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sehnsuchts-trunken · 7 months ago

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What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 9k words

summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:

nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)

It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.

He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.

He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.

And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.

Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.

His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)

His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.

You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.

Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.

Fucking god-

He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.

So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.

No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.

He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.

"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"

And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.

"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.

"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"

"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"

"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"

He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.

...

"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.

"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You fall back onto your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"

Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend a night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.

Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he even managed to show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.

His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.

"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."

You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.

"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.

You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half week more, one and a half...

...

Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane would get in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken to him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.

You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).

You're just so excited.

It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.

You miss him so much.

Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.

Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.

You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.

You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.

It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.

Almost.

He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.

He sees you before you see him.

But then, then when you see him-

You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?

You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.

He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.

God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!

His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.

You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.

That's when Jake pulls back.

"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.

"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."

He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.

He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.

There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.

As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.

"I think we should get out of here, darling."

Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.

"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.

You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.

His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.

"I want to do it for you", you hum.

"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.

"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.

"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.

You glance at him.

"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.

"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-

"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.

You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.

"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."

Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.

"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."

Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.

He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.

His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.

You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.

You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.

You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.

Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.

"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.

"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"

You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.

"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."

"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."

Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.

"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-

"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?

"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.

The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.

You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.

And then he pulls back.

You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.

"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.

"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.

You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.

Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.

You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.

Fuck.

You'd forgotten how much... how easily...

"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.

"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.

"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.

So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.

Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.

You bite down on your lip and look up at him.

God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-

"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.

"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.

For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.

"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."

You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.

"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.

"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.

He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than three seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.

"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"

Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.

"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."

Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.

"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."

He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.

He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.

Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.

You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.

You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.

But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.

He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.

He rolls his seat all the way back.

"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.

"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.

"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."

Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...

"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"

You swallow.

"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.

You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.

You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.

"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."

Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.

Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.

"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.

"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."

You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.

"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."

"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."

He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-

A month away from each other. A month too long.

"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.

"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the seat.

A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. God, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the driver's seat of your car.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."

You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-

"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.

"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you've learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.

"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.

His grin widens.

"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"

"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.

"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."

It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.

"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.

Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-

And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...

Yeah. Barely.

"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.

"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"

You nod.

You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.

He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.

"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"

"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

His eyes drop down to your mouth then.

"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."

He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.

That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.

Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.

His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.

You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.

But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.

You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.

You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.

And he knows you can't.

Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.

So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.

"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.

It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.

Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.

Goddamn.

He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.

You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.

You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.

"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."

He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high not on your own, but on his fingers for the first time in four full weeks.

"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."

You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.

And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.

"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"

He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.

Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.

Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.

So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.

"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-

Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.

You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.

You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.

You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.

So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off of your tongue so filthily that he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.

"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.

"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.

Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.

You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.

"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."

"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.

He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.

"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"

The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.

"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."

The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.

He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.

But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.

So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.

He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.

Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-

Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-

"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.

Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.

"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.

No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.

Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.

"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.

"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."

Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.

"Such a brat."

#x reader #dbf!jake seresin #dbf!jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #dbf!jake seresin smut #jake seresin smut #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun x reader #hangman x reader

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tyungelic · 2 months ago

Text

★ don't smile

★ — pairing. yunho x gn!reader

★ — summary. a fun night out turns into a night you regret.

★ — tags. non-idol au, post-breakup, angst, smoking, reader has depression

★ — word count. 1.2k words

★ — author’s note. don’t smile by sabrina carpenter has been stuck in my head all day so i had to write a lil something~ hope you enjoy it! consider this an apéritif before my bigger yunho fic comes out! thanks for reading <3

“Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa ‘dentro!”

You chant with your friends before downing yet another shot of fireball. It burns going down and makes your eyes water, but the warmth that spreads through your body afterwards is welcoming considering how cold it is outside.

“Going out for a cig, I’ll be back,” you announce to your friends. You fish for your box of One Slims in your coat pocket and pull one out. The cigarette hangs between your teeth and rests against your bottom lip as you search for your lighter. You take a long drag and watch your surroundings as you lean against the building.

Smoking was a habit you got sucked back into recently. You’d been clean for nearly two years, but your breakup with Yunho was what brought it back.

You shake that thought off. No need to think about your ex-boyfriend tonight, you’re here to have a good time. It’s amazing to you how Hongdae manages to stay so packed even in the middle of January, you think to yourself. You turn to watch the other clubs and bars fill with people, and…

No, it’s not… it can’t be.

There’s no mistaking it. That’s him, that’s Yunho.

He’s standing outside the bar, holding hands with a woman you’ve never seen before. Their fingers are interlocked and Yunho’s doing that thing he used to do with you where he strokes your hand with his thumb. He’s all smiles as he looks at her with stars in his eyes.

In that moment, the cold air around you feels suffocating, your lungs feel like they’re made of lead. You can’t will yourself to move, to turn away and walk in the opposite direction. It’s as if your feet have been suctioned to the sidewalk. All you can do is stand and watch in abject horror. Your cigarette falls from between your trembling fingers and onto the pavement.

Hearing Wooyoung call your name snaps you out of it, and by the time you’re back to the present moment, Yunho is out of your line of sight.

“Hey, we were lookin’ for you,” Wooyoung says as he emerges from the crowded bar with San at his side.

You almost can’t believe what you just saw. It all feels like something out of a terrible dream.

“Oh,” you say flatly. You can’t hide that the air had been knocked out of you. Your eyes are already beginning to sting.

“I should start heading home, it’s late.” You can already feel your throat tightening.

“Now? Are you sure?” San asks. “Come on, things are just getting started.”

“Yeah, I’m- I’m really tired. Sorry. Have a good time without me, okay?”

San and Wooyoung call after you, but you turn away and walk toward the train station as quickly as your legs will allow you. You don’t want to turn back. You can’t.

You cringe internally at the way your voice shook just now. You hold down the power button on your phone and catch the next train back to your neighborhood. You can’t stop replaying that moment in your head. Yunho looked so happy, much happier than he was when he met with you at the park to break things off. Your stomach twists at the memory, he tried so hard to put on a happy front, delivering such devastating news with a smile.

Tears start streaming down your face and you can’t stop them. You’re so angry at him, at yourself. Of course he’s moved on by now. He’s Yunho, after all. Sweet, handsome, kindhearted Yunho. It was only a matter of time before someone saw all the radiant beauty in him, but did it have to be so soon? It’s only been two months since you broke up— was he that excited to get rid of you?

He stuck with you through every depressive episode, every moment you wanted to give up on everything. Everyone has a breaking point, did he reach his?

Were you a burden to him this entire time?

You’d only been together for a year and a half, but that time meant the world to you. He was everything you ever wanted, it felt like a dream to be with him. It was only a matter of time before you woke up from it.

You wake up with a pounding headache the next morning. You figure now is the perfect time to turn your phone back on. Part of you hopes to get a call or a text from Yunho acknowledging what happened last night. Maybe he spotted you and thought about you, too.

Instead you’re faced with a hoard of missed calls from Wooyoung and concerned text messages from the rest of your friend group. You figure you owe it to your friends to let them know you’re okay. You hit send on your message to the groupchat and promptly decide to call Wooyoung back.

He picks up within two rings.

“Morning,” he greets, sounding a bit groggy. “Did you get back home safe?”

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry for running off last night, I was just—”

“—No, it’s fine. You weren’t ready, I shouldn’t have pushed it. Are you okay?”

You sigh, preparing yourself to lie. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“You sure? You don’t sound alright.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip to stop the tears from escaping your eyes, but to no avail. You break down into sobs, your entire body shaking.

“Last night, I saw him… I saw Yunho. He was with someone new.”

Wooyoung gasps. “Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

“He looked so happy,” you sob. “He’s so happy with her and I made him so fucking miserable when we were together.”

“That’s not true. Yunho had nothing but good things to say about you the whole time you were together. Hell, even before he asked you out, he wouldn’t shut up about you. He loved you, Y/N.”

“Then why? Why did things have to end the way they did? Why did he move on so quickly?”

“I dunno, I wish I knew why,” Wooyoung says. “But he lost out on someone amazing. It’s his loss.”

“God, I should’ve known he was with someone new, he’s been so quiet in the groupchat lately. I just thought, y’know, since it’s taking me this long to get over him…” Your words trailed off with a sniffle. “I want him to miss me. Am I asking for too much? I just want him to miss me.”

You’ve missed Yunho every day since he said goodbye on that park bench.

“Listen to me, Y/N. Love found you when you and Yunho got together and it’ll find you again. I promise it will.”

“Okay,” you say, but you don’t believe him. You know he means well, he always does, but you don’t want love to find you again. You don’t have the energy in you to have another talking stage, to be vulnerable with another person, to have someone new see you at your worst.

You don’t want another do-over with someone new.

You just want your Yuyu back.

#ateez x reader #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #yunho fanfic #tyungelic : my fics 🪽

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michelangelinden · 2 years ago

Note

hii!! can I please ask for number 2, jukebox, romantic, for the winter prompt list? I hope you're having a good day/night!

Hello!! Of course!!

Here is 2. Pressing your cold nose against their neck from this promptlist for you!!

(i had a couple leftover asks from the Autumn prompts, so I asked them to send in a Winter prompt instead, to fit the season)

this was beta read by me and Grammarly, because writing's not that easy, but Grammarly can help /ref (it sucked btw)

The Molina family had some strange holiday traditions, Luke had come to realize over the last couple years of knowing them. Of course, they celebrated Christmas differently than his family, being Puerto Rican and all, those are definitely not the strange traditions he’s talking about (in fact, he really enjoys it, mostly the food though, he was delighted when he'd been invited to their Christmas Eve dinner for the first time).

No.

There were however the annual “Pyjama ‘Home Alone’ Watch Party”, the “Who Can Buy The Ugliest Tree Ornament Contest”, and the “Building A Snowman So High It’ll Fall Over Mission”, among other things. And then what Luke found by far the strangest, the “Ice Camping In The Mountains Trip” between Christmas and New Year.

That’s where he found himself, in the car, about to reach their destination. Ray had invited him to come along, now that he and Julie had been dating for over a year, much to Carlo’s protests about having to watch him and his sister be lovey-dovey for two days straight. Luke had accepted the invitation, of course, any opportunity to spend time with Julie was taken, although he hadn’t really been sure what exactly “Ice Camping In The Mountains Trip” implied. Then again, he could’ve guessed, because it implied exactly what it was called—a camping trip into the mountains, like up there, where there was ice.

He was already wearing too many clothes for his liking, a sweater with a shirt underneath, a hat, and a scarf, and they hadn’t even exited the car yet. Julie next to him didn't look any different, minus the hat, but she was huddled up in an incredibly soft-looking knitted sweater, that he had felt the urge to hug her in since she had put it on at their last fuel stop. Carlos probably wouldn't approve.

"Five more minutes, guys," Ray announced from behind the wheel, Carlos bouncing in his seat next to him. When Luke looked out the window, he found a thin layer of snow covering everything that wasn't the street, and he shuddered at the sight of it.

"It may look cold now, but it's gonna be really cozy once we set the tent up," Julie told him quietly.

His head snapped towards her. "Tent?"

She frowned at him. "Yeah, tent. How else would we be camping?"

Luke opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "I was hoping on a caravan. Maybe a cabin," he said eventually.

"Cabins are for losers!" Carlos called from the front. "Tents are the real deal!"

"It's minus degrees out there," Luke tried.

"Don't be silly," Julie said and patted his hand, "it's just below 30°F."

Still super fucking cold.

"You won't freeze, Luke," Ray assured him. "We've done this so many times. We have sleeping bags and many blankets and a portable heater."

"And each other," Julie added, slipping her hand into his. Luke smiled at that. He did like the prospect of cuddling with Julie the whole night.

"Ew, gross!" Carlos seemed to disagree. "Dad, they're already holding hands, I can't do this!"

Ray chuckled. "Calm down, mijo, we've talked about boundaries." He caught Luke's eyes in the rearview mirror. Luke nodded back at him, nervous, even though he had nothing to worry about. He really wasn't up for anything other than maybe a small kiss while being around Julie's dad. Ray turned back to the front and addressed his son again. "Wait till you have a partner of your own, then you'll get the two."

Carlos crossed his arms. "I'm never gonna fall in love and have a partner. I'm gonna stay single, like Bobby."

Luke couldn't help but chuckle. "Reggie is Bobby's partner though, even though he doesn't fall in love."

"Yeah, but only platonic. Not as gross as you two."

Luke resisted the urge to tell him that even though Reggie and Bobby were queerplatonic partners, they did kiss sometimes, just because it was fun, and were more touchy than he and Julie. He doubted Carlos would enjoy knowing that.

So instead, to tease him more, he leaned over to Julie and made obnoxious kissing noises. Carlos immediately groaned, turning away, but Julie laughed brightly. She smiled at him when he stopped, eyes fond.

"Idiot," she muttered, then pecked his lips.

They reached the small campsite they were headed to not much later, a large area with benches and fireplaces all over. Luke started freezing the second he stepped out the door, but Julie just placed his flannel coat over his shoulders and shoved a bag with pegs into his hands.

“Working will get you warm,” she said, then patted his cheek and walked off to help her brother unpack the car.

Luke helped Ray set up the tent. To Luke’s surprise, it went really well, considering historically he was not the best guy to set up tents with. But Ray seemed to have mastered the art after years of it, so the hardest part was getting the pegs into the slightly frozen ground, which Luke eventually resigned to using a log for.

Then he watched Julie and Carlos set up a fire in the fireplace, Ray watching them carefully. Julie had asked Luke if he wanted her to teach him how to do it, but he declined, too scared to accidentally set their tent on fire in the process. So he just watched them do it, impressed by how quickly they got it to light aflame, even in the cold.

Everything got a bit more comfortable after that. They were wrapped in jackets and blankets, Luke and Julie huddled close next to each other, the fire heating their cold fingertips. They had dinner and Ray even brought out marshmallows, crackers, and chocolate for s’mores, to all of their delight.

Despite Luke’s hesitation about the whole thing, and the fact that he couldn’t feel his toes, he had a lot of fun. The campsite was basically deserted apart from a group of hikers at the other side, so they were not embarrassed to sing a song or two, Carlos doing his best at keeping up a rhythm on the back of his plate. It was cold as hell, but Luke really got why the Molina’s have made this one of their winter traditions—the smiles on everyone’s faces could have lit up the world, and Luke felt himself warming up a bit from the inside out.

The sun set quickly, stars littering the night sky that were a spectacle of their own, but eventually, it got too dark and late and cold, and they decided that it was time to head to sleep.

Carlos was grumbling again. It was a tent with two compartments, but instead of getting to share one with Julie, he had to sleep in the one with his dad, which he said, “snores like a bear!” Ray suggested he could sleep outside if it bothered him that much, which made Carlos shut up about it quickly.

And then finally, Julie and Luke were laying down on the air mattress, a little cold but comfortable, two blankets ready to go and another one at the side, looking forward to cuddling. Luke pulled Julie close the second they were horizontal, and she let him, hugging his middle.

“I know you feel cold, but you’re like a portable heater from the outside,” she commented as she pushed her face into his chest.

He laughed. “Thanks.” He brushed a hand over the back of her head, hair wrapped in a silk scarf to keep from going frizzy. “Are you warm enough?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she responded. Luke frowned, confused, but then she tilted her head upwards and pushed her ice-cold nose into the side of his neck.

Luke yelped and reeled back. Julie just cackled. She turned her head to push it into his shoulder instead.

“Jesus Christ, Jules!” he let out, now laughing with her.

“The chance was too good not to take it,” she said around a giggle.

He sighed loudly but chuckled. His neck calmed down from the shock and he relaxed back into his pillow, turning towards her.

“Come here then,” he said. When she looked up at him, he gently took her chin and tilted her head upwards a bit, so he could press a lingering kiss to her nose. “Gotta warm you up,” he whispered, before kissing her forehead as well.

She giggled. “Thanks.” She reached up to kiss his lips. “Love you.”

Luke’s chest warmed at her words. He kissed her back. “Love you too,” he muttered into her lips.

They melted into each other, a slow cocoon of heat enveloping them underneath the blankets. But the peace wouldn’t stay long.

“Dad, I can hear them being gross from here!” Carlos called. It was followed by a deep sigh.

“You won’t hear them if you go to sleep,” Ray responded tiredly.

“But—ouch!” There was a rustling noise coming from the other side. “Did you just kick me?”

“I know nothing.”

More rustling.

Then, “Luke, if I apologize, will you let me switch?”

“No chance, dude,” Luke called back. Julie snickered as she curled back around him.

#pushing the aroace!Bobby agenda #i write juke so rarely but they're so soft i love them!#thanks for sending this in!!#linden writes stuff #linden answers asks #julie and the phantoms #juke #luke patterson #julie molina #ray molina #carlos molina

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mckeeziiie · 1 year ago

Text

delirium

oneus’s geonhak (leedo)

after being spit up from the sea, geonhak fell into heaven’s arms

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

There was sand everywhere. It burrowed into his skin and left behind aching, raw, angry scabs that gurgled blood like a choking animal. It cloaked the man in a second skin - like a blanket of coarse paper that clung to his face and arms, unable to be scratched off, which only led to more angry red splotches. His hair dripped with salt water and was encrusted with dried sediment, the sand forming shells around each lock of ebony waves. The sand crept into his eyes and made them water to the point the man was crying - however the crushing weight of the situation he was in dawned on him like a searing slap to the face.

Geonhak was a traveling merchant; he sailed from island to island, country to country, seeking people to buy his hand-crafted pots and bowls, his finely cut jewelry and polished shells, his seasoned and filleted fish poppers and delicately refreshing coconut spritzers. He was a man of all trades he was told - literally and metaphorically - for he sold all and did all. Geonhak went to a prestigious college in the heart of his country, studied to be an architect of the Roman-esqe temples that dotted villages, but fell out of such interest in less than a year. He's always had a passion for trade, the idea of crafting and selling, that he thought he'd risk his future, his family's fortune, his name, his life for his business.

"Looks like I really did risk my life, didn't I?"

Geonhak struggled onto his knees; his back ached worse than it ever had, and it seemed like he couldn't use his right arm. With slow and precarious movements, Geonhak twisted his right arm to peek near his shoulder; what he saw knocked the breath from his lungs, zippered his throat closed.

A large wooden splinter, about the size of Geonhak's hand, was lodged inside his upper arm.

How it got there, he couldn't remember. What he could remember, though, he pushed out of mind before it could resurface, yet there was little he could do with a splinter that sucked the life from him like a sickly wooden parasite. Waves the size of buildings crashing onto his tiny boat, wind howling as loud as a boulders pummeling the ground, his precious treasures and gems scattered about the churning waters, a wave - determined in its course that looked to have sneered at Geonhak - collapsing onto his tattered boat, total darkness.

Geonhak must've tensed, for his arm seized with white-hot pain. Before he could stop seeing two of things, he ripped the splinter free and threw it as far away as possible. Geonhak doubled over and landed on the sand, nearly jolting with fresh surges of searing pain. But he knew he couldn't stay like this. Geonhak didn't know where he was; all he knew was how he ended up here - well, parts of it - and that he wouldn't let himself bleed out on the beach of some random island.

With excruciating effort, Geonhak lifted himself up and tore off a piece of his cloth pants, ignoring the quivering of his arm and tying a makeshift tourniquet so tight that Geonhak's head buzzed after it was all over. He sat in the sand, knees to his chest and tears down his cheeks and breaths like squeaks of mice, and waited. Waited for a fisherman or a townsperson to stumble upon him, waited for a sliver of gentle sunlight, waited for the sound of distant thunder to pass so his legs could stop shaking for him to walk.

The past several minutes were the most hollow

Geonhak has ever felt. He has no idea where he is, the remaining morsels of determination drained from him like the blood now trickling down his arm, he has no one to ask for help, because who would come to a rocky shoreline on the brink of a thunderstorm, and he was shivering - whether from the hole in his arm, or the saltwater Geonhak's clothes were soaked in, he couldn't decipher between the two.

He felt defeated, lonely, withered, and oh so terrified that when he heard the sweet melody of a woman's voice, Geonhak didn't hesitate to scramble onto his feet and sprint toward the song.

Geonhak slammed into a wall of jagged rock and craned his neck to see past them. After hobbling around the shoreline, the soggy man concluded that the beautiful, almost alluring song was coming from across a barrier of fierce, pointed beach rock.

With trembling legs and the softest of touches - because the tourniquet was now stained completely red and his tricep now streaked with crimson - Geonhak stepped atop a slippery rock and peered through the spires.

Through a thin sheet of drizzle, Geonhak saw more angular rocks, each with its own sheen of diamonds, carpeting a small coast and conjoining beach. The air across the wall seem lighter, almost fresher, and definitely clearer, for the water glistened brighter, and sand appeared softer, and the person draped across the flats of rocks shone like a pearl in an oyster.

The person - Geonhak didn't know what to call them, since they had the voice of a woman, but the physique of a man - sang a tune Geonhak didn't recognize, however that was the least of his worries, for the medley was the only reason he was able to see this beauty. Their hair curled into ringlets of springy mahogany, coupled with pearly shells and stripes of shimmering seaweed; their chest was shrouded in a fine, opaque material as if they were displaying their muscles for painters to observe, like a marble sculpture carved from talented hands. Their spindly legs were curtained by silk, and Geonhak swore he saw flayed skin at their heels, but with his vision rocking in and out of focus at a nauseating rhythm, he no longer had faith in his eyes. Their porcelain body shone with a faint glow, almost like a beacon of warmth and safety and care, something Geonhak so desperately longed for; and as the man - blinded by a sort of wild desire for comfort - climbed over the rocks and sunk his feet into the pillowy sand, the person turned just in time to see Geonhak drop to his knees.

Even through the overwhelming dizziness and intense nausea that tore through Geonhak's body, he was still able to take in the art that was the being's face, since Geonhak was convinced no one from this realm looked as they did.

They had a forehead of polished marble, eyes of blown glass, a nose carved from the Gods, cheeks like summer clouds, and lips made of rose petals and spring water. Eyelashes like chaste kisses fluttered their eyes closed, and diamonds like dew droplets littered their face. Copper spirals sprung free from their sea-shelled homes and graced the skin of their forehead like summer shade, their eyebrows like strips of honed bronze.

Geonhak felt like he was falling before he landed in the hands of this beauty. He was lost and frightened, like a kitten amid the bustle of city life. Everywhere he looked his surroundings rushed past him with complete disregard for the injured man: the wind wiped and whistled a death song, the clouds above rumbled a dark chuckle, their ash color as menacing as the glares the razor-sharp rocks gave him from their perch along the beach, the trees whispered with sweet malice, like a poison berry dipped in sugar.

Geonhak was so petrified that when the person gave him the slightest notion of comfort, the smallest glance of warmth, Geonhak stopped, fell into their arms, and wept.

"Shh, there-there. You're safe now, my sweet pearl." They caressed Geonhak's cheek so lightly it felt like a fleeting kiss, and the man yearned for affection of any kind, so he leaned towards the being, getting as close as his forehead to their chest before another gut-wrenching sob wracked his body.

"Please don't leave me," Geonhak managed to sputter through gulps of humid air. This daze he was trapped in felt too surreal to be reality, so he unwound himself, let himself fall into the mysterious yet oh-so-intoxicating delirium, allowed himself to get drunk off the spell he was under.

"How could I ever leave someone like you here?"

Their voice was like crisp church bells. Geonhak felt a slender finger curl under his chin and bring it up to face the being; he held back a gasp and a whimper.

"You're too beautiful to leave behind."

Geonhak felt his mind cloud, the corners of his eye fade out into a milky fog, the throbbing along his arm melt into the rhythm of his heart. It was all too much for Geonhak that all his body could do was spill tears and drip blood and continue gawking at the wonder in front of him. However, in the deepest recesses of his mind, the ones that were shrouded so thickly by the rose-colored fog, there was a dull ring that faded as quickly as the dribble of spit that knifed down his chin.

Just as Geonhak was going to lift his arm to push away, the being trailed its soft fingers up his injured arm; he felt his arm convulse - whether out of pain or anticipation, he didn't know - yet the pleasing feeling of velvety tendrils ghosting up his arm sent rivers of tears down Geonhak's cheeks.

"Say, what happened here? I can't have my beauties tainted."

The perfectly cylindrical fingers came into view stained crimson. The cloth was now heavy with blood, and through his haze, Geonhak was able to mouth 'boat sunk'. The being before him seemed to jolt with worry and horror, bringing the man closer so that one arm was gently circling his waist.

The man visibly fell deeper into his rose-curtained well. All his senses were drowned out and completely focused on the being holding Geonhak. Nothing mattered anymore; his helplessness was replaced by warmth and pleasure and love - Yes, Geonhak loved the being before him. He saved Geonhak's life, they plucked him from the jaws of death and laid him upon a silk bed of rose petals. They nurtured him and listened to him and cared for him when no one else did; they showed him kindness and beauty and protection from a world of destruction, hatred, and death.

The marble fingers danced before Geonhak's eyes, twirling and spinning in shimmering light that when the being brought them to their mouth, Geonhak didn't register the cleaned fingers and spiked teeth until a pain so unbearable clutched him it dissolved the dream.

Geonhak fell to the sand as the being climbed on top of his writhing body to hold it in place. All the man could see were stars; the being had snaked its finger into his gash and taken hold of the bone, gripping it so hard and tight that Geonhak was sure it would snap. He lurched as if he was going to vomit, but the being clamped his cheeks together and wrenched his head up.

The once heavenly beauty morphed into a scaly creature with fins that flayed translucent skin, its arms and legs adorned with webbed flaps, mouth lined with knife-like teeth, and eyes that shone gold and reflected animalistic need.

"You tasted so good, my beauty," The creature hissed, and Geonhak dry-heaved again, only to be thrown to the sand and dragged toward the hungry waves.

Through surges of powerful nausea, flashes of ice and flame, and an unsatiable ocean lapping at his body, Geonhak knew this was his end. He knew of the tales of mythical creatures lurking the beaches for washed sailors, and he knew he would be another tally on their victim board, yet he wasn't scared.

Geonhak was miserable that he wouldn't be able to feel that rose-colored dream ever again, to experience the comfort, the warmth, the affection, the adoration, the pleasure, and the madness that the siren spelled him with. Call him a dishonorable man for thinking of illusion when seconds away from death, but Geonhak would rather have died seeing and breathing heaven than enduring hell twice.

And Geonhak was swept into sea by a siren all too beautiful for this world, not longing for the unexplored, but content with the delirium indulged.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

…..HI

yes i cross-posted this from my wattpad again, with some revision ofc!!

i want yall to guess who the siren is, becuz i was gonna put it in the short, buuuuuut i didnt 😼

~ and i can’t get it back, no more, no more ~

#kpop #kpop bg #kpop blog #kpop boys #kpop fanfic #oneus #oneus leedo #oneus imagines #kim geonhak

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beardedmrbean · 7 months ago

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Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

But here the issues like yes we can have more black rep in like in fantasy stuff

But there are fundamental difference between how I handle it vs they do

Okay it not rocket science, but as you know tumblr have the idea of diversity is middle schooler one

Also how people use my culture and people struggles to demonize white people…wait.

When these people learn about the dark side of American history? Are they blind to the several dark jokes we have towards Thomas Jefferson or why black Americans often have their ancestors slave owner last names?

No to mention most Congressmen got their slaves from inheritance

But the black characters are so UGH

Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling)

Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up

“But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up

WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus.

Now this is the first act of the game, Darius gf then wife named Maria leaves in the middle of the night when Cyrus is 4. Now 3 years after that, Darius decided to go on a quest and he bring his 7 year old son along with him.

Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

But Cyrus is mainly a mage who overtime because a marksman as he get older becomes there a Industrial Revolution going on in this fantasy setting and Darius think that giving his son a long range weapon (Cyrus get taking around 9 or 10) suck as rifle would be easier for him to use for offensive

Also a gameplay mechanic that Cyrus gave a magical backpack that actually like your moveable inventory. You known how parents used your book bag on field trips?

Though as Cyrus getting older and level ups. He picked on the tactic and after a big boss battle when you try to put an item into his back bag. He goes “HEY!” because his magic is also develop so he needs room too.

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

What we already kill them, let take their shit

Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

Not sure if that was the plan of the people pushing forced diversity or not but it's the outcome most people with sense saw coming, Justice Jackson that biden appointed is gonna have that hanging over her head forever too, regardless of the fact that she was (is) very qualified to have the job.

Several of them freed their slaves too, at least to the extent that they could,

But the black characters are so UGH Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling) Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up “But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

I'm enjoying how you're covering my side of this too here.

Hey writers, maybe try writing and working out a solution occasionally, like, as said, patching up a familial relationship issue.

That doesn't work as well for the YA dystopian fantasy novel and those are what's cool now I think.

Maybe Stephanie Meyer can work some of that in to the Twilight thingy she's supposed to be working on......

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus. Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

lol

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

I'm enjoying the progression here, be fun to see Cyrus with a firearm too, even if he never uses it, not after teaching his kid at least, good father and son bonding time over learning gun safety n such.

Wouldn’t you want to play a Jrpg where you fish with your son, watch as his skills grows, loot powerful dungeons together, teach him how to unleash plagues on bandits. And then how to loot their corpses for money or items. What we already kill them, let take their shit Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ahh you beat me there on all of that then, lmao.

This all sounds like a good start on all of this.

#zoomer huey anon

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mortyfields · 8 months ago

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As their kisses grew more heated, it became harder to think about anything but the physical need coursing through him. With the woman he was head-over-heels in love with kissing and kissing and kissing him, pressing her body up against him after not being able to touch and hold each other like this for what felt like the past billion years, it would have taken an earthquake to distract Morty from this moment…But all that was just poetic poppycock, because in reality he was suddenly reminded of just how many people actually surrounded them in this hotel ballroom. Morty sucked in his breath sharply as Bubbles’ hand traveled way too far down his body for public decency, yet not quite far enough to give him relief. What was she even saying? Did she really think there was any chance he didn’t want this? She must already know that he did. He met her intense gaze, his own somewhat dazed and showing his desperation. “I do. I want you. More than anything.” And he whined as he pulled her even tighter against him, if not to prove to Bubbles just how much he wanted her, then at least to hide it from the rest of the room. Luckily her skirt and cape provided decent coverage when she was in front of him like this, but for the walk out of the ballroom, he was going to have to readjust himself—which he did as subtly as possible.

“We need to get a room.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Morty was leading Bubbles out of the crowded ballroom and down the corridor towards the lobby, his hand never leaving her waist. At the front desk, he asked for a room—any single room, whatever they had available, no preferences—and tried not to squirm in impatience as the concierge asked necessary questions about the length of their stay and guest contact information. He was pretty sure they were taking as long as possible to check them in on purpose, knowing exactly why Morty was as antsy as he was to get it over with. It was utterly malicious. Don’t you know how long I’ve been waiting? he wanted to say. I’ve wanted this for years. Years. Look at her, she’s killing me. They got their room keys after about ten more years, and Morty was back to ushering Bubbles through the foyer to the elevators. His lips were back on hers before the doors shut, pushing her back against the elevator’s far wall. Good thing they were alone in here. Although…he couldn’t deny, the fact that they had just been making out in a room full of hundreds of people was kind of doing it for him. There was a time back when they’d first started dating that the sneaking around was exciting, but after everything…the thought of Bubbles publicly claiming him, showing the world that she wanted him, was a huge turn-on.

Down the hallway again to their room, clumsily swiping the keycard to unlock the door while so preoccupied, they finally made it. Morty forced himself to stop kissing Bubbles for long enough to do another “Are you sure? You really want this?” check-in. They would stop if she changed her mind, but God he wanted her to want this. To want him, and keep wanting him, the way he had always and would always want her—the way fish want water, and plants want sunshine, and magnets want to come together. The kind of want that was a need, or a law of nature. The kind of want that lost all its meaning as a word after replaying in his mind with every kiss and caress, and became more than a feeling, but rather some inherent state of being. He was inseparable from it, and aching to hear that Bubbles was in the same state herself.

The second her lips connected with his, Bubbles was reminded of why she fell so hard for Morty in the first place. He was always someone who made her happy at just the sight of him. Someone who she found was rather special and dear to her— it was just the matter of her not realizing exactly how much he truly meant to her until after they began dating each other. And once they had their first kiss as a couple—she never got the chance to admit to it back then (or perhaps, she tricked herself not to)—that kiss was all that it took for the blonde to realize that this was something she didn’t want to let go. She became hooked. She wanted to kiss him at any and every chance she got, and the reality that Morty was her’s gave Bubbles all the free reign to do so. Until she wasn’t allowed to anymore. But now she got the chance to do so again, just like in the past, she got sucked in by him as they kissed— only this time, she wasn’t planning on letting him go. Never again.

She tighten her grip on him as he lifted her up, Bubbles needing to remind herself to use her powers and float as to not make their kissing straining. She didn’t want to come to a stop yet, the blonde chasing Morty’s lips after they broke apart to breath— she hummed with content when he pulled her back in and kissed her again. “I missed you too.” The blonde replied back, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him in return as he rested his forehead against her own. The Powerpuff then released her hold to once again place a hand against his cheek. “And I’m sorry— really.” She didn’t elaborate on what she was apologizing for as it could be over many things. For making him miss her all this time when the two of them could’ve been together. For wanting to keep their relationship a secret in the first place when they could’ve been open and happy about it instead. For making him think she didn’t love him the same way he loved her even when it hadn’t taken Bubbles long to fall so hard and deeply in love with him. Caressing his cheek as she stared at him, she truly was a foolish one for making them wait all this time.

Leaning back in, she placed a softer and gentler kiss against his lips. They were lost within their own bubble, the people dancing and talking around them turning into white noise, for the only thing important right now was each other. Of being with one another. Bubbles kissed Morty once again. And again. And again— and with each kiss she made, they started to become less and less gentle and more and more passionate. “I want you.” She ended up whispering in-between the kisses, pressing her body firmly against his own. With the hand she had resting against his cheek, the blonde allowed it to trail down Morty’s chest, dragging the tips of her fingers all the way down until they landed exactly where she wanted them to at the edge of his pants. With their closeness, she was able to dip her fingers inside, grazing her fingers against the skin of his pelvis. But that was the most she did, Bubbles staring deeply into Morty’s eyes as she waited for what his response to that would be. “—but only if you want this too.” Because she will understand if he wasn't ready for more between them again. But if he said yes, there will be no turning back.

#ic #bubbles #bubbles2

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infraaa · 2 years ago

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Hii- sooo i have a request- could i get a lotus dragon x reader (smut preferred if not thats a-okay!!)

yk what yk what—

let’s test the waters. (get it?) bc ur abt to get ur life force sucked if ya know what I mean

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍

lotus dragon cookie // gn!reader

baker’s notes: where even is it anyway? but listen I headcanon lotus to be biologically male bc drag queen fever + affogato’s mere existence so 💅😔 and kabuki— also research on snakes was done. As well as scaring myself w naga hentai. You’re welcome. 😔

also have a playlist to listen to while you read this perverts

tw// hypnosis (in a siren like sense so think those singing mermaids,) cnc, bondage(?), dom/sub mechanic, implicit harem mechanic, double penetration, barebacking, (meaning creampies babes,) and the very existence of having sex w a naga like draconic creature, bc it scares the hell out of me, and now maybe out of you.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Long live the dragons, who had their respected quarters. On many different islands, five of them to be exact, there was one which a particular cookie resided on. Y/n cookie, just an ordinary soul, rested on the island known as the Lotus Paradise, which was a lush island, known for its beauty and lustrous lights, lush plant life, even the most beautiful flowers one can even dream of.

They sat at a dock, staring down at the crystal clear water beneath the slowly eroded wood, surrounding them were the walls of the Lotus Palace, having been painted numerous coats of dark turquoise paint, having chipped away by the rain. They held their fan for their lips, eyeing the koi fish that swam in the pond below. They wanted to be free, much like the koi fish, energized, much like them. However they always seem to wake up tired, like they have no energy left. They try to walk with grace, poise, elegance, however none is to come later on. They walk back off of the dock a onto pressure washed concrete path, walking back to their quarters some ways away.

The ruler of this said palace was an almighty dragon, believe it or not, and may or may not be responsible for your petty woes of fatigue. Albeit for a benevolent purpose, this dragon, humbly referred to as the Lotus Dragon, almost seemingly had no right to suck the energy out of their people, all for the slow restoration of the palace, back to what it once was. As described by a faithful servant, Hydrangea Cookie, Lotus Dragon Cookie was not only said to be powerful yet kind, graceful yet merciful, but attractive as well. Very handsome indeed for a dragon. Truly, if they wanted they could have any cookie in the world to themselves, yet, they had no desire for such things. Of course they had their own harem where they could have multiple concubines at their feet at once, on beck and call with the flip of a card, but they still did not have an interest in that kind of thing, never really leaving their palace, preferring to stay indoors with their mandolin, strumming away calmly at the strings with a soft smile.

…that was, until you came along into their perfect world.

You once attended the wish festival, an annual event that happened once a year, where the Lotus Dragon would grant wishes that the cookies would give them. On one account you made a wish, writing your wish on a silver piece of paper. You held the letter to your chest, hoping for the best that the dragon grants your wish true. Your wish was simply to have more energy, to be more robust. You were tired of aching limbs, as though they were going to crack at any given moment. The dragon saw this, laid out on the silver sheet and smiled, putting a fuchsia painted nail, as sharp as diamonds, to their lips. With a quick flip of their dark cerulean hair over their shoulder, they nodded, and folded the sheet. The lotus on their head took a wishful glow, their draconian pupils glowing with the delicate powder pink petals. “Finally, an interesting wish…” they saluted. Their voice, clean and clear, smooth and alluring. Hydrangea Cookie smiled, standing by them with a nod of her head. “What a pleasant surprise, oh great dragon!” “Truly.” They replied, their smile fading away into a look of confusion. “However,” they turned away to grant your wish through the lotus, the very entity that granted Lotus Dragon Cookie their power, strength, and longevity. Their tail quietly thumped on the ground, causing the lotus to sprout open with a quick bounce, a golden light emanating from the core of the flower.

“Why didn’t this one come visit me directly? They aren’t scared, are they?” Hydrangea Cookie gasped, surprised at the dragon’s question. She walked over to their side and looked at their features, trying to look them in the eye. “How dare they be scared of you, oh great dragon? You have been nothing but benevolent to all of the cookies than reside here, they should be grateful that you’re even considering their wish.” They looked at the silvery sheet and blinked, their long ivory eyelashes fluttering with the slow motion. They suddenly had a thought— a wish of their own. “Hydrangea Cookie?” She blinked, still attentive to the dragon next to her. Her lavender purple hair bounced with a nod, signaling Lotus that they had her attention still, “I need you, as well as the other palace consorts, to leave the palace for the night. You may return tomorrow afternoon, but you mustn’t come back until then.”

The shorter floral cookie beside them nodded, before taking their leave however they turned to ask the dragon, “may I ask why, great dragon?” They turned their head, seeing Hydragea still at their chamber doors, doorknob in hand. He smiled with a wink, letting his finger travel back to his lips, “I have my own plans tonight. It’s beautiful out, I cannot waste the serene atmosphere.” Although their reasoning was a bit void, it didn’t really make sense to her, she still nodded in confirmation and let the Lotus Dragon be, gathering the other consorts quickly to leave the palace. After they had found Hydrangea and the others, leaving the palace gates, they smiled mischievously and traveled on, the pink bud at the end of their tail in the air, swaying from left and right as they… slithered, you could humorously say, to their terrace outside our their bedchambers, taking the pristine iron fence in one hand. They overlooked the courtyard below, waiting to see that one cookie they wondered about.

Now… how to get you to come over like they wanted.

Truly, they were curious about you, why you didn’t come to see them for this year’s wish festival. You were one of their consorts after all, one that they seemed to like despite barely seeing you. Black sclera eyes focused in on you as they targeted you sitting on a bench in their courtyard, reading a book under the stars and the careful guidance of a book light. They smiled at you, and had another thought. They knew their mandolin had an effect that could make cookies weak, but they also had a secret— something that no cookie knew.

Their voice also had a quirk to it.

Rarely even used however they knew that their voice could allure cookies. The fact that cookies would slowly becomes mindless drones once hearing Lotus sing… was truly a fascinating occurrence. They had a song planned for you, truly a beautiful one. They remember it from back in the ancient times, when they were friends with a siren like creature of the deep. They smiled at you as you turned an off white page, adjusting your legs to accommodate your comfort upon the bench you occupied. The air around you smelled clean and crisp, a floral scent forever present within each breeze, usually accompanied with the light tint of saltwater.

“Hear my voice beneath the sea, sleeping now so peacefully, at the bottom of the sea, sleep for all eternity..”

That alone was enough to get you to come up out of your trance. You slowly closed your book, putting it beside you on the bench and in getting up do you see a figure slowly go back into their chambers. Perplexed, you decide to follow the voice you heard, for it was too graceful for it to be ignored. In your curious state, you continued onward, travelling out of the garden into the imperial courtyard, your robes dragging on the concrete that was freshly pressure washed. A path awaited you, one that was laden with the most lustrous of lights, alluminating your features with the help of their homes, the lotus flowers floating on freshwater around you.

"Sailors live so restlessly, come with me, sleep peacefully. Listen to this siren's song, worry not for nothing's wrong."

Your mind began to consider itself numb, slowly melting with the voice you heard, nearly echoing in your ears like ribbon going through your head, like a deadly mantra, like a memorization become concrete. When you made your way to ther back entrance of the Lotus Palace, you found yourself going inside, your eyes being met with an extravagent sight of pristine atmosphere. Lush plant life, beautiful lavander light, dim let still casting enough light to see around you. You walked in, being greeted by the scent of flowers and sweet musk. You slowly made your way to a set of stairs, climbing them to meet the second floor, travelling onward as the voice in your head got louder and louder as you progressed down the hallway.

"Let my voice lead you this way, I will not lead you astray. Trust me as we reach the side, jumping out where men have died."

Did the voice really mean that? The voice suddenly began to sound even more familiar the close you got and soon you recognized it to be the all mighty Lotus Dragon. They wanted you here, so they allured you here with the voice they bore. You made it yet another flight of stairs before reaching another hallway, where you went down. At the end of it you saw a large double door, painted a pearlescent white. Little shrubs decorated the sides of the doors perfectly. As you got closer to the door, you heard them hum, and take a breath,

"Hear my voice beneath the sea, sleeping now so peacefully. At the bottom of the sea, sleep for all eternity."

You stepped closer to the door, putting your ear yp tp thw wood, waiting for them to take a breath,

'Let the ocean fill your lungs, struggle not, soon peace will come. Taking in your final breath--"

And as you opened the door, creeping inside, you saw them. Long dark hair down to the ground, hime cut. A porcelain white kimono showing the only groundbreaking personification that is light and purity, or so you thought. They turned to you, teal dreconic pupils agleam.

"Sink down to the ocean's depths."

They smiled at you, a mature smile, something that didn't bear too much excitement, something to show their amusement in your appearance. You swallowed a lump in your throat before bowing, showing your respect for the mighty dragon that ruled over your homeland. You smiled back at him and walked further into the room, before the doors seemingly shut closed on their own, locking as they did so. Turning their body to face you, they slowly slithered towards you, the tip of their tail slowly swaying left to right. "Tell me, little cookie,” they started suddenly stopping at a comfortable distance from you, “do you know why I brought you here?” So they confirmed it. They confirmed the fact that they brought you here, a defenseless cookie left in the hands of a dragon. Seeing as though you were nervous, one of their concubines, as well as someone they were curious in, you couldn’t waste your time being nervous. You took a breath to calm yourself before returning their question. “Ah… no, great dragon, I do not.” Lotus laughed to themselves and got closer to you, slithering back behind you and pushing you a bit forward with their tail as it curved under your chin, much like a cat caressing the leg of its owner.

“Great dragon?” You stuttered, causing them to smile and take your shoulders, “Please, call me Lotus.” They said with a chortle, slithering back around you. Sighing, they crossed their arms and looked at you, their smile still evident. “You had your wish written down on a silver sheet, yet you had it delivered to me by a maid. Do tell me why you didn’t show directly.” You sighed for a brief second, your fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with themselves. “My vitality… great dragon, it’s not what it used to be. I used to be one of the most liveliest concubines in the harem and yet— I understand you need my energy for a good cause, but I just feel so fatigued all the time I can barely do anything that I used to love doing.” You kept on with your explanation, telling him your woes, and what exactly your wish outlined. It was something they could grant, they’re willing to grant that wish… to bring you more energy and vitality…

at one cost.

They smiled at you, a thought flying into their head.

“…I can help you, I can grant your wish. If you do choose to believe in me.” You quickly nodded to that statement. In their head, that was consent. Quickly, like a sea snake, they once again slithered back behind you, lifting your chin up with their tail. They whispered something in a foreign language in your ear before guarding you to the nearest wall, turning you around and planting you there before forcefully taking your body and gluing it to their own, their tail still at your cheek. They kissed your neck, through that you felt some kind of spark rush through you— was it some kind of restoring power? You dared not ask what you felt, for fear it would trigger the all mighty dragon to a stop.

You finally saw their hands out of their long white sleeves. Their hands were beautiful, soft fuchsia nails, pointed, they looked sharp, rested on your hips. You returned their kiss, slowly yet reassuringly, resting your arms on their shoulders to accommodate their height. You softly moaned in the kiss as one of your hands guided themselves to their collarbone, gently pushing. They let go of the kiss, suspecting you may need air. You got your breath back, panting with a flush face, but it was too short lived to relish as they took your thighs and set them to straddle their waist, further pinning you against the cool wall. You gasped as they took your lips again, using one hand to undo their obi belt from behind, letting it slowly fall to the ground, falling gracefully as it pulled the edges of their kimono further outward. They stopped once again to relocate to your neck and shoulders, now focusing on your kimono. Undoing the obi belt you wore, letting it fall to the ground, you begin to realize their plan. You groaned and slowly struggled, but for some reason, your whole body felt weak, like it felt like a chore to lift your arm up. It felt like your body was being weighed down by a weighted blanket, or that your body was connected to dumb bells. Your blood pressure accelerated once you felt the pressure of the cool air around you hit your skin, like a rippling tide.

With each struggle brought a near sadistic smile to the dragon’s lips, and blood to rush something south… to a rather egregious sight. Being a relative to the snake, as serpentine as they could be, something began to… perk up. Or should we say, some things.

You felt it— it poked at the innards of your thigh, it was big, should we say no, they were big. You felt it and you began to shock yourself, trying to struggle more, that only pleased them however as they bit your shoulder. Hard. You yelped at the sudden sensation, feeling the pain in your shoulder though felt somehow erotic to you as your pain-filled yelps turned into moans of ecstasy. As soon as your head lifted against the wall, they lifted you up further and pushed themselves closer to the wall, whispering,

“Do you want me to fulfill your wish?~”

It felt like a spell entered your ear, as soft and smooth and lustful and sultry it did sound, you felt yourself shake at their voice. It was almost like something putting you in a mad trance once again. You nodded shakily and sighed a breath of bliss. “I’m going to need you to use your words, y/n. Say it, say yes.” You returned his request, and just like that, they haphazardly set you down into their hemipenes, making you squeal as soon as they entered you. You felt them stretch into you like a goddamn octopus trying to go through a tight space. You panted and salivated however once the pain faded, begging them to move you. Your face was blood red, eyes teary and glossy, your grip hot. “Please L-L-Lotus..!”

They panted, and thought about how they were going to do this. They can’t necessarily move because of their… situation. They don’t have legs, they knew that. So this would be a fair challenge even for them. They had to retort to moving you solely, using your body as a kind of fleshlight. As you rose and sunk, you cried out softly, never before were you going to feel two cocks inside of you at one time, and even though it was painful with every move made, the pain felt good.

You didn’t agree to do this.

But you did.

But you didn’t.

But you did—

They pulled at your hair and bit your other shoulder, drawing blood. Soft grunts and purring could be heard from Lotus as they sucked at your shoulder, feeling the iron taste of blood enter their mouth as they made you rise and fall, pounding yourself on them. They held you tight as they screamed and moaned nothing but their name and the word please, crying and sobbing from the pain of nearly being torn in half. It felt almost heavenly however, as you tried to take over with the moving, they growled, clawing at your thigh as a retaliation, making you squeal. They wanted you submissive, weak and ready to please. Your tongue lulled pic of your mouth as they did this, feeling their nails dig into your skin.

“H-However unorthadoxxx…” Lotus started in between pants and grunts, licking your shoulder and resting their head in the crook of your neck, “I can… restore your vi-vitality in this fashion…” They then moved to look at you, their draconic cerulean pupils agleam as they met your star laden ones, “and you— you’re letting me..” With a deep kiss did they send you over the edge, moaning loudly into the kiss as your orgasm exploded. You came all over them, dripping off of their shaft onto the pristine floor, like a drop of sin tarnishing the pure garden of Eden. You panted and moaned when they disconnected, roughly chasing their finish. It didn’t take long, but they but your shoulder once more once they felt their orgasm build and hit, spilling inside you. They moaned loudly as they felt their cum shoot out of both their hemipenes, with the velocity of a full grown horse. They rested in you and panted shakily, kissing your neck up and down and caressing your sides, from your waist to your flanks, shaking grip nearly on the brink of becoming feral for a second round. You did the same, panting violently as you were still coming down from your high as well as being overstimulated.

Soon after they felt as though they came down nicely, they pulled off and carried you over to a lush bed, cum and a bit of blood slowly dripping out of you like goo, before laying you down on the soft silk sheets that smelled of lotus flowers and lavender. Jasmine coated their pillow cases as they weakly slithered over and climbed into bed, wrapping you closely in their tail, cuddling you in their own unique way. They hugged you with a soft purr, holding you close, as you both carried yourselves into a deep slumber to recover from your… recovery of sorts.

#infrawrites #infra@212!#cookie run overbreak #cookie run x reader #cookie run #crob #lotus dragon cookie #tw smut #crob x reader #crk smut #smut fic

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solaneceae · 2 years ago

Text

“Hello, Chase. How are you doing today?”

His skull is trapped between a vice, dull pain throbbing behind his eyeballs. He wants to reach inside and rip them out, or better yet, detach his head from his own body and set it somewhere else for a moment, thank you. “Take a guess,” he huffs annoyedly, rubbing at the tightness gathered between his eyes, in his temples, in his jaw.

Being hungover fucking sucks. Especially when instead of nursing it all comfy at home (he doesn’t have a home, not anymore, nowhere to go, nothing, nobody), you’re stuck in a fucking cell with some dickwad trying to get into your head for some reason.

Said dickwad hums noncommittally. “I’m not psychic, you know. You’re going to have to work with me a little there, Chase.”

“Fuck off,” the prisoner snaps, refusing to make eye contact with the scientist. “You guys fucking kidnapped me. I’m not saying shit to you.”

He remembers the stumble-jolt — that dizzying feeling of being displaced without moving at all, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind shifting to traffic in an instant. Motor oil and fumes replacing running water and fresh dirt in his nostrils. His confusion, drunkenly stumbling through that parking lot until two men dressed in black came to intercept him, saying words Chase couldn’t parse.

He may have punched one of them. It’s a blur, sir. His victory had been short-lived though, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a world of grey and on a scratchy blanket, a little puncture wound in the side of his neck. And of course, with a monster headache and that disgusting taste in his mouth he was starting to grow all-too familiar with.

Was it a bad sign that he wanted a drink right now? Probably.

The scientist sighed. They weren’t wearing any form of identification, no name, no nothing — just that weird symbol of an eye on the side of their lab coat. This had bad news bears written all over it. “Please understand,” they said slowly, like they were talking to a five-year old. It was driving Chase up the wall. “We can’t help you if you don’t help us understand what happened.”

Chase drums his fingertips on his arm, rubbing his feet under the table in hidden nervousness. Normally he’d feel self-conscious about not wearing shoes in front of a stranger, but honestly, he couldn’t be fucked to care — if he was truly stuck here for now, he wasn’t going to make it a bit more comfortable for himself, dammit. “Well. Guess we’re stuck here then, ‘cuz I don’t want to talk to you.”

The scientist purses their lips, but thankfully, they don’t push. They stand wordlessly and walk up to the door, fishing a small remote from their coat pocket and pressing a button. Soon enough, the door slides open and they leave, leaving Chase alone with his thoughts.

***

He doesn’t see anyone for days after that first time, apart from the aid that occasionally drops by with food or to take him to the bathroom. Because of course the room that passes as a cell didn’t have one, which made him think that maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t supposed to be a cell at all, but that those guys were making do with what they had. Which meant that whatever was happening had caught them off guard somehow, forcing them to improvise in ways they weren’t used to.

Still, Chase was hating every second of his stay. And the humiliation of having someone monitoring him while he cleaned up or took a piss wasn’t even the worst part.

No, the worst was how goddamn bored he was getting. Seriously, there was only so much entertainment you could get out of the fucking tennis ball they’d him as enrichment. Like he was a dog or something. So when finally, finally someone new entered the room one day to sit in front of him with a notepad, Chase was almost happy to see them. Almost.

“Hello, Chase. How’re you doing today?” the unknown man greets him evenly, flashing him a polite smile. Chase gives him a mirthless imitation of one in return.

“Welcome back,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thought you guys forgot about me or somethin’.”

The other has the gall to chuckle at that. “Yes, well. We figured you needed some space.”

Chase squints. “...I don’t need space. I need to get the hell out of here.”

“And we’ll work on getting you out, you have my word,” the scientist tries to pacify him, which makes Chase scoff. “I just need you to answer a few questions, first.” He stops, considering something. “Or, rather,” he corrects himself, “Just one question, really. Doesn’t sound all that bad, does it?”

Chase squints suspiciously, but doesn’t respond. The other doesn’t seem discouraged by his lack of reaction. “Trust me, it’s relevant to whatever… strange phenomena you might have encountered,” he insisted, and now Chase was even more suspicious. “What are you talking about?” he blinks, electing to play dumb for now. “What, like UFOs? I don’t believe in that shit. You people got the wrong guy.”

“No, no,” the scientist waves his hand dismissively, amused. “Nothing like that. Please, just let me ask you something.”

He opened his eyes, all traces of mirth suddenly gone from his features. Chase recoils a little, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?” the strange man asks.

Chase blinks. “The fuck kinda question is that?”

“The kind that could get you out of here, depending on what your response is,” the other replies, undeterred. “I’ll ask again.” He leaned forward and repeated, louder this time. “Have you. Ever experienced. A terrible occurrence. That has impacted you significantly?”

Chase wants to laugh. Oh, buddy. D’you have ninety minutes to go over it? “I don’t know. I—” He sighed, rubbing at his face. He didn’t want to talk about his personal life with this— weirdo! Although maybe, maybe he could tell him about… that, but…

Gah. This was stupid. He wasn’t going to believe a word of it. “Something real weird happened,” he tried anyway, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to mention the rest. Maybe they’d let him go if he threw them a bone to chew on. “I was in the woods. And then, I… wasn’t.”

The scientist tilts his head, his pen tapping mindlessly on his notepad. “Could you elaborate on that?” he leans forward, his eyes gleaming with something Chase doesn’t recognize. Curiosity? Expectation? “Did you black out, maybe? You were pretty inebriated at the time.”

Chase bristles. He doesn't like when people point that out. “Oh yeah, sure,” he chirps bitterly, “I was sooooo drunk I somehow walked all the way to that parking lot, without my phone, or my car, and also under a second. Thank you science man, you figured it out. Now let me out of this shithole.”

The other didn’t take the bait, calmly taking notes. It irked Chase to no end, not knowing what he was scribbling down on that stupid thing. “I thought you guys were some super advanced tech company,” he jabbed. “You’d think pen and paper would be too old-fashioned for you.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?” the other repeats once again, ignoring Chase’s words entirely. “That’s what I’m asking you. And you’re not being honest with me.”

The vlogger leans back on his chair, because this whole thing is starting to freak him out. “Wait— no, I’m not lying,” he insists, gripping the edge of the table in frustration. “I told you already. I was in the woods, then things got all weird and I was somewhere else, and no time had passed at all. That’s what I remember.” He crossed his arms, pinning the other man down with a stubborn glare. The scientist held his gaze, his expression set in careful neutrality. Then he opens his mouth again.

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Chase groans, craning his neck to look up at the ceiling. He’s in a nuthouse. And he’s not even the nutcase. “I already told you. Asking three times ain’t gonna make me change my answer.”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

Chase glares back down, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. “Are you fucking braindead?” he hisses, his voice rising in pitch and volume. He clenches his fists, the joints going stark white. “Just drop it man—”

But then the scientist abruptly jumps to his feet and looms over Chase, slamming his hands on both sides of the metal table. It almost sends the cap-wearing man careening backwards — his chair tilts significantly and he yelps, throwing his body forward to avoid falling. “Holy fuck!”

“Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?!” the man almost snarls at him. “A terrible occurrence, Chase!”

“I—”

“A death in the family!” the scientist enunciates, Chases stares up at him frightfully. “Losing your job! Witnessing a traumatizing event! Did you, Mister Brody?”

“Fuck you!” Chase spits back, his anger overcoming his fear. “I don’t know you, any of you! And I don’t need your fucking help!”

The other man scoffs. He looks frustrated. “Oh, really? Tell that to your little friend stuck in the hospital,” he mocks, inspecting his fingernails. “He could have used our help.”

There’s a heavy silence. Chase’s mind doesn’t make the connection right away, but when it does, it feels like being dunked in freezing water. “...You’re talking about Jack, aren’t you,” he states, not a question, but a fact. His expression slowly hardens as the pieces fall into place. “You knew,” he intones flatly, his voice deceivingly calm.

The scientist shifts uncomfortably, his earlier smugness now gone. Like he knows he just fucked up. “Listen—”

“You guys knew. All this time. And did nothing.”

“Chase, now stay calm,” the other glances at the camera nervously. “Intense displays of emotions can be—”

He never finishes his thought, gasping when a hand grabs at his collar and pulls him forward harshly, the edge of the table digging into his midsection painfully. The scientist winces, staring into previously cloudy eyes that were now sharp with fury. “My best friend’s in a fucking coma,” Chase hisses, almost manic. “That thing’s been stalking me for months, and everyone I went to for help called me a madman. My family—”

His voice breaks, his face twisting in an expression of pain and anguish. “...And you come here, take me in this— fuckin’ Aperture science lookin’ place, and tell me you knew about it the whole time?!”

“Chase, please—”

“No!” the father shrieks, getting up and shoving the scientist back so hard his back collides against the wall. He barely has the time to catch his breath before the prisoner is on him, grabbing him by the throat and pressing him against the rough surface. Chase’s flat cap had fallen, revealing messy, slightly greasy curls that partly fell in front of wide blue eyes rimmed in red and black. “This is on you,” he growls, pulling the other away from the wall only to slam him back against it, drawing a pained yelp from the scientist. “You could have stopped this!” he screams, catching the hand attempting to hit his face before it reaches his target, reaffirming his grip on the other’s throat and cutting off his airways. Blind rage is drowning his world in red, red, red. “You could’ve helped us! But you just watched, as this happened!”

letmeinletmeinmetmeinletmeinetmein

The scientist lets out a wheeze, struggling against Chase’s grip frantically. His leg kicks forward and nails the other man’s knee, making him cry out and let go of his throat. The man in the lab coat takes a greedy, gasping intake of air and stumbles away, reaching into his pocket for his remote. He watches Chase warily as the father holds onto a chair for balance, sending him a look that could only be described as murderous as he presses a button.

Almost immediately, the pneumatic door opens with a quiet hiss, two maked men clad in black stepping into the room. The scientist nods at them and hobbles out of the room, rubbing his throat as the door closes back behind him.

Chase glowers at the two — they’re not the same men that came to pick him up in the parking lot, but in this place, faces and time tend to blur into a same-y, grey mush. One of them steps forward, and Chase immediately grabs a hold of the metal chair and hurls it at the guard with a frustrated yell. The guard barely moved out of the way in time, startled, and the other visibly loses his patience and flash-steps up to Chase, whose face goes from anger to fear in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t get the chance to step back before something is jabbed against his midsection, and his entire world explodes in pain.

His body seizes up as the taser goes off, lightning shooting through his body in millions of white-hot needles. A broken scream wrenches itself from his throat before his legs give out under his own weight, sending him crashing to the cold tiled floor. He gasps, all the muscles in his body spasming out of control. ‘It hurts, it hurts’ is all he can think, it’s all he can feel. Everything smells like ozone, and he can taste blood. I bit my tongue, part of him faintly realizes.

Eventually his brain decides that it’s too much and peaces out, pulling the plug on him. The world tilts on its axis, and then nothing.

***

let me in

let

***

“Hey uh, Sasha?”

“Mhh?”

“What’s wrong with the cams?”

Sasha glances away from their game of Tetris, frowning at the screens covering the wall of the monitoring room. It takes them a minute to figure out what the other is talking about, but when they see it, they freeze.

The WTCHR cameras, one by one, seem to be going out.

Every single one of them, which displayed perfectly clear feeds just a minute ago, were gradually switching to nothing but static. “Wow,” they almost fall out of their chair, scrambling for balance as they roll forward, eyes wide. “Did you touch something?”

“Did— fuck no!” Eli protests, his voice going up a few octaves in outrage, “Why d’you always blame me whenever weird shit happens?”

Sasha opens their mouth to drop the most sick burn they can think of, but it never reaches past their lips.

The entire facility goes black, and an eerie silence falls.

***

There’s a body laying down, silent and still. A faint breathing sound and a slow heartbeat the only signs that life still clings to it.

There’s a body seizing up, in a way that doesn’t quite look right. Then it goes limp again, a slow, slow exhale going past its lips, lips that move in half-formed words and aborted sounds.

There’s a body that rises, slowly, clumsily. It moves in the most peculiar way, like something has slipped on an ill-fitting suit and doesn’t know how to move it the way a human would.

There’s a body that walks, unsteadily, through a door that’s not supposed to be open. Red lights and alarms blare, people are running, barking orders.

mine.

The body smiles. It doesn’t look right.

***

Chase wakes up in a strange way — less of a slow drag into consciousness, where his senses gradually come back to him. This time, it’s like the flip of a switch, from asleep to wide awake from one second to the next.

His balance immediately fails him — his legs trip over themselves and send him crashing to the floor, and he doesn’t like how this is quickly becoming a pattern. “Fuck!” he sneers, sitting up against a wall and rubbing the part of his skull he just slammed against the hard floor. He groans and rests his head on his knees, waiting for the throbbing pain to ease off.

Okay. Okay, fuck. He couldn’t think over the sound of that damn alarm. He hoped someone would kill it soon, because it was stabbing through his brain like a metal rod. Christ, his head hurt so much. Like a migraine, but on steroids, with bonus nausea. Was that a side effect of being tased? Chase didn’t know, he’d never been tased before. And it’s dark as all ass in his cell. What was happening?

There’s a weird smell, tangy and potent. The soles of his feet feel sticky, and so do his hands. He doesn’t realize just how bad the situation is until red light lits up his surroundings, and cold horror stabs through his chest like ice.

He’s not in his cell. He’s in some hallway, one he’s unfamiliar with. And there’s pools of something dark on the floor, briefly reflecting the light until it goes out again. Chase’s breathing quickens, panic rising within him. He doesn’t dare move, wide eyes staring out into the darkness, waiting. He doesn’t know what he saw. He has to make sure, make sure it was all a trick, this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening—

The light comes again. And this time, he can’t mistake the shape of the bloodstains on the floor (footsteps, his, his, his feet are covered in blood and his hands and his face and it’s everywhere), the path weaving through pools of dark red at the end of the hallway and oh my god there was a human hand poking from behind a corner someone was there dead dead dead there was a human corpse right there

Chase wails, breaking down into messy, hiccuppy sobs when the weight of reality crashes down on him. He screams and heaves, convulsing as he loses what little he ate this morning (morning, no sun, evening, no clock, time was broken, time was broken). Everything smells of blood and bile, and he can hear the distant sound of a crowd running towards him.

“I didn’t kill them,” he sobs, rocking back and forth as the footsteps come closer and closer. Many, and heavy, the clicks and groans of guns and heavy protective gear. “I didn’t, I didn’t. Not me, wasn’t me. Not me.”

Laughter echoes in a corner of his mind. He screams, hoping to drown it out, but it doesn’t stop. It never does.

**********

ey @beerecordings you wanted feral chase right-

but yeah anyway i got inspired by the possessed!chase idea and wrote this in four hours and not its 6am and im bout to die byyyyyyye

#jacksepticeye #chase brody #jse #fanfic #IRIS #sean mcloughlin

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sukunasun · 2 years ago

Note

sunny do NOT leave us after mentioning professor nanami. he will forever be on my mind. 😣

heres some stuff i fished out from the drafts:

nanami kento phd sets his alarm for precisely six in the morning everyday. this is important because he's already taken into account the morning rush crowd and the weather forecast has predicted sunny skies today, which is rather unlikely for ...england. so he's not buying it, there are only a few precious hours to make up for the time it takes to set up the slides and get the creaky projector to work—not surprising since the university is about eight hundred years old and has yet to figure out why students can’t find assignment posts on canvas—but out the door he goes, a loose sock falls down to his ankle like always, and he would relish in that little bit of familiarity and routine, but there isn't enough time to do so when it's already six thirty.

"attendance will be taken into account for your final grade, five minutes is the cut off point,” he announces every semester, with every new batch of students, and like clockwork, it’s followed by a chorus of groans.

but none of them try to fight him on it, they think the old man has enough to deal with, given that he’s always got the moodiest face on, brooding and emotionless. he’s barely 30 but he receives senior citizen discounts at the cafe nearby. already looks the part with his brown sweater vests and thick rimmed buddy holly glasses, shoes clacking on pavement as he's rushing from one lecture hall to another. but the pants are nice, he’s thrifted them from his first time at a market in camden (sans spectacles and or orthopaedics. those had to be custom made.)

his laptop is shoved into his worn out leather messenger bag clumsily, who cares, it's a PC, they’re sturdier and he’d rather settle for thinkpads than buying into that fruit company. the zipper's broken so he clasps it shut with his fingers, briskly side stepping slow walkers and mutters a "fucking hell," under his breath when he comes across couples making out in the open, sucking each other's faces off, he's cringing at how obscene it is, enough to turn his croissant bland. rammed into his open maw, he has no time for jams or butter, so a soggy, saliva-drenched mess will do.

about 200 people show up to his class and that's only because they started having a stricter application process, he remembers when there were more. still, the quantity doesn't phase him, because eventually students will drop out, people fail assignments. the numbers shall dwindle because he's over the hand holding. it used to be fine back when prerequisites were a jumbled up bunch of different majors, he'd help out with a little calculus here and some linear algebra worksheets, y'know, just the basic stuff. but it's about time he stopped the coddling. makes a mental note to remind himself just how much he takes this course seriously. econometrics isn't for everyone, but a bare-bones understanding of basic concepts in probability theory and statistical inference is all he asks for. "you will fail to grasp anything beyond the first week of this syllabus," he tells yuuji itadori who sits in the front row, an enthusiastic kid, eager to learn, but ultimately and unfortunately...foolish.

"what did you major in last semester?" nanami asks impassively, not at all curious really, but just to gauge where he's at. meanwhile another part of his brain is already planning and working out an alternative plan if itadori chooses to stay. maybe something simpler, he's heard accounting is all the rage, as long as he's done something relatively close to mathematics—

“sports marketing!” yuuji exclaims. so self assured, and nanami is about to rip his hair out, fisting at blonde clumps. he really shouldn’t do that, it would be such a shame to have him balding at such a young age. maybe he’ll do a silly side study on it, ‘progressive deterioration of the hair shaft over a two year period primarily caused by excessive weathering and self-inflicted damage.’ (quickly taps out a short intro in his notes app and emails it to geto and gojo with no subject and the one line; ‘thoughts?’)

nanami breathes out a deep sigh, he's going to have a not so friendly chat with the admins after this. "and why have you chosen this course, as a challenge i presume? i should remind you this is a postgraduate program," which should have been his first clue to itadori's determination.

"i just thought it'll be fun to take your class, you're like, the smartest guy i know," to which nanami can't deny him when he's so earnest about it. if he were being realistic, the chances for yuuji to achieve much are slim, or at least where this course is concerned. but nanami has never been the kind to discourage, so he just hands itadori a list of pdf textbooks he can download for free off some random account, and schedules tutoring sessions on his thursday afternoons. ('thank you @ mr_overtime for providing free and accessible academic resources!' yuuji types before posting it to a message board.)

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

nanami’s moved to an old research lab the next day, the same group of students show up except there are a few who join him online in a teams channel he’s humorously named ‘ABSENT 7/3/22’ ...just to emphasise on the importance of face to face interactions. he thinks it’s funny. no one laughs. but he didn’t think they would. he’s mapped it out on a data visualizer programme he’s been working on and is proud at the very least that results were accurate. still, the conditions are less than ideal, the stone floors scuff the leather of his shoes, the heating unit is broken, and of course, no projector. “i guess we’ll do graphs today,” he says.

a choir made up of sifting hands and rustling papers start singing alongside graphite and red cedar grinding under a blade, the quick push, push, pushes of a thumb on pen, cables thrown across one table to another—there are no outputs here. with swift vertical swipes, nanami thinks he’ll suffer the clown lung and the inevitable dry, dust-filled grooves of his fingertips for this, especially because it’s been awhile since he’s used the hagoromo chalk. there’s a pause, everyone waits for the maestro, and he conducts a tune of old, one that’s been unheard in years. when his perfectly straight lines come out thick and layered like snow on a forest floor, phthalo turning into golden-sheen moss green when the sun cuts a slant of light at the right time. his rosy fingers translucent like an orange, pressing, gripping, swishhh-es lines he’s seen again and again, equations he knows by heart, the tapping of rock reverberates, and everyone else follows after its echo.

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

a replica of ‘wanderer above the sea fog’ gets delivered to his office that afternoon. “still into romanticism?” gojo asks. doesn’t even try to point at the painting, already disinterested. with hands tucked into his favourite parka, he swivels his head around and bounce on his heels like a child, looking for whatever would grasp his interest, wide blue eyes taking in nanami’s office that’s untouched by renovation of any kind, it still smells a little damp and the curtains are yet again pulled shut, but gojo shines with curiosity enough to light up an entire room.

he shrugs, “‘still into’ suggests fixation, i only observe it as what it is— a painting,” nanami defends, head tilting to the side, “they were going to get rid of it, what was i supposed to do?”

“you make it sound like it were a stray animal,” gojo teases, seeing that nanami doesn’t entertain the jab, he eases the tension by the only way he knows how, bringing attention to himself, “but what do i know, i’ve only just won a nobel,” he shoots nanami a grin that curls from ear to ear. yet again, the scowl is ever prominent.

moving closer to inspect it, gojo forces himself not to pull a face. yeah no. nothing interesting here; man looking out towards a fog and endless sky. there’s no truth to it. only that the varnish is applied sloppily, and it’s cracking, nooks and crannies gathering dust, rivers splitting down the middle. is it a piece worth anything? worth saving? he doesn’t think so. an artist should just paint what’s in front of him.

nanami overachieves but never finds any meaning in all of it, who's turning into a doubter, a pessimist, "you’re always in a bad mood, must be the weight of that intellect you have," gojo likes to say. one who seeks for something beyond because he uncovers the mysteries of the world and what then? feels like a ghost, hollowed and waning. thou art a scholar horatio, speak to it. watching himself live a life he can't control, every passing moment slipping through his fingers. they're cold and slightly calloused, chalk-dusted. there's a detached way about then, a dismissive wave of his hand, brushing off excuses and late submissions and all the compliments that fall on deaf ears.

“you see yourself in it,” suguru adds from his corner, nonchalantly. he’s lazing in an armchair with book in hand. when he looks up at the two of them, they stare at him like he were speaking in a foreign language. snapping his book shut, he stretches his limbs out like a cat, “it’s a piece depicting reflection; morality, feeling, something tells me you’re lost kento,” geto gives his hypothesis. and it lingers there.

#maybe i should write a fic on this #this is in no way meant to be finished just think of it as a bowl of fruit #can u tell i sat in on one statistics class and didnt understand anything #i wish oxbridge men were this hot #i never had a hot professor and it shows . which is why im spoiling myself with fantasy and fiction .#canvas instructure u r my enemy #if any of u have a masters degree in nanami kento with a specialization in prof/nerdy dom behaviour pls do let me know #gojos a physicist btw if u even care #ask #anon #sunpiece #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #nanami hcs #nanami kento #nanami kento phd #ivy league au #nanami kento hcs

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sugar-petals · 3 years ago

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can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

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a-gal-with-taste · 3 years ago

Note

Hello HAPPY NEW YEAR, you could write something where reader, silco and jinx celebrating the new year. Thank you can anything.

Note: Sorry for the close-call of this request!!! Was busy whooping my families' butts at our annual New Years Eve Monopoly game

Happy New Years, beautiful people!!!

Characters/Pairing: Silco, Jinx, GN!Reader (pre-slash GN!Reader X Silco if you want to take it that way)

Wordcount: 1.1K+

Warnings: Jinx being a lovable lil' shit, explosions and humor and cute Dad!Silco moments.

'I can make it to midnight,' she swore.

'I can stay up that long!' She insisted.

'Shut up, Sevika, I TOTALLY can!' She had hollered at the disbelieving.

Now, Jinx is snoring loudly into Silco's hair, the older gentleman remaining stoic and calm despite visibly-trembling knees from the weight of the growing pre-teen he was carrying in a piggyback. You are biting hard at the inside of your cheek as you glance over at the bizarre, and yet completely unsurprising sight. "I would be happy to trade places with you sir, if you were to ask," You offered, managing to keep your tone professional.

"Mmhm."

"... You could ask me if you need help, boss."

"Yes. I could."

You suck in your bottom lip to bite down on it slightly, holding back a smile as the man keeps his eyes fixed stubbornly on the awaiting horizon over the Piltover towers. Listening to the waves crash against the dock behind the two of you, you decide to forego the boundaries of your professional relationship by stepping over to Silco, close enough for the two of you to be brushing shoulders.

"... She said she wanted the best view."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not leaning on you for support, understood?"

"Of course not, sir."

"...She's not that heavy."

"I believe you, boss."

"... And you-"

"Are ya gonna kiss at midnight or somethin'?" Jinx yawns loudly, arms tightening around the crimelord's shoulder as she lingered between slumbering and barely-awareness. "That'd be funny. Start the new year off with a bang." She paused, then a sleepy high-pitched giggle sounded, "Heh, bang..." "I don't think that's the best idea, Jinx-" You are silenced by her finger reaching out limply, smacking her index against your face as her bleary eyes open to look towards the City of Progress. "Shhhhh.... don' ruin the moment."

You suppress the snort, glancing over to the scarred, grayish side of Silco's face, his red-eye hooded with his own tiredness as you feel his body lean just a bit more against you as Jinx wiggles for more comfort on his back and shoulders, the strain clearly taking a toll. But he was simply too stubborn to put down the girl now, and you felt too much admiration for his efforts to leave him to bare the burden alone.

When the countdown begins, you see Jinx perk up immediately, reaching into her back-pocket, earning a hiss of her name as the sudden movement nearly completely throws Silco off-balance. "Jinx-!"

"What? You really expect me to sit around while bombs are going off and not have my own??" She sounded vaguely insulted, blowing her long blue-bangs off her forehead as she fished out a crude, semi-star shaped contraption out. You resist the immediate urge to pull back and run, having been trusted enough to accompany your boss and his prized-second/beloved daughter to this middle-ground between the Undercity and Topside. You didn't want to reveal cowardice to your bosses face by running to duck-and-cover now.

Standing your ground, you decide to help the tired man by putting an arm out, curling just-short of touching his waist to give him a sense of sturdiness while Jinx, much more awake as you reach the 30-second mark, plucks the pin from her homemade gadget.

The kingpin hisses through teeth in a pointed objection as his charge turns slightly on his shoulders, bracing her arm as far back as possible before sending the star-shaped bomb flying along into the choppy waves along the dock. "That's far enough to avoid us becoming casualties, correct?" Silco asks her dryly, but Jinx only begins to chant along with the distant echoes of the Topsider's countdown.

You watched as the man closed his eyes with a loud sigh and shake of his head, but the hint of an upward curl on the edges of his mouth at the young girl's antics. Feeling like you've been intruding on a personal moment for the two of them, you suddenly feel the need to step away and go to unfurl your arm from around Silco's waist...

"Nuh-uh, you guys hafta kiss, it's tradition or whatever!" Jinx whined, reaching over to tug on your collar before you can fully escape, your employer turning to you with a raised brow and neutral look as you begin to hear the excitement in the air at ten... nine... eight...

"Look, sir... s-sorry, maybe this wasn't-" Your weak explanation on why this probably isn't the best idea is quickly silenced at the four, three, two-mark.

At four, he sighs and rolls his eyes a bit, somehow more exasperated with you than his child's antics in the moment.

At three, his hand releases on one of Jinx's leg long enough for him to grab the flap of your jacket and tug you over with such utter casualness it makes you stutter your words to a surprised halt.

At two, the ocean behind you explodes into bright lights, docks beneath you three shaking with the force of the colorful, experimental explosion.

One, his mouth against yours, and Jinx's delighted and humored cackles echo along with the distant booms and cheers of greeting-in a new year.

Three seconds into the new page on the calendars, Silco sighs as he released you, quick and smooth to grab her leg again and steady her on his back, before she falls off from his piggyback. "There, did that bring in good luck for the year?" He asked her dryly, both duel-colored eyes made alight as he calmly watches the lightshow in the skies high above the three of you. The blue-haired girl shrugs, squeezing his shoulders with her arms wrapped around him as she peeks at you through her bangs, giggling mischievously at your gobsmacked expression of what the hell just happened in the last 10 seconds.

"Something like that~" She mused with another humored giggle, swinging her legs slightly at his sides as she returns her own attention to the light-show above, the sparkling remnants of her own creative device falling down around you in the curious imitation of fallen stars.

You... you honestly don't know if there's a way to respond to this. The situation, your boss who just kissed you with all the casualness of holding-a-door open for someone, and his daughter's makeshift firework ending in something akin to beauty, and not sending you crashing into a destroyed dock. Unable to come up with words appropriate to even begin addressing what just happened, you find yourself turning quietly on your heel, arm unconsciously raising again to offer physical-support once more for your boss as your eyes draw to the sky.

Alight with colors, exploding ripples cutting through stars and the ink of night, the hope for a future year ahead is bright, loud and much like the last few minutes of your life, wholly unexpected with what comes next...

"Oh. And Y/N? Keep in mind that I will absolutely obliterate you into dust to be swept away and forgotten of all eternity, if you ever mention this to anyone."

Well... maybe not entirely unexpected, you note as you sigh in some twisted sense of relief at the familiarity.

"Yes, sir."

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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

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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