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talesofstyles · 3 years

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Reconcile II

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

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

Read part I here

Harry

“So… are we okay now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess,” she says glumly.

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

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

Just like that. Without a fight.

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

“How’s your mum?”

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

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

“Can I ask you something, daddy?”

“Anything, poppet.”

“Do you still get sad too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s gonna be okay, right, dad?”

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

“Yeah, Min. It’s gonna be okay.”

***

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

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

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

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

In hell.

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

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

And all hell breaks loose.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s-”

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

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

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

“Cheap shot, Ems,” I retort.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, H?”

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

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

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

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

“You chose to be there.”

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

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

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

“Harry, it’s too late.”

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

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

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

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

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

I nod.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

“When really…”

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

“Emma…”

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

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

But where do we go from there?

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

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

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

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

***

Emma comes from a big family.

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

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

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

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

I hear voices as we walk inside.

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FREYA!” Her dad barks.

Meg can barely contain her giggles.

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

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

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

“Luce,” Emma mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three of them nod in unison.

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

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

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

Let’s just hope it stays that way.

***

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

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

Not yet. I need a moment.

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

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

“Harry?”

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

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I should be the one apologising, Em.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma laughs under her breath.

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

“He is.”

“That got legs?” I ask her.

“Possibly.”

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

“Harry…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The awesome foursome, huh?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be sad, mummy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Very well-endowed.”

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

Meg giggles and places her head on my shoulder.

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

Both of them huddle into me like penguins.

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

“Lovely. No.”

Lucy huffs. “You’re so boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you might fancy or need?”

She’s walking an incredibly thin, thin line.

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

“Seriously?” She says.

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

“Like mentally?” I ask.

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

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

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

“Show me your bush,” she orders.

“Lucy! I prepare food with those scissors.”

“And we’ll wash them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stand up reluctantly and unbutton my jeans.

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

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

“Do you want a shape?”

“What?”

“Yeah, like a heart? It’d be cute.”

“No!”

Meg roars with laughter.

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

“Do I have to?”

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

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

“Thanks, Luce.”

“You don’t say this enough I feel.”

“We really don’t,” says Meg.

“Want me to look at yours, Meg?”

“I’m good.”

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

“Like?”

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

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

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

“That’s what condoms are for?”

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

“How do I initiate it?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re overthinking,” says Meg.

“I haven’t got any condoms.”

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

“Any other excuse?” Lucy asks.

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

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

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

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

“Crisps?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we tidy up now?” He asks.

“It can wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

You know what, sod it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it your ex-husband?”

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

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

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

“I’m worried.”

“And what are you worried about?”

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

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

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

Harry

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

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

“Emma?”

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

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

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

She takes a step back instead.

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

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

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

“I don’t think I can.”

So I go to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, tentatively, her hand slides into mine.

And we go in out of the rain.

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

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

“A while. I was walking… thinking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please spare me the details,” I beg.

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

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

“Oh, Ems…”

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

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

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

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

Her eyes follow my every move, looking at me.

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

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

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

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

“Yer a bloody ice cube!”

She laughs kind of evilly.

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

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m taking time off work.”

“But you never take time off work?”

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

I see her smile in the dim light.

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

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

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

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

“A puppy, huh?”

“A puppy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“I… I’ve missed you. So much.”

And I’m done.

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

***

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

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

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

“You,” I smile. “You look perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I grin when I see red stain her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She moans softly in my ear.

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

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

“My face between your legs.”

***

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts.”

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

“You’re right,” she nods. “So…”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m serious.”

“You sound like Austen.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not true-”

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

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

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

“Wanna dance?”

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

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

“Thought you hate dancing?” I smirk.

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

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

“Emma?”

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

“You don’t need an excuse.”

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

***

“What the-”

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

“Heard of a bedroom lock?” Lucy challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

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

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

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

“Eh, about time,” she replies nonchalantly.

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

“Have you got your Aladdin?”

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

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

***

A month later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, I say, “surprise!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Droolius Caesar?” I joke.

Emma laughs. “Jimmy Chew?”

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

“Sir Barks-a-Lot?”

“Deputy Dawg?”

“Bark Twain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

We laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She chuckles with a sly smile. “Possibly.”

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

“Oh, I will,” she teases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?” My eyes widen.

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

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

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

“Then what changed?” Minnie asks.

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

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

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

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

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

They both nod in unison. Gary blinks twice.

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

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

***

Emma

“Gary! This way, Gary!”

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

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

“Hell, why not.”

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

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

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

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

I nod. “I do.”

“The view was decent,” he grins.

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

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

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

We laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve got Haribo in the car.”

He progresses to a light canter.

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

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

A car flashes us.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, lovely. What’s his name?”

“Gary,” the kids say in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give our regards to June,” I say.

“Will do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Are you calling my turkey dry?”

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

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

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

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

“A mince pie.”

“With cow mince?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s called Christmas milk.”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s time.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

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

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clefairymuke · 3 years

Text

regrets | chapter eighteen

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2018

His composure was frightening. You sat across from him at his desk, still half struggling to regulate your breathing as he poured still-steaming tea into your cup. It was as if nothing had happened: no fighting, no ignoring, and definitely no shameless and obnoxiously loud sex. He was a strange soul. He had cleaned you up rather quickly afterwards and directed you to his shower, leaving you with ten minutes to come to terms with what had just happened; however, you were left only with questions. When you returned, he was bringing his teapot from the stove to his desk, on which sat two teacups and a small stack of papers.

Your hair, combed back out of your face, was still damp; every so often, you felt cold little drops of water trickling down your neck and into the clean shirt Levi had given you to wear. You were sure his trousers wouldn't be the best fit; instead, you opted for just underwear. The shirt fell low enough, you thought. White socks kept your feet cozy as they could be, tucked beneath your thighs in a criss-cross. No words yet. That concerned you.

You cleared your throat and took a sip of your tea; it burned the tip of your tongue a bit, but you didn't mind. You could taste hibiscus. "That was . . . nice," you commented before mentally cursing yourself. What the hell was that? That was nice? Really? you thought, shrinking into yourself.

He chuckled — a rarity — and shook his head. You watched the way his fingers gripped the teacup from the top, lifting it to his lips in a way that you'd think would be uncomfortable, but he made it look fluid and natural. "Why do you hold it like that?" you asked, curious. His brow furrowed a bit, looking at you, unsure of what exactly you were asking. "The cup, I mean," you clarified. "The way you hold it is strange."

He looked down at it before meeting your gaze yet again. "That's a conversation for another day. You have dinner to get to soon, you know."

"You aren't going?" You pouted a bit without meaning to. His eyes were understanding, a tiny smile creeping across his lips.

"I'd rather stay in," he replied. "You can too, if you want." His tone was nonchalant and yet peaceful — a stark change from that of only an hour before. It was the comforting sound you'd grown accustomed to before he sealed it away behind his freshly-mortared wall of excuses. Worrisomely curious of him as you were, however, you couldn't help but wonder what was unfolding behind the slate grey stare that was impaling your own as you sat across from him. Your questions had yet to subside, and it was doubtful that they would. Levi was not one for blatant explanation, usually — his bluntness was at times occluded by his unwillingness to admit his own shortcomings. Counting the times you had to dedicate critical thinking to his invisible emotions would keep you busy well past dinnertime. You swirled your finger along the rim of your cup, getting lost in your thoughts.

You couldn't help how your eyes lingered on the man in front of you as he began to focus on the stack of papers in front of him. As his head tilted down to read the hand-written words, his still-messy hair occluded his forehead. Its inky color matched that of his eyebrows, drawn down in concentration to frame silver eyes. His nose sloped elegantly to a point, resting just above full, pink lips. His features were soft where they needed to be and chiseled where they didn't — his cheeks were full and plush-looking, while his jaw angled sharply into his chin. He was beautiful.

"Why are you staring at me?" he deadpanned, not bothering to meet your eyes.

"You're really pretty." I should just leave now, you decided. Why does my mouth allow this kind of shit to come out of it? This is getting annoying.

He looked up at you with one brow cocked up in questioning. You felt like getting up and walking out was a solid option; deserting couldn't possibly lead to a fate worse than this. You wondered if it would be more embarrassing to look for your pants first or just risk someone seeing you.

"How have you been sleeping?" he asked. You let out an audible sigh of relief; a subject change was much-needed to prevent your spontaneous combustion.

You shrugged at him. "I haven't, really. An hour or two a night is the extent of it." You yawned, right on cue. His eyebrow fell from mocking to its typical position for concern, making you grin. "I don't know why that surprises you."

"It doesn't. You look tired," he answered bluntly. If it came from anyone else, especially in a tone such as his, you might consider it an insult; however, the way his hand found yours across his desk and laid atop it reassured you otherwise. You found yourself gazing down at it, inspecting the way each blue-green vein trekked its own path across the pale landscape. You were quickly redirected by the fingers of his other hand finding your chin and lifting gently until your eyes met his. You experienced something not unlike chills down your spine as his thumb grazed your cheek before returning to his side. "What keeps you up?"

"That's a conversation for another day. It was really easy to get to sleep when you stayed with me in the infirmary, though. I would say I have trouble being by myself, but I haven't slept in a room alone in a long time." You shrugged again, watching gears turn in his eyes as he thought on your words.

His hand shifted from laying atop yours to grasping it, his thumb loosely caressing the top of it as you waited for him to speak. It was strange how this made you feel — the intimacy felt foreign despite how close you were to him only a half hour earlier. Something so common and simple was so unheard of when it came to him. You thought of how your sweaty hand felt in Jean's death-grip earlier that day, comparing it to the gentle hold Levi had on you now. This must be why couples hold hands for so long. "Let's get you something to eat," he said, finally.

He rose from his seat and started toward the back of his suite, which held an icebox and a wood-burning stove; he opted instead for the pantry. From it, he retrieved something wrapped in cloth and a jar of red jam. You stared open-mouthed at him. "I've been eating the same nasty soup as breakfast for weeks and you've had jam this whole time?"

He chuckled, unfolding the cloth to expose a loaf of bread. He pulled a breadknife from a drawer and began to cut it into slices. "Bread or toast? I'm about to put a skillet on for myself." He looked back at you, eyes absorbing yours into what felt like one of a thousand trances he'd held you in in the past few hours.

"Toast sounds nice," you replied, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the wood of his desk. Your vision wandered yet again to the contents of the room, exploring every spotless inch like it was the last time you'd see it — with how hot and cold he could be, it very well may have been the last time. "How do you keep it so clean in here all the time?" you asked curiously.

He scoffed as he put the skillet on the stove, not even turning to acknowledge you.

---

The sky had become dark as it acted as a simple backdrop to your evening with Levi. The two of you had eaten at his desk; however, you were unsure of how he managed to finish between all of his not-so-kind comments about you allowing crumbs to fall on his desk and floor. You helped him clean up afterward to soothe his complaints, but his colorful language didn't cease until it looked as if no one had eaten anything at all — ever.

You now sat on his sofa, tucked in the corner of it with your knees drawn to your chest. The evening had brought on cooler weather than you would've liked, but you refused to complain. The company you had was worth a bit of a chill. Levi was perched on the other end of the couch, sipping tea and reading from a fistful of papers. The way he simply lived as if it were a typical day almost made you laugh; he didn't seem the type to entertain company, and today proved that he surely wasn't.

Besides, your friends would soon be wondering about your whereabouts, and your eyes were growing tired. It would soon be time to head back to the dorms for another battle with sleep, but you found comfort in the idea of not fighting with your own emotions to top it off. You thought maybe it wouldn't take too awfully long to get to sleep that night.

"Levi," you said, voice soft and full of sleep. He looked up at you, laying his papers in his lap and devoting his attention to your words. Little things like that were difficult to notice, but they meant everything once you did — it reminded you that no matter how dismissive he may act at times, he still cared enough to listen. "I think I need to get changed and head back. It's getting late."

He leaned forward and placed the documents on the table in front of him, blank-faced beckoning you toward him with one finger as if he was calling you for a scolding. In his eyes, on the other hand, you saw soft, inviting pools of silver. You scooted over to his side, letting your feet rest on the cool ground. He took your hand in his, reminding you again how secure and comfortable he was capable of making you feel. "Will you be able to get to sleep?" he asked, running his thumb across the top of your hand.

You shook your head at him. "Probably not. But I can't really stay here, you know."

He nodded, letting loose his hold on your hand. "I know. Your clothes are laid out on my bed. You can go change."

You got up from his side and went into his room, shutting the door behind you. Every part of you wanted to crawl into his bed and rest, despite obvious reasons telling you you couldn't. You changed as quickly as you could, leaving his shirt folded neatly near his pillow. When you left his room, he was still sat on the sofa. He rose quickly and met you in the middle of the room, escorting you to the door.

"My leg works fine now, you know. You don't have to walk me everywhere anymore," you laughed, shaking your head. He didn't reply, though; he simply opened the door for you.

"Don't break anything on your way back," he told you. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes growing more prominent as the night continued forward.

"No promises. I'll see you tomorrow?" you asked, a mischievous grin covering your lips.

You watched as he considered that for a moment, unsure of his answer. Finally, he settled on, "We'll see." You nodded at him, smiling, knowing that "we'll see" was as close to a yes as you could get with Levi. You started to walk out, but your brain stopped you in your tracks, turning to face the man with his gaze still fixed on you. Deliberation with yourself took place within less than a second as you leaned in close, kissing him quickly before turning on your heel and starting your trek back to the dorms.

A few yards away, you allowed your head to turn back at him, delighted to see that his eyes were still on you.

#AoT #levi aot #aot fic #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #enemies to lovers #slowburn #levi x reader #levi #levi smut #levi fluff #levi angst #snk #snk fic #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Remus gets injured in a game. I have literally read everything you have written but i'm not sure if you have wrote one like this. If you have, ANOTHER PLZZ

Hello anon! I wove this together with a couple different prompts, listed below:

1. Coops argument

2. Prompt 21: “You need to eat something”

3. Remus gets in a fight with Snape

4. Protective Sirius

5. Coops going home grumpy after losing a game (see link)

Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove! TW for fights, blood, bruises, arguments, and someone getting called a wh*re

Snape’s cheek gave easily beneath Remus’ fist, which was a tad bit surprising. He wrapped his other hand in the neckline of his jersey, yanking him back in to land another punch to the side of his head—that would leave a nasty bruise in the morning. Stars sparkled in his vision as Snape got a lucky shot in and he doubled down, ignoring the thin line of pain that trickled down his chin.

“Break it up, boys, that’s enough!” The referee’s whistle blew as he and another pried Remus’ hands off Snape’s jersey; someone took him by the shoulders and pushed him away from the fight. Pots.

“Say it again!” Remus shouted at Snape as the refs and their teammates continued pulling them apart. “Say it again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth in!”

James’ hold on him faltered for a second as another person skated over and tried to join the melee. “Cap, no!”

“Move, Pots.”

“Loops won the fight, it’s done. Let’s just keep playing.” James shoved both their chests hard enough to send them back a few inches, but Remus’ blood boiled as he ground his mouthguard between his teeth. He glanced up at the clock—3:16 left in the third, Snakes up by two. Their win was almost guaranteed and Snape was still pulling this bullshit.

He skated quickly over to the bench and mumbled his thanks to Hestia as she pressed some gauze to his lip and ice to his cheek. “Lupin, you’re in for the rest of the game,” Coach Weasley said, tapping him on the arm with his playboard. “Anything broken?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then get your ass back out on the ice and score some points. We need some speed.”

He could feel the fury rolling off Sirius as they wove through the Snakes’ defense, shooting again and again to no avail. Frustration built up in every nerve—he was worried about the win, of course, but mostly he was pissed. Pissed at Snape, pissed at James for pushing him, and pissed at Sirius for butting into the fight.

Remus scored a final goal just as the buzzer sounded. Hissing filled the stadium, even though it was a home game. Snape smirked at him as he skated past and the only thing keeping him from dragging him right back in by his greasy hair was the possible suspension.

The shower was cold, because of course the fucking shower was cold. Remus shoved his stuff in his duffel and waited outside the locker room, silently fist bumping the guys as they left. God, he hated losing games. It was inevitable, but it always felt shitty.

“How’s the lip?” Sirius asked when he finally came out, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Fine. What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?”

“You butted into my fight. Nobody asked you to.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Re, he called you—”

“Yeah, I know what he called me,” Remus snapped, practically slamming the door to the parking lot closed. “I was there.”

The only reason you’re on this team is because you’re the captain’s whore, Snape had sneered. He bit the inside of his cheek as his anger flared at the memory. “I was just trying to help,” Sirius grumbled.

“Well, you didn’t. You proved his fucking point.”

“I didn’t prove shit!” Sirius scoffed as they got in the car. Immediately, Remus felt claustrophobic.

“I had it handled, Sirius!”

“You’re still bleeding!”

Remus ran his tongue along his lip—sure enough, the salty tang of blood filled his mouth. He swore under his breath and held his sleeve to his lip; his cheekbone throbbed and he knew it would be swollen in mere hours.

“Here.”

“I don’t need that.”

“You’d rather stain your sleeve than accept a tissue from me?”

“It’s a black sweatshirt, it’s fine.” Sirius muttered something. “Care to share with the class?”

Sirius sighed as he turned off the freeway. “I said it was your idea to keep these here in the first place. I don’t know why you’re being all pissy with me. We’ve lost games before.”

“I’m pissed because you don’t think I can handle myself in a fight.”

Sirius took his eyes off the road for a half second in shock. “Excuse me? Why do you think that?”

“I just told you!” Remus said, exasperated. “Snape was being a dick, so I punched him. I didn’t need your hero complex to swoop in and save the day.”

“Re, I didn’t even get a hand on him. Pots—”

“Oh, I’m pissed at him as well,” Remus snorted, staring out the passenger window at the blurry lights against the dark. “If someone calls me a whore, I’d rather get the message across that they can’t do it again.”

“Would you rather have gotten a penalty?”

“Yes.”

“That is unbelievably selfish.”

Remus laughed without humor. “Y’know, it’s really funny that you’ve never had this conversation with Logan, the king of the penalty box. Is it because he’s not a delicate flower like me?”

“Wh—” Sirius clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Remus. I have never seen you as a—a delicate flower. For your information, I have chewed Logan out on multiple occasions.”

Remus gritted his teeth and trained his gaze firmly out the window. He heard Sirius sigh next to him and it took every ounce of willpower to keep his composure. The next ten minutes were dead silent and deeply uncomfortable, which was a rarity with them; even after losses, they would talk through the errors or try to lighten the mood.

Both of them closed their doors a little harder than necessary when they got to the house and Hattie trotted over hesitantly when they came inside. “Hey, Hatters,” Remus murmured, crouching down to her level and holding a hand out. She licked his cheek and let him bury his face in her thick fur—Sirius scratched her ears as he walked past. “Did you have a good time while we were out? Huh, baby girl?” He looked up and saw the tail end of Sirius’ eye roll. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sirius, it doesn’t work. I’m giving the dog a hug because I’m still pissed at you.”

“There is literally no good reason for you to be pissed at me!” Sirius finally said, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. “Holy shit, Re, I don’t even think you’re mad at me!”

“Oh, yeah? Then who am I mad at, oh great and wise captain?” Remus practically spat, shouldering past him into the kitchen and wrenching a cabinet open. “Please enlighten me.”

“I wish I knew!”

Remus slammed the bread down on the counter and glared at him. “Then maybe you should shut the fuck up if you don’t have anything to support your claim.”

“Acting like this is a goddamn debate club isn’t helping. Your lip is bleeding again.”

“Fuck.” Remus ripped a paper towel off the roll and dampened it, holding it to his lip with a wince. Sirius opened the freezer and dug around for a moment with another paper towel. “I don’t remember you getting hit.”

“This is for you, you stubborn fucker,” Sirius said as he walked over and pressed it gently to the side of Remus’ face. “Better?”

“…a bit.”

The tension on Sirius’ face began to fade; he just looked concerned as he pulled the ice away and checked the bruise. “Your eye might swell.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you actually want to talk now, or should we yell a little more?”

Remus sighed and felt his anger abate. He was beyond exhausted, and still upset, but having Sirius nearby was like balm on a burn. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going to make some sandwiches. Hold this.” Sirius tapped the ice towel and moved to the abandoned loaf, grabbing some peanut butter and jelly as he went.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

Sirius glanced over his shoulder and gave him a look. “I know you, Re. You’re not going to feel better unless you get some food, and neither will I.”

“I hate it when you’re reasonable.”

“No, you don’t.”

Remus’ lack of response was enough of an answer. The pain stretched to his forehead and he grimaced, prodding his lip cautiously. Sirius whistled for Hattie and spread the leftover peanut butter from the knife onto a clean spoon, holding it down for her to lick. A smile tugged the corner of Remus’ mouth. “Cute.”

“I can be cute on occasion.”

“You’re always cute.” There was a beat of quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“Not for interrupting the fight?”

“Nope.”

“That’s fair.” Something tickled at the back of Remus’ throat. “I fucking hate Snape.”

“Me, too.”

“Surprisingly enough, it feels pretty shitty to be called a whore. Who would’ve thought?”

Sirius turned and faced him, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes were soft. “You know that’s not true, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Remus. What he said wasn’t true. You have nothing to prove to anyone on the team, least of all to me. You earned that spot on the roster fair and square, and Snape’s just freaked out because there’s another player who could grind him into the dust without breaking a sweat.” He stepped closer and leaned on the counter next to Remus, leaving a few inches between them. “I don’t think you’re a whore, if that means anything.”

Remus laughed softly. “Of all the people out there, I think you’re the only one who could reliably make that assumption.”

Sirius didn’t smile. “You’re my best friend and also my fiancé. The sex is a great bonus, but my favorite part of being with you is just being with you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Remus muttered, though the sharp edges began to smooth in his gut. He closed the distance between them and laid his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you, too. Can I take a look at your lip?”

“Sure.” Remus peeled the towel away and Sirius bent slightly, poking the area around it. “Ouch.”

“That’ll probably take a week or so to heal. He got you good.”

Remus pouted. “No kisses for a week?”

Sirius did laugh that time, bright and sunny enough that Remus nearly made his lip bleed again with the answering smile. “I said nothing about no kisses.” Warm lips trailed from his unbruised cheekbone to the edge of his mouth, leaving tiny tingles in their wake.

“I really am sorry about what I said. You were right, I wasn’t angry with you, and I had no right to go off like that.”

Sirius shrugged. “It happens.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Then let’s agree to talk first, bite heads off later, okay?” He held his pinky out and Remus linked it with his own, kissing it quickly.

“Deal. Are the sandwiches done? I’m starving.”

Wordlessly, Sirius handed him a sandwich and hopped up to sit on the counter, scooting over to make room for Remus to join him. They ate quietly, swinging their legs as the calmness of the kitchen crept back in once more.

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

Witch x Witch Hunter AU

You’d be correct in guessing this is a new AU that I have come up with and I have zero idea what to title it yet! I just have to talk about it and that is why we’re doing a different WIP Wednesday this week.

To give a little history on this, I watched a review of a book that I haven’t read (Serpent & Dove) about 3 weeks ago. And it wasn’t until a week later (on my birthday actually) that I went to bed and randomly thought of a way to fix up the driving event of the book. From there my AU quickly spiraled into a novel-length story that I’m piecing together relatively quickly. This has been on my mind ever since I came up with it and I am obsessed with how it’s actually turning out. I am less obsessed with the fact that it will most certainly be 40+ chapters but what can you do about it? The story demands what it demands. I have written down half a notebook for this already and I have managed to get to the outline of chapter 18. I have solid ideas up to chapter 20 and a general sense of how the rest is going to go plus more emotional development of the characters as well as of their relationship.

To summarize briefly - Griffin is a witch who is looking to access Eraklyon’s top secret library/spell reserve. That leaves her having to face Valtor who is a witch hunter. Griffin is in for a nasty surprise when Valtor turns out to have much more powerful magic than she could have anticipated and Valtor is in for a nasty surprise when Griffin manages to stab him with his own blade. In the end of their fight, Valtor captures her and saves her life from the crowd gathering that would have torn her apart. Griffin is a prisoner to the Eraklyon crown and gets sentenced to death at the stake. However, she is offered a deal - marry Valtor to act as his cover for infiltrating the largest and most notorious witch coven and get to live another day. No one’s giving her any guarantees about her safety during the mission or her fate after her job is done and she has a secret she must protect at all costs. To top it all off, the royal family of Domino approaches her with the true agenda behind the mission and she is forced to reevaluate her own priorities and feelings on the public’s general attitude towards witches as well as her interactions with Valtor, who is struggling with the demons of his own past and present.

That was not entirely brief but I have only made it up to chapter 6-7 there. Here is a little sneak peak from chapter 8. Valtor has just informed of all the atrocities the Coven has committed and Griffin is being forced to acknowledge his disgust of witches. Or rather she’s looking for a way to avoid acknowledging it.

“Why would they do that and make everyone hate witches?” As if the general public needed more excuses to murder innocents. Covens were becoming a rarity when the most common safety precaution witches chose to take was solitude. To have the luxury of community and throw it away to make life harder for your own kind, for those witches out there who were on their own... Griffin herself was still worlds away for becoming so jaded by witches’ constant mistreatment that she’d stop caring for the people like herself.

“Because they don’t care about others. Including their own.” Valtor’s eyes had strayed from the memory of her retching over a poor’s girl agonizing death at the stake that should have been hers but there was a certain smugness to his gaze as it challenged her to prove him wrong.

“What if they’re being framed?” That was unlikely but she couldn’t lead a dialogue about nuanced moralities with his refusal to acknowledge the existence of morality in witches. She was having a hard time proving the loyalty between witches as a lone witch and he took her silence as support of his ludicrous notions.

“Why would anyone try to frame them?” Valtor was rather pushing to make her stumble than from honest interest in a continuing debate.

“To get rid of them.” Out of all people she would’ve thought he’d grasp the objective. “I told you - royals fear dark magic because it’s powerful.” Without the shackles that had been on her wrists or the chip in her neck that could blow up her magic Erendor and Samara’s crowns would have been nothing more but clay in her hands. She could have fashioned their demise with the snap of her fingers and the only person that could have stopped her was also forced to obey their will.

“It’s dangerous,” Valtor sounded like they’d put a whole new brain in him instead of just chipping him.

“You have it.” And he was a rare case of voluntary possession of magic. So many witches she’d met would have traded their magic for some peace and safety but he’d chosen to have it instead. He didn’t have the moral high ground to stand on.

“Which is how I know it. Negative emotions are a hazard to society in and of themselves. Add magic that is powered by them and we’re witnessing catastrophe after catastrophe caused by the coven you’re defending.” He wasn’t going to use her own points against her. He’d already stolen her life and her magic.

“If they weren’t necessary, they wouldn’t exist.” Dark magic wouldn’t exist either without purpose but his delusion was far too grand for that to reach through it.

“Are you telling me that I had to go through the...” Valtor swallowed, and then again - all the words he was discarding from fear, “pain I was put through?” He balled his fists and Griffin’s muscles tensed. He needed her alive, not necessarily untouched.

“That’s not what I meant.” How could she tell him he’d deserved to have his body defiled and his heart poisoned with hate? He’d brought on so much pain under the reign of his own. How could she stand to watch that cycle repeat over and over again? “I mean negative emotions in general, not in specific instances. In certain situations it is more appropriate to feel negative emotions. It wouldn’t be right not to feel sad over the loss of someone you care about.”

Valtor looked away again, his hands clasped together in his lap. Whatever he was holding in his white-knuckled grip on himself wasn’t good.

“You would want to be angry at something wrong,” Griffin licked her lips. Finding the similarities between the two of them wasn’t easier for her than it was for him. The song from their car ride was echoing in her head. Their favorite. “Without loneliness you’ll never know you want another’s presence. Fear tells you what you need to reshape to have a better life. Without any of that how can you be human?”

Valtor pounced off the bed, shoulders shaking as he turned his back on her like a wall he raised between them. “There was nothing humanly about Belladonna. She was a monster,” his voice was so low it dove below what she could hear every time he lost a grip on the trembling of it.

“Yes, a monster who happened to be a witch.” He hadn’t shown Griffin much humanity either. It only made him more human as he struggled with the weakness he’d forced her to endure as well. “Not all witches are like that. Haven’t you seen positive emotions in me, anything good at all?” Granted, she hadn’t had any reason to smile since she’d met him but that just made her more human, too, as she pushed through to find some sliver of happiness or at least something to hold on to.

Valtor whipped around, the motion so abrupt that Griffin’s stomach curled in a ball as she held her breath. He was going to crumble in pieces right there in the middle of their hotel room.

“That’s different,” Valtor croaked out, the words coming out as if he was chewing glass while he spoke just to shred them. His eyes were so wide his face had to have changed proportions permanently to accommodate his bewilderment.

“It is because you’ve never spent enough time with a witch to see anything but terror and aggression.” Griffin had to swallow tears. If not for him, then at least for the witches he’d tortured and killed just because of the evil he’d been raised with. “I am capable of all the same emotions that you feel and so are other witches. Maybe not all of them, but we’re not all evil either.” She’d caught him before he’d frozen in his own space of mind again. She had to keep him on that thin edge where she’d gotten him to meet her world. “Anyone who knows you’re a demon would think you’re an abomination, too. But you’re not, are you? You can feel something good.” Whatever sick pleasure or relief he got from murdering was not something she’d count even if it were the first thing coming to mind. But she’d seen him relax as he’d sat in the driver’s seat, had seen him tap his fingers on the steering wheel in tact with the music, had seen him radiate joy when he’d been in his element.

Valtor’s voice was hardly a whisper as his gaze burned into her eyes. “I don’t know. What does your book say?”

Griffin clutched at the pages to keep the book in her lap as she staggered. She’d pushed against the world telling her she was a monster but Valtor had only had the strength to free himself from his abuser, not from the darkness instilled in him as well. “What does your heart say?”

He gave her a soulless chuckle. “Which one? The one I ate or the one that was eaten?” His fingers twitched and closed into his shirt. He had to pry it out of his grip with his other hand to avoid tearing it off to reopen the scar on his chest. “I don’t think either one of them has felt anything good, ever.”

“There’s always a first time, right?” She was a first for him no matter what he said. Their marriage was just a cover but the blade in his hand had been real, and his murderous intent had been as tangible as the shackles on her wrists suppressing her magic. And he’d dropped it before she’d been any use for his mission.

Valtor didn’t say anything but his peace of mind was restored to let him sit back on the bed next to a witch he had to share it with.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #witch x witch hunter au #my wips #my fanfic #wip wednesday #excerpt #snippet #fanfic snippet

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

This Night (40s!Bucky Barnes x Hispanic!OFC)

Summary: When she saved a scrawny blond in a back alley, she would never have anticipated the ripple effects it would have. Nor how meeting someone with a pair of baby blue eyes and cocky smirk would draw her in, encouraging her that for one night, to taste revelry like she never had before.

This is my submission for @allaboardthereadingrailroad Marvel Diversity Challenge! My prompt was “a little danger never hurt”.

I am going to admit, I’m super nervous to post this. I’ve never written a person of color before and would be horrified to accidently offend someone. That being said, I also had so much fun writing this piece. I adore 40s Bucky and Steve, so I was excited to finally have the inspiration to write them.

Few notes:

-All translations are via google and what I can remember from university (if any of my Spanish is wrong, please please please someone tell me and i’ll correct it!)

-I threw in some 40s slang for fun, so that will be in italics.

-In the little research I did (again, someone please correct me if I am wrong), in the 40s there were not many Hispanic or Latino people living in NYC yet. So for my OFC and her family, they would very much stand out.

Warnings: a few swear words, some angst, sexual tension, topic of racial discrimination and inequality

Words: 8k (the story kept growing, i’m so sorry)

She clutched the parcel to her chest, trying to avoid the muddy puddles on the sidewalk. Mr. Hendricks would be furious with her if she got any mud on the packaging of the parcel. He always said it reflected his reputation.

Weaving through those walking down the busy Brooklyn sidewalk, she could feel the few glares and inaudible comments following in her wake. She tried to ignore it, knowing was not the first nor last time others judged her for her different skin tone. Though she doubted she would ever get used to it. One of her older brothers would try and cheer her up saying the white folks were jealous since they burned when in the sun too long while Spaniards became more beautiful. Without fail, she would smack him but end up laughing along.

Peeking at the address scrawled in precise handwriting, she surveyed the street names around. A sinking feeling in her gut confirmed her fear- she had somehow gotten lost.

“Mierda.” She hissed, turning around in a circle. Not just to try and relocate her whereabouts but on the off chance her mother happened to be behind her to whack her over the head for swearing.

Not wanting to be run over by a fellow pedestrian, she stepped off the sidewalk into an alley nearby while she tried to get her bearings. She brushed down the front of her workwear, dark blue, princess style dress with its Peter Pan collar, double pockets and pleated skirt. A glance at her tights showed a couple spots of mud she somehow managed to still get on her even though her kitten heels were still mostly clean. A miracle really.

It was only mid-afternoon but Mr. Hendricks hated when she returned late from delivering parcels. He was the best tailor in Brooklyn and practically thrived off that title. He employed her to help keep things organized, the shop looking nice and delivering parcels to their patrons. It was mindless work but that did not bother her. It was a job...and she was lucky to have one. Being from one of the few Hispanic families in the area was not a perk when trying to find work. She knew the only reason she even got this job was she willingly took half the pay he would have given to anyone else, she could sew well, and she was pretty.

A crash at the end of the alley drew her attention behind her. There was some hushed talking followed by another sound of something hitting the ground. Hard.

Logically, she knew she should walk away. She was already lost. Her mother frequently reminded her to not involve herself in other people's business, it would only get her in trouble. The problem was her curiosity was a near palpable thing, driving her forward, along with her independent streak the size of the Upper Bay. So when she heard what sounded like a smack and another crash, her feet started moving without a second thought.

She darted around a half brick wall to find herself at an "L" intersection. And at the end of both alleys, stood a tall man with a face like a bulldog and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, fists at his side. Below him lay a much smaller, blond man who was sprawled out on the dirty ground. The smaller man groaned, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He rolled onto his side, then slowly and painfully rose back onto his feet, his own fists in front of him in a poor imitation of a boxer.

"You think you somethin' special, huh?" The larger man jeered, a nasty smirk on his face. He leaned on his back foot, preparing to throw another punch.

The smaller man raised his fists but made no other move, prepared to take the hit and most likely go back down.

So, she decided to do something stupid.

"BILL!!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleys.

Both men froze, turning to look at her.

Tucking the parcel under her arm, she jogged over to the smaller man, uncaring now of the muddy puddles. "There you are, Bill. I've been so worried. You promised to show me where Mrs. Wilcox lives. I tried to find her myself but I got so lost." Ignoring the quizzical look from the blond man, she stood between the two men, meeting the eyes of the larger one. She twirled a strand of her long, black hair around her finger, nerves getting to her but she pressed on. "I'm so sorry for whatever trouble he has caused you. He won't bother you again. We have to go now; our boss will dock our wages if we aren't back soon."

The man trailed his eyes over her as if looking for a lie tattooed on her skin or dress. Finding nothing of interest, he stared hard at his victim for a long moment. She found herself holding her breath, silently praying her ruse worked.

Finally, he rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, his thick jowls still tense. "Keep ‘im away from me or next time his ass will end up in the hospital."

Slowly, she released her breath as she watched the bulldog of a man turn on his heel and stomp away, back down the alley and onto the main sidewalk.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, looking over the smaller man. As he dusted off his brown trousers and tan jacket, she was surprised to realize he stood about her height, and probably about her age, in the young twenties. If her guessing was any good.

He rubbed his jaw again and winced where an impressive bruise was already growing. "I've had worse."

She could not help but smile at his nonchalance. His bright blue eyes met her own honey brown. A timid smile echoed hers, his face so open and expressive. Something about the man she found endearing already. Maybe defending him was not such a stupid action.

"All that stuff you said, about lookin' for me and gettin' lost…"

She huffed a laugh. "I am actually lost. I'm trying to find this address here." She showed him the scrap of paper with the address scribbled on it.

It took only a glance before he handed the paper back with a smile. "You're not too far. Only three streets away….I... I can take you there if you like."

"Oh, I'd hate to impose on you."

"No, it's really fine. Seems you saved me from...well…" He shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket.

"And... you...don't mind, you know, being seen with me?"

"No, why?" Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed slightly, he stared at her like that was the strangest question.

It was in that moment she knew, whoever this scrawny man was- he was a good man. The difference in their ethnicity made no difference to him. He was a rarity in her experience with most New Yorkers.

Even though it was 1940 and this was supposed to be a land of equal opportunity.

It was not.

With a shrug and momentarily, awkward silence as they both thought about their own answers to his question, they fell into step with one another as they headed back out of the alley.

"So, what's your name? Or is it actually Bill?" She spoke up once they hit the sidewalk.

"Do I look like a Bill?"

She squinted her eyes then shook her head giggling. "No, you don't."

"It's Steve…. Steve Rogers."

"It's nice to meet you, Steve."

He directed them down another street. Their shoulders brushed occasionally as they walked, due more to their need to maneuver around puddles and other pedestrians than any sense of intimacy. "You gonna tell me your name or do I have to make one up for you?"

"Oh! Sorry. It's Elana Morales-Díaz. So, what caused the fight?"

The tips of his ears and cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head. "He, um, we...we had a disagreement."

"Obviously. I would hate to know you're friends and beat each other up for fun."

"My best friend is a boxer. He's tryin’ to teach me some moves…. does that count as beating each other up?"

She pretended to think about it. "I may let that one slide but it sounds like you might need some new friends."

"Yeah," he chuckled and peeked over at her. "Know of any openings?"

"I just might."

They stood at an intersection waiting to cross the street when they heard a shout from further down the road. Neither paid much attention initially until the shout repeated itself.

"STEVE!"

The blond looked down the road, a smile on his lips. He waved and tugged on Elana to move away from the curb. She followed along, surprised since he told her they needed to cross.

A man glided through the pedestrians easily, a few lingering looks thrown his way by some of the women. When he noticed her standing next to Steve, his eyes widened for a brief moment before a lazy smirk appeared on his face and his strut became more pronounced. With boxing gloves dangling over his shoulder, his white shirt and black trousers, he looked like he just walked out of a gym. Especially with the way his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze, a few strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it a few times.

"I leave you for one afternoon and I come back to find you with the prettiest gal in all of New York."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're always at the gym now."

The man put Steve in a teasing headlock. Only after a flirtatious wink at her, he released the smaller man. "So, you gonna introduce me to this wolfess, Steve?"

"Ah, right. Elana, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Elana."

"Nice to meet you." She said, a small smile at their interactions. It reminded her of her brothers.

The man -Bucky- reached over and took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Pleasure is mine."

Oh, he was a charmer. The kind her mother warned her about. Then again, her father had the same devilish charisma and Elana liked to remind her mother of that. To which her mother would laugh and say that's why she warned her daughter of those men, she knew from experience. With just a wink and kiss, she would fall madly in love, leave her home and give him five babies before she even knew it. It was always after this statement often said loudly and with feigned annoyance that Elana's father would wrap his arms around his wife, lovingly kiss her temple and remind her how long he had to chase her before she even agreed to go on a date with him.

"So how do you guys know each other?" Bucky asked, those blue eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Steve coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then Bucky finally seemed to notice the slowly darkening bruise on Steve's jaw.

"Steve!" He grabbed his friend's face and glanced over him, concern etched in his movements and expression. "What happened this time, punk?"

"Nothin'...just a disagreement. I had 'im on the ropes."

He dropped his hand, running it through his brunet hair. "You gotta stop pickin’ fights, one of these days…" The implications hung heavily in the air.

"Ah, Steve…" When he looked over at her, she nodded toward the parcel still in her arms.

"Oh right! Sorry. Buck, I gotta take her to drop somethin' off."

Bucky shrugged. "Lead the way, punk."

"Jerk."

The three of them quickly crossed the street. Steve, and soon Bucky when he understood what was going on, pointed out markers for her in case she got lost again. In a short time, they arrived at the house, one of the nicer ones in Brooklyn. The boys waited on the sidewalk as Elana walked up to the front door and handed the parcel over with the man's tailored suit.

"Where you off to now, doll?" Bucky asked when she approached them.

"Oh, I need to get back to the shop. Mr. Hendricks will most likely be upset with how late I am anyway."

"The tailorin’ shop near Prospect Park?"

"Yeah." She played with a strand of her hair, trying to hide her nerves.

"What a coincidence. We were headed that way ourselves, right, Steve?"

"What?" Steve looked at Bucky, head tilted in confusion. Bucky cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Um, gonna take a nice walk in the park."

Elana could not help but giggle at the two. With Bucky looking skyward like he was silently praying for patience to deal with his best friend; meanwhile Steve rubbed the back of his head and glared at his best friend. Although she just met them and hardly knew them, she found herself enjoying their presence. Friends were not something she had in great supply...or any supply really.

Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she found her gaze drifting to the tall, charming brunet more times than she cared to admit. The butterflies in her stomach did not help the situation. She knew it was foolish. He was attractive and knew it. But when he turned those baby blues on her and winked, she could not help but be drawn to him, like a moth to the flame.

"How come we ain't seen you round before? I know I'd remember a dame as beautiful as you round Brooklyn." Bucky said on her left side while Steve walked on her right. Neither one crowded her space. Sometimes one would touch a hand to her back to direct her steps or hold her elbow when she jumped a puddle. It was sweet instead of condescending.

She shrugged. "I recently got the job at the tailor shop and I live in Queens."

They both winced making her laugh. She would never understand this animosity the boroughs had with each other.

"Well that explains a lot." Steve muttered.

"Hey!" She nudged the blond with her shoulder as she muttered. "Me gusta Queens. Ustedes dos están celosos."

"What language is that?" Steve asked, curiosity evident.

"Spanish."

"Is that why you have an accent?"

She nodded, unable to meet their gazes as she answered. "My family moved here from Spain when I was six." Although she had grown up here in New York City, gone to school just like the other kids, she still maintained a slight accent to her words, different from the stereotypical New Yorker's accent.

"Say somethin’ else." Bucky smiled down at her.

She laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Anythin’."

"El cielo es azul. Me duelen los pies con estos tacones. Me he reído más con ustedes dos que en semanas".

Bucky had almost a dazed look on his face. "That's beautiful."

"You have no idea what I said."

"Doesn't matter." The brunet stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Steve can talk in Irish."

"Buck…"

"What?"

"I mean, a little." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My ma came from Ireland."

Bucky snorted. "You wrote a poem for a girl in the second grade in Irish and read it to her on the playground. I'd say that's more than a little."

Steve's face was red and jaw dropped as he stared at his friend. "How...how...how do you know that?" He sputtered. "We weren't even friends yet."

Bucky winked at Elana as he answered. "Gotta be friends with the right people."

The three of them walked back, talking and laughing. Well it was mostly the boys talking and teasing one another but she enjoyed just listening to their banter. Occasionally they would direct a question to her or she would throw out a remark that had them laughing.

She guided them to the back alley of the street front shops. Mr. Hendricks disliked her walking through the front unless she had her work apron on and clean shoes.

"Well thank you for helping me and walking me back."

"It's not a big deal." Steve said.

"We'll see you round, yeah? I'd hate to just meet a gorgeous dame like you then never see her again." Bucky threw a wink at her, adjusting the boxing gloves still over his shoulder.

She opened her mouth to tease them then stopped. She truly hoped this was not the last time she saw these two. In a spur of the moment decision, she stepped closer to say goodbye. She pressed her cheeks to Steve's first, giving the traditional cheek kiss. She did the same to Bucky, though she had to rise on her toes to reach his face, and she suspected he bent over slightly.

"Hasta luego, mis amigos."

"What was that, doll?"

She looked from Bucky's smirk to Steve's red face and back. "A traditional goodbye."

"Mmm…I could get used to that." The boxer teased, nudging his friend who refused to meet her eyes now.

She smiled and started to open the back door when Bucky's hand grabbed her forearm, stalling her movements.

"Hey, wait." Those baby blue eyes met her honey brown ones. "It's Friday night. We usually go to the Stork Club for drinks and dancin’. Come with us."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Come on. It'll be great. If it helps, we'll pick you up from your house."

She could not help the laugh that slipped out at the thought. "You'd come to Queens... to get me?"

"It might break my heart to leave my beloved Brooklyn but I'd do it for you, doll."

"Honestly it'd be dangerous for you to come to my house."

"A little danger never hurt." He brushed some of her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

He was trouble, complete trouble for her...and she knew it. But the longer he stared at her with those pleading eyes and hand now at the nape of her neck, she could feel her resolve crumbling. "I have three brothers and a protective father."

"They can't be that bad… Come on, please? Steve, help me out!"

Steve just laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

She bit the inside of her cheek thinking about it. Her brother Mateo owed her for when she covered for him when he almost got caught smoking cigarettes behind the apartment building. Tonight, her parents were supposed to visit her eldest brother and his new wife in the Bronx.

"Ok…" She whispered.

"Yeah?" A beaming grin spread over his face.

"Ok...I'll meet you there though."

"Yes!" Bucky bent over and kissed her cheek loudly. "You won't regret it! Nine o'clock!"

"Nueve. Estaré allí."

"I still don't know what you said, doll, but I love it."

She laughed, pushing him away from her. "Go! Before I'm even more late."

Before they were three steps away, she ducked inside the back of the shop. Hopefully she was able to slip in unnoticed. The shop should be closing soon so Mr. Hendricks would be in his little office room.

She leaned against the back door, hands pressed against her cheeks to will away the warmth in them. Thankfully with her brown skin, the blush would be harder to notice. As she stood there, the realization of what she just agreed to finally hit her. An icy fist landed in her gut, drowning the blush away. She had never been to a club before. She had no idea what to wear...or how to act. How was she even going to get there?

Underneath the fear though was a determination to go. Why couldn't she have fun for one night, like other young women she regularly saw and envied. Both of those Brooklyn boys seemed nice. Thinking about them brought the flush back to her skin, especially when she thought of the kiss on the cheek from Bucky. He was trouble and fun and charming and devilish and… and she wanted to spend more time with him. And Steve, the sweet, kind, funny guy that he was. She liked them both. But when thinking about those baby blue eyes, insufferable smirk and broad shoulders...her heartbeat sped up and butterflies erupted in her belly.

"Oh Dios, ¿qué voy a hacer?" She whispered to herself.

*****

Just after nine o'clock, Elana climbed out of the taxi. She stared up at the sign that brightly screamed ‘Stork Club’. So many people milled about, either walking into the club or chatting, waiting for others in their group. A couple people already looked like they had been hitting the bottles for some time, if the rambunctious yelling and obnoxious laughter said anything. The atmosphere was loud and vibrant with an air of debauchery...and she had not even stepped foot in the door.

"Oh Dios, ¿por qué estoy aquí? Estúpido. Tan estúpido. Debería irme. Ni siquiera se darán cuenta." She murmured to herself, her hands wringing the strap on her clutch. Actually, it was not even hers. She "borrowed" it from her mother's closet and prayed that she could return it before her mother noticed.

"Elana!"

At the call of her name, she turned around to see Bucky and Steve crossing the street, dodging a car that decided they were taking too long.

"You made it!" Bucky exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. He scanned her over, giving a low whistle. "Damn, doll, you look beautiful."

"Gracias." She smoothed down her floral-patterned tea dress that reached mid-calf, her kitten heels still on from earlier. Her raven hair hung loosely down her back, unstyled in the typical curls that most women wore. There had been no time to try one of those hair styles and not bring attention to herself before she snuck out. Just to make her even more self-conscious, the cherry red lipstick she wore felt heavy on her lips. Something she only wore on rare occasions. "You fellas clean up nicely."

Checking over them, they each wore nice suits. Though Steve's looked a size or two too large and the prominent bruise on his cheek ruined the look a bit. Bucky was practically sinful in his suit, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs, his hair slicked back. Improper thoughts flooded her mind and a heat warmed her cheeks. She had a feeling she would need to go to confession tomorrow. That was tomorrow’s worry though, tonight was about fun.

"Ready to have the time of your life?" Bucky asked, excitement practically bubbled under his skin.

"That's a high standard."

"Guess I better not disappoint. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the crowded, open door. In her sudden fear, she reached back and snagged Steve's hand, dragging him along. She would never admit it but having both of them on either side of her made her feel better.

There were several different calls for Bucky, vying for his attention. He just waved or yelled something back but kept her hand in his, pulling them through. She noticed more than one disappointed female face when Bucky passed them. It churned something in her stomach which she tried to ignore.

When they finally entered the dance hall, she froze. It was nothing like she imagined and so much better. At the far end was a stage with a large band playing an upbeat song that made her bounce on her toes without realizing it. A large bar area was set up, packed with people already looking for something to wet their throats. Booths and tables lined the walls. Already the hardwood, dance floor looked packed with couples jiving. Mirrors and photographs hung on the walls making the place feel bigger even when it was so crowded. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and a youthful zeal she had never experienced.

It was intoxicating and nerve-wracking. She could not wait to join in.

The next thing she noticed when she glanced at all the people...she was the only non-white person there.

"Let's get a table." Bucky tugged them along towards an open booth on the right side of the dance floor.

She slid in on one side while Steve scooted in on the other. Bucky stood at the end, grinning ear to ear as he seemed to quickly survey the place.

"Right." He tossed his suit jacket on the seat next to her then clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the volume from the band nearby. "What kinda drink would you like?"

"Ah, vino?"

He nodded and waltzed towards the bar, throwing an arm around the shoulder of one of the men standing there waiting.

She turned back to the blond. "You're not drinking?"

"Nah, too many health issues to make it worth it."

She hummed and took note of Steve's fidgeting. "Is this your first time too?"

He chuckled. "No. I just don't...well, this isn't where I'd prefer to be on a Friday night...but don't tell Bucky... though he probably knows."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Drawin’ or paintin’, maybe playin’ cards but I'm terrible at them."

"You're an artist?" The realization warmed her heart. This scrawny man with a heart too big for his body and kindness an invisible cloak around him. It made sense somehow. He could look past the ugly and see beauty and somehow capture it.

"I don't know if I'd say that...I just enjoy it. It's usually what I end up doin’ when I come here. Doodlin’ on a napkin while Buck dances with every girl he can."

Her stomach dropped while hearing that, which was stupid. So stupid. She swallowed thickly, hoping Steve did not notice, before she spoke again to distract herself. "Well if you doodle something tonight, can I see it after?"

"If you like."

Bucky appeared a minute later with a foamy glass of beer and a glass of red wine. Carefully, he placed them both on the table. "Ready to cut a rug?" He asked, looking at her expectedly.

"Um, I don't...I've never danced like this before." She hesitantly admitted. Steve gave her a sympathetic smile like he understood.

"Don't matter. I bet you're a swell dancer." He held out his hand for her. When she did not immediately accept his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, ain't that hard. I'll teach you."

With a sigh, she took his hand, his smile beaming as he tugged her out of the booth. She could not help but smile back at his sheer enthusiasm. It was contagious.

He led her off to the side of the dance floor. Putting one hand on her lower back and taking the other in his hand, he began demonstrating the steps. Her eyes stayed glued to his feet while he moved, willing her brain to understand and not make a fool of her.

"You got this, doll. Told you, you're a natural. Just follow my movement, let me lead."

So she did and before she knew it, they were flying around the dance floor.

Bucky was an amazing dancer and it showed in how he effortlessly led her. A couple times she stumbled or stepped on his toes but he would just grin and encourage her to keep going. The faces of those around them blurred. The music seemed to sink into her blood and with every beat of the drum or clap of the hands from the band, her heartbeat echoed it. It was intoxicating and she had not even had a sip of alcohol. Now she understood why people flocked to these dance halls. There was something freeing in them, losing yourself to the music and movements. For a short time, you could ignore the outside world and all its trials. Here, you could be free.

Eventually she begged a break, practically panting from the several songs they danced through. The brightness in her eyes and smile though showed how much fun she was having. Still holding hands, they weaved through the crowd back to their booth where Steve sat with a napkin in front of him, pencil in hand and eyes focused downward. She slid into the booth first, Bucky right behind her.

"Have fun?" Steve asked, eyes bouncing between the two before him.

"I can't breathe." She giggled out, hand pressed to her chest. Her lungs struggled to fill up properly but instead of installing fear into her, it only made her laugh.

Bucky took a long sip of his beer and slung his arm behind Elana, on the back of the booth. "Told you, you'd have fun. You're a great dancer."

"Only cause I had a great teacher." Taking a sip of her wine, she focused on the quiet artist. "Did you draw something, Steve?"

"Yeah, just a little sketch."

"Can I see it?"

He slid the napkin over to her, nerves obvious. Giving him a small, reassuring smile, she flipped the napkin over and felt her heart stop and jaw drop. The pencil sketch was of Bucky and her dancing. His mouth was next to her ear, whispering instructions or flirtatious comments, his hand on her lower back. Her gaze was on his chest but the brilliant smile on her lips gave her away. The sketch was so realistic, it was astounding. It completely captured Bucky's confidence and her nervousness but somehow the opposite emotions only added to the image, bringing a sense of balance and trust between the two dancing partners.

"Steve, esto es…. hermoso…. increíble." She breathed out, never taking her eyes off the napkin. When she finally looked up to see him blushing and fiddling with the pencil, she smiled.

Bucky had been leaning against her so he could see the sketch also. "That might be your best one yet, pal."

"Thanks, guys. S'nothing."

"May I keep it?" She softly asked, eyes tracing the delicate lines and shading.

The embarrassed blond flapped a hand at her. "Course. It was for you if you wanted it anyway."

Silently, she reached across and squeezed Steve's hand, unable to convey all the emotions she was feeling. "There's one thing you got wrong."

"What's that?"

"I'm not that pretty."

Both Steve and Bucky chuckled.

"Elana," Bucky started, gazing down at her. "He drew you like-"

"Bucky!" A silky voice interrupted. A young woman stood at the end of their booth. Her blonde hair in perfect curls, bright red lipstick matched the equally bright red dress she wore. Her eyes zeroed in on the handsome brunet at the table, ignoring the other two patrons like they were just wallpaper. "Wanna dance?"

The sun-kissed woman could feel Bucky's hesitation. Nudging him gently in the ribs, she nodded towards the interloper. "Go. Have fun. I still need to catch my breath."

With a nod, he slipped out of the booth and followed the beautiful woman onto the dance floor. The two easily fell into step like they had done this a million times, each movement flawless and smiles on both of their faces.

She turned back to Steve, ignoring the churning in her gut. "What's your favorite thing to draw?"

They talked for a few minutes about art classes he had taken and the few commissioned pieces he had done for local businesses. The passion he spoke with about art, hands flapping and eyes alight, it was impossible not to join in his enthusiasm.

The presence of someone standing at the end of the table drew their attention away from the quick sketch of a monkey Steve had drawn on another napkin. This young woman had a haughty expression on her otherwise pretty face, glaring down her nose at Elana.

"You shouldn't be here." She stated, venom lacing every word. Hands on her curvy hips, the gold stitching in her emerald dress catching the light from above.

"Ruby, we-"

"No one is talkin’ to you, Steve." She barked then continued glaring at Elana. "I bet you're a real floozy, comin’ in here lookin’ like that. Well news flash, no one wants you or your kind here."

Tears stung in Elana’s eyes, threatening to fall. She knew this would happen. It always happened. There was always someone to remind her she was not one of them, even if her own eyes could see it. She had hoped tonight would be different. That for once, she could fit in.

"I want her here. She's my date."

The lady -Ruby- spun on her heel so quick, her dress flared out. "Bucky," she crooned, her voice sugary-sweet, so different than a moment ago. "You're lookin' like a real Fred Astaire out there tonight. Let's go-"

Bucky did not even look her way as he slid back onto the bench, eyes focused on Elana. "You alright there, doll?"

She nodded numbly, staring at the table. Twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly around her finger, she tried to force the tears from falling. It was not even the worst insult she had heard hurled at her, but it still cut her to the quick. Every time.

"Why don't we head out, yeah? Steve there looks like he's gettin' a little warm and the music ain't so good tonight." Bucky said gently.

She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Bucky, stay…" Ruby tried one last time but he leveled a glare at her that made her take a step back.

"Take a powder, Ruby, I ain't interested."

Bucky wrapped his hand around Elana's, entwining their fingers as he slid out of the booth with her right behind him. Without even a backwards glance, he led the three of them out of the dance hall. Elana kept her head down the whole time, unable to meet anyone's eyes for fear of what she would see.

The night air was blissfully cool after the heat of the dance hall. It kissed her skin as if trying to help calm her down. At this point, the street was not as busy, everyone mostly inside now. Only a few pedestrians and cars interrupted the quiet scene.

"Elana, I'm so sorry."

"Debería irme. No debería haber venido. Soy tan estúpida." She muttered to herself, not even hearing Bucky's statement. It was a foolish idea to come out. For so long she had tried to fit in, especially as a child. Her mother always told her to be herself and embrace her difference. That was easier said than done. Tonight felt like a taste of it when she was on the dance floor. What things could have been like if everyone was accepted. If where she was from did not matter. She had been so happy dancing with Bucky, this handsome devil who treated her like she was special, holding her hand in front of everyone. Sure, Steve said he danced with a lot of girls but for tonight, she was someone while on his arm. She was someone special.

And oh, did she love the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. Him holding her close as they danced, his warm breath hitting her neck just right. He was trouble, through and through. Her mother would call him a Casanova and tell her to run the other way. Yet she did not want to. He drew something out of her. An almost recklessness. A desire for more. More in life. To experience life with a passion. Both this new feeling and Bucky’s presence were addicting...and she found herself unable to turn away. At least not for tonight. She wanted to revel in it tonight.

It was not until a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet a pair of worried baby blue eyes that she was jolted from her internal spiral.

"Hey, hey. I have no idea what you're sayin' but it don't sound good. Why don't we walk for a bit, mmm? The night's still young."

Wordlessly, she followed. It was then she noticed Bucky was still holding her hand, palms flat against one another's. That realization drew a small smile on her lips. On her other side walked Steve, hands in his pockets but a genuine smile on his face when he caught her eye. Even after all this, these two Brooklyn boys wanted to be with her. With that in mind, she shoved her despair and pain away. Let tomorrow bring what worries that came with it. Tonight she wanted to be reckless without fear of the consequences. Tonight was supposed to be fun.

"Can't believe Ruby would say that. Always thought she was a nice dame." The brunet mused, slipping his suit jacket back on before taking Elana's hand once again.

"She only showed what she wanted you to see, Buck."

"Dance with a girl a couple times and she thinks you owe her or somethin'."

The blond quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Was it only dancin'?"

"What you gettin' at, Rogers?"

"You ditched some other girl for her once before."

His head swiveled to stare at the smaller man in shock. "I did?"

Elana spoke up. "Sounds like you have quite the selection of dance partners to choose from."

Steve snorted. "Guy has been doll-dizzy since he was twelve."

"What can I say? I appreciate fine art." Bucky said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Don't usually lock lips with paintings or statues…"

"You know what, Rogers!"

Elana laughed as Bucky let go of her hand to race around her and put Steve in a headlock. The two pretended to box for a couple minutes, grins on both their faces. When finished, the champion boxer slid up to her, a rakish smile teasing his lips as he claimed her hand back.

"Well if those gals are fine art, you sweetheart, are a masterpiece." He twirled her around once, making her dress flare out around her legs. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Yes, Bucky."

"Good, I'd hate for you to forget." He winked and the trio started walking again.

"Oh, here." Steve suddenly said, fishing something out of his pocket. He held out his hand almost shyly.

She took the offered item to see it was the napkin with the sketch on it. "Oh, Steve. Muchas gracias." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain behind. "Oops."

"Here." Bucky tossed over a handkerchief to Steve.

She glanced at the napkin one more time before reverently placing it in her clutch. She already knew where she was going to put this in her room so she would always remember this night.

"Oh drat." Steve said after glancing at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I have class early tomorrow."

"Go on, punk. I'll look after her."

Elana hugged Steve and was thrilled when he squeezed her back just as tightly. "I'm so happy to have met you."

"This isn't goodbye, right?"

"I hope not. You have more artwork to show me."

He blushed yet nodded before giving Bucky a quick hug.

"Night, Steve."

"Night, jerk."

Together, they watched Steve walk down the sidewalk, wave back at them then disappear down the next street.

"Wanna keep walkin'?"

She nodded. She knew she should go home. It was getting late and she still had to get back to Queens. Yet walking side by side with this man whom she had only met several hours ago, she found the idea abhorrent. Glancing up at the night sky, only a couple of the stars were visible through the smoke, clouds and street lamps. They were lovely though, a reminder that there were greater things out there, one just had to look for them. At least, that is what her father always said.

"Hey," Bucky's voice pulled her attention back, "I never got to say it earlier but thanks...for havin’ Steve's back earlier today. Punk doesn't know when to quit."

"I'm glad he got in that fight...is that odd? If he didn't, I wouldn’t have met either one of you."

"Alright, this ONE time I'm glad he got in a fight. Though, we probably would have ran into each other eventually."

They walked in comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Two cars passed them separately and only a handful of people walked their way. Otherwise it almost felt like they were alone. It was peaceful, still holding hands and wandering the streets of Brooklyn.

"Y'know, I was kinda hopin' we'd get at least one slow song at the dance hall."

"Me too." She confessed.

"Well, we should!" An idea sparked in his eyes. "Wait here." He moved over to one of the parked cars near them. He tried to open it but it was locked so he moved to the next one. This one opened without hesitation and he slid in. The whole time Elana switched between watching Bucky and scanning the streets for someone to yell at them. What was he thinking? Suddenly music came on, drifting from the radio through the open passenger door.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the car with the biggest grin on his smug face. "Who needs a dance hall?"

She laughed, understanding what he had done. "We’re going to get in trouble."

"No, we ain't. C'mon."

"Oh, Dios mío, yes we are!"

"Dance with me." He cooed, standing before her looking like an Adonis.

With that lazy smirk and enthralling blue eyes staring down at her, refusal was not an option. The words died on her tongue as she stared up at him. The music was slow, a singer crooning about his love. The moment felt like something from a fairytale story her mother would tell her as a little girl. She knew she should go home. Stop this heat that seared through her when she found herself caught in his eyes. Stop the butterflies in her stomach when around him. Stop the way she melted under his touch, his hands always so gentle.

But she wanted this. Right now. To pretend this was her reality. To dance with her prince under the stars. That love did not care about the differences in their skin tones. For when the sun rose and this dream faded, reality would seep back in. Plus, he was a charmer. Doll-dizzy. She would not keep his attention past this night.

For now though, she could pretend. Enjoy the night in a way she never had before.

He placed her hands behind his neck and his on her hips. Standing there under the streetlight and distant starlight, they danced, swaying back and forth. Her head landed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath it. So steady and soothing. The world faded away around them, the only things that mattered was their dancing and the music. It wrapped around them like a warm, thick blanket. Enveloping them in a sense of security and vitality. One of his hands slowly traced her spine leaving a trail of fire behind. His cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt safe...and wanted. A heady feeling that she could sense herself beginning to crave even more. Her hand tangled in the hair, her fingers lightly scraping the back of his neck.

"Say something in Spanish." He whispered, his lips against her scalp.

"Gracias por esto ... todo esto. Ha sido la mejor noche de mi vida".

She looked back up at him, hoping to convey without words what she said. As she lifted her head up, their eyes locked. Tension filled the empty space around them, pulling them closer. For a split second, his eyes drifted to her lips and back up. Her heartbeat began racing anew. Slowly, as if waiting for her to turn away, his head tilted towards hers, his hands gripping her just a little tighter. His breath fanned across her face, warming her inside and out. She swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest. His nose brushed hers, an almost timid action that drew a smile from her. He chuckled silently then somehow pulled her even closer. She closed her eyes, a gasp escaping her when she felt the faintest touch of his lips on the corner of her mouth.

"Hey! Hey, you kids! What ya doin’ with my car?!"

All the tension evaporated like rain drops under the scorching sun.

"Shit...c'mon!" He grabbed her hand and started running away. Holding on tight, she ran next to him, as well as she could while wearing heels. The yells of the car's owner soon a distant sound behind them.

Finally, they stopped two streets later. He let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair and pacing. She leaned against the brick wall, hand over her mouth, giggles spilling forth between gasps of air. Never in her life had she done anything like this. She closed her eyes as the giggles turned into full-body laughter. One hand covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her own waist to try and contain the sound. This night was nothing like she expected but it only seemed to get better and better. This newfound revelry of youthful zeal, this silly recklessness...she wanted more and more of it.

When the laughter dissolved into small chuckles, she wiped her eyes as she opened them, hoping her make-up had not smudged too much. Not that she particularly cared in the moment.

What she saw standing before her killed the laughter on her tongue.

Bucky stood just at arm's length, staring at her like she was the stars in the heavens.

In a single step, he crowded her against the brick wall. "Elana…" he growled, voice low, and it might have been the most exhilarating sound she had ever heard. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, their lips just pressed together. A soft pressure that made her melt into his arms.

He leaned back to press his forehead against hers. His breath just as shaky as hers, both still breathing hard from their run.

"That was my first kiss." She blurted out, immediately regretting the words once they escaped.

He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Really?"

She shrugged nervously. "Not many fellas lining up to kiss a girl like me."

"Their loss, doll face." He smirked, running a thumb over her bottom lip. "May I have the honor of your second kiss ever?"

She giggled and nodded.

This time when their lips touched, it felt like more. The first was like licking the spoon used after mixing cookie dough. A taste of what was to come. The second kiss was eating warm cookies right out of the oven and practically ascending to heaven.

His lips slanted over hers perfectly, as if they were formed just for her. Their mouths moved in tandem, picking up speed. No longer were the kisses sweet and gentle. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she willingly opened her mouth to receive it like a present. These kisses were all-consuming and fiery. It was as if his touch seared into her soul, leaving an imprint there for all eternity.

She knew right away when she met Bucky Barnes, he was trouble. He was the kind of man her mother warned her about. The kind to sweep her off her feet and make her forget the world around her. He was kind, charming and so full of life. Yet she knew even as she was wrapped in his arms, lips pressed against his, that there was one truth that would haunt her. Even if she ignored it for now. That truth would never leave. So she overlooked it, sinking deeper and deeper into his kisses and embrace. Drowning herself in him. With her back pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and mouths devouring one another, she had never felt more alive.

Tonight, she would choose the fire he poured into her. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy life without fear. Tonight, she wanted to pretend that this night would never end. To thrive in this feeling of passion and life, that nothing could go wrong.

For the truth was one day, he was bound to break her heart.

#marveldiversitychallenge #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky/ofc #bucky fic #Steve Rogers #Hispanic!ofc #POC character #40s!steve #40s!bucky #40s!#1940s #mzwrites

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years

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title: tongue tip trip

➳ pairing: harry styles x reader, best friends to lovers trope but a bit different.

➳ summary: Harry eats edibles and you come to the rescue...despite almost four months of no talking and zero communication.

➳ warnings: Harry eats edibles, swearing and some fluff, it’s also fan fiction so its ✨unrealistic✨ okay, also its 1AM I wanna sleep

➳ a/n: I love this one tbh. but please don’t do drugs children

Jeff hardly ever called you. Even when Harry and you had still be close, him calling you was a rarity. But when he then did, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried at the sign of his user ID flashing up on your phone. This time was no exception, but besides worry there was also surprise and a whole bunch of uncomfortable memories and unsaid words. You hadn't heard from him (or Harry) in weeks. Sure, Jeff and you still sometimes texted a bit, you also were still in good contact with Claire and especially Mitch and you still got along. Harry and you...well, that was a different and longer story.

Harry and you used to be very close friends. Means, helping him what socks to choose before performing-close friends. You had met a year in Harry going solo, you a simple assistant engineer and him the highly praised Popstar. The two of you had quickly bonded over a few glasses of chilled white wine in the humid air of Jamaica and soon your friendship blossomed in the most beautiful ways. Well it did until you, obviously, started to feel a bit more for the singer. Now, that alone wasn't a problem itself, the fact that Harry knew (you had told him after a few weeks of awkward suffering) wasn't either. The problem was that Harry acted like a dick to anyone you brought around, up to the point where you seemingly couldn't ever date again. Of course Harry wasn't a straight up asshole to them, he still had a reputation to maintain, but he knew how to get under their skin. Just toying with their self-confidence and subtly making them feel like the biggest losers. Oh and, the absolute worst part, all whilst having a girlfriend himself. Which eliminated the possibility of him having feeling for you as a reason why he acted like a jerk. And that angered you more and more and it all escalated in a big, nasty and hurtful fight, around four - five months ago. Since then you hadn't talked, texted or seen each other.

It had been a big change of habit not to get up and first check the phone for messages of him, or simply FaceTime him to check up on his schedule. No spending time at cafes or at the studios with him and the rest of the team. Lucky thing you had other jobs running, on other albums and in other studios around Malibu than his.

He was currently recording music at the Shangri-La studios in Malibu, maybe ten minutes from your flat by car. Which had been described as a "lucky and obviously unplanned extra" by Harry himself, followed by a cheeky grin. You had just rolled your eyes, but secretly happy that he had cared about you being near during his writing process. But now it only left a sour aftertaste in your mouth.

With a sigh you pulled the key out of the ignition and picked up the phone. You figured you could also wait in the parking lot for a few more minutes.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart? Jeff's here..." you hummed softly, leaning back.

"Hello there Jeff. Everything alright?" you could hear him cough slightly, before he answered with a weird lilt to his tone. He sounded somewhat stressed out. "Yeah, everything's fine...how have you been?" you shrugged lightly, inspecting your nails.

"Fine. Working and stuff. I guess same for you?" he was quick to agree, again with that weird cough.

"Everything okay Jeff? Something happened?" you finally asked, tired of his obvious tip toeing around the real issue. He knew that you weren't so stupid to believe that Jeff had just called you to check up on you at five in the afternoon.

"Well not...quite. I - uh...it's because of Harry. Now, listen, I know the two of you did not part in like, the best ways but..." you couldn't help but close your eyes with a slight wince, "...but you've got to believe me, it's an emergency, kinda." You just sighed.

"Kinda?" he hummed, saying nothing for a few seconds. "Do I need to talk to him?" you asked into the silence. Jeff was quick to say no however. "Uh...rather not, actually." You blinked surprised.

"Rather not? Is he drunk?" not that this would be a first, Harry being drunk caller by nature. If he was lucky he then would find himself calling someone like Paul, his old bodyguard, few months ago maybe you, just not one of his exes or someone else you probably shouldn't call anyways – especially not drunk. But this time it didn't seemed to be like that, since Jeff answered hesitantly. "Not exactly, no." your frown deepened at his words, feeling slight annoyance creeping up. "Jeffrey! What's the matter? Is he hurt? In an accident? Called his ex? Called Zayn? What is it? Just tell me already!"

Jeff sighed deeply. "He's high." A relieved huff left your lips. That wasn't half as bad, wasn't it? "That's it? Little weed hurts no body, besides I would've been more concerned if he would've drank. Besides, he almost never does weed..." Jeff interrupted you quickly. "Not exactly weed sweetheart. You remember the uh, edibles I told you about, the ones we stored in the fridge..." A deep groan escaped your lips.

"Are you kidding me?" you groaned, shaking your head. "Well no. However, he accidentally bit of his tongue tip, few minutes ago." Your hand dropped from the steering wheel and smashed down and you accidentally honked, immediately getting confused and outraged looks from the cars passing by.

"He did WHAT?" you meant to hear a smile in Jeff's voice, underneath all the layers of just mild concern. "Yeah's a little unfortunate." you just huffed. A little unfortunate, if that's what they decided to call it, then fine. Nonetheless, Harry should probably visit a doctor. "Can he still sing?" you asked, somewhat defeated. The noise behind Jeff increased, you assumed that he was entering the studio again. "Hold on a sec...can you hear him?" And oh how you could hear him.

He was singing, no yelling on top of his voice, trying to outmatch the speakers that were thumping Paul McCartney's "Too Many People", though unmistakably mumbling a little. Just the sound of his voice made your heart clench in pain a little.

"Yeah I can." You mumbled, wishing for Jeff to talk over Harry's voice again. "So his career isn't in danger right? Means I can just..." Jeff sighed deeply, pleadingly.

"Y/N, please...he needs medical care." You pouted displeased, spinning the car keys in your fingers. "And you cant drive him because...?" this time he definitely laughed. "What do you think? Harry being the only one on drugs?" you shrugged. "You don't sound like you would bite your tongue off..." he just huffed. "That's because I only had a glass of white wine, but never drink and drive..." you let out a loud laugh, starting your car. "Oh sure! And don't mix drugs with alcohol, right?" he chuckled softly. "Course not. We're that responsible, you know." you just hummed unconvinced, sighing again.

"Okay fine. I'll pick him up." Jeff released a long breath before thanking you warmly. "Thank you so much, angel...how long will you take, you think?" your eyes darted from the rear-view mirror to the road behind the parking lot, before you shifted the reverse gear again to leave the parking.

"About 10 minutes? Maybe?" you guessed, eyeing the traffic suspiciously. It wasn't rush-hour just yet, but there were still plenty of cars on the road. "Okay...oh hi Harry." You immediately tensed up, swallowing hard when you heard Harrys deep voice again.

"Who y'takin to?" Harry spoke as if he had a full mouth, trying not spit out its content. "Oh just...Y/N." Jeff answered truthfully. Harry then said something you couldn't quite understand before Jeff ushered him to go away again with the words; "She'll come in a few minutes anyways." It made you swallow heavily; had Harry asked to talk to you? You stopped the thoughts and focused on the road again. "I'll see you in five." And with that you hung up.

❦

Harry and Jeff were already waiting in front of the studio when you pulled up, Harry having a bloody cloth pressed to his mouth. They looked like father and son, right off the principal's office for starting a fight on campus. It almost made you laugh. Then your eyes met and the amusement left your body as quickly as it came. You were not ready to face him again, even after all those months.

"Thank you so much Y/N, I owe you...you good H?" Jeff asked as he opened the passenger door. "Yeh, m'fine, fanks." Harry mumbled, eyes darting up to meet yours, just to look away immediately. "We'll be back soon." You sighed, not yet ready to properly greet Harry. Or look at him, for starters. To be fair, he wasn't doing any better. "Sure. I hope he doesn't bleed on your seats." Jeff joked, well aware of the weird tension. You just shrugged, waving him goodbye. "See you in a few Jeff." Or not, but you didn't know that yet.

The ride was almost completely silent expect for the time where you asked if he was okay and he mumbled a "yeh". The radio was filling the silence and you were glad for it. The songs weren't that good at the moment, you just wanted something to be loud and talking, even if it was just the obnoxious radio host who kept cutting off the songs. That was until "Change" by RM and Wale started to play and you perked up immediately. A happy smile crept on your face as you recognised the tune. You yourself had helped with the song and you proudly acknowledged the credit they gave you. You hadn't expected it to be played over here in America, but you were happy it was. Harry had obviously noticed your change of behaviour and carefully peaked over.

"Y'know tha'shong?" you nodded, momentarily forgetting that Harry and you hadn't interacted the last ten minutes. "Helped write it. With Namjoon, aka. RM and Wale." Harry nodded slowly. "Ish Namjhoon f'om...?" he tried and you nodded. "BTS? Yeah." He just nodded again. The next second Wale already mentioned BTS in his verse and Harry huffed. "Oh."

"I've sheen - seen the pictures of you n'him." you quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, he was nice." Harry nodded again, another stolen glance into your direction. "Lishten..." he started but you cut him off. You already knew what he was about to say anyways.

"Let's not have this conversation now Harry. Please. Let's talk when there isn't blood gushing from your mouth." He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. After all, he was glad you were up to talk, even if it wasn't just right now, but a bit later on. He had time anyways. He peaked over again, taking in the sight of you. Your hair was now longer than last time and your face somehow sharper – maybe you had lost weight. Also, there was a soft frown etched in between your brows, and there wasn't this soft glow you've always carried in your eyes. Long story short: You looked worn out and stressed, and Harry couldn't really tell if it was because you were sat in the same car as he was, or if it had to do with something else that was going on.

"How're ya?" it slowly got painful to speak, the edible was definitely wearing off now, but Harry still tried. He had missed your voice after all, it didn't matter how cold your tone had become. Just at the mentioning of that Namjoon you had sounded more like the Y/N he knew.

"I've been okay. Had lots of work...different countries and continents. S'been a busy few months." You felt unsure as how to talk to him, of you were fully honest. Should you say that you had absolutely hated working in Malibu since the fight? Should you say that you hadn't slept properly because you hated having fights with friends? Especially close friends? He probably knew anyways. Harry always knew somehow.

"I wont ask you about yourself until your tongue is patched up again, though. So you better shut up Styles." He chuckled softly, and the hint of the old Harry and Y/N relationship seemed to spark up again. The last five or so minutes were spent in silence again, but comfortable this time.

❦

Luckily Harry did not go recognised by anyone else than the Doctor. And the doctor probably only realised fully, because she asked for the name. Harry, still not fully functionable, had then looked over to you, expecting you to do the talking. Which made sense, of course, but truth behold, he had just forgotten his middle and last name. And the address of the place he was staying at (the studios) was completely wiped from his memory. He was lucky you were with him. It also turned out that he had completely bit off a few millimetres of tongue, a clean bite. You had almost gaged at those words and Harry had supressed a grin. It meant that Harry needed no stitches (apparently it was sort of possible to stitch a tongue back together), but daily check-ups and cleaning or cleansing of the mouth was mandatory.

"Check the injurie daily for changes in appearance or feel. Wounds in the mouth that are clean and healthy may appear light pink to white." She had started to almost exclusively talk to you, aware of Harry's partly delirious state, giving you all the information you needed to patch him up a bit. You nodded slowly.

"Alright. Just...how do you cleanse the mouth?" The Doctor gave you a kind smile. "Very easy. Rinse the mouth with a saltwater solution after eating to ease pain and keep the wound clean. That is very important, so the wound doesn't infect. The saltwater solution is just one teaspoon of non-iodized salt mixed in one cup of warm water." You nodded slowly. "One last thing: if the colour of the wound changes, starts bleeding again, swells up or you notice a visible deformity, immediately come back. Also, if the pain intensifies and does not improve within two hours of taking over-the-counter pain medication, such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen, have somebody call us, or better come around. That is all we can do right now."

You were almost happy when you could leave the hospital with him, especially because Harry now grew tired and needy. You weren't sure if the disappearing edible had that effect or if you had just forgotten how clingy Harry could get, but you had troubles getting him to let go of your arm and sit into the car. And your deeply hidden and buried feelings for him slowly made an unwanted comeback, and you were not quite excited for that. You should've known that they would come again, after all, you never really got over him in the first place.

Harry insisted on you staying the night. He blabbed something about risk of getting kidnapped and abused at night alone (not entirely wrong, sadly) and him not letting his friend leave at hours that late and also he apparently needed you if something happened again. He just wouldn't admit that he couldn't let you walk out the door because he feared you wouldn't come back. as if you could just do that after today. But whatever it was, you did stay. In one of the three bedrooms of the Studio you had claimed a bed, and even got some spare clothes for sleep from Claire herself. You had called her, asking for them, as they had all already left.

Just when you thought you were done for the day, teeth brushed and dressed in Claires 1975 shirt size XL, you hear a knock on your door. "Come in?" You knew it was Harry, that wasn't the part that surprised you. the part that surprised you, was that it was Harry with a tray and on that tray were cups and kettle and it smelled like camomile tea and honey. And cookies, with chocolate chips even and some grapes.

"Hi." He just whispered, embarrassment written all over his face. "Hi?" you weren't sure how to react to this but quickly patted on the bed next to you. "Wanna sit down? Or wait, sHit down, as you would say it." He giggled softly, before he nodded and carefully sat down opposite of you, balancing the tray carefully between the two of you.

"I figured it would be better to talk now in peace? If you're up to, f'course." You couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face. "Shure." You mocked his lisp and he huffed at that, swatting his hand into your direction. "Shtop it really hurt." You just rolled your eyes at him, motioning towards the tray between the two of you. "That's very cute by the way. I love camomile tea with honey." He grinned smugly. "I know." The tea steamed softly when he poured it into the cups, his brows furrowed in concentration to not spill it on the sheets. You watched him with a fond look in your eyes. You hadn't been fully aware of how much you had really missed him in all these months. Right now it felt like the feeling was overwhelming and would crush you out of a sudden.

"Everything a'ight?" Harry's concerned voice ripped you from your thoughts and you blinked quickly. Your eyes had started to water and you looked away embarrassed. "Yeah...guess I just missed you." his eyes immediately went soft, and he set the cups down on the tray.

"I missed ye too." He said, sounding a bit helpless. You cleared your throat, shaking your head quickly.

"Okay so what happened that day; Harry I want to sincerely apologise. What I said went too far." He just smiled softly. "I should've went first. S'my fault after all, let's not beat around the bushes. I am sh-sorry. I shouldn't've said all those things, it was truly horrible. You're not clingy, you don't ever bothered me and also, the men you brought around weren't all dicks. And yes I did ruin it purposely." He couldn't even look at you anymore, shame so obvious in his face and voice and body language. "It's fine...I could've dated anyone anyways that time." You tried softly, swallowing down the "Still can't, believe me, I tried." He just shook his head. "No, really Y/N, that was extremely hurtful and inappropriate and I was the biggest...dick to do all that. I am so sorry. You had all right on earth to walk out like that. and to call me a heartless, self-absorbed douche, I guess I deserved that...that and all the other things you called me." that did make you laugh a bit.

"Arrogant son of a bitch? That one?" he grinned softly. "Exactly that one. I uh, used that, by the way. In a song, I hope you don't mind." Your eyebrows shot up at that. "You called yourself an arrogant son of a bitch?" He nodded sheepishly. "An arrogant shon of a bitch who can't admit that he is shorry, and I quoted that." you laughed now, loudly. "Bit harsh, innit?" he shrugged, coquettishly raising the tea cup to his lips. "Heard it from shomewhere." You just hummed softly, lifting your cup as well.

A deep sigh rose your chest as you looked at him again, that bright flicker in his eyes again, that lopsided smirk he wore so well. You knew that your crush was back on fully, but right now you didn't even minded it. Harry gave you a small smile, the mischief slowly draining from his green eyes. he seemed to catch on to that shift of your emotions and carefully placed his cup down on the tray, before then carefully placing the tray on the floor and opening his arms.

"C'mere?" you did, immediately.

And for the first time in months you could fully relax. Surrounded by Harry's scent in Harry's arm and listening to Harry's heartbeat. Completely absorbed and surrounded by everything you loved. "Sorry." You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, feeling how his arms tightened around you. "Me too. I fucking misshed you." you chuckled softly. "Misshed you too, shon of a bitch." His laughter sent vibrations through your body.

"About that Korean dude..." Harry suddenly asked, making your peak up to him. "Namjoon? What about him?" he cleared his throat. "Just...did you like, date or something?" you grinned softly.

"Pretty sure he had something going on with a girl the time I was over there. Maybe he still has. Why? You wanna scare him off again?" he just laughed. "I don't do that anymore. I was just...curious you know. You've always had a thing for these Korean men." You grinned softly.

"Are you now talking Stray Kids or Bangtan or EXO or GOT7..." Harry groaned, "so what. You got something to say about that?" he shook his head. "Course not." You hummed. "And what do you mean, I don't do that anymore? Why did you even do it, like in the first place?" Harry sighed very deeply at that.

"I guess because...okay, promise you listen to the end and don't get upset with me too much, yeah?" you frowned, a bit mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to follow.

"Okay? Promised."

"Alright, now...I think I couldn't just...let you be and date who you want because I am a very selfish person? I know I know, you probably think: but selfish about what and I can only confess...probably you? No, not probably, I am sure." The words were bubbling out of him as if someone flipped a switch and now he couldn't stop anymore. "I couldn't see you date someone else and...give them all of your attention. And I know, I myself was in a relationship during that time, I know, but I just...I can't describe it." Your eyes grew wider and wider with every hasty rambled sentence and your lips were slightly parted. "It was as if was...jealous, which is weird because I wasn't into you then, no offense please, I mean I had a girlfriend..."

"Hold on, what do you mean, wasn't into you then?" you cut him off and Harry literally froze. His eyes went wide with realisation and his mouth opened, as if he would try to reply something; but there was no sound. All he could think of, was one word, all in capital letters and blinking red: fuck.

"I uh, did I say then?" you clicked with your tongue, an amused grin flitting over your face.

"You did." A blush now covered his cheeks and he cleared his throat eagerly. You moved away from his embrace to get a better look at the man sitting in front of you.

"You did say then. Something changed?" your tone was joking but hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm there was a flicker of something else...hope.

"I...I mean I don't...would it be like...do you still feel the same?" you didn't immediately answered, trying to process what you were hearing. After weeks of pinning and then months of not talking at all, he was confessing – or somewhat confessing – that there was a chance that he now actually liked you back? How was that even possible?

Harry however read your silence as something else than confusion and being overwhelmed with the situation. His face fell from nervous to disappointed and hurt, though he tried to mask those emotions quickly. "Which is of course fine and like, obviously you don't, I mean..." he spoke, and it wasn't entirely clear if he was talking to you or himself.

"I didn't even answer H." you mumbled, tilting your head. "Of course you di- wait what do you mean?" there was this same spark of hope in his voice as there had been in your voice. "If I told you, that nothing changed, what would that mean?" you breathed after a second of hesitation and staring into his wide eyes, filled with fear, nervousness, hope and...vulnerability. At your words there was a small smile that started to tug on his lips, like a light igniting his eyes.

"It would mean that I...uhm, I would then shoot my shot?" you couldn't help it.

"Was that hard to say?" he blinked confused. "Shoot your shot..." you teased and he groaned loudly. "Oh hush, you are unbearable." You giggled, winking obnoxiously. "You decided to eat those edibles. Also, I am worth a shot, no?" he huffed, leaping forwards to pull you back into his arms. "Oh definitely..." you grinned up at him before your breath hitched in your throat at the realisation of his sudden closeness. Eyes flickering to his lips you just waited. But when he leaned in you cleared you throat softly, making him halt. "Before you do that...just please tell me why now." He never moved back just pressed his lips together for a second, thinking of the right choice of words. "In those month where we didn't talk, I had a lot, and I mean a lot of time to think and reflect about the whole situation. About you, about how I felt about you and your partners, how your confession had changed the way I saw or felt certain things...also, Jeff's talked a lot with me about it. The fight and stuff. And then when I saw you again I just...knew? I don't know..." you cut him off with a short nod.

"Okay that's good, now kiss me please." He just laughed before finally, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

And your lips on his made him feel better, lighter and higher than any fucking edible could've ever made him feel.

here are flowers for u, if u rly read this ily 💐💐💐

➳m.list ➳h.s. m.list ➳wattpad

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kittymsmithwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

The Owls of Suotamo (WraithxCrypto)

AO3 link: click here

Word count: 5.5k

Ship: WraithxCrypto “cryptaith”

Summary

When Wraith gets on the transport to Suotamo to apologize to Crypto, she never thought it would end like this.

Commission page on my tumblr! And a big thank you to @sigmatauris for beta reading!

Tags: cryptaith, craith, voidhacker, fluff and humor, first date, first kiss, cute, accidental relationship, drinking and talking, friends to lovers, rated t because Wraith says fuck

---

“You find out you have a name, and you don’t even want it?” He’d said.

“What do I want with something I don’t even remember? I’m not Renee, I’m Wraith. That’s who I’ve been for the last six years.”

“Glad you were afforded the luxury of choice,” he’d clipped, moving his arms like he was going to throw his hands in the air, but being they were in his pockets he just ended up flapping his coat. Wraith had laughed—she’d not meant to be mean, but he reminded her of a disgruntled owl fluffing itself. He’d left without a word, and it’d taken her a couple mystified minutes to realize she’d hurt him. Though it was usually the other way around, she went to Elliott to ask what she should do.

“Uh, say sorry?” He’d looked at her like she was stupid. She was, of course, but Wraith hardly let herself think like that. The voices created a rather nasty echo chamber sometimes.

“That’s it?”

“Hey, I’m the one that makes ridiculous grand gestures, not you, remember? It’d be out of character.” He’d grinned.

Wraith had to agree, but nobody knew where Crypto lived—if he lived anywhere at all, really—so she had to wait until the next game. She hated giving out apologies at the best of times, but this time it was particularly nerve wracking. The voices were always a bit scrambled around him, but right now it was almost unbearable. “Hey, I’m sorry about last week.”

He rolled his eyes. Usually she’d ignore him as well, but she felt compelled, which was strange. Were the voices persuading her somewhere in their jumbled madness? Was there a reason?

“It wasn’t what you said.” She added. “I mean, I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What were you laughing at?”

“I was—“ The alarm rang for the start of the match. Crypto began to move to join his squad and thinking she might not get the chance again until next week shot an uncharacteristic bolt of panic through her. “Wait!”

He hesitated, just slightly, the alarm ringing again insistently. “Meet me at 6th later, if you care that much.”

“Where the fuck is 6th?”

He joined his squad, not even looking at her. The voices scrambled so hard they became a ringing in her ear. The cherry on top was being matched with two randos and dying before even reaching the last ten.

If there was a God, and they were trying to teach her a lesson for…whatever reason, well, she got the point, alright?

She didn’t stay to watch the livestream, going straight to her tiny apartment and the three screaming furballs that tripped her soon as she entered. She gave them their due pets, replying to their meows with much more enthusiasm than she ever replied to her human family. She got into the shower, breathing deeply.

You guys gonna tell me where 6th is? Has to be a street, right? The voices replied in a jumble of no’s and yes’s. When she tried to clear out what the yes’s were saying, it just came out as, finally, so slow, good, and memory. Odd. She stood in the shower so long thinking about it, she didn’t even realize the water had gone cold. After she shivered her way into a bathrobe, letting her uncombed hair airdry, she started scrolling through all the 6th streets, avenues, roads and boulevards in Solace City, but it didn’t seem right—she didn’t even know if he lived on Solace, they never really talked about their personal lives. She bit her lip, thinking. Did anyone know where he lived? Chatty, a voice whispered. Right, she should text Elliott.

Ugh. For someone who could never shut up face to face, Elliott was one of the most succinct texters she’d ever met. She went ahead and Googled it, finding it about a half-hour from Solace if taking a mega-speed transport. Then she Googled 6th in Suotamo. One street popped up. 6th.

Not 6th Street, not 6th Avenue, just 6th.

Motherfucker.

She pulled on a large, shapeless sweater and leggings, grabbed her keys and phone, and headed to the station. She didn’t really question the fact she was going to all this effort just to apologize. Perhaps some part of her had just figured it was good to have Crypto on her side; word was he had built all sorts of connections, so maybe he could be useful later. Or she just didn’t want to have that awkward conflict when working on a team. It was hard enough watching Loba and Bangalore on the same team, and she didn’t want that kind of disruption on the field—though she didn’t think he was that petty. He was professional, like her, and quiet, unlike 2 of her top 3, which could be nice when Elliott had his chatterbox days.

The longer she spent in the rumbling transport seat, however, the more she let herself admit a creeping truth: maybe she just liked him.

Suotamo was all industrialism; skyscrapers and towering housing blocks with tiny balconies and smaller windows. In the twilight, electric signs were flickering to life, making a delightful buzz that dampened the voices and cast a great array of color into the street puddles. Her sneakers clattered over perforated sheet metal laid before the crosswalks as she made her way from 4th Street to 5th Avenue, and finally to 6th. The corner she landed on was directly across from a crusty dirt lot with a chain link fence that had been broken and rolled down on one side like a rug. Down one street was a mass of tall neon signs in Hangul; judging by the smell, it was mostly food. The other side was dilapidated housing and a convenience store whose name was also in hangul. She hugged a streetlight pole, looking around with wide eyes as people passed by.

Yes, she was a professional murderer for a living. But she was also a small woman in a strange city, unarmed, where everyone seemed to speak every language but English.

But her nerves were soon soothed when she saw him across the street. She cocked her head to the side when she processed what he was wearing. All of his usual hacker—y looking necklaces, but instead of that stupid vest he wore all the time it was an oversized gray shirt with a green bomber jacket, also one size too big. Slim black joggers emphasized how skinny he really was, and vans pulled together the city—boy look. It…looked really good on him. And fit in with everyone else in the area. Smart.

He cocked his head back at her, which was how she came to realize she was doing that in the first place. She glanced both ways before jogging over. “Hi.”

“Annyeonghaseyo.” He bent his head, nearly entering a bow. He was wearing a small silver stud in one ear.

“Didn’t know you were into fashion.”

“You think I’d be stupid enough to wear my gear out here?”

“I— it’s just, the only thing I see you in.”

He gave her a once over, possibly a little slower than needed, according to a voice. She told that voice to shut up. “I can say the same for you.” He crossed his arms. “Now, what were you talking about on the dropship?”

Shit, the apology. The entire reason she was there. How had she forgotten that? She’d just sort of focused on the fact they were actually meeting outside of work. “I only laughed because I, uh, because I was picturing you as an angry owl in my head.”

Well. That certainly startled him. “What?”

“Y’know. An owl. Cacaw,” she flapped her arms slightly, realizing she’d been hanging out with Elliott too much. “Like, uh…wait, that’s not an owl noise.”

“Owls hoot.” He said.

She swallowed hard, her stomach twisting around. If it wasn’t for the city noise, she’d be screaming with all the talking going on in her head, beating in tandem with her heart. “I just— when you, you hand your hands in your pockets and kind of flapped them, and your jacket was like, wings, I guess, and I just…saw an angry owl in my head and it was funny. I’m sorry.”

He paused. “What kind of owl?”

“A snowy owl,” she said immediately. “With glasses. I dunno why glasses, you don’t wear them.”

“I do, actually.”

She blinked. “Oh.” A beat. “Can I see?”

He raised both eyebrows. She expected to be rejected—he had to be wearing contacts so why would he even have the glasses with hi—oooookay he had them on him, buried deep in a pocket. Thick black rimmed ones. He popped them on, and warmth burst in her belly as she realized, to her horror, that he was cute.

“I look like a nerd, huh?” There was light amusement in his voice, a rarity. He moved to take them off.

“No!” She said, far too quickly and far too loudly, startling her and him both. “I mean, you look cu—great, you look really good in them.”

He eyed her a moment, slowly lowering his hand. “Really?”

“Really.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted a little awkwardly, looking off. She stared at her shoes until she heard him clear his throat. He looked down on her, not quite as much as Elliott, but he probably had a good five inches on her. “Do you like noodles?”

“Yeah?”

He shifted again, stance somewhere between a soldier ready for war and an awkward teenage boy. “Do you…want to go get some? I know a good place.”

She was too stunned to really react at all. “Sounds good.”

And like that, they were walking toward the neon signs, side by side. A little further from each other than was probably normal, though when others would pass by on the narrow sidewalk, Crypto would lean in, and she’d get the slightest waft of—holy shit, was that Axe? But it smelled good? Last time she’d smelled Axe she’d gotten a headache because Octavio had used it instead of a shower before a game, but this stuff was crisp, a little lemony, she had to try her best not to inhale loudly whenever he got close.

They came to some little hole in the wall that Crypto had to duck to walk into. Booths pressed as closely together as possible, tables crowding the floor and every seat at a bar filled, faint K—pop weaving around voices and noodle slurping. When they sat at the booth nearest the back, their shoes touched because it was so small. She expected to get a menu, but instead the server came over and said something in Korean to Crypto.

“Do you drink?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Like soju?”

“I have no idea what that is.” He shrugged and said something to the waiter. He poured them two glasses of iceless water and left. Crypto pressed himself into the corner of the wall, one leg along the length of the seat, the other on the floor. Wraith also scooched into the corner, she always liked to, and seeing someone else do it made her feel less weird. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. She fidgeted with her fingers. “Um. So. Weather.”

“I hate small talk.”

“Oh thank God, me too.” She saw it, almost a smile. “Bring up something interesting, you know?”

“Yes, like what kind of owl you are.”

She blushed, looking away. “Shut up.”

“I think you’re a spotted owl.” He sipped his water.

She would never hear the end of it if Elliott had been there, because she perked up like a puppy. “Why?”

“Feels right.”

“Fair enough.” She started sliding the soy sauce bottle between her hands, then glanced up at him and slid it his way. He raised an eyebrow and slid it back. They kept it up while talking. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Do not expect an answer.”

“Just…what to call you. Besides Crypto.”

He warmed the soy sauce bottle with his hands before passing it back. Monkey brain Wraith had the passing thought that it was almost kind of sort of not really like holding hands. “Hyeon. It’s not my…real name.”

She nodded. “I figured. You gotta be cautious, even if they know, to a point.”

He sat up a little, some part of him smoothing out; Wraith couldn’t see it, but she could sense it. The voices, so scattered, like TV static, reduced themselves to a buzz in the back of her head. “Yah. I do.”

The soju came first. A green bottle and two shot glasses, which Crypto—Hyeon? She’d keep Crypto mentally, for now—he poured while saying, “Youngest pours first, traditionally. And you pass it with two hands and take it with two hands.” He held the shot glass and passed it to Wraith, who made sure to use both hands. He seemed entertained. “You don’t have to do it that way every time, though.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said, truthfully. “Why so specific?”

“All relates to the old ways things were done, back on Earth. So many cultures got jumbled together in the Frontier, but at least in Sutoamo, Koreans have kept most of theirs.” He paused before knocking back the shot like a professional. Elliott would be eating his hat if he was there. “It’s traditional not to sip the first shot.”

She raised an eyebrow—the corner of his mouth was twitching, thinking of smiling. He was enjoying this. Well, she was too. She braced herself and knocked back the whole thing, surprised by the flavor—a bit like a sweet vodka, with a hint of strawberry. She almost didn’t cough. “Wow, that’s something.”

“You like it?”

“I think I do.”

He smirked and poured for her again, then himself, sipping this time. “You’re not supposed to leave a friend’s glass empty, either.”

She smelled it—sweet, crisp. Definitely strawberry. “So, we’re friends?”

He seemed to think a moment and downed that shot as well before speaking. “I’ll consider it. At the very least I don’t look so sad drinking with someone else for once.” From the look on his face, that was soju—fueled word vomit. “It’s just against tradition to drink alone, people think there’s something wrong with you,” he added hastily.

“Right.” She didn’t get a chance to screw that up as a bowl of steaming noodles was placed in front of her. They were dark glass noodles, and there were vegetables, and meat. That’s all she knew. The waiter also gave her a fork, but not Crypto.

“Japchae,” he said, snapping apart the wooden chopsticks. “It’s usually a side—dish, but it’s all they make here. It’s a stir fry.”

“Hell yeah.” That actually got a chuckle out of him, and she knew it wasn’t just the soju making her feel warm. Her focus was stolen by the food, however, as she was starving, and anything fried and/or noodles made for a very happy Wraith. She stirred it all up, a bed of rice hidden underneath it, and started shoving sweet and savory into her face. Crypto was no better. Between the japchae and soju they talked, Crypto’s words flowing with fewer pauses, no clipped edges, smooth and cool. Once they finished the bottle bubbles of laughter began to escape between his lips.

He was acting like…a normal dude, for the most part. Telling her about more Korean drinking traditions, all of which seemed centered on getting everyone at the table drunk as quickly as possible. Mentioning his other favorite places to eat, but all of them were Korean names she couldn’t comprehend, let alone pronounce. They ordered another bottle and he served again, hand steady, aim…slightly off, but Wraith just wiped up the spot. The warmth of company and drink was enough to rile up a little courage in her, risk trying for actual personal questions. “Do you have any pets?”

“Huh? Ah, yah. Heh. I have a cat.”

She grinned. “I have three.”

“Show me.” He leaned forward, and she pulled up pictures of her trio, a white Persian, a tortoiseshell, and a Siamese. “Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup.”

“Oh, like the show?”

“Yeah, I love it.” She bit her lip, smiling sheepishly. “I uh, love cartoons.”

He snorted, tapping the corner of his glasses. “I can still name every Pokémon. All of them.”

She laughed. “Show me your cat.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolled and then held up a picture of an orange striped behemoth. Wraith almost squealed. “He’s so cute!”

“Tofu. My trash son.”

“Why is he your trash son?”

“I found him in the trash. Little kitten,” he leaned to the side funny while showing how small with his hands. “Was eating old tofu skins out of a takeout box. So, Tofu. It’s his favorite food, too.” He looked down at the photo. “Jibang. Fatty.”

“Perfect fatty.”

“Yah.”

They got halfway through the second bottle before finishing their meals. Crypto paid with cash and swiped the bottle of soju on the way out. It was fully night now, a humid chill pressing against her skin. The street was lit by a mixture of streetlamps and neon light as the nightlife took flight. She glanced over to see Crypto swigging straight from the bottle. Soon as he caught her eye he snorted and pulled the bottle away with a half—clumsy sidestep, arm over his nose as his chest shook with restrained laughter. She stopped to stare at him, grinning stupidly, though she didn’t know it. Alcohol had a wonderful voice dampening affect. “Caught you,” she said.

A giggle escaped into his sleeve. Red splashed over his cheeks and nose, bright in the streetlights. “I think I’ve drank too much. I’m going to say something I shouldn’t.”

“Probably just do something stupid, like drink straight from the bottle. What if I want some more, huh?” She said this all teasingly. She’d never been like this with anyone but Elliott.

He grinned, the most she’d ever seen from him, and it was silly, and light, and beautiful, and he held the bottle by the lip and swung it idly. “Guess it’s too bad, huh?”

Too bad her ass. She swiped it and drank without hesitation. She relished the look on his face and did something quite unlike herself, holding out the bottle and tapping the lip to his chin. “You still want some?”

Slowly he took it, cocking his head to the side, which she copied, and sipped. Then passed it back to her, walking side by side, mirrors of themselves in the earlier evening, but closer, and warmer. She imagined the sweet strawberry to be the taste of kissing him, and the chill wet press of the night air against her skin his hand. She felt like it would be clammy. Or would it be warm and firm—the same feeling as a hand she’d held a lifetime ago, the memory of another Wraith threading it through the crinkles of her brain.

It didn’t matter, she decided, what that old hand had felt like, just like it didn’t matter what her old name had felt like on her lips or sounded coming from another’s. The now mattered, the now and the to—be. And while the to—be was still blurry and a little scary, the now was warm and hazy, it made no sense at all and she loved it. She took the last sip as they came to the convenience store she saw earlier, and both stopped, staring at the blinding white around the sign letters. They looked at each other and came to the mutual decision to get drunk snacks.

The lights were almost painful, and the shelves, while hosting the expected candy and chips, were also filled with an erroneous amount of instant ramen, teas and drinks with cubes of jelly in them, gimbap, bibimbap, banchan and a surprising variety of meat on sticks for…some reason. She recognized some things and not others, leading to the two of them standing in one of the middle isles while Crypto drunkenly talked about a sandwich, which you were supposed to bring up front to be cooked. The one he was holding was strawberry jam and cream cheese. Wraith wasn’t sure she trusted it, but they ended up getting it, along with some type of Japanese chips and a handful of other things that two drunks thought sounded good. They stepped out and Wraith looked at their bag. “Hyeon, where are we going to eat this?”

Crypto looked around, rubbing at his face. The synthetic skin crinkled like the normal skin, which she hadn’t expected. She’d always thought of it like metal plating. He nodded towards the sketchy ass dirt lot. For some reason that seemed like a good idea, and so Wraith sat on a cinderblock in the outskirts of a streetlamp with a guy who a few hours ago had been little more than someone to talk to between matches, half—drunk and rifling through a bag of food she only vaguely recognized. Some inkling of a voice seemed to suggest that this was a bad idea in one universe, but two or three threaded together to tell her they were safe, even if it didn’t seem like it.

She did feel safe with him, there was just something about him, the longer she spent in his air. She really didn’t know too much about him, just that he had a lot of open secrets with the Syndicate, and that Caustic was under a gag order regarding his real identity, since they were both from Gaea, but otherwise he thought Mirage was an idiot and didn’t talk to people outside of the ring. Except for you, a voice reminded her, a gentle nudging tone to it. It made her heart skip a beat when he passed her one of the strange jelly drinks.

“It’s called Mogu—Mogu. Means “to chew” in Japanese,” he said.

“Do you speak that too?” She sipped it and, yeah, she was definitely chewing it. She didn’t know how she felt about chewing her drink, but the flavor was good.

“No. My sister was just obsessed with these.” He stopped, a drop in the mood so sudden she could almost hear it. She’d heard rumor about his sister having passed. The voices suggested nefarious things had happened. “She got them every day before class. When we had money.”

She swallowed. “It is pretty good.”

“Yah.” He rolled his shoulders, staring off. She continued sipping, the cinderblock suddenly uncomfortable, the chill almost too much, the neon blue glow over low, old industrial buildings to their back metamorphosizing from lively to sinister. But all at once that was pulled away again when he sighed and readjusted himself, looking up at the sky. It was a big expanse of dark blue fog, not a star to be seen. Solace was the exact opposite. “Wraith?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss her.”

She adjusted herself, staring at the drink. At a loss, she offered it to him. And that’s when she saw it, breaking to the surface, cracking through layers and layers: a smile, for real. Not for fun, but something brighter, from somewhere deeper. It felt like being shown the inside of a treasure chest. He took the drink, sipped it, and breathed deeply. “I’m going to say something stupid.”

“Okay.”

He half—laughed. “You’re not even going to try and stop me?”

“Nah.”

He laughed fully, and even that felt realer than it had earlier. “Well. Well,” he swallowed, and sipped the drink, seeming to steel himself. “I…Taejoon Park.”

She understood immediately—his real name. And no wonder Caustic was on a gag order, because that name had reached Solace, Gridiron, and even Talos. The voices began to gather and flood her with information—the admission had been a catalyst. Taking a moment to collect herself, she picked the sandwich out of the bag, broke it at the seam created by the panini press, and offered him half. He furrowed his brow but took it. “I like it,” she said.

“What?”

“Your name. Taejoon. It fits you.”

He blinked, looking at the sandwich, then back at her again. His mouth was fallen in confusion, and he was squinting at her. Like a mole that had surfaced into the daylight. A very cute mole. “You, uh, you don’t recognize it?”

“I recognize it. And I know what you did,” she gestured at her head, and his eyes widened.

“I didn’t. I n—never would.”

“I know,” she said, and she hoped he could tell how much she meant it. There was still alcohol warmth in her cheeks, but her mind was clearer than it had been. “They fucked you completely.”

He swallowed. “I haven’t said my name in…I don’t remember when.”

“Can I keep calling you it? Not in front of the others.”

He seemed to think, and she hoped part of his thoughts were on what she was insinuating—that they’d meet again, outside the ring, outside the dropship. “Please,” he said finally.

She grinned, and so did he, before taking a huge bite of the sandwich, chewing a moment, and then letting out a bark of laughter and falling from his cinderblock into the dusty lot ground, sandwich resting on his chest. He started giggling and Wraith stood to look down at him, chewing, committing the way the orange edges of streetlight cast a brassy gleam on his ruddy cheeks to memory. Is this the memory the voice was mentioning? “Dude?”

Taejoon giggled again, back of his hand hiding his mouth. “I haven’t felt this light in years.”

That makes me so happy. “I’m glad.” She said.

His cheeks moved, his hidden grin wider. He pointed with his other hand. “You have jam on your face.”

“Huh?” She leaned down, because his hand had muffled his words, and suddenly his thumb was at the corner of her mouth, pressing and swiping.

“Jam,” he said, resting the tip of one long finger at the corner of her mouth. “Right there.”

“Oh.” She whispered. Neither moved for a moment, and then, guided by desire or a silent voice, she wasn’t sure, Wraith simultaneously lowered herself to her knees while Taejoon pushed himself up on his elbow. Do it, do it, do it, said a chorus of voices. “If you want to do something else stupid,” she said, “I’d do it now.”

His eyes scanned her face, the sharpness dulled by drink, but not the longing. “I don’t know if it is too risky.”

“Might be riskier not to,” she whispered.

“I don’t know…”

“Taej—!” He leant up and kissed her, quickly, almost a peck, and then again. Not like any of the nasty suck—the—air—out—of—your—lungs kisses she saw in movies, but a warm press of the lips, three seconds as most, fueled by want and wish and fuck—it—ness. Not that she’d kissed a lot of people, two to be exact, but it was still quite possibly the best kiss she’d ever had, for reasons that would crowd a page. She realized the memory the voice had mentioned wasn’t the gleaming light on his cheeks, but now, when he looked up at her, eyes huge with awe that he’d actually done it, biting his lip against a nervous little smile. Glasses crooked. “You,” she started, licking over her lower lip, tapping the glasses into place, “you taste like strawberries.”

“So do you,” he breathed. “T—This isn’t just the soju, right?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Me either.”

“So this—“

“It’s a thing.” He said.

“A good thing.”

“It is?”

“I think it is. You don’t?”

“I do,” he said, finally sitting up. She grabbed hold of his hand, and she had been completely wrong—it wasn’t clammy, but warm, dry, rougher than she guessed. “But, well, I’m kind of a disaster.”

“You’re talking to an interdimensional freakshow,” she said.

“You’re not a freakshow.”

She smiled a little. “Interdimensional gremlin disaster then.”

He snorted, turning to face her, back to the light. He tilted half into her and then pulled himself up again, steadying with a hand to her shoulder. “You’re not a very steady drunk, are you.”

“Nope,” he said with absolutely zero hesitation. She chuckled. She felt his hand move to hover hesitantly by her cheek, and she looked at him while she leaned into it. He breathed deeply and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like in one of Elliott’s shitty romcoms she might have secretly enjoyed. The voices were a joyful thrum in the back of her head. Heh, maybe having cheerleaders is fun sometimes. Wraith held on to that moment, against the dark and the uncertainty of what she was supposed to do—there wasn’t exactly a social guideline of what to do after kissing your coworker in an empty lot following what could be a life ending confession, if she was anyone else.

Some part of her decided they at least should be standing, and, being the far steadier of the two, she reluctantly left his hand and ended up helping him to his feet, giggling a bit as he stumbled into her. He smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair while she grabbed their bag of half eaten goods. She knew he was watching her, and when she turned back to him, he was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I…am serious, about, ah, being a disaster. I mean, I’m wanted for murder. I have prices on my head for more than that, on three planets at least. The Syndicate has let me live so far but…” He sort of shrugged. “I don’t know how long that will last.”

She paused. “What was your plan, when you joined the Games?”

“Take them down. The whole organization.”

“But you didn’t.” She felt a nudging near her temple, a sort of confirmation in her thoughts. “You got to know us.”

“I did. I thought you were all monsters, but…well, Gibraltar, he’s just trying to help people he…cares about.” His shoulders slumped and he angled his head toward the sky, breath condensing like dragon smoke. “Lifeline, too. Bangalore needs money to find her family, Pathfinder is looking for his creator, and even Witt, with his mother and, and you…” He looked back at her. “You just want to figure out who you are.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” she confirmed.

“And knowing that, I don’t know if I can just…destroy it, without leaving something for…for people who…” He held up a hand, wavering, and then dropped it. “I just don’t know.”

It looked like it pained him, physically, to admit that. She also highly doubted he’d have admitted it if he was even half an inch more sober. She thought carefully before offering her hand, which he took. She half pulled him along to the rolled fence, clambering up and out like they had earlier. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous to be around you,” she said.

“I don’t want someone else getting hurt,” he said.

“You’re trying to drive me off, aren’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have kissed me if you wanted to do that.” She smiled just slightly. In the full lamplight, he looked doubly as shy as he had earlier.

“I did do that, huh.”

“You did.”

He cursed in Korean, and she chuckled. They held hands as they walked; they moved through the nightclub and food stall crowds like blood in water, swirling and dipping, unnoticed in the menagerie of humanness. “So, you’re saying I’m stuck with you?” He asked as they bled back into the dim night.

“I’m saying I’m willing to work with the whole ‘wanted criminal’ aspect.”

“Mm.” Taejoon was quiet then, from there to the transport station. It wasn’t awkward, like how it could be with Elliott or Path, but more like with Natalie. A subject was left hanging, but that was fine. Silence fosters thought, mon ami, and with that comes some shocking revelations…get it?

God Nat, I love you, you little pun goblin.

They stopped at the transport station, and Wraith bought a ticket from the kiosk and headed to where the other three people stupid enough to be out that late were boarding. She turned to Taejoon when the doors creaked open, taking both his hands, the bag at her elbow. She felt a tingling nervousness in her toes at the words pushing her tongue to move, to speak. “So, we’re going to do this? Try this…as something?”

He squeezed her hands, biting his lip and boy howdy did that make her feel some things. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “lets make this something.”

She grinned, all a flutter as she popped up on her toes and kissed him. This must be what people mean when they say they feel like a kid, she thought, almost skipping away to the transport, calling to the mildly surprised Taejoon that she’d see him at the next game. She found a seat and for once in her memory fidgeted not in pain or discomfort or anxiety but in utter jiggly joy. She chanced a last look back as the transport lulled out of the station, pressing her face to the glass sealed in preparation for space travel in order to see him.

Taejoon was still staring at the transport, hands idle in the air where she’d held them. Then, slowly, he pumped his fists into the air and twirled around, grinning like he’d won a championship.

#apex legends #wraith #renee blasey #crypto #taejoon park #cryptaith #craith #accidental relationship #drinking & talking #first kiss #cute #voidhackers #fluff and humor #first dates #friends to lovers #apex fanfic #apex legends fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot

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0fbalance · 3 years

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@tzdkh ASKED: [ smile ] for your muse to smile at mine from across the room

It’s wasn’t a hard concept: you saw a smile, you gave a smile. It’s not something he remembers being taught—he doesn’t remember much about the short time he’d had with his birth parents but he remembered smiling then too. Maybe it’d been something learned, maybe he’d just come out of the womb smiling like the sun of the planet he no longer recalled.

There was just the briefest glance over his shoulder just to make SURE the grin had been meant for him and not someone else in the establishment. Once he’s sure he was the appropriate recipient, he pushes from his seat to join the other. What’s the worse that could be said? He’d heard plenty of nasty things from plenty of the galaxy’s least friendly and typically did nothing but grin in their faces anyway.

“Look at you with those pearly whites.” he makes himself at home there on the neighboring stool without much invitation. His voice lowered, it’s like he’s intent on sharing some sort of sensitive information with the stranger, some vital tidbit of a secret. “Between you and me, seems like a real rarity in this sort of place. No offense to anyone without all o’ their chompers.” a pause, a squint. “Or any of them for that matter.”

meme. accepting.

#(;;ic)#(;;ask)#tzdkh #(c;; hancock)

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noblehigh · 4 years

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**slams fists down ** five times kissed !!! ( basically make me feel things )

send five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses have kissed.

i. ) there was always a sort of unity when they were in the fireflies. they were a family, to a certain extent, but nothing like how it is here in jackson. it’s truly a community, full of people who know everyone else, people who keep up with other’s troubles, and do their best to help ease those troubles. no one is given too much of a workload, and it’s fairly easy to get time off if you need it. it’s a sense of normalcy, something that’s one in a million. brian’s convinced that there’s no other place like it in the world. though, their world is very small compared to the endless opportunities that could be waiting somewhere else. they don’t know what could be waiting on another continent, if those places were even effected. he believes they were ; he believes everywhere is gone, everywhere is bits and pieces, and wherever there are people they’re trying to make due with what they’ve got.

tonight, the community has gathered out in the streets ; fires blazing, music playing. they’ve somehow convinced joel to play a little guitar, but most are amused by the way his brother strums on his own, taunting and joking with him. it’s not that tommy is bad, he’s just definitely got his own taste. laughs are shared, children run freely ( brian’s being one of them ), and he finds himself snuggled back in a corner next to the stairs of the saloon with the one person who’s made this place truly feel like home: paul.

there’s a hot cup of cocoa in his mitten-clad hands, and a gaze that was previously set on all the fuss around him slowly begins to focus on the man next to him. he just watches. watches as paul smiles, watching the music play and the children dance ; dina has managed to pull ellie up, and she’s up to her usual antics of putting on a show, this time with her lover. the flicker of the flames near them puts a special kind of sparkle in paul’s eyes, and brian can’t help but smile. he leans over, presses a lingering kiss to the man’s temple. it’s sweet, soft ; it’s meant to show appreciation, more than anything. appreciation that paul is here, that he’s alive, and that he’s with him. it’s an impulsive move, but at the same time it feels so natural, like it’s the right thing to do.

ii. ) it didn’t take much convincing to get himself and paul put on a patrol together. maria and tommy are forgiving. they seem to sometimes exude love ; this deep care for everyone in the community, no matter the diversity or the situation. they want everyone to be happy, that much seems obvious to brian, and as long as it doesn’t harm anything and they can still get their work done, why not have two people who enjoy each other’s company on the same route?

brian has always had a love for horses, and has since gotten his own after being in the community for awhile. whiskey. his pride and joy. a large, brown horse who stands as tall as the highest building, with the elegance of a fine ensemble. he’s beauty, he’s grace -- he might just be mister united states. it’s why he rides him with such pride. today, he managed to talk paul into just taking one horse ; yes, it’s due in part to him wanting to show off the stud, but also because he wanted to be closer to his favorite jackson patrol member. he follows along the muddy trail, sat high, hands loosely gripping the reigns as whiskey trots along through the tall grass. brian’s head turns to the side to glance over his shoulder, halfway keeping his gaze on the trail before them as he speaks to the other man, ❛ -- i’ve always had a soft spot for animals, y’know? ❜ oh, really? ❛ yeah.. -- before all of this, we had a rottweiler named jackie -- she was badass. i had a horse for awhile, too-- and a snake. i think, out of all of ‘em that the snake probably made it out.. maybe he got to live a long life. i don’t know how well they don’t out of captivity once they’ve been in it, though.. ❜ probably not well. he turns his head back to the front, chuckles before adding, ❛ -- his name was steve-o... y’know.. like that guy from jackass? he was still little when everythin’ went to shit, only about two years old. he was a ball python, they’re great for p-- ❜ it’s when he glances back that he cuts himself off because, well.. quite frankly, he can see the way paul is looking at him. he’s looking at him like he’s the biggest dork on the planet. but that’s the thing with brian: you get him started on a subject he likes, something he’s passionate about, and he could talk for hours.

❛ -- what? ❜ oh, nothing.. ❛ i’m ramblin’, aren’t i? ❜ he gets a chuckle in response, no words, but a kiss to the corner of his mouth pairs with it. he’ll take it. smiling wide, he takes one of his hands off the reigns to reach back, giving paul a pat on his thigh. ❛ you’re by far my favorite person to run patrol with, you know that? ❜

iii. ) ❛ ohhhh, c’mere, munchkin-- ❜ he drawls out, bending down to pick up his son from where he sits in the living room in front of paul. he’s got all of his legos out, and it’s no doubt going to be a task to clean them all up. i don’t wanna! ❛ well, i know you don’t wanna, but you gotta go to bed. you know why? ❜ the child shakes his head, looking rather bashful, and still rather skeptical ; bedtime just doesn’t seem like it should be such a necessity... especially when you’re having so much fun! ❛ ‘cause you gotta get big ‘n strong. and if you get a good sleep, maybe we can get up early and go play in the snow with dina tomorrow, huh? ❜ that seems enough to persuade him. the boy smiles, nods his head quickly. ❛ all right, then, ❜ brian agrees, and he turns to look at paul before heading for the stairs, ❛ i’ll be right back. ❜

when he comes back down from putting oliver to bed, he notices the smile on paul’s lips. he’s intrigued, shown by the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth. ❛ -- and what are you smilin’ about? ❜ he inquires as he heads over to the fridge to pull out two beers ; he then moseys on back over to where the other man sits, taking a seat next to him. you’re a good dad, you know. not even a question, a statement. the once uplifted mood the man had has now turned a bit sour, proven in the way he loses eye contact with paul and looks down. he breaks open one of the beers, sliding it over on the coffee table to the other, then opening one for himself. well, he’s got some kind of vice now, so he’s willing to talk about the dirty past ( as long as he can drown himself in something ). ❛ wasn’t always like that.. -- don’t really know if it even is like that, ❜ he comments, knocking bag a large swig of the amber liquid. ❛ i wasn’t there like i should’ve been when he was a baby.. when he was younger. had a lot of.. bad shit goin’ on in my head. ❜ a multitude of things, but, mainly, a nasty drug habit. ❛ i’d probably still be just as shitty if the infected hadn’t started eatin’ everyone. ❜ hey-- paul seems quick to cut off the harsh criticism of himself, and it’s probably best that way. if he lets it go, brian could easily spiral into spilling all the things he finds wrong with himself, and that would just ruin the mood of the night. he’s never been his biggest fan, and that’s one thing the end of the world couldn’t change.

a kiss to his shoulder is what finally makes him look back over, and he winds up resting his forehead against the other man’s, eyes slowly falling shut. you can’t change the past. he’s right, of course. ❛ -- is there ever a time that you ain’t up to par on everythin’? ❜ he swears, there’s never a time that paul isn’t right. still, it’s said with good intention, and it’s clear paul has lightened his mood a bit just by the faint smile on brian’s lips. he tips his chin up, lets their lips meet for a short, sweet kiss. ❛ stay here tonight.. i don’t want you to go. ❜

iv. ) ❛ hey! ❜ it’s the first time he’s felt frustration towards the man, and he definitely isn’t scared to show it. paul begins to head towards the exit of their stationed patrol at the sound of a shrilling scream ( one asking for help, no less ), stating he’s going to go check it out. ❛ -- we can’t just go out there like it’s nothin’, you don’t know what’s out there! ❜ someone could be hurt, brian, you heard that. it was a call for help. ❛ it’s outside of our zone-- ❜ brian. he’s right-- fuck, he knows he’s right, and it’s not like brian to be wary of going outside of zones or to even be wary of going and helping someone. he’s usually the first to jump to it, but there’s been more raiders around than usual lately, and he fears this one might be a trap.

why are you fighting me on this? because he’s scared. he could give a shit about himself, but if something happened to paul? that’s something he’d never be able to forgive himself for. leaving the fireflies, all the damage and death that followed, including the death of joel -- those are things he can find the time to push away, or find the time to get over ( even if it comes back to haunt him every so often ). the more time he and paul spend together, the more he finds himself becoming attached ; he’d be terrified to even think of it, the word ( love ), but he fears he’s edging closer and closer to it becoming his truth. ❛ i’m sorry-- ❜ it’s a rarity for him to apologize, to admit he’s wrong, but he is. it’s out of character for him, and paul has to have noticed that, as well. he lets out a sigh, steps over to reach for his backpack that’s rested on an office chair, and he makes his way to where the other man stands.

he fights with himself on what to say. he fights admitting that he doesn’t want anything to happen to him, that he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if something did, that he’s increasingly becoming scared whenever they go out because of the countless possibility of bad shit that could happen to him. instead, he takes his hand, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, and gives his hand a tight squeeze. he hopes he knows what it means without having to say it. ( i want you safe, i want you with me when we get back to jackson. ) ❛ let’s go check it out, but let’s be smart about it. ❜ always.

v. ) he would fight an army of infected, he would leap bounds, if it all meant that he could savor in even one of these moments. he hangs onto these tightly, close to his heart. they’re both sat on paul’s bed having come back from a long patrol, the weight of his backpack finally falling as dead-weight to the floor. he brings his hand up, rubs at his sore shoulder. he watches paul as he sets his own backpack on the bed, beginning to unpack a few things he needs, and while he does that, brian pulls off his own jacket and his dirty shirt.

when paul rids himself of his shirt, that’s when brian makes his way over to him. the bruises and scars that pepper the skin of the man he’s grown fond of are reminders of the fight they battle each day, and brian runs his calloused fingers along a few of them. his head dips down, soft kisses being sprinkled along the length of his shoulder to the curvature of his neck. one hand raises, loops a finger in the hair tie that holds the other’s hair, and he tugs until it’s loose and falls, cascading over his shoulders. palms run up and down his arms, squeezing soft at his biceps, and he nuzzles his nose against his jaw. ❛ you’re so beautiful.. ❜ it’s spoken soft ; no one is around, but he wants to make sure only he can hear it. he wants him to know how special he is, because he feels like he doesn’t show it enough, and he definitely doesn’t say it enough. index and middle find paul’s jaw, and he turns his head until his entire body follows, and he’s facing brian. a kiss, slow, passionate, and wanton graces his lips, fingers beginning to thread through the hair at the back of the man’s head. ❛ you have to know how much you mean to me. i want you to know.. ❜ brian.. ❛ -- just let me love you.. even if it’s just tonight. ❜

#serenitysought #THIS WAS LONG AS FUCK I PUT IT UNDER READ MORE #i feel like they got weak at the end but i just #i love them #* v. endure and survive.#*

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highspeedclownery · 5 years

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Hi, I saw that you are taking prompts, yay! I would love to read about Billy saving or protecting Steve, maybe post s2 at a party someone attacks steve and Billy defends him, or maybe Billy sees the bruises that the russian left and is, who did this? I'll f*** them up. Thank u

((Here ya go anon, part one 😁))

Billy had lost count of how many drinks he'd necked back but was happy with the pleasant buzz that enveloped him. It wasn't enough to be classed as 'drunk' but there was enough alcohol in his system to douse the sting from his earlier encounter with Neil. He could drink more, easily. Like many times before, he could get wasted and stumble home fired up and ready to fight.

He got distracted this time though. The last minute house party had been organised by some guy whose name Billy doesn't care remember and in true Hawkins style, every room was packed with rowdy teens, beer and the deep thrum of bass music. Among the crush of bodies, stood King Steve and by Billy's estimation, the boy was well on his way to being hammered. He danced clumsily, two equally inebriated girls clinging onto each of his arms. One of them snaked a hand underneath his shirt and Billy necked another plastic cup, crushing it in his fist.

Why the hell was he getting so prickly all of sudden?

Steve either wasn't aware or was enjoying her attention. Fucking Steve Harrington. For some reason the brown haired boy evoked a torrent of mixed feelings in Billy, from the very first moment they met. Initially it had been pure scorn and mocking. Pretty rich playboy with an attitude. Sometimes Billy wanted to rearrange his face, other times he wanted to spew a colourful fountain of insults and other times, more recently, he just simply observed him with... interest.

The past years events had changed Steve. His appearances at parties like this one had become a rarity and he spent an awful lot of time with the kids which Billy never quite understood but he supposed it got Neil off his back regarding Max a little. If Billy sat down and thought about it, he'd say Steve's withdrawn into himself.

Christ, he's not a psychologist and why did he care what Steve Harrington did?

Turning away from the scene, Billy brushed his fingers through his hair and scanned the room in search of Tommy or someone else whose company he tolerated but a commotion behind him snapped his attention back to the sea of students. Shouts and shrieks rose above the music as people were pushed aside by a boy who Billy recognised as part of the football squad and he did not look happy. Built like a truck, his wide frame easily parted the crowd and his whole demeanour exuded rage, from the deep creases in his brown to the white knuckles of his clenched fists. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch. It was inevitable someone was going to hit the deck hard.

Billy followed the footballers glare.

Shit.

Oh Harrington, what did you do now numbnuts?

Billy's feet moved without his consent, nudged his way through spectators just in time to see a fist fly towards Steve's oblivious face. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, the girls at his sides had already abandoned him. Momentarily stunned, Billy watched Steve push himself up onto his hands and knees, watched as a foot crunched into the side of his head and the resulting spatter of blood drip to the floor.

Something inside him snapped.

Marching over to the scene, Billy grabbed the back of the footballers jersey and yanked him away from Steve before he can land another kick. He hadn't seen him coming so was caught off-guard enough for Billy to roughly turn him around and barrel him into the wall, dislodging a few picture frames hanging there.

"What the fuck Hargrove? Stevie-boy there was trying to steal my girl!" The footballer protested, struggling against Billy's strength.

"Not from where I was standing." Billy growled and pressed his forehead hard into the others, murder swirling in his eyes. The footballer managed to wriggle an arm free and fight back, throwing a punch hard enough to split the skin of Billy's cheek

The response is immediate. Billy swung back and it soon became clear that he had the superior strength, despite the others larger frame. A few more punches were exchanged before the footballer backed down, spitting in Steve's direction and stalking away with his tail between his legs.

Billy's attention quickly turned towards Steve after that. The boy was still on the floor, the right side of his face swelling around a nasty cut to his eye. He looked up in shock at Billy, no doubt wondering, the same as everyone else there, why he had stepped in and helped him.

Ignoring the whispers and stares, Billy offered a hand which Steve shakily accepted, the incident clearly sobered him up.

"Move." Billy barked the command at the crowd and lead Steve through the house up the stairs and into an unoccupied bathroom. "Sit down."

Steve complied without hesitation, perching himself on the closed lid of the toilet. His stomach lurched, his vision danced and for a moment he closed his eyes, listening to Billy open cupboards and run water. The next thing he knew, a damp cool cloth was being pressed to his skin and he opened his eyes to find Billy squatting in front of him, tongue slightly poking out in concentration. His head was still swimming as Billy gently cleaned him up and suddenly he was very aware at how close Billy's face was to his own. So close that he could see the cobalt flecks that shifted in the brighter hues of his irises. Their eyes met briefly and before Steve could stop himself, he said: "You have pretty eyes."

At those words Billy stilled, mouth opening a fraction before closing again. "You're drunk and concussed." He supplied and backed off then, rising to his feet. His cheeks burned as he turned to rinse the bloody cloth and goddammit Harrington! Why did he have to say that?

Steve's hit his head, he reminded himself.

"Anyway. We need to figure out how to get you home, can I call someone?"

When he recieved no answer, Billy turned to find Steve had dozed off, an almost serene smile on his lips. Finding a lipstick lying around, Billy leaned down and a crudely draw dick soon decorated Steve's forehead.

Billy grinned to himself, he couldn't be too nice now could he?

"King 'fuckin Steve... what are you doing to me?"

#harringrove #harringrove fics #anon response #my writing

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Everything Money Can Buy (5/12)

Summary: The Greatest Store in the World AU. When misfortune strikes and leaves Emma Swan and her son homeless just before Christmas, the ever-resourceful Emma has a ready solution. They’ll move into Mills Department Store, a place they can only dream of affording to buy from. It’s not easy, having to deal with a perpetually grumpy doorman, a nasty assistant manager, and an extremely suspect Santa, but Emma and Henry soon learn that the kindness of strangers is something money can’t buy.

Swan Believer centric, with eventual Swan Queen and background Rumbelle and Dwarf Star.

Rated: G

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Five

Henry had to admit that he felt a lot safer sleeping in the tent in the basement than he had done in beds and bedlinen. The zipped-up tent flap added an extra layer of security against, well, the security guards, and sleeping in sleeping bags with the lantern hanging above them reminded him of the van. It was almost a home from home. As much as he didn’t really want to live in Mills for any longer than they had to – the risks seemed to far outweigh the benefits, in his opinion – he could see himself being happy camping indoors for a while.

Or at least, he could have done, until the moment that he woke up on Sunday morning. The main lights in the shop were up, and he could hear people moving around outside the tent.

“Please let it be the cleaners,” he whispered to himself, and he unzipped the tent flap a minute fraction to peep out.

It was not the cleaners. The people just a few feet away from him, looking at sleeping bags, were most definitely customers, and to make matters even worse, they definitely had a sales assistant with them, pointing out the various merits of various different kinds of sleeping bags. As pleased as Henry was to know that the particular model that he himself was currently inside was one of the best they sold and the one that the shop assistant would personally recommend, that did not stop the rising feeling of dread that and Mum had found themselves in what could euphemistically be termed a bit of a pickle.

“Mum!” He scrambled out of his sleeping bag and shook Mum’s shoulder. “Mum! We overslept! The shop’s open!”

“What?” Mum grumbled. “It’s a Sunday, they don’t open till ten, what are you talking about…” She grabbed her phone and looked at the time.

It was ten fifteen.

“Well, bugger.” She looked at the tent flap. “No one’s going to want to look inside this tent, though, are they?”

Henry shrugged. “Maybe not, but we can’t exactly get out whilst they’re out there.” He pointed at the vague shadows of bodies that could be seen through the tent material.

“Good point. Right. We’d better get dressed and think of a plan.”

Henry and Mum had had to make some daring escapes from some daring places before in their time, so gathering together all of their things in either the dead of night or the middle of the day, or from a very small space, was nothing entirely new to them. All the same, Henry was quite certain that this was the most fraught that the experience had ever been. The need to keep very quiet wasn’t exactly helping, although thankfully the background music of looped Christmas pop tunes drowned out most of the noise of them moving luggage around.

Once they were ready to leave, Mum listened at the tent flap for a while. They really couldn’t stay here much longer; Henry’s stomach was growling and the longer they stayed, the greater their chance of discovery would be.

“Is there anyone there?” Henry whispered.

Mum shook her head. “I can’t tell. I think we’re just going to have to make a break for it.”

With a sudden, decisive movement, she unzipped the tent flap, startling the couple who had been looking at sleeping bags and who had appeared to have opted for the sales assistant’s recommendation. Thankfully, the assistant himself had wandered off. She grabbed her backpack and ushered Henry out of the tent.

“Well, the tent is definitely big enough for us and the backpack,” she said brightly, brushing herself off. “Come on Henry, we’ll come back and buy one later. We’ve got other shopping to do.”

They hurried off towards the escalators, leaving the astonished shoppers behind them.

“Do you think they bought it?” Henry asked.

“I have no idea, but we only have to get outside, I don’t think they’re likely to raise that much of a fuss in the time it takes us to get up one escalator and out of the door.”

There were all kinds of things that were wrong with that statement, and Henry couldn’t help but be nervous about all the luggage that they had left piled in the tent with the post-its on, but before he could point this out to Mum, they tripped at the last hurdle. Literally, almost. They were nearly out of the door, going as quickly as they possibly could without drawing attention to themselves, when Mum almost collided with Gold.

Henry had always thought that Gold looked very impressive and very terrifying in his uniform, and right now, he looked even more terrifying than he had ever done.

“Sorry,” Mum said cheerily. “If we could just…” She made to dodge past him, tugging on Henry’s hand, but Gold stood steadfastly in their way.

“I didn’t see you come in this morning,” he said, his tone accusatory, and Henry gulped, glancing up at Mum and hoping that she could talk their way out of this one like she’d talked them out of so many other scrapes in the past.

“Well, you know, it’s a big shop and there are a lot of shoppers. Only have to turn your back for a moment and someone can slip by you. I mean, what about now, you’re not monitoring everyone coming in and out now, are you?”

“That’s not the point,” Gold snapped. “I don’t recall you leaving last night, either. I generally have a good memory for these things.”

“Good for you. Keep eating the carrots. Or is that seeing in the dark? Anyway, if you don’t mind, our purchases have been completed and we’d like to leave the store.”

Gold looked her up and down. “Where are your bags?”

Emma patted the backpack. “Save the planet, cut down on plastic waste. Honestly, where are your environmental credentials, Mr Gold?”

“It’s ok, Alistair.”

Belle from the customer service desk came over to them, smiling brightly.

“I saw them come in earlier,” she said. “You were helping unfold Mrs Rothschild out of her taxi.”

Gold looked from Belle to Mum to Henry and back again, then gave an unsure nod and stood aside. Mum gave him her sweetest, butter wouldn’t melt smile, and they left the store just as Zelena’s high heels clattered down the main steps and her less than dulcet tones could be heard admonishing Gold.

“Mr Gold! I believe we had a conversation yesterday about the doorman’s primary location being on the outside of the building!”

Mum and Henry sped around the side of the shop before Gold could come out and find them loitering on the doorstep. It was only once they were out of sight that Henry felt able to breathe freely again.

“She knows, Mum,” he said mournfully. “Belle must know that we’re sleeping in the shop. Because she definitely didn’t see us come in this morning.”

“Yeah.” Mum leaned back against the wall to get her breath back. “Yeah, she must realise that something’s up. Damn it! Oh Henry, I’m so sorry. I was so certain that we’d found somewhere safe.”

“It’s ok.” Henry knew that Mum was trying her best. “We can find somewhere else.”

Although maybe, now that he thought about it, they wouldn’t have to. Belle had covered for them. She hadn’t seen them go in, and she had lied anyway and got them out of their scrape with Gold. And Belle liked Gold, Henry knew that much just from watching their interaction the previous day. She wouldn’t be doing it to get one over on him.

Maybe, just maybe, she was helping them out of the goodness of her heart, and she was actually helping them.

Henry put this tentative hope to Mum as they walked along in search of breakfast. She said nothing for a long time; Mum was used to not trusting anyone to have her best interests at heart. It had been so long since they’d benefitted from the kindness of strangers that she had begun to believe that it did not exist, although Henry still had faith in it.

He had faith in Belle not to give away their secret.

Gold was not having a good day. In fact, a day when Gold did have a good day was a rarity lately. His ex-wife had announced that she would be having their son for Christmas this year despite having had him last year and promising that he could stay with his dad this year, and Gold didn’t have the money or energy to try and dispute her. On top of that, he was cold, tired, and in pain, and he was feeling extremely old. His ankle was complaining bitterly about the long days spent outside in the freezing temperatures; it had been so swollen when he’d woken up this morning that he could barely get his support on, but if he’d left it off then he wouldn’t be able to move by the end of the day.

And, of course, there was the woman and the boy, the ones he wasn’t sure about. There was something fishy about them and the vast amounts of baggage that they always had whenever they came into the store. The fact that they’d left without the vast amounts of baggage this morning gave him even more cause for concern than them leaving with the baggage did. If they’d left with it, then he could put them down as petty thieves – not that it was possible for any kind of thievery in a store like Mills to be petty. Leaving the bags was altogether more perplexing. And he really hadn’t seen them come in this morning, and he wasn’t sure that Belle was telling the complete truth either. Still, he trusted Belle. She would have had her reasons for covering for them, he was sure.

Adding the cherry on top of this rather fine cake of complaints, Zelena was acting like a complete nutcase again, seeming to take a great delight in dressing him down in front of myriad customers whenever she found him inside the building in an effort to stop himself from freezing solid outside, and yet being rather overly friendly whenever they were together in private. He tried to avoid her at all costs, but she always seemed to have a way of finding him after staff briefings and trying to corner him. He couldn’t really tell exactly what she wanted, and he had come to believe that her constant reminding him of his place in the proverbial pecking order was some kind of punishment for rejecting her.

Right now, he was prepared to take it as long as it meant that he could stay away from her rapidly widening aura of insanity.

Gold rubbed his hands together, stamping his feet on the freezing paving slabs outside the door, waiting for customers coming in and out. The handwarmers that Belle had given him yesterday were a blessing, and Gold wished that they made a suit out of the material that he could wear under his uniform to keep him toasty in his entirety.

Actually, forget the handwarmers. Belle herself was a blessing. Right now, it felt like she was the only bright spark in his entire miserable life, and he desperately wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, but he could never bring himself to make a move. After all, who in their right mind would want him? He was probably twice her age for a start, not to mention the fact that he’d gone through a very acrimonious divorce, and he was still recovering from the alcoholic funk that he’d settled into after that had happened. It was a miracle that he’d landed the job at Mills, if he was honest, which was why he knew that he couldn’t complain about it, or about Zelena, too much. He owed a lot to Regina Mills, and if that meant putting up with everything he hated about his job, then so be it. At least he had a roof over his head and food on the table, and his son didn’t hate him quite as much as he’d done a few years ago.

Gold’s thoughts meandered back to Belle. Maybe he ought to take a chance and ask her out. It could be something very casual. He could ask her if she was going to the staff party on Christmas Eve. That way he could just arrange to see her there. It was a big enough shop, after all, they could definitely avoid each other if it got awkward. And it wouldn’t seem too much like a date then; just two colleagues looking out for each other during an evening of drunkenness and general debauchery. Ever since Belle had joined Mills, he’d always shared a camaraderie with her that went beyond the normal interactions of two colleagues who didn’t really know each other all that well. They were united against Zelena, both of them looking out for opportunities to undermine her whenever they could and lamenting the fact that those opportunities did not come anywhere near as often as they would like.

Or maybe he could begin the conversation by asking her what she was reading at the moment. She always had a book with her under the customer service desk and was very good at sneaking a quick half a page whilst looking like she was busy on the computer. Gold had found that his own reading repertoire had increased greatly since meeting Belle, as she was always so enthusiastic about her books and he wanted to experience the same kind of joy that she did from them. It didn’t always work; there were several titles that they’d ended up getting into passionate arguments about in the staff breakroom after hours, but Gold didn’t really care. It gave him an excuse to talk to her, after all.

The suspicious-looking mother and son were coming back. They’d left the store so early this morning, practically before they’d had chance to buy anything, and he hadn’t seen them again. His eyes met the blonde woman’s as they came past, and she narrowed hers, hurrying her son along the pavement and not trying to come in. He wondered if they’d try again when his back was turned. For all Mills was a large shop and took up most of the block, it only had the one entrance, so if they wanted to get in, then they would have to go through him. Gold sighed. He should probably just let them in; it would be his act of Christmas charity for the year. At the same time, though, knowing that someone was living in the store and not doing anything about it was a sure way to get himself fired, and getting fired just a couple of days before Christmas was not something anyone wanted. Maybe he could plead ignorance. Hopefully, whoever they were, they were canny enough not to get caught by someone who wasn’t Belle and didn’t have a kind heart.

The door began to open from the inside and Gold moved automatically to take it. When he saw who was coming out, he very nearly let the heavy glass slam back in his face. Killian, this year’s store Santa, a last-minute replacement for Marco, came out of the building and pulled his beard down, taking a long swig from a hipflask.

“You know that Zelena will pull your innards out if she finds you drinking on the job,” he said conversationally.

Killian just glared. “If I’m outside then I’m not on the job,” he muttered. “You try dealing with hundreds of screaming kids and even more screaming parents.”

As much as Killian rubbed him up the wrong way, Gold did have the tiniest bit of sympathy for him. Christmas always brought out the worst in people. It was a shame that Santa didn’t have a naughty list for adults as well.

Killian continued to stand on the steps beside him. Quite the pair they made, really, Gold in his resplendent uniform and Killian in his ill-fitting red and white suit, reeking of rum.

“The bird on customer services,” Killian said presently. Gold bristled; calling any woman a bird wasn’t great, but especially not Belle. “Do you know if she’s single?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Gold reply through gritted teeth. The seething anger was lost on Killian, who just shrugged.

“Huh. Might try my luck at the party. You know no-one ever gets fired for a bit of bad behaviour under the mistletoe at a Christmas party.” He waggled his eyebrows and Gold glared, opening the door with rather more force than necessary.

“Get back in there before Zelena throws a fit, and for God’s sake find a breath mint somewhere.”

Killian just laughed, but dutifully went back inside. Gold was so angry that he let the blonde woman and her son back into the shop without paying them any mind at all.

#Swan Believer #Swan Believer Fic #Emma Swan #Henry Swan #Mr Gold #Fic: Everything Money Can Buy

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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Fangs For The Memories || Ricky and Winston

Really, as far as roommates went, Winston was pretty much as good as one could get. Ricky liked having them around, and they got along well enough, but sometimes it was nice to have the house to himself. Winston had mentioned they were going to spend the night at their parents, so Ricky was enjoying the concept of some home-alone time which meant time he didn’t have to spend in hiding. Rifling through the refrigerator, Ricky decided it was as good a night as any to treat himself to the nice piece of salmon he’d bought the other day, and he was in the process of firing up the stove to sear it when he heard the front door slam open. Several things went through his mind in quick succession; one, that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and two, that his false teeth were in their case in his nightstand, and not in his mouth which was currently filled with very bright very sharp fangs that were on display for his very human roommate to see. He slammed the refrigerator shut and busied himself in the spice cabinet, keeping his back to Winston, “Oh hey dude…. You’re back early. Everything good?”

Winston was very wet still. After hanging out at their parents they’d been distracted by Pokemon Go and through a weird series of events with Skylar -- a girl they met through chance really -- they had been attacked by a gollum-esque creature and Skylar had revealed a rather sharp looking set of fangs. It was … well it was a lot to take in. Winston was trying to explain what they had seen just hours before, and on autopilot they had driven straight home to change. After all the Cave of Voices wasn’t the ideal place to go and fight weird animal things (which Winston was in the process of convincing themselves that’s what they must be) without getting a little wet. Brushing sand out of their hair, they slipped in the front door and pulled off their coat, hanging it to dry before heading towards the kitchen. “I had a very … weird experience.” Winston frowned gently as they strode into the kitchen.

Ricky carefully kept his back to Winston, grabbing some spices from the cabinet and mixing them in a small bowl. Without turning he reached over and twisted the volume down on music he was listening to; he knew it was probably louder than was standard for a normal conversation. “A weird experience?” He called over his shoulder, patting the spice mixture into the large salmon filet. There was no easy way to exit the conversation and make his way upstairs to put the most crucial piece of his human disguise back on. He turned over his shoulder to look at Winston and furrowed his brow at their appearance, “why are you wet?” He kept his lips as close together as he could but knew it’d be a hard conversation to follow if he couldn’t read Winston’s lips as they were talking. His hearing wasn’t completely absent on land, but it was bad enough that he usually needed to supplement with lip reading “Didn’t think it was supposed to rain tonight?”

Winston had left a basket of clean laundry in the utility room, slipping in, they began to peel their now damp clothes off of their skinny body, throwing each item of clothing straight into the washing machine and stepping into a fresh, clean pair. “I am getting to why I am wet, but have you ever been to the Cave of Voices beneath the Hanging Rock?” Winston was sure that Ricky wouldn’t have been there, “I was up at mom and dad’s and they were boring so I was playing Pokemon Go and I wandered over there.” They paused as they pulled on a warm pair of joggers and zipped a hoodie snuggly around them, pulling the hood up and slipping their glasses back on before going to take a seat at the breakfast bar. “So I go in search of a Pokemon I want, I end up in this little sea cave, and there’s that girl who helped me at the internship with those hard of hearing kids, Skylar, I’m sure I mentioned her a few months ago.” They weren’t really paying attention to what Ricky was doing, focussed more on explaining their weird day. “But that’s not the weirdest part. There was something in there.”

Ricky stiffened slightly when Winston mentioned the Cave of Voices. As far as he knew it wasn’t the permanent home of anything dangerous but it definitely had enough supernatural visitors that it wasn’t a place humans should be hanging out regularly. “You went to the Cave of Voices for a Pokémon? That place is super dangerous, Win. The tides will drag you out to sea real easy if you’re not careful.” It was Winston’s mention of something else in the cave that really gave Ricky pause however. “what kind of something?” He turned to face his roommate, cupping his chin in such a way where his fingers obscured his mouth. He didn’t think anything had taken up residence in the Cave recently but if something had it was something that was going to have to be addressed sooner rather than later and he didn’t really feel in the mood to have a knock down drag out fight with yet another alghoul. “You want some dinner? I’ve got enough for two here.”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston couldn’t help but admit that they wished they had known that before hand. “Now you tell me that it is dangerous?!” Winston replied exasperatedly, “If I’d known about the tides I would never have gone there.” They were too nervous taking risks as it was already. Risk averse might as well be their double barrelled middle name. “But like I was saying, the tide was not the problem, the problem was this something, and what kind of something I couldn’t tell you. Maybe if a bat and orangutan had a baby then it would’ve looked like this, but it also just looked like a jacked Gollum.” Winston wanted to tell Ricky the whole story, to explain about Skylar’s veneers and everything with her mouthful of teeth, but they didn’t feel as if that was really their secret to share. “It came after me and Skylar…” they paused and shrugged, “I’ve called animal control and informed the sergeant at the office.” After all one of the perks of working at the police department was if anything went wrong then they would be able to talk to someone they knew personally. “They said they’d send someone down there to check it out, but I don’t know if they really believed me.” Pausing for a moment, they adjusted their glasses and nodded. “If you’ve got enough, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Haven’t you lived here your whole life?! You should know that tidal caves are some bad news bears up in this bitch. I’m glad you two made it out okay but that shit coulda gone south if the tides were super strong.” Ricky grabbed a pan from the rack and lit the stove, listening to the click click click of the pilot before the burner caught and the flame whooshed to life. A pat of butter went in the pan as he carefully listened to Winston’s story, mentally trying to catalogue what it might be that was lurking down in the cave. “Did it hurt you guys? Wild……. animals can have all sorts of nasty diseases. We should get you to the hospital if you got bit or scratched.” He knew a lot of the lesser necrophages were disgusting disease vectors, and even a scratch from one of them could lead to a terrible infection. “Well. I believe you. The legends about that place” and the entire town, he thought silently to himself, “put some pretty gnarly shit down in there. I haven’t been in since I was a high schooler,” another convenient lie, “and I don’t plan on going back anytime soon.” Given the description Ricky thought it was probably a ghoul that had attacked them, which made him feel slightly better. Ghouls weren’t that terrible. “Two salmon dinners coming right up then.”

“Hey,” Winston snapped back, shaking their head indignantly, “I know it was a bad decision, I don’t need you to call me out like that. Besides, I’m just fine at swimming, I’d have managed. I’m more concerned about the fact that Gollum is down there and apparently without the one ring.” Raising their palms, Winston showed Ricky their palms which were still grazed and raw from their fall in the cave. “I have a few bumps and bruises, it really went took it out on Skylar worse, she was in a worse state then me but we both made it out.” Winston was surprised that Ricky accepted their story so easily. “I can’t reconcile it within my own head, it was like something out of a game dude, there’s… there’s …. I just can’t get it straight. I know rationally that this makes no sense. But I saw what I saw.” Not to mention Skylar’s fangs. This town was getting weirder and weirder by the second. Picking at the drawstring of their waist band, Winston smiled gratefully before taking their glasses and anxiously polishing them. “Thanks, I appreciate this dude.” They knew they must’ve interrupted a quiet night alone, which was a rarity for the both of them.

“It’s literally your roommates job to call you out when you do dumb shit. It’s like in the roommate handbook. You need a beer to settle your nerves?” Ricky pulled two out of the fridge and popped the tops off, sliding one across the counter without waiting for a reply before turning back to the meal he was cooking. The kitchen was starting to fill with the smell of pungent spices as Ricky thought about his next move. He prided himself on being honest with the people around him; but there were some very specific loopholes to that policy and they all dealt with the supernatural. Which is why he was less than pleased with his choice to gaslight his roommate. “I’m sure Gollum himself wasn’t lurking in the Cave of Voices.” He kept his voice pitched light and breezy, “it’s dark, it’s cramped, and it’s more than a little creepy. The human brain likes to fill in all sorts of blanks with the insane when it’s confronted with something terrifying. You probably just startled some poor forest creature who got stuck in there by the tide. You’re lucky you don’t catch rabies.”

Winston was about to say that they didn’t want a beer, but Ricky put one in their hand anyway and the cold, malty liquid felt good. “Thanks dude, I know it is your job to make sure that I’m not doing anything that could potentially kill me.” Ricky was a good guy. He had done a lot for Winston in the small amount of time that they had been living together. Winston was distracted, otherwise they might have noticed that Ricky was keeping his back to Winston. They might have noticed that they weren’t directly addressing them and they hadn’t seen their teeth yet. But they were kind of preoccupied. “I don’t think it was Gollum either, probably an animal and a bump on the head or something, i know that your brain tries to turn everything into a narrative and the fear probably just y’know, changed my perception.” They had been convinced earlier that whatever it was hadn’t been an animal, but this was the real world. It had to be an animal. There was nothing else that it could be. “I know, I know,” Winston replied glumly, their left thumb picking at the corner of the label on the beer, rolling and unrolling it restlessly, “I just can’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it then a rabid animal.” It wasn’t really their problem. They weren’t a member of animal control.

“Your mother would kill me if I let anything happen to you and frankly I’m convinced that she could do it with little effort on her part.” Ricky plated the salmon and slid one of the plates across the counter to Winston, setting a fork down next to it. “Fear is a powerful thing. But I know deer and badgers and the sort go down there to forage at low tide and then get trapped in the cave. You might have just startled one of them that was already at the end of its rope and its fight or flight response kicked in.” He waved his own fork glibly as he laughed off Winston’s story, trying to put them at ease while pushing them towards believing they hadn’t seen a necrophage and instead had just seen a frightened animal. He realized too late, however, that between taking a bite of his salmon and laughing brightly he’d left his mouth open for far too long, and he no longer had his back to his roommate. He snapped it shut and took a sip of his beer, hoping that Winston has been too distracted by the delicious food to look at him.

Winston didn’t think that their mother would kill Ricky. They were certain that their fate would be far more gruesome then an easy death. “Well don’t worry because I won’t let anything happen to you, and my mother isn’t about to find out about this.” Turning the plate round, Winston scooped up their fork and picked at the slice of salmon that Ricky had cooked for them. Ricky didn’t seem to eat much other then fish and meat, but they knew how to cook it and they did a damn good job. Winston just assumed that Ricky was fussy and out of deference to their friend had elected not to bring the topic up, incase it embarrassed them. “Maybe, but I’ve got to admit that it didn’t look like any sort of deer or badger that I have ever seen before, this looked like a cross between a monkey and a bat.” Winston looked up just in time to see Ricky’s gleaming mouthful of fangs. Wait … fangs? Winston felt their eyes widen and realised that they had caught Ricky’s eye for a moment. A look of shock on their face before they looked at their plate and shovelled a huge mouthful of fish into their mouth. “Mmhmmm this is great fish dude,” they said inbetween bites, doing what they could to avoid admitting to what they had just seen. But they’d seen those very same teeth on Skylar, hours before. What the fuck was going on?

Given the profound look of shock on their face and the renewed vigor with which they ate and commented on the fish, Ricky knew pretty immediately that the jig was up. “Winston…” he sighed wearily as he set down his fork and took a drink of his beer. “Yeah. I know it’s great fish. I can cook fish like a motherfucker. Because fish and meat are pretty much all I can eat. Listen. I know you saw and you can stop trying to hide that behind food comments and eating. Mostly because at the rate you’re going you’re gonna finish that fish in two bites. So. Yeah. Let’s talk.” He’d really planned on going a lot longer without having this conversation. But. Hopefully Winston’s cool head would prevail “if it makes you feel better… it definitely wasn’t a badger or a deer you saw.”

With a mouthful of fish, Winston looked up at Ricky and let out an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, I know you eat fish and meat, because you’re a giant baby living in a man’s body and you hate your veggies, you’re a fussy eater and you’ve probably got like a gluten intolerance right?!” They let out a high pitched anxious laugh and shoved more fish into their mouth. “But you’re right, really good fish, you did an amazing job, like you always did. HA ha what amazing fish.” They chewed extra slowly on the tiny amount of fish that they had left. “I’m sorry Ricky,” Winston said glancing at their wrist and realising they weren’t wearing a watch, “but I’ve got to dash, my parents are expecting me for dinner and they’ll be upset if I’m late…” they tried to force their heart to slow down, but it wasn’t working. They didn’t have time to focus on something else and just breath. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later.” They were standing and grabbing their rucksack and keys. They would stay at their parents house tonight. They would also be checking to see if they too had a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Thanks again for the fish dude.”

It became readily apparent to Ricky that this was going to be at least a two part conversation, as Winston gathered their things and started to head towards the door. “Winston.” Ricky called out from where he was sitting picking at his fish, “my….. fussy eating” which seemed to be the terms they were going to couch this in for the moment, “Is a secret for a reason. There are people who would use that as an excuse to hunt me. Literally. So if we could keep this between us for the moment. I’d appreciate it.” He took another swig if beer and glanced down at his phone as Winston headed for the door, “also. It was probably a ghoul. Down in the cave. Sounds like one. Don’t go back there again. It’s not safe til that things been taken care of. Be careful.” All he could do was trust that he and Winston had enough of a bond that his roommate wouldn’t go blabbing to the whole town.

Winston was pulling their rucksack onto their back and had their hand wrapped around the handle to the front door. “Ricky,” Winston said turning to face him, “Ghouls aren’t real. In the same way that ghosts, vampires, werewolves and magic aren’t real. This isn’t supernatural or the Witcher. None of these things exist in the real world. If they did exist, don’t you think that the internet would’ve spread the word about them? You think that a secret that big could be kept?!” They laughed nervously, suddenly unsure in everything that they had just asserted was the truth. “I won’t tell anyone about your fussy eating,” Winston said sourly, “I know how to keep a secret,” they pulled the front door open and felt a cold breeze roll into their house. “Besides, I’ve always got your back, even if you … are a fussy eater.” With that they were taking a step out of the front door and heading towards their car. They needed answers. They needed time to think and try and wrap their head around this. Ricky had used the words ghoul for fucksake?!

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy para #p: ricky #my soft soft heart #fangs for the memories

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