how they never noticed your growing stomach. You told your parents you were pregnant but they didn’t allow you to explain yourself and immediately kicked out.

“You’re such a disappointment to this family. Get out of my house you whore!” Your mother yelled at you. 

“You have one month to get out of here...I’m sorry y/n.” Your father told you as you started to pack your things. Your father was always more caring towards you. He ended up helping you pack, allowing you to explain what happened. He ended up crying and holding you close.

“I wish I could change your mothers mind but you know how she is...I can maybe get you an extra month of time.” He said as he cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheek. You flinched lightly, pulling away from the contact.

“That’d help a lot dad, thank you.” You spoke softly, running a hand through your hair out of habit.

Two months went buy and this was happening during the summer but you were able to reach out to your teachers from UA, explaining the whole situation. They did a lot of talking but figured it be the safest to stay with Aizawa. You were going into your last year of school, so you weren’t going to be too much of a bother to them. By the time school had started back up, you had your child and were completely moved in at Aizawa’s place. The school year went on, allowing you to graduate and start a living. You became a teacher at UA. Aizawa wanted you to go into teaching because he didn’t want you to worry about finding a new place and taking care of your child alone. It was also easier for everyone, especially you.

—End of Flashback— 

“Mhm....morning.” Aizawa groaned as he trudged into the kitchen.

“I fixed you some coffee, it’s on the table.” You said quietly.

You’ve been at Aizawa’s place for three years now, meaning that it’s been two year since you graduated. Throughout your last year, people found out about your child but everyone let you explain and they all adored Mika. Mika loved Bakugo and Todoroki the most, her favorite part was their wild hair. She also loved Tokoyami because of his soft feathers. The students still visit you here and there and the girls were your saviors. They’d always babysit for you when you went to work.

“Thank you so much.” Aizawa said with a small smile. He sipped on the coffee, sitting down to Mika.

“Come on, eat up kiddo.” He said as he scooped some rice and eggs into her mouth. She smiled brightly, chewing her food before trying to give him a strawberry. You slide over to Mika and snatch the strawberry in your mouth before kissing her on the forehead.

“Moooommy!! That was for zawa!” She whined. You chuckled softly before sitting on the other side of her, across from Aizawa.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t want strawberries with his coffee.” You explained as you continued to feed her, swallowing your strawberry as you did so.

She looked over at him with a pout before handing him another one. He rolled his eyes and went to take it from her to eat.

“Nooo zawa!” She said pulling it away from him before putting it closer to his face. Aizawa looked at you, rolling his eyes again as he took the strawberry in his mouth.

“Yep, she’s definitely your kid, a stubborn, caring, cute, little brat who always gets her way but always makes you smile.” Aizawa said with a small smile. You chuckled softly, blushing in the process.

“She took all of it didn’t she?” You rhetorically asked. “Also, you think I’m cute?” You asked, getting all red in the face.

“Mommy, you look like a strawberry!” She said holding up the fruit. This caused Aizawa to choke on his coffee as he laughed out. You covered your face, laughing along with Aizawa.

“Well of course I think your cute. You’re a beautiful women y/n.” Aizawa said, looking down into his coffee cup that was half empty. This only caused you to blush more before shaking it off.

“It’s not good to lie Aizawa.” You said standing up, looking down at your feet. You picked up Mika, bringing her empty plate to the sink, washing her hands before setting her down to walk before washing her dishes.

“Who says I’m lying?” Aizawa asked as he stood up, looking over at you.

“Facts. Now it’s 7:24:32.” You said to him, reminding him he should get ready for work.

“Why do you need to tell me the seconds?” He asked with a groan.

“Because it’s habit and also my quirk remembers them time better like that.” You explained as you headed to Mika’s room to get her ready for daycare.

Aizawa shrugged it off before going get ready for work. You smiled as you dressed your child into some cute clothes. She twirled in her dress with a giant smile on her face. You brought her to daycare, watching her run off to her friends, before heading back home. You saw Aizawa was ready so you nodded over to the door for you guys to walk to UA.

“Why do you want me to stay here with you?” You asked with your head tilted.

“It’s safe. Also you cook really well.” Aizawa said with a straight face. You nodded and chuckled. That entire process was a daily thing but the conversation was always different.

One day, you weren’t feeling to good, mentally that is, so you took a sick day. Shouta was nice enough to bring Mika to the daycare before he went to work.

You laid in your bed, pulling your sheets close to your face. Today made three years since the incident, making you remember everything. You put your headphones in, listening to some music to hopefully drown out those horrible thoughts. To no avail, tears streamed down your face; you shook with a horrible chill before pulling yourself to the bathroom. You started to run yourself a bath, slowly pulling off your clothes, tears falling down your face. You looked at your scar-littered legs, rubbing over them with your thumb. Your phone had died so you placed it on the bathroom counter. Pulling yourself into the tub, you sank down being engulfed in the hot water. You sat in the water, crying softly as you could see everything so vividly. 

“Stop...please stop.” You mumbled to yourself, pulling at your hair, wishing it would trigger something in your brain to shut up. 

All while this happened, Aizawa was sitting in class, watching the students take a pop quiz. His foot tapped anxiously as he never got a response from you. He stepped out the class, calling you but got sent straight to voicemail. He knew what day it was and was extremely worried. He walked into principle Nezu’s office, explaining the situation and asking if he could take the rest of the day off to go check on you. Understanding everything, Nezu excused Aizawa for the rest of the day.

Once Aizawa got home, he quickly walked to the bathroom, knocking softly, hopping for the best. This took you by surprise causing you to gasp and pull your knees to your chest to conceal your body.

“Its me, Shouta,” Aizawa said with a sign of relief. “Can I come in please?” He asked in a calm tone. While he knew you had depression and PTSD, he didn’t assume you had self harmed.

“Y-...yes” You said in defeat. He walked in with his eyes on the ground. He pulled out a towel, holding it out as he helped you out the tub. He wrapped you up, holding you close to him as you cried into his chest.

“Please don’t leave...” You cried out. Aizawa held you tighter shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He spoke softly, pulling you to your room. He sat you on your bed and helped you get dressed. He couldn’t help but notice the scars on your thighs from under the towel. Aizawa brushed his thumb over the scarred skin, looking up at you. You avoided his gaze at first before being reconnected with it when he gently turned your head to face him. You couldn’t explain it but he looked at you in a way that wasn’t pity but almost like admiration.

“You’re so strong Y/n...” he said softly, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.” Aizawa explained, his hand resting at the nape of your neck.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until your forehead made contact with his once you looked down. You looked up and nodded softly. You felt another tear fall before you felt Aizawa’s lips against yours. You kissed back and for once, you didn’t feel completely alone. Aizawa pulled away slowly, looking anywhere but your eye, ashamed that he kissed you without your consent. You noticed this, so you pulled him close, connecting your lips to his. The two of you then laid in your bed, cuddling as you listened to each other’s heart beat. 

A/N: I feel like I could have ended this better so if you want a part two, let me know. Also, REQUEST ARE OPEN! Feel free to request whatever you want( read the rules first please)

#mha #mha aizawa #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #fluff #angst #bnha angst #bnha fluff

[fancy-waffles]

FE3H Siblings Week Day 3 // Ingrid & Bro (Evin)

Prompt // Sharing 

Ingrid was going to the Officer’s Academy tomorrow. It had been her dream for longer than she could remember; she used to hang on each and every story Glenn would tell her about his time there. She knew, however, that the main reason so much of their already scant funds had been put towards her tuition was not so she could go and train and become a Knight. That was a dream that had died somewhere around the time Glenn did.

Still, she was excited, it was a chance to escape her predictable schedule at Galatea and as much as they worried and frustrated her, she really did miss Sylvain, Felix, and Dimitri. They hadn’t seen each other on such a regular basis since they were children.

She would miss home, she knew that already, as well as she knew the sounds of her youngest brothers scampering through the home, running themselves ragged and expertly avoiding breaking anything. (Not that they had anything of any real worth anymore — most of it had been sold off ages ago.) She also knew that as well as she could always tell when her eldest brother was in the kitchen. 

Ingrid could smell the Daphnel Stew (though Evin insisted on calling it Galatea Stew) from two rooms away. She let her nose lead her towards the kitchen where Evin was adding fattened chunks of meat that had been recently seared to the stew. They probably weren’t chicken, the chickens hadn’t done well this year and Evin usually used a few different kinds of meat, any root vegetables he could find, and enough earthy spices to mask too much gamey flavor. It still smelled wonderful.

“Hello Ingrid,” Evin said without turning around.

The worse his sight got the better his senses were getting, Ingrid noticed. “Did you recognize my footsteps?”

“No, I’m making meat in the kitchen,” Evin smiled, “it’s always you.” 

“You’re making my favorite,” Ingrid pointed out.

“You have a lot of favorites,” Evin said, breezily.

She crept closer to see the bubbling liquid starting to turn an appetizing shade of brown and her mouth watered, even though she knew it would be hours until it was done. 

“You’re going to miss me,” Ingrid said, staring up at him.

Evin shrugged and then leaned a little towards her to gently jostle her with his elbow. “Only a little.” 

She wondered what he would do with a bigger kitchen. If she married someone who could infuse enough funds into Galatea that they could afford a bigger kitchen and a regular staff. 

“Did you ever want to go to the Academy?” Ingrid asked him.

He was ten years older than her, but his sight had started to dim when he was younger than she was now, so the more traditional options for the eldest of a noble house went away faster than his eyesight. Besides, by that time Ingrid had been born, and their father had put all of the family’s future in her hands, which usually came with all the finances.

“Not really,” Evin said, reaching over for a container that had a notch on the top of it and then moving onto the next one after he brushed his thumb against the notch and repeated the process until he found what he was looking for. 

“Why not?” Ingrid asked. “Didn’t you want to be a Knight?”

Evin snorted as he added salt to the stew. “No. Knights are always being told what to do and where to go, what’s the point in being a noble, even a poor one, if you can’t at least have some freedom.”

“Besides,” he added. “As our mother before me, I am shamefully uninterested in the Faerghus approach to always being combat ready.”

“You taught me how to use a lance,” Ingrid countered.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t be good at it, Brandy-Wine,” he said, using her least favorite nickname in the history of anything anyone had ever called her, including the time Sylvain had called her ‘mother’ before she’d thrown a crabapple at him. “Maybe not as good as you,” he added, the praise making her feel like she’d grown ten sizes taller. 

“It’ll only be a year,” Ingrid said, rather than saying she’d miss him terribly. 

Evin frowned and then turned towards her, not quite giving her a direct look, but she could see his eyes tracing down the outline of her. She was too afraid to ask what she looked like to him now. The healers said he’d likely be completely blind by the end of the year. 

“Don’t marry Gautier,” he said.

Ingrid choked a noise out between a laugh and a scoff. “That has never been an option!” 

“I have to deal with whoever you end up bringing home and it’s bad enough you’re leaving me alone with the twins for an entire year, but if you marry someone that annoying, I’ll never forgive you.”

Evin had loved Glenn. Ingrid tried not to think about it. “So who meets your high standards?”

Evin seemed to think about that, tapping his fingers against his pant leg. “Not His Highness either, I need someone with tastebuds and I know he was the one who ate the centerpiece last time they were here.”

“Sylvain dared him,” Ingrid said, sighing. She hadn’t really talked him out of it, when it looked like Dimitri might do it. That felt like ages ago, it was one of the last times they’d all been together.

“Like I said, don’t marry Gautier,” Evin repeated. “And… don’t give in to every marriage proposal Father sends your way, he’s being too pragmatic.”

“He’s never too pragmatic,” Ingrid said, remembering the clutter and glad she could deal with keeping things clean and orderly in her own dorm at the Academy soon, no Frey and Kelby to mess things up or litter everywhere. She’d miss them too.

Evin raised his eyebrows and went to stir the stew again, without comment. The moment the wooden spoon shifted the ingredients around Ingrid’s mouth began to water again.

“It’s going to be a while until this done, Brandy-Wine,” Evin said, but he was smiling.

“I can wait,” Ingrid said and settled herself to lean on the counter next to him. 

Evin leaned toward her briefly and his hand wavered for a moment somewhere around her head until she moved towards it a bit and then he pulled her in so he could kiss the top of her hair. “Don’t you dare like their food better than mine.”

“If I do, I’ll be sure to lie about it,” Ingrid said back, beaming at his rare open affection. 

“Like I said, pragmatic.” 

It was their last dinner all together and having Daphnel (Galatea) Stew was the perfect choice. It meant they had to pass bowls around, scoop for each other, and tear off pieces of hard bread to soak in the stew until it softened. It was a perfect send-off meal and made her excitement war with instant worry about how homesick she’d end up being. 

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe3hsiblingsweek #ingrid brandl galatea #ingrid's brother evin #because she has brothers plural #and i went with huge age gaps #pretty sure the galatea fam generally tried not too have too many kids cos money #but their parents were too hornt i mean in love #also managed to dunk on sylvain in this which is my skillset showing #fancy-waffles writes

[howlljenkins]

What Was Promised (1/?)

Non-canon compliant. Arya and Gendry are married and have a daughter. They have made their peace with the past, but the past hasn't made its peace with them, and one stormy night it comes to collect its due. Read on Ao3

Rain swept sideways across the battlements of Storm’s End, and lightning split the sky above the castle’s single thrusting tower, but inside the Great Hall the Lord’s guests were far too deep in their cups to notice. Half the Stormlands, it seemed, had pressed into the Hall to celebrate the marriage of Bethany Mertyns to Allesor Musgrave, the young Lord of Broad Arch. Laughter and ale had flowed freely the night through, and, though it was now well into the wee hours of the morning, neither storm nor festivities showed signs of abating any time soon.

The only person not enjoying themselves was the Lord Paramount himself. He hid it well, and to most of his guests he seemed jolly enough, seated at the high table, smiling as he watched the dancers, and every now and then calling out a new song for the musicians to play. But those who knew Gendry Baratheon best picked up on the tension in his broad shoulders, and how his smiles never seemed to reach those famous blue eyes.

“I’m getting too old for these kinds of things,” Davos said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve as he sank into the seat beside Gendry.

Gendry looked at him askance. “You looked well enough when you were dancing Malora Gower across the room just now.”

“An act, lad, all an act. I was wheezing before she’d gotten me out of the chair. It’s you who should be down there, not me.”

“Don’t much feel like dancing." Gendry was only interested in dancing with one woman, and her version involved a lot more steel and the high possibility of bodily harm.

“You’re worried about the little lady,” Davos said. It wasn’t a question. But then, Davos had always been able to read Gendry with irritating accuracy.

Gendry didn’t bother denying it. Lifting his goblet, he drained its contents. “She should have been back by now." He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Three days to Sunspear. Three back. That’s how it’s always been.”

“You might not have noticed, but the weather hasn’t been fair for sailing.”

“Only the last day or two. She should have been back four days ago, at least.”

“Perhaps negotiations ran long.”

“Then why didn’t she send a raven?”

“Couldn’t tell you, lad. But I do know this: there’s not a single person the world over more capable of taking care of themselves than that wife of yours.”

Gendry knew it. He did. And yet…

“I just have this feeling.” It was the tiredness, Gendry told himself. He never slept well when Arya was away. On top of that, he’d been having strange dreams of late. In his dreams, shadowy figures crept down the halls of Storm’s End. Gendry chased after them, but as soon as he caught up they disappeared like smoke between his fingers. Just dreams. That’s all they are. Gendry shook his head, as though he could shake the thoughts from his mind the way a dog shook water from its fur. “You’re right. I’m being stupid.”

Standing abruptly, Gendry raised his goblet. “Stormlanders!” he called. As one, every face in the Great Hall turned toward the high table. In the five years since he had arrived at Storm’s End, Gendry had earned his people’s respect, and their love besides. He was a lord, well and truly, but he had also never forgotten where he came from. He spoke to farmers and masons the same way he spoke to lords and maesters, and the people loved him for it. 

For a bastard who’d spent most of his life without a name, he now had more than most: The Blue-eyed Buck. The Bull of Storm’s End. The Lord of Steel. When they travelled abroad, Stormlanders boasted that their lord could swing a hammer better than the Smith himself. “We have gathered to celebrate the joining of two noble souls. To Bethany and Allesor. May yours be the happiest union in all the land.”

“Unfair, my lord,” Allesor called, grinning, from the middle of the floor, where he stood with his arm looped around his new wife’s waist. A stout, red haired young man with a broad face, Allesor was several inches shorter than his willowy Mertyns bride. “Everyone knows there is no happier union than that of you and your Lady Wolf.”

Gendry smile wryly. “The second happiest union, then.” He lifted his goblet. “To Allesor and Bethany!”

Echoes of Allesor and Bethany and The Lord and Lady of Broad Arch filled the room. As the shouts died down, the musicians took up their instruments once more, and soon the jaunty notes of The Maids that Bloom in Spring filled the hall, along with the clapping of hands and stomping of feet.

Gendry was reaching for the wine pitcher to refill his goblet when the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Steffon Penrose, the castellan’s son, stumbled inside. A slender, green-eyed youth, Steffon was breathing hard, his pale locks dark with rain. Rivers of water ran off the hem of his cloak onto the floor.

“What is it, lad?” Davos asked.

“A ship, m’lord,” Steffon gasped. “A ship has foundered in the bay. I was on the battlements with Hugh. We saw it run aground on the shoals.”

Fools, Gendry thought. Who would dare try the bay in weather such as this? Ships frequently ran aground below the castle—the sound wasn’t called Shipbreaker Bay for nothing. But even the most inexperienced crews knew better than to come so close to shore during a storm. 

A question for another time, Gendry told himself. For now, they would do what they could for the poor souls.

“Allard, Boros, Criston, with me,” he said grimly, jumping down the dais. “Bring torches. We’ll search the beach for survivors.”

A damp passageway led from the bowels of the Storm’s End to the beach below. Long before they came to the tunnel’s entrance, Gendry could heard the wind howling against the bars of the portcullis, and the crash of waves thrashing against the castle walls. Every few moments lightning flashed, filling the cavern with strange greenish light.

Boros raised the portcullis, the groan of rusted iron adding to the howling of the storm, and Gendry stepped out into the gale. He was soaked to the bone in seconds. The rain fell in great, droving sheets, frigid needles stabbing at Gendry’s exposed skin. With the storm surge, the slip of land between the waterline and the cliffs had all but disappeared; only a narrow strip of beach remained.

In the distance, Gendry could just make out the outline of the doomed ship not far off shore. Bloody fools, Gendry thought again. What could they have been thinking?

The men’s torches flickered in and out, buffeted first this way, then that by the wind.

They found the first body by accident, Steffon tripping over it in the dark. At first Gendry took it for a clump of seaweed, then Boros lowered his torch and they saw it was a man lying face down in the sand.

“He alive?” Criston said hesitantly. Gendry thought he knew the answer. Still, he knelt beside the body and rolled it gently onto its side.

What he saw made his heart turn to ice in his chest.

“Seven hells,” Boros swore. “It’s Ben.”

They all knew that face—that wide nose, those pale green eyes. They belonged to Ben Horpe, the cook aboard the Winter Wind.

Arya’s ship.

Not far from Ben, they found Alyn Harding, the ship’s boatswain. A few feet away lay Alyn’s twin brother, Aidyn.

The crew of the Winter Wind littered the beach like chaff tossed to the wind, and everyone of them was dead.

Gendry no longer felt the sting of the rain, no longer heard the wind howling in his ears. His entire being had been taken over by a single, all encompassing thought.

Arya.

“My lord!” Criston had to shout to make himself heard over the crashing of the waves. He’d ventured away from the water, up toward the cliff face. Gendry turned toward him just in time for lightning to crack overhead, turning Criston’s anguished face whiter than bone, and illuminating the small form that lay at his feet.

No.

Gendry’s feet carried him to the cliffs of their own volition, and he collapsed beside Arya's body. Her face was turned away from him, dark hair plastered across her features, still he knew it was her. Even faceless, deep in the the seventh level of hell, he would have known her.

His hands hovered over her body, yet Gendry couldn’t bring himself to touch her. If he touched her this would be real and it couldn’t be real, it was just another dream, just another nightmare. Soon he would wake and Arya would be snoring softly beside him. But deep down Gendry knew this wasn’t a dream. Knew there would be no waking from the nightmare, not this time.

Steffon fell to his knees by Arya’s shoulders and dropped his ear to her chest.

Gendry had never been a man of faith, yet he found himself praying. Mother, Father, Warrior, Crone. If I have ever done anything to offend you, I repent. Just don’t take her from me. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Steffon’s head jerked up. His eyes were wide. “She’s alive! She’s alive, my lord!”

Alive?

That was all Gendry needed to hear. Life snapped back into his body. He scooped Arya into his arms—even soaking wet, she weighed nothing, less than nothing, how could something so precious take up so little space?—and then he was running, back to the passageway, back to the castle, his wife clutched to his chest, and his heartbeat thrashing in his ears.

#gendrya #arya x gendry #arya stark #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #got fic #game of thrones #asoiaf #*