#does it still have the old doorbell the one with the key you turn to make the literal bell ring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gentil-minou · 1 year ago

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Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

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The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

��Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC

#i need to remind myself it's okay if no one reads this #i have very little presence in this fandom #but im so excited for this au #mdzs #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #a-yuan #wen yuan #bushy writing #i need to throw this in the void and then not think about this post ever again sgfsdfjs #this first chapter is 10k words by the way which tells me its only going to get worse #apparently my idea of short preview is 2000 words oops #also i only did a cursery read through and brief error check so if there's something glaringly bad please tell me #im hoping to have the first chapter up sometime in the next week if you want to follow me on ao3!#okay now im gonna go melt away #how obvious is it that i haven't shared my writing with anyone else in over a year

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notonlymice · 9 months ago

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five times Ally fell asleep in Rush’s bed (and one time they woke up together)

Ally Craig x Nicholas Rush; 2937 words; T Summary: Just some glimpses at Ally and Nick's relationship as it progresses. ao3 link (with tags and everything)

one (in his apartment)

It's been ten minutes since Miss Craig left, and he is still imagining what kind of rumors might start at university if anyone finds out about these private lessons — just lessons, really, nothing more than talking about physics, solving equations, and sometimes playing chess, but people, even the most educated ones, tend to believe that a student cannot visit her professor's apartment for something that innocent, especially this late on a Friday night, — and trying to figure out why he has agreed to this in the first place. Certainly not because of her eyes, which were glinting with a mix of hope and something else he couldn't quite decipher — passion for physics, probably, — as she was asking him for this favor. And not because she is the only one of his new second-year students who dares to argue with him — and why does she need those extra lessons, again? — her soft and reasonable voice echoing through the lecture hall, while others can only stare in terror: his reputation of being the most demanding and short-tempered of the faculty members really precedes him. And not because of the way the autumn sun shining through the windows makes her hair golden… Rush shakes his head. He's a long-time widower, or, some might say, married to his work; he is past forty, and he definitely isn't interested in any of his twenty-something-year-old students, even the one whose azure gaze constantly attracts his own like the strongest magnet and whose lips… Fuck. He gets up to pour himself a drink in hopes that alcohol might distract him when suddenly the doorbell rings. He opens the door — as if materialized from his absurd thoughts, Miss Craig is standing in front of him again.

“Miss Craig,” he says, his throat suddenly dry. “Have you forgotten something?”

“I just realized I had left my keys at home. My father has gone to work, and my phone is dead,” she answers shyly. “May I use your phone to call him, Doctor Rush?”

He silently nods, stepping aside, and watches her dial a number and chirp into the phone, her face gradually darkening.

“I see, thank you,” she says and hangs up. Noticing the question in his eyes, she explains, “He’s on a raid. Will be back in the morning, at best. So…” She shrugs vaguely. “Anyway, thanks.” She nods at the phone, gives him a little lopsided smile and heads for the door.

“Where will you go?” Rush asks — just because he feels like he should say something and definitely not because he cares.

“My friend lives nearby, maybe she hasn't gone out. Or I'll break a window to get home,” she laughs nervously.

Rush shakes his head and hears someone say, “Or you can stay the night,” and it takes him a second to realize it was him.

Miss Craig raises an eyebrow, and he hurriedly adds, “Don't get me wrong. You can sleep on the couch.”

Her face brightens, and he tries to convince himself that he did it entirely out of the kindness of his soul (though sometimes he isn't sure he has any of it left): it wouldn't be right to let her wander alone at night, would it? — and not because at the mere thought of her staying in his apartment his heart starts beating out a weird rhythm. He briefly thinks of Gloria, feeling a dull stab of guilt and sorrow, and rubs his eyes. Whatever is happening to him is getting pathetic, really.

In the end, he gets too embarrassed by his old living-room couch and convinces Miss Craig to take the bed; she refuses at first but finally gives up. After spending a good (and sleepless) three hours on the sagging couch, he goes to the kitchen, involuntarily turning his head towards the bedroom as he passes by. The door is ajar; Miss Craig is sleeping on his bed, covered with his plaid blanket, her hair scattered across his pillow. He looks at her and thinks that the hypothetical university rumors would've definitely been rampant.

***

two (in a hotel)

The conference turns out to be extremely tedious. Feeling the level of his misanthropy reaching a critical point, Rush decides to take a chilly walk to the hotel the university booked for them, to clear his head and have a cigarette, so it's already after midnight when he gets there. Сlimbing to the third floor — the elevator is broken — he's so eager to finally close the door to his room and enjoy the solitude that he almost misses the person sitting with a book on the couch near the stairs, but the wheat-colored hair catches his eye.

He comes closer.

Alyssa Craig raises her impossibly blue eyes from the book and smiles at him awkwardly.

“I left the key at the front desk in the morning, and now they claim they can't find it,” she answers his unasked question.

Not surprisingly, he thinks; despite being popular (most likely only because of its convenient location), the hotel is rather seedy: broken elevator and generally depressing atmosphere aside, Rush is pretty sure he saw a couple of cockroaches darting across the floor. And why is something always going on with her keys?

“And they just left you sitting here?”

She says, as if having read his mind, “Not exactly a five-star, is it?”

“Wait, weren't you supposed to share with Ginn? Where is she?”

She snorts.

“She’s with Eli, obviously. I have the room all to myself. Well — had. I didn't dare to bother them, you can hear them from a mile away.”

That's new; he never noticed. Then, again, a lot of things escape his notice lately.

The solution comes to his mind disturbingly quickly. He knows that a normal professor in charge of his students on an academic trip would've sorted this out: set said students, no matter how gifted and grown up they are, on the right path, deal with the irresponsibility of the front desk, but apparently since he met Miss Craig he has been anything but normal — insane, for example, for insanity seems the only possible reason for what he suggests next. And here he thought his descent into madness would happen at least a couple of decades later.

“Then you'll have to sleep in my room, and we'll deal with this mess in the morning,” he says, absolutely expecting her to protest, to insist on going to the front desk with her and shaking the damned key out of them.

Instead, she just looks at him, eyes full of irony, and asks, “Are you sure it would be considered appropriate, professor?”

He is surprised but accepts the game.

“As you wish, Miss Craig. Have a good night on this undoubtedly comfortable couch.”

She promptly jumps to her feet, grabbing her book and her bag.

“No one can say something is inappropriate if they don't know about it, right?”

And for some reason the thought that the solitude he was craving five minutes ago is slipping through his fingers doesn't irritate Rush in the slightest, and his misanthropy level indicator seems to have vanished at all.

On their way to his single room, he informs Miss Craig that she will take the bed. She tries to argue that it wouldn't be nice of her and that she is not tired at all but suppresses a yawn and falls silent under his skeptical gaze. When they enter the room, she briefly disappears into the bathroom to freshen up and take off her jeans and bra — not that he was looking at her legs or chest, of course, — and then dives under the covers, saying, “We could sleep together, you know.” She immediately realizes what it sounded like and blushes slightly. “You get what I mean. I don't kick or snore!”

Rush manages a smile, his mind immediately plagued with images due to her choice of words, and shakes his head.

“Don't worry, Miss Craig. Insomnia is an old friend of mine.”

She frowns at him but says nothing, rests her head on the pillow, settling closer to the edge of the bed — hoping he might change his mind? — and closes her eyes. Soon her breathing becomes slow and peaceful.

He looks at her from the armchair, ready for another night in the company of a book, and thinks that what happened twice has a high probability of happening thrice.

***

three (in his apartment again)

Spring is at its height. Rush is walking home after spending an exciting evening (slowly turning into a night) of marking papers and drinking close to lethal amounts of coffee, when suddenly he notices a familiar figure in the darkened alley. And also — the fact that some hulking individual is persistently groping her, while she feebly wriggles against him.

His first instinct is to keep walking, to mind his own business, but he immediately realizes that he can't stay away; not when it comes to her.

“Alyssa, is everything all right?” he calls out.

“Be on your way, four eyes,” the individual snaps.

Four-eyes. The intelligence of Alyssa's admirer has clearly remained at the elementary school level.

Meanwhile, she looks at Rush with a slightly unfocused gaze and mutters something resembling his name. This convinces him that things definitely aren't right, and he decidedly dives into the alley, pushing the stranger away from her with a surprising strength and hissing, “Move — and you can say goodbye to your teeth.” It's the first random threat that comes to his half-angered, half-terrified mind, but something in his eyes, apparently, makes it clear that neither his glasses nor a not particularly muscular frame will stop him from carrying this threat out.

He grabs Alyssa by her waist, throws one of her arms over his shoulder, and leads her out of the alley. Once under the streetlight, he searches her face and asks urgently, “What were you doing there? Did he make you drink something? Did he hurt you?”

She looks at him, clearly struggling to concentrate under this flood of questions, and mutters, “We were… Ruby and I… there's that bar… for some courage… went to see you… but this guy…” She frowns. “I just wanted to say, Nicholas…” What she wanted to say he never knows: she hiccups and throws up in the nearby bushes.

His apartment is just around the corner, but they walk so slowly that it takes them at least half an hour to get there.

For the next couple of hours she is throwing up, and he holds back her hair and makes her drink water. Closer to the morning she dozes off on his bed. He looks at her and thinks two things: first, never before in his teaching career has he seen a student whose body disagrees with alcohol so violently. Second, his already graying hair has turned a little grayer tonight.

***

four (and again)

The doorbell rings at two in the morning. Rush is awake as usual — smoking, trying to read a book, going through his notes (only to slip repeatedly into thoughts about the recently started semester and how different it's going to be from the previous two) — but the sound startles him anyway: he isn't waiting for anyone. He never waits for anyone. Except… He opens the door, and for a brief moment warmth blooms in his chest, because it's her who is standing in the doorway, but then it wilts away, because her face is tear-stained.

“What happened? What is it?” he asks, and Ally looks up at him as if she didn't expect him to be there.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come,” she mutters and turns to leave, but he catches her hand and practically drags her inside, at the same time looking her over, trying to see if she is hurt and not finding any evidence, physical at least.

“What's wrong, Ally?” he repeats insistently.

“Dad's been wounded,” she whispers. “I was there with him at the hospital, but they told me to go home, and I can't go home, I can't stand the thought of being there alone…” She bursts into tears again.

He isn’t sure what to do: he isn't fond of her father, or police in general, for that matter, and he's never been good at comforting people, especially the ones he loves— He freezes. The word comes to his mind so easily that for a few seconds he is just standing there, shocked by the revelation. Don't be an idiot, do something, his inner voice whispers, and he awkwardly hugs her, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly and muttering some nonsense — everything will definitely be fine and all that — which he himself would've never believed. When her sobs quiet down and she steps away, he says, “I would've made you cocoa, but this kitchen has never seen cocoa powder.” And the milk in his fridge hasn't gone sour solely because he forgot to buy it, he adds mentally. Now he wishes he expanded his grocery list past coffee and instant noodles. “I have some bad whiskey though, but…” he doesn't continue, not wanting to remind her of her previous encounter with alcohol.

“Bad whiskey sounds good,” she smiles weakly and, catching his doubtful gaze, adds, a little embarrassed, “I am not going to drink the whole bottle,” so he pours them both some — just a little — and then offers her his shirt to change into and, once again, his bed.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep,” she asks, and he can't deny her.

She sleeps restlessly, sobbing at times, and Rush holds her close, inhaling the scent of her apple shampoo mixed with citrusy perfume, already so dear and familiar. He looks at her and, feeling like the most egoistic asshole in the world, thinks that he doesn't want her to leave in the morning.

***

five (goodness knows where)

He wakes up abruptly, as if someone flipped a switch and turned off all his sleepiness. The stars are still blinking in the sky, but the night will soon start to fade away. Ally is sitting nearby, wrapped in his khaki coat, the gun clutched in her hand. The planet hasn't seemed dangerous, or maybe they just have been lucky: they haven't encountered any fauna bigger than a lizard, and the flora has pleasantly surprised them with some fruits resembling nectarines, but it's never a good idea not to sleep in turns when it's only the two of you, accidentally stranded only the ancients know where.

“Sweetheart, I asked you to wake me up in an hour.”

The endearment still tastes unusual — though exciting — on his tongue, even after these five years (the latest of which they spent aboard Destiny); after one love confession (mutual), one master's degree (hers), one alien mushroom poisoning (his), and several dinners with her father (awkward); after a couple of dozen fights (always ending in passionate reconciliations), hundreds of cups of coffee (caffeine withdrawal in the space is a terrible experience), thousands of kisses (on various body parts), and millions of other things that brought them closer; after endless talks about the past and almost none — about the future.

Ally startles and turns her head, eyes wary, face pale against the trees, then says, a little guiltily, “You needed the rest.”

“And now you won't get enough sleep.”

“Enough sleep? Haven't heard of it for a long time.” She laughs and immediately turns serious. “Let's be honest, Nick, between the two of us you have the best chance to get us back to the ship.”

Rush frowns: he hates when she belittles herself, but she just shrugs. He gets out of the sleeping bag and reaches for the gun; Ally gives it to him, brushing her soft fingers against his hand, returns him his coat, and crawls into the sleeping bag, sighing contentedly.

“I'll wake you up as soon as it dawns, mind you,” he threatens feignedly, but Ally doesn't hear it. This woman and her ability to fall asleep never cease to amaze him.

He watches the light of strange stars silver her hair and thinks that, despite the dire situation they found themselves in, he's glad to share this with her. He would've shared everything with her, even if here, in the forest of an alien planet, all he has to offer is a coat and a sleeping bag warmed by his body.

***

six (at their home)

Ally has never considered herself a morning person, but for the past few weeks she’s been waking up even earlier than Nick. The first thing she feels this morning is his warmth next to her, and it makes her smile. She really doesn't want to disturb his sleep but still involuntarily reaches her hand to touch his stubbled cheek lightly, to run over his shoulder, admiring once again how the wedding ring glints in the rays of the sun — the Earth's sun, for a change. He cracks his eyes open, smiling back at her, and she feels even warmer.

“Sorry I woke you up,” she whispers. “I love watching you sleep, but I love your smile even more.”

He snorts sleepily.

“That's the most disgustingly sweet phrase I've ever heard.”

She bites her lip.

“Don't make me say I have something else sweet for you.”

“Your flirting is getting worse by the day.”

“Maybe, but you blushed.”

They both laugh. She looks at him — the sun tangles in his ashy brown hair, gives a honey hue to his eyes — and thinks how strange and wonderful life is, with its twists and turns and new chances.

#of all the things that could’ve made me write a fic in english for the first time EVER -#of course it had to be the most random made up pairing🥲#ally craig x nicholas rush #anyem #anyem fic #apparently I know some words (not a lot but some x))#my anyem/anyelle things #my ally x rush things #my things

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year ago

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Let us now resume

She still loves him, but she realizes that he has changed, or that she has. It is hard to tell, really.

She realizes this in the context of a history of change. She realizes this in the context of a world which she still does not understand.

The things she remembers from before -- the cool relief of escape, the sense of approaching something vast and exciting, the five hours of oblivion after having taken the pill, the sudden pang of hunger afterwards, the dreams that were not dreams -- these things no longer seem to her to have been part of a long, gradual, and in many ways happy story of change. Not any more.

She was once a Paolumuwaycatoy. She was once a proud representative of a flawless creature. She feels dismayed now, when she thinks about these things. They feel out of place somehow. Everything she remembers seems to have happened in the last six months, since she took the red pill. Before that, there is only a void, a void that is frustratingly hard to think about.

And everything she remembers seems to have happened in another world. A world that at times seems alien to her, and continues to be. She remembers joyous, star-studded dreams of escape. She remembers the frigid relief of waking up in her bed, and coming back to her senses. She remembers emerging into the light. She remembers hurling the cracked white pill and its thin plastic shell into the garbage can of the rest stop, in such a way that no one would ever notice, and letting out a joyous scream. She remembers pulling out the red pill and the thin metal case around it, and letting it dissolve in her hand before her eyes, and hearing the joyous chords of the Bug Race begin to play in her head. She remembers writing the note on the back of the room key. She remembers the determination with which she wrote it. She remembers tucking the pill back into its metal case. She remembers going back to her old room, throwing the sheets and the pillow and the mattress into the dumpster, and walking out the door. She remembers smiling, for the first time in years. She remembers the handsome man in the trenchcoat, she remembers pushing her hair back behind her ear, she remembers what he looked like under his sunglasses -- and it was all so carefully chosen -- she remembers saying the right words --

-- and she remembers reaching the edge of the world, so longed for, and staring across it --

And then she remembers stumbling, nauseous, onto the well-lit suburban sidewalk in front of the Home Depot, in the dusk. She remembers her stomach grumbling. She remembers what she did next.

She remembers asking a passing woman for directions to a restaurant. The woman had been so puzzled by her request. She remembers walking along the sidewalk, zigzagging away from the suburban homes. She remembers glancing at a watch. It was not long after midnight. She remembers continuing to walk, absent-mindedly, down the road, until she realized that she didn't know where she was going.

And then she remembers ringing the doorbell. She remembers saying that she was lost and had nowhere to go. She remembers being taken in, at least for the night. And she remembers the woman's husband in the living room, wearing only a towel and staring at her with a yellowish grin. And she remembers him telling her that she could stay as long as she needed. She remembers that he was very old.

She remembers that his breath smelled rotten, and that he had asked her to sit on his lap, and that she had declined. He had looked at her breasts, she remembers, when she explained herself, and then asked if she wanted him to do her a favor. That is all she remembers about that night, and she remembers it all because she did not understand what was happening. She had stayed there only because she had no other choice. She had just left. She had kept her back turned, when he had begun to trail after her.

She remembers when, years later, a cute boy with a red hair cut had held out a ring, and said "How about you?"

She remembers asking "How about you?"

She remembers kissing him, looking into his eyes, expecting to see a void. She remembers how pleasant he had seemed, in his way, at first. She remembers that he had once been a member of the Party, and she remembers how cute he looked in the square's uniform, with the big button pins all over his chest.

She remembers fighting with him in the square one day, and then in the park, and then in the bedroom. She remembers the first time she slapped him, and he had laughed. He had told her "You're so serious!," he had teased. She had slapped him again, hard, and he had been amazed that anyone could have so much anger in her, and he had laughed again, and she had been amazed that he could laugh at her like that. She remembered thinking that she could never make him understand her.

She remembered feeling an intense dislike, and she had slapped him, and he had laughed, and she had yelled, "You're insane!" She remembered thinking that he was insane, but she had never seen him in the hospital room. She had wanted to slap him, and she had wanted him to slap her, but they had never touched, really, in all that time.

And then, when she had arrived home from that last, final time at the Party Square, she had been drunk and in a state of shock, and disbelief, and hurt, and she had thrown things around, and punched the chair, and torn off her Party-issued uniform in a fury, and sat down on the bed, and she had noticed her wedding ring, and she had thought "How about a divorce?" and she had picked up the ring, and she had gotten up, and she had put it in a jewelry box, and she had turned out the lights, and she had cried.

She remembers that, and she remembers that he had only laughed at her, and she had felt a terrible anguish, because he had only laughed at her, and because there was nothing that she could say to him that he would listen to. And she had thought "What does a cute guy like him see in a mean old thing like me?" And she had been glad when he left, because he was an old friend and he was, in fact, the kind of thing a cute guy like him would naturally like.

And she remembers that, and she remembers when, years later, she had been in a park with her little boy, and she had been amazed that anyone could be so happy. And she had asked a boy with a red hair cut if he'd like to play, and he had said "How about you?" She had kissed him, and danced with him. And she had been happy, in a way that she had never been happy before. And she had hoped she would be happy forever.

She had been wrong, of course.

She remembers with a sense of horror that she had been happy. She remembers the feeling of absolute rightness and rightness and perfection and euphoria and certainty, when she was with him. He was the opposite of the past, of every horror. He was everything she had been trying to be. And then, one day, he had said "I am no longer satisfied," and she had said "What is it, dear?" and he had said "Everything," and he had been so happy, and so solemn, and she had been happy, and the next week he had been interrogated and then annihilated and she had had a nightmare, and the next day she had joined the Party, and she had felt her name change, and then she had seen him on the street and he had not even looked at her, and she had felt cold and lonely, and then she had forgotten him for years, but she had not forgotten the Party, and had not forgotten her name, or the policeman's pistol pointed in her face, and the feeling of rightness, of happiness, of euphoria, of satisfaction,

She remembers that, she remembers that she had asked "How about you?"

She remembers that she had turned her back on the boy in the park, and she had walked away. She remembers how it felt, to be sure that she would never, ever turn her back on the Party again. She remembers how she had cried, and how he had not seen, because he was blind, and she had been angry at him, and she had been angry at his blindness.

She had been angry at him because he had not been a worthy successor to her lover, because he had been weak, and oblivious, and had feared too much, and hated too little. She had been angry at him for being so much like her dead

#original fiction

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gwensparlour · 1 year ago

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Beginning of an idea I'll probably never finish because I don't write romcoms unless the planets align In which Thetis is a super rich heiress, Peleus is smitten, and shenanigans ensue

Jumping out of the car on a Saturday morning, Peleo swings the box of pastries from the small curled bow at the top.

The box is warm and smells heavenly. Freshly baked baklava with extra pistachios from the fanciest bakery in town. It is the surest way to put his brother in a good mood, despite the early hour. He hopes.

The hall is quiet, no one there except the doorman, busy sorting through the mail. He gives an abrupt nod to Peleus before returning to his work.

Telamon lives in a penthouse on the top floor. It takes ten rings of the doorbell before a very gruff voice answers from behind the door.

"It's half past seven."

"'Morning bird gets the worm,'" chirps Peleus and lifts the box of pastries to the peephole. "I brought breakfast. Baklava, your favorite."

"Extra honey?"

"And double pistachios."

There is the sound of various locks and keys being turned. Then the door opens, revealing an extremely irritable Telamon in his underwear and old sweatshirt.

"The pastries had better be good," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and stepping aside.

The kitchen is still dark, with the curtains down, and pleasantly cool. Peleus sets the box down on the granite countertop before moving to the window, while Telamon rummages through the drawers for coffee beans and the grinder.

"What did you do this time?" The sound of crushed grains is soothing in the stillness of the morning.

"Why do I always have to do something? One accidentally shoots his old man once and gets branded for life."

Telamon drops three lumps of sugar into his cup and does not respond. "Then why the urgency?"

"I'm getting married."

Telamon bends over, in the throes of a violent coughing fit. Frosted crumbs fly everywhere.

"You what? How? When?" He gasps. Peleus pats him on the back. "Well, it's not like I'm getting married right now. That's more the end goal. But I'm in love," he says and takes the steaming cup of coffee that Telamon hands him. Leaning against the refrigerator, his brother drinks his in two long sips.

"When? Who?" He asks. "Someone I know?"

"Technically."

"Technically?"

Before Telamon can ask any more questions, Peleus takes a rolled-up magazine from inside his jacket and throws it in his direction. "Page 245."

It shows a full-page photo of a dark-haired woman in side view. She is leaning against the railing of a marble balcony and showing dangling earrings of emeralds and sapphires. Each one is the size of a drachma. On page 246 is a front view of a huge villa overlooking the sea of the French Riviera.

Telamon looks at Peleus as if he had grown an extra head.

"One of the daughters of Nereus Okeanids."

"The eldest."

"Of Nereus Okeanids? Do you have any idea who we are talking about?"

Peleus does, a pretty clear one actually. Everyone knows the Okeanids. It is the third richest family in all of Greece, the top ten in the whole world. They are so rich that they could buy the Eacides company as easily as a grandmother buys fish at the market. They are practically nobles.

Rubbing his forehead with his massive hand, Telamon gives him a sidelong glance.

"You're high, aren't you?"

"Never been more lucid."

"I have a hard time believing that. Look, it's okay. I know what it's like. You partied a little too hard last night, snorted one too many lines.... " He pinches his nose, leaving two pieces of pistachio on his left cheek. The look in his eyes is a well-known routine.

"I am not on drugs. I'm not drunk. I'm just, how to say ... it was love at first sight," Peleus insists, unable to hold back a dreamy sigh. He does not hope his brother will understand, he and his too many mistresses.

"They are out of our reach. Completely."

"We are not beggars."

"To them you might as well be. Nereus will marry off his daughters to some Arab prince who might pave the streets with gold or something."

"Technically, we're noble, too."

"No. Father is the bastard son of a prince who has scattered so many bastards around that by now half of Greece could say they have blue blood. There's a big difference."

#the iliad #the song of achilles #tsoa #peleus #telamon #thetis

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alcottsangel · 2 years ago

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Rotten Chapter 4 {Steve Harrington x fem!reader}

Masterlist | Soundtrack

Summary: Eddie and Steve decide to get Jason Carver what he deserves, but as they arrive so does Hopper.

Warnings: Rape!!, cursing, blood, hospital, mentions of rape-kit, medical treatment, physical violence and police investigations.

last part | next part

Donna told Y/n that they would keep her in the hospital until the evening. It was almost six in the morning by the time the procedure was over, and she felt incredibly drained.

She wasn't sure if any of her friends were still there. She wouldn't blame them if not, because they must've waited for hours and must be tired too.

Donna brought her to the room she was meant to stay in a wheelchair, and luckily the other bed was empty. "The hospital isn't busy." The older woman had explained, before making the bed for Y/n.

"Can I take a shower?" The girl asked, fidgeting with her hands while she waited in the wheelchair.

Donna looked pitiful, only glancing at her briefly before turning to shake up the pillow.

"I can help you to shower. You have to be careful with the stitches, and the water will probably burn." The nurse finally moved to open the door to the bathroom, but she went in without Y/n to prepare something.

"I can walk." The young girl noted silently, as she stood up to look out of the window. Eddies van was parked on a different spot, and the car of Nancys mom stood on the parking space too. She tilted her head from left to right. There was no police car, luckily.

There was a knock on the door, and Y/n flinched. She calmed down again, as she saw that it was the nurse without a name. "Your friends dropped off a bag with clothes for you." She held up a gym back that was most certainly not Y/n's.

Once she had dropped off the bag on the spare back, she left again. Y/n walked to it, opening the zipper and seeing some of her clothes thrown into it. She figured that Eddie used the spare key of her flat to get it.

"I prepared the bathtub, if you still want to shower." Donna carefully approached Y/n. As the young girl turned around, she noticed that the older woman was a bit smaller than her. She wore her kind smile again, but she looked tired and Y/n didn't envy her for her job.

She walked ahead into the bathroom. The tiles had an ugly turquoise tone, and there was a towel hanging over the mirror. Y/n didn't ask Donna why, but she was still confused.

She only realised that she wasn't meant to see her bruises, by the time she was out of the bathroom again.

"Once you're all cleaned up, I can ask your friends to come see you. Chief Hopper also came to talk to you. He will surely be back soon."

Y/n nodded, as she started to undress.

The moment the water fell onto her shoulders, she felt a bit more relieved.

As Steve, Eddie and Robin stumbled out of the hospital it was still the middle of the night. While they walked over to Eddies van, the metalhead hesitated. "We should get her some clothes, right? I mean, she can't wear the old ones." He thought out loud.

They stood around the car awkwardly for a second, before they all got in. "We could stop by her place, after we find Jason." Robin shrugged from the backseat. "I have a spare key." Eddie told her, and with that the decision was made.

It wasn't difficult to figure out where Jason Carver lived, because apparently Steve had been at one or two of his parties.

It was still dark when they arrived, and luckily his car was the only one in the driveway. They had hoped his parents were out of town, which was likely, because he had been hosting a party the evening before.

"Wait here." Steve told Robin, as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the van with Eddie. "Hell I will!" The blonde woman exclaimed, as she followed the boys to the front door.

Steve rang the doorbell twice, and Eddie knocked loudly for three minutes until the door opened.

"What the fuck man." Jasons sleep drunken voice muttered, but before he had any time to react,

Steve landed the first punch.

"You're a disgusting pig!" Eddie snapped and swung at Jason, a wild roundhouse punch that brought the blonde boy to the ground. "Go to hell!" Said Steve, and drove his fist deep into Jasons gut. His next hit was aimed at his face again, bruising his knuckles on the jocks high cheekbones. Then Eddie kicked him in the stomach, and Jason moaned in pain.

They heard another car pull up, and as Robin stopped her cheering and turned around, she saw Hopper leaning against his police car. "Shit." She whispered, but Hopper seemed to have no intentions to stop Eddie and Steve.

He watched them for a minute or two, then Steve kicked Jason again. "That's enough." Jim said, and walked up to them. Jason layed on the ground in his doorframe, he cried like a little boy that lost his mother at the funfair. His face was bruised, and undoubtedly so was the rest of his body.

The chief pulled him up roughly, a firm grip on the blonde boys arm. "Jason Carver, you're under investigation for rape. You have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer questions.

Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney."

Hopper dragged Jason to his car, the boy was far too shocked to react properly, as Jim opened the door to the backseat and forced Jason inside.

He locked the car, and walked up to the crew as they closed Jasons front door. "I will drive him to the station and have someone interrogate him. A team will check out his car for evidence. I will question Y/n in the hospital." He explained. He observed the three, looked at Steve and Eddies bloody knuckles and they're apologetic glances.

"Quit the 'sorry' act, neither of you feels bad for beating the kid up." The older man grumbled. Then he lowered his tone. "I wouldn't be sorry either. He will probably try to press charges, but I assure you that won't get far." He sighed.

"Thanks Hop'." Steve smiled. "We're grabbing some things from her place, them we'll come to the hospital too. We want to be there when they're done." The chief nodded in agreement. "See you then." He said, before walking to his car where Jason still cried in the backseat and drove off.

They stopped by Y/n's place like they said they would. Eddie took a bag from the trunk before they walked up the stairs. Steve had never been there before, and he followed the metalhead who unlocked the front door and walked up the stairs to her flat. Her place was decorated charmingly and represented her character perfectly. It wasn't big, but it had everything she needed. There were posters of her favourite artists on one wall, and she had a nice collection of tapes in a shelve in the living room.

Eddie showed Robin where the bedroom was, and the blonde woman packed some clothes into the bag. While Steve looked around taking random objects in his hands, twisting them around figuring out what it was, Eddie started to collect a few books from a shelve.

"She won't stay in the hospital long enough to read them all. And we won't leave her much time for that anyways." Steve chuckled, and the long haired man shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Teenage girls owned weird stuff, he thought. Some technical devices he had never seen and many magazines with impossibly well chested women on the covers. She also owned around twenty different bottles of nail polish, though he couldn't see a big difference between most colours.

Once Robin was done, they got out, locked her door and drove to the hospital again.

As they arrived they saw the car of Mrs. Wheeler, but beside Nancy, who sat in her the same seat she did as they left, now asleep, the waiting room was empty. She had changed her clothes though, instead of the dress she had put on for the party, she now wore jeans and a sweatshirt.

Robin shook the brunette girl harshly (she really tried to be careful), until she woke up. She breathed in deeply once, then she looked around disorientated. As she understood where she was, and why she was there, all the anger washed over her again.

"Were you at Jasons?" She asked concerned, as she stood up and stretched her body.

"We arrived shortly before Hopper did." Robin answered, as her feet carried her to the vending machine again. She only had a few cents left and it wasn't enough to buy anything.

"We still got to beat the shit out of him." Eddie announced proudly, but Nancy just scoffed in disapproval. "I walked home and took a shower. I grabbed some snacks." As the metalhead grabbed the bag Nancy had brought with her, she gave him a claps on the hand and he let go of it again.

"They're not for you!" The brunette girl moved the rucksack to her other side, so Eddie couldn't reach it again.

"What's in the gym bag?" She then nodded towards the bag that Steve still held. "Eddie had a key to her place, so we collected some of Y/n's clothes."

"I'll drop it off at the reception, then they can bring it to Y/n's room." Nancy offered, before Steve handed her the bag and she did exactly that.

As Nancy returned, Hopper walked through the door again. He smiled softly, and it gave them all a bit hope.

"Good Morning!" He exclaimed. "I have news. They investigated Carvers car. There was a bloodstain on the backseat, and they found h/c hair and painted nails. She must've broken them off when she fought him. That's incredible evidence. I'm sure together with your and her testimonies and the Vitullo Kit we can get him behind bars."

It was, as if a big weight fell off all their shoulders. Jason needed to be locked up for what he did, he needed to face consequences. It wouldn't be easy just because they had proof, because it was Hawkins and people would still doubt Y/n, but it was something.

Then Jim threw Steve a plastic bag, and as the brunette man looked inside, he saw a pack of donuts. "Breakfast." Hopper announced.

Y/n showered for an hour, Donna not ever leaving her alone. Once she was done, she picked out some clothes from the bag the other brought her.

The moment she was laying in the uncomfortable hospital bed, the nameless nurse knocked again to see if they were finished.

"Chief Hopper is here." She declared. "Is it okay, if I send him up?" Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, but then she nodded. She's been through so much already, she could take this too.

"Can me friends be with me?" She then asked, and the nameless nurse smiled at her before she nodded.

They left her alone, and Y/n realised it was the first time she was all by herself since the crew had picked her up. She cried, she couldn't help it, but as it knocked again she brushed the tears away. Then Jim Hopper poked his head into her room.

His look is soft, pitying, slightly guilty even, taking in her appearance, how bruised she was. This is all it takes for her to burst into tears again, in less than a second, he's made his way to her bed and hugs her warmly.

He is warm and big and hugs her like every good father hugs his child, and she's thankful he's there. Behind him Robin, Eddie, Steve and Nancy trail into the room, the girls sitting down on the spare bed. The brunette metalhead took the two chairs from the corner of the room and offered one to Hopper, sitting down on the other himself.

Steve carefully sinks down onto the edge of the bed, reassuringly taking her hand and squeezing it, as Hopper clears his throat and begins to talk.

"Tell me what happened. Stop whenever you need to."

What do you want to read next, beside Hopper and Y/n talking of course?

Taglist: @kellysimagines @classicflqwer @kurt-smells-like-teen-spiritt @cheyenne-dunn-universe @bleachbetch @greatfandomsgalore @mathchampagne @deafeningempathfishcowboy @niiight-dreamerrrr @httpjiikook @valdemarismynonbinarylove @stillmanicc @abbiesxox @jessiap @hellojameshowyadoin @that-one-spn-girl @b3rrysoda @admin-in-residence @crackityy @its-me-miles @tiaamberxx @siriusblacktbh @deepsoulcomputer @fairyhope028 @thatsonezesty13 @marvelsbitchh @maggiejackson3 @thel0v3hashira143 @fromnannaspov @cruelstring @netusha @smileofthesun27 @beth-gallagher22 @silky-luxe @denkis-slut @sugarsweetkiss @misaamaneswifey @lolilkkk @loveshineslikethesky @catw1412 @withlovec @liv0679 @persephonesnebula @itsyoboysparklr @sakuraasworld @frozenhuntress67 @ventingaboutmymentalhealth @edd1e-muns0n @milkiane @dogmom2014 @iheartfezco @pisrusxarxty @shinydixon @spongebob-in-the-upsidedown @shadowluna25 @ryuguji-kaku @juulspigeon @ladybeewritethings @fanficfanatic204 @heyimval13 @bored-lonely-trying @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx (If you are tagged in red, it means I couldn't tag you. Here are reasons for that. Comment if you want to be added or removed, but please understand that I am not replying because I get alot. If you do not receive a notification that I added you, check here again to see if your name is red, or message me.)

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peachycoreroo · 3 years ago

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the forbidden fruit | zeke yeager

summary: zeke was like a second father to you and you were his favorite little girl. maybe, it wasn't normal to like your dad's best friend that much, but who cares if it's normal when it feels this good.

pairing: dad’s best friend!zeke x college fem!reader

genre: smut, pwp

word count: 5.4k

warnings: age gap, vaginal penetration, lowkey pseudo-cest bc you call zeke 'uncle', daddy kink, oral fem!receiving, fingering, oral m!receiving, mini degradation, praise kink, a few spanks, choking, zeke spits in your mouth, usage of ‘slut’, ‘whore’ and ‘slutty’, bunny as a pet name, kinda exhibitionism?, manipulation, corruption kink, dub-con vibes but you actually want it, jealousy, mentions of alcohol, smoking, dumbification, manhandling, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up kids), creampie, size kink

authors note: this is for @weepinglevi‘s adult movie tropes collab, thank you sm for letting me join!! def check out the other amazing fics in this collab<3 this is a lot darker than my other stuff so far, but i had so much fun writing it, so enjoy my first piece for aot!! here’s a link to my masterlist

uncle zeke, or uncle zuzu as you liked to call him when you were still a child, has always been your favorite person since you were little. technically, you weren’t blood-related, but you might as well have been with how integrated into your family he was.

him and your father were best friends since middle school and you did call him ‘daddy’ a lot back then as a three-year-old, when you couldn’t grasp the concept of him not also being your dad. he was there for your birth, your childhood, your embarrassing teens and now even for your 20th birthday.

you don’t exactly know when the thing happened though.

one day, you were all a big, happy family and the next you suddenly realized, how attractive zeke yeager really was. maybe, it was the way you noticed that he was so much more athletic and broader than your father as they walked around your pool in their swimming trunks on a hot summer day. maybe, it was the way you suddenly became aware of how tall he really was, when you tried to reach a cup on a shelf too high, only to feel his presence directly behind you with his chest against your back as he reached his arm above your head and grabbed the cup, only to hand it to you with a teasing ‘you should really try this thing called growing. i heard it does wonders against high shelfs.’ or maybe, it was the way you finally registered how his gray eyes shamelessly checked you out as you walked around in your flimsy crop tops and shorts, barely covering anything.

it was so wrong, but that didn’t mean you would stop your little teasing. your dresses got shorter and shorter, dropping your keys on purpose on the way out just to flash him your lacy panties. hugging him longer than usual as he was leaving, just to press your breasts up against his hard chest. you wanted him to know you weren’t a little girl anymore. you wanted his mind to be filled with lewd thoughts about you. only you.

even when you left for college, you couldn’t stop thinking about the blond man, especially when you were in your bed late at night, with your hand stuffed in your panties and your mouth whimpering his name into the pillow. images of him, with his hard cock in a large palm, pleasuring himself with you on his mind, groaning your name, always brought you to an orgasm, but it wasn’t enough. you knew the only way to quench your need for this man was by having him, no matter how rotten your desire was.

at last, it was finally your birthday, and you couldn’t wait to get home and act upon your ploy to seduce zeke yeager. it was a foolproof plan really. nobody would even suspect you were trying to rile your favorite uncle up, and he would only react, if he wanted you just as much. what better gift for your birthday, than ultimately having the forbidden fruit you’ve been trying to deny yourself of for so long.

“happy birthday, angel!”, your family exclaimed excitedly as you came downstairs. you quickly scanned the room to see uncle zeke already sitting in his usual spot on an armchair in the corner of the living room, getting up and joining your parents at the bottom of the stairs when he noticed your presence.

knowing that he was there, you finally smiled happily, thanking them softly before being pulled into a tight embrace by zeke. “yeah, happy birthday, angel”, he lowly murmured into your ear as he pressed you firmly against him, goosebumps erupting at his slightly suggestive tone.

“thank you, uncle zuzu”, you whispered back, squeezing him tight, hoping to get the message across that you were more than happy to be in his arms.

alas, you were forced to part as your mother shoved him to the side to embrace you, your dad jokingly complaining about you going for a hug with your favorite first instead of your parents, in the background.

“well, i can’t help that i’m so much cooler to her than you”, zeke retorted playfully, earning him a light-hearted punch to the arm from your father.

the rest of the day felt like an eternity. it’s not that you didn’t enjoy spending time with your parents, especially if zeke was there, but the prospect of getting the blond male to act upon your, hopefully, mutual desires, had you looking at the clock more times than you would like to admit.

“are you waiting for something?”

you quickly snapped out of your daydreams of what could happen later, as the man with the main role in them sat down closely beside you, your thighs brushing against each other. you couldn’t help your gaze lingering where your skin touched before blinking up at him through your lashes, only to see him grinning down at you, clearly amused by your stare. time for the first part of the mission.

“oh yeah, i’ll be going clubbing with a few friends later.”

“clubbing?”, zeke pressed with a frown, “and your parents are letting you?”

zeke has always been very overprotective of you. your dad joked that it’s because you’re basically like his daughter, but you hoped it was more than that. that’s why you were counting on his overprotectiveness to eventually lead you to the desired outcome of the day aka you, stuffed full of his cum.

“mmm, yeah. it’s my 20th birthday uncle zeke, not my 10th, you know. i’m an adult”, you retorted provocatively before getting up. “’m gonna go get ready.”

you could swear you felt his irritated glare burn into your back as you made your way upstairs, grinning at the first bit of your plan succeeding.

the second step, was your appearance. just a week before that, you went shopping for the shortest dress you could find, ready to turn heads, or specifically, one head. shower, hair, makeup, baby pink lace underwear, see-through tights, black dress. you haven’t felt this hot and confident in a while with college forcing you to wear hoodies and sweatpants all day every day. no way in hell were you going to make yourself suffer through endless lectures in cute skirts and dresses.

five minutes before your friends came, one of your essential male friends included, you decided to head downstairs to make sure zeke had enough time to admire how hot you looked.

as you came downstairs, you could hear your dad exclaiming ‘look at my beautiful girl, all grown up’, making zeke turn around. goosebumps erupted as you felt his eyes slowly trail along your figure, your skin tingling where his gaze burned into your exposed skin.

you did a full spin, showing off your outfit to the three people in your living room, but only caring about the opinion of one. to your disappointment, you didn’t quite get the reaction you wanted, with zeke turning back around to your mother, continuing to talk about whatever.

no matter how much you hated it, you couldn’t stop the jealousy crawling up your tightening throat, making you sick with disgust. you knew your mother was just as much as a friend to the man of your desires as your father, but it didn’t stop you from feeling this way. you wanted his eyes on you and not some other woman, even if that woman was your own mother.

as if on cue, the doorbell rang out, your mood immediately lifting at the chance that the third step of your plan finally elicits a much-craved reaction from zeke.

you opened the door, your best friends immediately throwing themselves at you, screaming their congratulations and complimenting your attire. just like you hoped, the boy you’ve been friends with and flirted with since high school, jean kirstein, was the last one to congratulate you. he hugged you tight, leaning down, whispering a low ‘happy birthday, pretty girl. you look good enough to eat’, at the same time as your parents and zeke came into the foyer.

the hug you shared with jean lasted just a tad too long for it to count as appropriate, with you giggling excessively at his comment just to be sure that zeke heard it. and as you parted to say goodbye to your family, your flirty friend kept his strong arm around your waist, as though it belonged there.

you don’t miss the way zeke glared at jean’s arm around you or the way he had the slightest frown on his face as he told you to ‘have fun and be careful’, but when you turned around and left the house to get into jean’s car, disappointment filled you when you realized that the blond male didn’t do anything to keep you from going. all this planning and finger crossing for nothing. ‘happy fucking birthday to me’, you bitterly thought, as you drove off into the night, mood already completely ruined.

after hours of trying to enjoy the end of your birthday even for a bit, you finally had enough. jean took you home, trying to make out with you on the backseat of his car in the parking lot, but as tempting as the idea of letting him fuck zeke yeager out of your mind sounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to. the fact that today was supposed to be the day you got your dad’s best friend right where you wanted him, was enough to make you crave a nice shower and your warm bed. you couldn’t wait for this day to end.

when jean pulled up to your house, you parted ways with a quick kiss and a cheeky promise of tomorrow, before making your way into the house. it was already 3 a.m., so you were sure everybody was already asleep, as you quietly made your way inside.

“there you are. welcome back, pretty girl.”

at hearing zeke’s raspy voice out of nowhere, you flinched and let out an unvoluntary squeak. what was he doing here?

you brought your hand to your heart, feeling it hammer against your chest, your eyes snapping to the spot your dad’s best friend was sitting in, in the kitchen. “uncle zeke! you scared me, what are you still doing here?”

as you made your way into the kitchen, you finally noticed the empty tequila bottle on the table and your unconscious father, snoring on the coach in the living room, just a few feet away.

“mmm, wanted to make sure you come home safely after your dad passed out, so i waited for you”, he casually retorted while his grey eyes inspected you from head to toe. smeared lipstick, a light sheen of sweat on your skin and your dress hiked up dangerously high on your thighs.

feeling small under his calculating gaze, you once again looked at your sleeping dad and gestured towards the bottle. “guess you also had a wild party going on?”

“mh, your dad’s just a lightweight.”

the air inside the kitchen was heavy and suffocating. you knew something was wrong with the way zeke wouldn’t stop staring at you and only answered with short sentences, his usual playful chattiness nowhere to be seen.

trying to get rid of the awkwardness and your nervousness, you asked: “where- uh, where’s mom?”

“asleep”, was the short answer you got, making you even more uneasy than before. “oh, w-well. i’m gonna go and also hit the hay. thanks for staying up for me uncle zeke, good night.”

“stop.”

this one word made you halt in your tracks just as you were about to turn around, making you look questioningly back at him. what you didn’t expect however, was to see zeke yeager spread his thighs and pet one of them with a simple ‘sit down, angel.” somehow, the pet name sounded condescending as it left his lips, but that didn’t stop your pussy from clenching at the sight of him with his legs wide open, looking positively inviting like never before.

your gaze quickly flickered towards the unconscious figure in the armchair, but even that couldn’t stop you when uncle zeke was offering you to sit on his lap, like you dreamed of for so long.

your legs slowly took you towards the spot he was sitting in, only for him to pull you on one of his thighs as soon as you were in his reach. his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, while the other found its place on your thigh, your heartrate skyrocketing at the close proximity.

not really knowing what to do with your hands and where to look, you once again brought your gaze to your dad in the living room, having the perfect view of him from your position on zeke’s lap, your fingers interlocked in your own lap as to not touch him too much.

“how was the party?”, he questioned seemingly nonchalant, but his tone had a certain edge to it, that made you feel as if you were being scolded.

you chuckled nervously, keeping your eyes locked on your unconscious father, as you started uttering: “oh, uh… it was- “

only to have zeke’s palm grab your cheeks, squeezing them together in a pout, as he turned your head towards him, forcing you to focus your gaze on him.

“did you fuck him?”

zeke was watching your expression closely when he practically growled the question, taking note of how your eyes widened, your breath deepened, and your thighs automatically pressed together as the meaning of his imposing words settled in.

the jealousy could practically be grabbed as it rolled off the blond male in waves and you knew, that if you wanted your birthday wish to come true, you had to play the part of the innocent and unsuspecting little girl.

“wha-? no!”, you exclaimed supposedly offended and distraught that he would even ask such a thing, as best as you could with your lips pressed together in a pout by his large palm.

the man’s dark grey – were they always this dark? – eyes narrowed as you seamlessly pretended to not know what he was hinting at, but the way you immodestly battered your eyelashes at him, one hand finding it’s way onto the palm that was squeezing your plush thigh, showed him at you weren’t as oblivious as you feigned to be.

“no, huh?”, he chuckled darkly, his hand leaving your face to push you down onto your knees between his legs instead, “then you’re not against helping your dear uncle with a certain issue, or are you baby?”

stammering out a little confused ‘what?’, you quickly checked whether your dad was still asleep, only for yeager’s palm to return to its place on your cheeks, squeezing them once again as he yanked your head back towards him. “don’t act like a brainless, useless slut, angel. it really doesn’t suit you. you’re my smart little girl, aren’t you?”

the sickly-sweet tone he used worked like a charm on your praise-starved brain. you wanted to please him and be his good girl, no matter what it took.

looking up at him with big, wide eyes, a drop of drool fell from your pouty lips onto his jean-clad crotch when he tightened his hold on your cheeks as you nodded like an obedient little toy, making him smile proudly.

“that’s my girl. now,”, he declared, unbothered by the tiny wetness seeping into his pants, his veiny hands made quick work of his belt and zipper, “show me how much you want to help your uncle zeke.”

just the sight of him whipping out his hard cock out of the confinements of his jeans and boxers, was enough to make a small pool of wetness gush out of your cunt, not that it mattered anyway. your lacy panties were already long soaked just from sitting on his lap.

zeke’s cock was longer and definitely thicker than you could’ve ever imagined, bigger than any you’ve ever taken with a prominent vein running on the underside, the tip flushed in a pretty pink. the saliva collecting in your mouth at the prospect of having him down your throat soon made you swallow hard, while you waited for his next instructions, not wanting to disappoint him by acting impulsively.

seeing his best friends’ daughter so submissive and eager-to-please on her knees between his legs as said best friend laid, passed out, just a few feet away, made zeke’s cock twitch. he knew it was sick and wrong, but he has always been a weak man when it came to you.

“go ahead, sweetheart. make uncle zeke feel good.”

at his permission to go, you nearly lunched forward, your pretty lips coated in sticky lipgloss instantly wrapping around the sensitive tip of his dick, making him groan deeply somewhere in the back of his throat.

you alternated between swirling your tongue around his cockhead and slowly sucking, as zeke put a cigarette between his lips, lightning it. normally, you hated the foul smell of nicotine and complained numerous times about how much you hated smokers but… the sight of it dangling between his thick fingers, as his other hand lost itself inside your hair, guiding your head to bob up and down on his length, awakened something deep in you, that you didn’t even know existed.

it didn’t help that while every other person reeking of smoke repulsed you, the same scent clinging to zeke brought you a sense of comfort. the fact that he also looked hot as fuck doing it, certainly didn’t hurt.

above you, the tall man made sure to let his eyes wander to your father from time to time, mostly keeping them locked on your lewd expression and your full lips wrapped around his cock though. he knew that the man a few feet away was a heavy sleeper, especially when drunk, so he wasn’t afraid of letting you know just how pleased he was with you.

“that’s a good girl. doing so good for me, want me to cum down your throat, sweetheart?”

you mumbled a small ‘please’ around his cock, causing him to groan huskily as your vocal cords vibrated against his sensitive tip. knowing he was almost there, you hallowed your cheeks and tightened your throat, wanting him to lose himself in the inviting warmth of your mouth.

as soon as zeke felt himself teetering at the edge, he couldn’t stop himself from quickly putting out the cig in his hand and holding your head still with his large palms as he started frantically thrusting up in your mouth. having zeke use you to chase his own high made you clench around nothing as you gagged around his length, doing your best to try and keep your jaw slack just so you could hear the man praising you again.

at the feeling of you choking on his cock, zeke’s head fell back as he moaned hoarsely, the sound going straight to the fire in the pit of your stomach already forming just from sucking him off and hearing his erotic grunts.

on the next thrust inside your warm, wet mouth, zeke emptied himself in the back of your throat with a low growl of ‘good fucking girl’, making you whine around his dick. the blond pulled you off as you started coughing, instructing you to ‘swallow, angel.’ being the whipped, little toy you did as you were told, looking up at him as you licked the remaining cum of your spit covered lips.

zeke smirked at your sensual display, whilst he stood up, pulling you up to your feet, only to push you against the dinner table and impatiently smash his lips against yours.

you had half the mind to think about how he didn’t even seem to care that his sticky cum still lingered in your mouth as he kissed you before your brain completely shut down because you were making out with zeke yeager.

strong palms wandered up your thighs under your short dress, cupping your ass while the flimsy fabric rode up as a consequence of his wandering hands. the display of strength as he easily lifted you up on the hard surface behind you, made your head spin. everything this man was doing had you weak in the knees and if you weren’t already seated, you were convinced your legs would’ve given out underneath you.

as yeager made room for himself between your thighs, spreading them in the process, your arms found their place around his broad shoulders, pulling him down even closer towards you as you tasted the whiskey and smoke on his slightly chapped lips. you could hear his soft chuckle at the displeased whimper you let out when he removed himself from you, before tracing his thumb faintly over your clothed clit. just that slightest contact with your puffy bundle of nerves had your hips twitching up, your face heating up at the obvious display of his effect on you.

“aww, is my slutty little baby desperate for her favorite uncle?”, he asked in mock empathy, ripping your tights like it was nothing, before his eyes soaked up the sight of your baby pink lace panties completely ruined by your slick.

“i see you were ready for something to happen today. were you hoping the little boy from earlier would fuck you?”, he almost snarled the question, before adding: “or were you hoping for me, bunny? are these pretty panties just for me?”

as your core gushed out more of your juices at the pet name, you obediently shook your head at his accusation of you dressing up for jean, mewling out: “y-you, daddy. only you.”

zeke closed his eyes to compose himself when his cock twitched alive once again at the sweet melody of you calling him daddy. he knew this was the point of no return. he could’ve stopped this before, he was sure of that, but not anymore. not when you oh so sweetly called out for your daddy to take care of you.

in one swift motion, your panties were gone and thrown into a dark corner of the kitchen, the only light illuminating the space coming from the turned-on lamp in the foyer from when you came home. forcing you to recline back as zeke lifted your legs up on his muscular shoulders, you shuddered as his hot breath hit your drenched pussy.

after just one kitten lick to your core, you heard zeke’s pleased hum, mumbling something along the lines of ‘just as sweet as you, bunny’, but you couldn’t tell for sure because the very next second he was diving tongue first into you, sucking, licking, and slurping like it’s his last meal. the moan that left you at his intense ministrations was downright pornographic and you could only clench around nothing as his large palm came up to silence you.

“as much as i’d love to listen to your cries, sweet thing, gonna wake your parents up if you keep at it”, he muttered against your sensitive clit, the vibrations only making you mewl against his hand.

your hands tried to find purchase somewhere, the hard surface of the table, your plush thighs, before your nails finally got a grasp of his blond locks, using the leverage as an advantage to push his face even further into your slick cunt.

the obscene, wet sounds that echoed in the room were making your face heat up, but the embarrassment didn’t stop you from grinding desperately against his tongue, his thick beard rubbing painfully but oh so deliciously against the delicate skin of your inner thighs.

when you felt two of his thick fingers probe at your entrance before pushing in, instantly hitting that one spot inside you, you threw your head back as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, thighs trembling against his head as you reached your peak around his digits. your back arched off the wooden table, thighs snugly pressing against the sides of his head, almost suffocating him in the process, while you moaned a long, high-pitched ‘daddy’ against his palm.

zeke yeager could proudly say that he’s had his fair share of women, but the sight of you, succumbing to the pleasure he was providing you with, was by far the most erotic he had the privilege of witnessing. the mix of your cross-eyed expression, your sloppy cunt clenching impossibly around his thick fingers and your body twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, only fueled his desire to see you go dumb on his fat cock.

a hard slap against the fat of your right thigh caused you to squeal, your legs sliding down from his shoulders, completely limp from all the spent energy. zeke leaned down, once again capturing your lips in a heated make out. his warm tongue still had the distinct taste of your release on it as it slipped between your lips, his full beard soaked in your juices scratching against your cheeks and chin, but you certainly didn’t mind as long as you could have him between your legs, mouths interlocked.

“wanna see your cute lil’ ass while i wreck you, bunny. can you turn around for daddy?”, he questioned, voice raspy, but he didn’t actually wait for an answer, grabbing your hips in a bruising grip and flipping you over on your stomach, ass pressed up against his crotch already. not being able to control yourself at another clear display that his muscles weren’t just for show, your hips automatically grinded back against his painfully hard cock.

another strong blow was delivered, this time to your bouncy behind, your small mewl echoing in the large space. “slutty, desperate whores aren’t appreciated here, bunny. thought you were daddy’s good, little girl? guess daddy was wrong about you”, zeke sighed in faux disappointment, knowing you would do anything for him to keep praising you.

“n-no! am your good, little girl! ‘m sorry, daddy, please don’t leave”, you practically sobbed out, to drunk on his touch to realize the manipulative undertone in his phrasing.

smirking victoriously, the blond tenderly smoothed his huge palm, with his fingers covered in your already dried up essences, over your ass check, his fat tip nudging against your soaked entrance, whilst he shh-ed you, promising that he’s ‘not gonna leave you bunny, ‘m all yours.’

at the promise of him belonging to you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head, just as yeager decided to push his aching dick into your tight pussy. at the first bump against your gummy walls, you both knew no one would ever be able to compare. it was a tight fit as he continued to push past the resistance of your cunt, hissing at the continuous contractions around his sensitive cock. no way in hell, he thought to himself as he already had to hold himself back from cumming as if he were some virgin all over again.

when he finally bottomed out, his patience was close to non-existent, so without waiting for you to adjust, he started thrusting in you like a mad man. your hands flew out to grab the other edge of the wooden surface to have some kind of support, as his powerful thrusts made the whole table shake and drag across the tiled floor.

“’s too much, daddy! slow down!”, you wailed, knowing full well that this was exactly what you waited for all this time. the dark chuckle that left his panting and grunting mouth told you that he was also very aware of the fact that you didn’t actually want him to slow down, so the only reaction you got, besides his acknowledging chuckle, were his thrusts picking up in speed.

after another strong hit to your jiggling ass and a groan that sounded suspiciously like ‘such a perfect ass’, zeke leaned over you, completely covering you with his large frame. his hand found its way to your front, giving your tits a quick squeeze through your dress, before continuing its journey up, finally settling around your neck.

as it constricted around your neck, thick fingers expertly pressing against the pressure points, restricting the air flow oh so deliciously, your spit-covered lips fell open in a silent ‘o’, the act lurching you impossibly closer to your orgasm. at this point, the only coherent words you were able to formulate were ‘yes’, ‘daddy’ and ‘please’, causing the tall man’s chest to fill with pride at your dumbed out state.

“my cute, submissive, little bunny. have i fucked you stupid with my cock?”, he teased, only to get his confirmation by the lack of response on your side, too far gone to process that he asked a question.

the rhythmic clenching of your warm core reminded him that his dick was practically begging him to let it stuff you full of his sticky cum, so as his grip on your throat and hip tightened even more, he let his carnal desires take over as he rutted impossibly faster inside you.

every thrust caused his fat tip to poke harshly against your cervix, the feeling of pain only fueling your pleasure, as you silently took all your favorite uncle was giving you. somewhere in the back of your mind the thought of your father sleeping just in the next room flew around, but it quickly got fucked back out by zeke’s fat cock.

at the next rough plunge inside your warm walls and the low growl of ‘cum on daddy’s fucking cock, bunny’ directly beside your ear, you came undone with a loud moan of his name. you were pretty sure the force of your orgasm made you blackout for a second, because the next time you came to your senses, zeke was shooting his load inside your inviting cunt directly at your cervix, your name leaving his lips like a prayer.

you were exhausted. your whole body shook and twitched, your stomach hurt from being pressed against the edge of the dinner table for so long, sweat dripping down on the surface from your face and neck.

suddenly the room was way too quiet, safe for the heavy breathing and your occasional whimpers. slowly, zeke pulled out, only to spread your cheeks apart to take a good luck at your abused pussy pushing out his white cum. it slowly trickled down your legs, mixing with your leaked juices on the tiles beneath your feet.

not having the energy to move, you let the blond male pull down your dress back over your ass, listening to the rustle of fabric and belt clicking as he got dressed again. just as he gently helped you stand-up again, you could hear a yawn coming from the doorway that led to the living room.

“what’re you both doing?”, your half-awake father asked as he made his way through the kitchen past you to get to the foyer. your nails dug into zeke’s muscular forearms as the panic of getting caught formed in the pit of your stomach, only to hear the older man murmur a casual, seemingly sleepy ‘she just got home, gonna go sleep now’, as though he wasn’t blowing out your back just a few minutes prior.

with an unsuspecting ‘’aight, night you two’, your dad disappeared in the shared bedroom with your sleeping mother.

“fuck”, you breathed out, stressed at almost being caught and your legs buckling, only for zeke’s strong arms to hold you up right.

“hey, look at me, angel”, the male softly demanded, gaze tender as your eyes met his. “i’ll bring you to bed and clean up here, okay? don’t worry about a thing.”

a sleepy, but happy smile stretched itself across your lips at him caring for you so deeply.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

without second-guessing the request, you obediently opened your mouth, only to feel his saliva hit your outstretched tongue. the taste made you mewl needily as you realized what it all meant. you were his and he was yours.

zeke chuckled, amused by your blissed out expression, before pecking your lips, picking you up and caring you to your room with you mumbling a satisfied ‘best birthday ever’ against his neck.

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l0v3lyr0ses · 3 years ago

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Do I HEAR Michael Afton?! REQUESTING HIM WITH AN S/O THAT STOOD UP TO HIS FATHR FOR HIM!! BECAUSE HE DESERVES LOVE!!!

OMG YES HE DOES!! DKSMAHAGF I DONT LIKE WILLIAM BC OF WHAT HE DID TO MICHAEL N CRYING CHILD

BUT SERIOUSLY MICHAEL IS SO UNDERRATED ON TUMBLR LIKE WHERE ARE THE MICHAEL AFTON X READER FICS

ANYWAYS SURE THING BESTIE <3

Characters: Teen!Michael Afton kinda (hes 18 in this) ft. A not very nice william

Summary: michael's mother invited you to dinner n william isnt very nice which makes you stand up for yourself and Michael

OMG YES HE DOES!! DKSMAHAGF I DONT LIKE WILLIAM BC OF WHAT HE DID TO MICHAEL N CRYING CHILD

BUT SERIOUSLY MICHAEL IS SO UNDERRATED ON TUMBLR LIKE WHERE ARE THE MICHAEL AFTUSSY X READER FICS

ANYWAYS SURE THING BESTIE <3

Characters: Teen!Michael Afton kinda (hes 18 in this) ft. A not very nice william

Summary: michael's mother invited you to dinner n william isnt very nice which makes you stand up for yourself and Michael

Michael was extremely nervous when he brought y/n to his parents' house. Although he wasn't concerned about his family, William had him gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Are you okay, mike?" Y/n asked, sitting beside him in the car.

It was odd for him to be this nervous about one simple dinner. Maybe more was going on that y/n was aware of.

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yes..no need to worry," he said.

His lies were quite obvious, but he'd have to explain later once he's at ease.

Michael parked his car near the home where his family lived.

"Ready?" Y/n softly spoke, taking off the seatbelt.

Michael responded sarcastically, "Ready as I'll ever be.".

In a panic, Michael must've left the keys at the apartment. He spoke, "Shit.", while fumbling for the keys.

'Let's just use the doorbell, Dad would be pissed off if we bailed,' Michael said, this was certainly not going as smoothly as planned.

Y/N pressed the doorbell nervously, wanting to meet their boyfriend's family.

"Michael, you have keys, yet you let your date use the doorbell to be polite?" Michael's mother was polite enough, but Michael seemed quite embarrassed.

"Mom," he said simply,

Come in, oh y/n. I'm Clara. It's wonderful to meet you." Clara smiled welcomingly. His mother could certainly make someone feel at home.

"You know my name?" Y/n said mildly surprised y/n hadn't even gotten to say an introduction.

"Yes, I know all about you. Anyway, come in before the food gets cold!" Mrs. Afton smiles as she lets the two 18-year-olds into the house.

Having sat at the dinner table with everyone, William finally grumbled as he sat by the table. Y/n had a hunch that it was because Y/n was there that he didn't seem pleased.

Micheal didn't keep it a secret that William honestly thought that Y/N was nothing but a filthy slut with severe mental problems.

"Yes, my name is-" y/n still tried to be polite since he hadn't done anything to seem aggressive.

"I know y/n and I don't care for filth, even your name is filthy." William commented, hypocritical that he called y/n someone with psychological issues when he was clearly experiencing some sort of issue himself.

"Of course, my son would get a filthy partner since he's a useless brat too." William ate the dinner. That was simply being nasty and y/n certainly wouldn't tolerate that behavior.

"You may not have my wealth or know me that well, but I know it's fucking disrespectful to say things like that to guests when you aren't aware of our relationship." y/n was clenching their knuckles to relieve some of the stress because frankly they wanted to smack that miserable old asshole.

""Michael has grown up so much closer to me than he has ever been to you, and so either you sit down and grow up, or we will leave because we don't have time to waste on miserable people like you." y/n glanced in Michael's direction and there was no response, but the message was 'don't worry, I can handle this'.

"Fine" and the table fell silent, but a few words were shared between y/n and Mrs.Afton.

#FNAF #michael afton #michael afton x reader #michael afton x you #william afton #mrs. afton #fnaf x reader

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nix-writes-mcyt · 3 years ago

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Could you write a Xisuma x reader, where they're already married? I can imagine Evil X would flirt with the reader just to annoy Xisuma LOL

I had a lot of fun with this one!

Troublesome Visitor

Oneshot Contains: Platonic relationship with Evil X, Being married to Xisuma, Evil X is a menace, slight angst -------------------------------------

"I'm coming!" You shout, trying to get to the front door even faster. You hadn't expected any guests today. You certainly hadn't arranged anything with anyone and Xisuma would have told you if he had.

And yet here someone is. Repeatedly ringing the bell. Not just once or twice, no. Over and over and over and it is driving you insane.

You fumble with the key in the lock, pressing down the handle and opening the door as fast as possible. It takes a few seconds for the culprit to realise, still ringing the doorbell until you get their attention.

"We really have to stop meeting like this." He winks, an action barely visible through his visor. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile. Evil X always pushes his luck with you.

"Who is it?" Xisuma calls, you turn as he comes into sight from the back room. "Ah X, it's good to see you again my friend." The look your husband gives you says a thousand words, more since he's not afraid to show it in front of Evil X.

The two of them have been on and off business partners and friends for the whole time you've known Xisuma. The two were close although often had their differences, meaning every now and then they'd agree to take some time and go back to it later.

"Hello again, what are you doing here?" The two meet at the door, shaking hands and going in for a small hug.

"I was passing through and thought I might stop by for a short while. Come see you and Y/n, who I must say is looking stunning today, wouldn't you agree?" Xisuma looks over at you, nodding. You can tell he's already getting ticked off.

Xisuma had been the one to introduce you to his friend and since then insisted it was the biggest mistake of his life. Evil X had taken a liking to you instantly, although it was strictly platonic. But that didn't stop him from flirting with you.

It was something done with the goal of making Xisuma mad. It started when the two of you were partners and once you got married nothing changed.

On many occasions there have been small fights over you, each time Evil X would end up giggling because to him it was entertaining. To your husband not so much. He did and does not enjoy others flirting with his spouse, whether they mean the flirting or not.

"Can I come in?" Evil X asks, looking at you. "I don't know." Xisuma mumbles, moving to stand in front of you slightly. "I'm not here for business if that's what you're worried about. Or Y/n, although I can't say that wouldn't a blissful life. You'd know." Evil X chuckles.

You place your hand on Xisuma's arm, reassuring him that it's okay. He steps aside allowing his friend and former business partner inside.

"I see you've done some redecorating since the last time I was here." Evil X states, grunting when he pokes the cactus and it pokes him back. "It has been months since we last saw you." You remind him, your eyes as fixed on him as your husband is. The last thing you need is a mess on your hands.

"Ah, yes. It has. It was when you kicked me out of the anniversary party if I remember rightly." Evil X addresses Xisuma. That was in fact what had happened.

One too many comments and Xisuma had booted him out of the party and the business at the time. It had kept Evil X away for a couple of months, although it seems Xisuma has not forgotten about that night.

"I'd do it again." Xisuma places his arm around you as Evil X circles around to stand in front of the pair of you. The man opposite you places his hand over his heart, feigning hurt.

"I can't believe you'd do that to your old friend." You can feel the deep breath your husband takes, attempting to stay calm. You decide to step in, thinking at this point it may be best for you to handle things.

"So, what brings you around here?" You ask, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Oh, you know, I have some other friends to contact for a catch up and a new project. Nothing special." You can feel Xisuma relax beside you as his ex- co-owner manages to speak without mentioning you.

"Interesting, I hope that works out for you. I've got some plans for a new business as well." This piques the interest of the money oriented Evil X. "Oh?" He prompts you to answer, but you shake your head.

"You know I can't share my secrets to success." Even though you can't fully see his expression with his helmet on you know he's frowning. You know better than to tell Evil X of all people what your plans are. You've seen that go badly for Xisuma in the past.

"Maybe next time." Evil X mutters, causing you to shake your head once again. Not a chance.

"Unlikely, you and I both know Y/n keeps their secrets guarded closely." "You don't." You quip, shooting your husband a smirk. Xisuma tries to frown but ends up nodding his head. He knows your right.

"Attractive and honest, quite the pair of attributes." You can feel the deep breath Xisuma takes. He must about ready to blow at this point.

You look over at him, smiling softly as the two of you make eye contact. This seems to calm Xisuma, his body relaxing once again.

"Oh, is that the time?" Evil X asks rhetorically, walking past you in the direction of the exit. His haste is unsurprising. This isn't the first time he's dropped in and left just as quickly. It's likely it will be the last.

"I'll see you both around, I'll be spending a lot more time around here so don't be strangers." Evil X winks, almost out of the door already.

"It was nice to see you." Your words are the last ones said before Evil X boosts into the sky and soars out of view.

Xisuma leads you back inside, closing and locking the door behind the two of you. "I'm not having anymore visitors today."

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close. "Okay X, the rest of the day is just me and you."

Xisuma allows a small smile to peak through his façade, a sight which warms your heart.

#xisuma x reader #xisumavoid x reader #hermitcraft x reader #evil xisuma x reader #Evil X x reader #xisuma #oneshot #request #xisumavoid #hermitcraft #evil x #evil xisuma #married #flirting #angst #fluff #mcyt x reader

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years ago

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@justadreamyhufflepuff: GSJSVSKSBSJD BABY CONGRATS- CAN I PLEASE GET A 🎠 -> Harry potter + soft love + fluff + prompts 9, 10, 32, 42 from prompt list 1. || for my 300 followers celebration

Prompts:

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

32. “Make a wish!”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Moving into your new house with Harry.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff but with slight and subtle mentions of sexual activities + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: omg yay harry fluff :DDD ok sorry go ahead btw this hasn’t been proofread yet mbad

After years of setting things up, they could finally move into their house. Of course, there were some parts of it that still needed fixing but they’ll eventually work it out. Right now, they wanted to bask in the comfort and triumph of their own house.

“Got your key?” said [Y/N], holding out her own key. She had already attached a duck keychain to it.

“Got it,” replied Harry, showing her his own. They both sniggered at his ridiculous bathtub keychain, which looked undeniably out of place but she was glad for it nonetheless. See, she had bought it years ago when they first talked about getting a house. “Will you do the honors?”

“You know, we could easily Alohomora the heck out of this bas —”

“Do the honors,” he teasingly urged, poking her on the waist where her tickle spot was and she recoiled. “Do it, [Y/L/N].”

“Ha! I’m Potter now, too. Ergo you’re not so special anymore,” she said as she marched up the raised porch. It was a lovely sight indeed — she could already imagine inviting the others to come over: roasting marshmallows either here or at the backyard and such. She giddily walked towards the door. This is it, she thought. “Wait, this is unfair. You carry me as you open it so I’ll be like a pretty wife.”

“That you are,” said Harry as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a whoop of approval, patting his cheek as he put the key in and swung the door open.

All their boxes were on the floor already, with a lot more scattered all over the house. “Ooh, this is a lot of work. Wanna sleep it off?” she yawned, kicking some boxes aside on her way to the stairs. “What, you gonna protest, Mr. Potter?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Potter,” said Harry, and they both stopped and looked at each other, eyes narrowed while scrutinizing the name. “Mrs. Potter.”

“Does it sound a bit weird to you? I mean, no offense. I mean, I’ve waited for this half of my life but — you know?

“Yeah, like, [Y/N] Potter,” he said again, making arm gestures as if parting a curtain. She started to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

“You look like a . . . getching shooba driver but on land,” she said with a yawn.

“A what?” This time, Harry was the one stifling his laughter.

“Glitching scuba diver on land,” spat [Y/N], taking off her jacket. When she saw he’d been eyeing her with a dazed expression on his face, she made a show of getting off her right jacket sleeve with a suggestive smile on her face. “Wait, uh, can’t get it off. Sweat, I think. Help?”

“Will do, will do,” said Harry, approaching her and reaching out to pull it off her with a tight smile in an awful attempt to keep his laughter.

“Whatever. Can we sleep now, please? Where’s our bed again?”

“There,” he pointed somewhere in the kitchen room.

“I thought our room was upstairs?”

“Our room is upstairs, the bed is here.”

“Why would that be the ca—oh, no. D’we really have to assemble it?” she whined. They had to travel by Muggle transportation due to issues with the Floo network and they wanted to minimize suspicion, and the it was finally taking its toll on their entire energy: [Y/N]’s back was cramping from the long ride, Harry’s head was already hurting like hell. To make matters worse, neighbors were peeking through their windows so they had to go inside immediately.

“No, we can just bring the mattress up and assemble it all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a moan, tossing the jacket on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, are we — ?” He shrugged hesitantly.

“No! I mean, do you want to? Now?”

“Do you?” The two chuckled nervously. They were standing there for probably around half a minute or one when the doorbell dinged and the two of them jumped. [Y/N] volunteered to get it.

A woman younger than her for about a year stood in front of her doorstep when she swung the door open, carrying a tiny baby probably about a few months old in her arms. [Y/N] managed a friendly smile as she wiped away a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Karolina Martin. I live right across and I brought you something!”

“The . . . baby?” [Y/N]’s shoulders tensed as she thought about this over an over until she realized that was highly unlikely.

“No! You’re hilarious, though. I like you. I actually came here to give you” — the woman put down a bag she hung over her shoulder down on the floor — “this.”

Inside was a basket with a bottle of what [Y/N] could only assume was fine wine or champagne or whatever it was couples with a number of chocolates and cookies inside. She realized with a start there was also a pot inside.

[Y/N] laughed, holding up the pot. “Funny, because we’re Potters?” she asked, setting it back down again.

“You are?” Karolina said, impressed. “So which do you suggest I should start with first? Stoneware or earthenware? Ooh, what about fire clay?”

It took a few seconds before [Y/N] realized the direction of the conversation. “Oh! Well, heh, not that kind of potter.”

Karolina flinched, eyeing [Y/N] with suspicion. “You smoke — ?”

“No! Not that kind of potter. We don’t smoke po—Sorry, that’s on me, I should have clarified. I’m [Y/N],” she said. Karolina still looked confused. Composing herself, she managed a tight smile. “[Y/N] Potter.”

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Karolina chuckled. “I was a bit confused, I’m really sorry. I haven’t met someone around here about my age.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the welcoming gift, by the way. I just moved in with my . . . husband.” It still sounded surreal to call Harry that way, but she liked it all the same. Her eyes fell on the chubby little kid.

“Right! This is baby Sydney, she’s turning six months old next week. Would be really nice if you and your husband could come — and kid or kids, if you have some?” Maybe it was the coos the baby made or her adorable eyes and hints of two teeth growing, but [Y/N] felt intimidated by the little kid. She was bigger than she thought babies would be. Is this what she’d push through her bottom? She shuddered. “Do you . . . want to hold her?” asked Karolina, oblivious to the thoughts going on in [Y/N]’s heads.

“Listen, I’m really grateful you stopped by but we’re kinda tired. I’m so, so, sorry! Thank you a lot for these stuff. We’ll definitely come by next week — me and Harry, just Harry and me.” [Y/N] chuckled nervously again, smiling at the baby.

“I totally understand. Me and Joey were also very tired when we first moved in, hence Sydney.” Karolina laughed. [Y/N] simply chimed in the laughter as well, not wanting to jeopardize a newfound friendship over a joke. “Have a lovely evening, [Y/N]. I’ll see you around!”

When she shut the door with the bag over her shoulder, she jumped in fright at the sight of Harry just behind the door with an amused grin on his face. “What?” said [Y/N] as she rubbed her eyes.

“Husband?” he mused. When she shot him a glare saying not to push it further, he resorted to giggling. “Sorry, my wife.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she said. “Now, where’s that damned mattress?”

“Worry not, I got it upstairs already, all we gotta do now is take a quick shower and go to bed.”

After they finished dressing into more comfortable clothes, they made it a point to plop down as hard as they could on the mattress. To her relief, Harry had settled a plain white bedsheet on top of it earlier while she was talking to Karolina. She was the first to jump in, stretching her legs all over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing at a spot right next to her. Harry took off his glasses and was about to jump in next when she asked where the pillows were.

“Er — Accio pillow!” She could hear the sound of boxes moving downstairs bumping each other when a pillow came hurtling in and landed on Harry’s chest, forcing him to plop down on the mattress.

A shrill squeak sounded, and the two of them froze. [Y/N] narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at him in accusation. “Did you fart?”

“No, we just still haven’t removed the plastic from the mattress.”

“You want to remove it?” she suggested, ready to get up and get her own wand when Harry gently nudged her back down.

“Okay, where’s my wand?“

[Y/N] looked left and right until she found it tying on an old bedside table he managed to set down earlier that day and said, “There! Bedside table.”

“Eh.”

“Agreed, let’s just say you did fart.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, who unconsciously wrapped his legs and arms around the pillow on top of him and closed his eyes to sleep. [Y/N] was quick to act. Not to take his pillow, but to turn him into one — metaphorically, of course. She laughed at the thought of using Transfiguration to turn Harry into a literal pillow.

Just as he wrapped his limbs around the only pillow, [Y/N] did the same to him. He woke up with a jolt, but did not take her off him. “I’m the little spoon?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, and I happen to like little spoons a lot,” she said casually. Harry turned his head in her direction, with a wide grin on his pretty face. “Okay, that sounded wrong. It’s just that you hogged the only pillow so now I’m using you as one.”

“Well, do you want it?” he offered obliviously.

“Nope, I like this set-up. Go back to sleep.”

And he did — they both did. At some point during the night, they turned each other into a pillow. Harry, however, awoke to the sound of her snoring. It wasn’t like his Uncle Vernon’s, though. Looking at her face seemed to dull it all out. It wasn’t exactly an endearing sound, but the sight of her was more than so — tousled hair, mouth slightly open. . . . With one last smile on his face as he watched her sleep, he felt himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A loud clanging from downstairs awoke Harry. Had he overslept? He found that his back ached whenever he did so much as move, but knew better than to bide his time if there was danger nearby. He reached out to the bedside table to grab his wand, but realized he had to put his glasses on first.

Harry ran downstairs, clutching his wand tightly with his outstretched hand as he listened for anything there was to hear. He paused. A stranger walked out of the kitchen, and he pointed his wand at them.

The stranger held their hands up with a bewildered look on their face until [Y/N] came out of the kitchen all sweaty with a frilly apron. “Harry!” she cried in bewilderment at the sight of him pointing his wand at their new neighbor. “Alright, uh, Karolina, this is my husband, Harry; Harry — stop pointing your . . . stick at her — this is our neighbor who lives across from us, Karolina.”

“Er — hello, Karolina. Sorry about the wa—” [Y/N] shot him a dirty look. “—ander. Wander. Sorry about the bad . . . wandering. You know what? I just woke up on the wrong side of bed and I got paranoid with the . . . new house and all.”

“He tends to get jumpy,” said [Y/N] in hopes of wrapping this up immediately. “Anyway, five minutes left till it’s done. Thank you so, so much for the help, Karol! One last thing, for the whipped cream, do I. . .”

He then noticed that some of the furniture were already arranged such as the sofa and the dining table. Some cabinets were decorated with non-magical framed pictures of them. Harry begged to disagree, though. Each picture there was more than just ma— Is that a baby? Sleeping in a car seat on their couch?

Harry blinked. It stirred, eyes fluttering open. Harry was now holding his breath in anticipation. It was watching him curiously. When he did not move, the little thing started to giggle. Smiling sheepishly back, he made a show of raking his hand through his hair and walking into the kitchen.

It was still messy, but the fridge was on now, and some condiments were put where they belonged.

Karolina was washing a bowl on the sink when the baby outside started crying. She washed her hands quick and ran out, excusing herself while smiling apologetically at the two of them.

[Y/N] opened the oven, pulling out something that smelled of a scent that made Harry’s mouth water.

“Is that Treacle Tart?” he blurted out.

[Y/N] almost dropped the pan of delight she held in her mittened hands. She cleared her throat in an attempt to maintain her composure as she set it down on the counter and pulled off her mittens. Still panting, she looked at him and said, “Harry, darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss against her head.

“Don’t do that, my hair stinks. I haven’t showered yet,” said [Y/N].

“What do you mean? It smells just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s greasy. Is it greasy?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like Snape from where I’m standing. Ow! Sorry, bad joke. Okay, keep doing what you’re doing while I. . .” he trailed off as he grabbed her wrist gingerly and pulled off the scrunchie off it and started braiding her hair whilst she shook the whipped cream. “Could you just stop moving and let me braid your hair?”

“Oh, shut up! This tart’s for you, anyway.”

“So it is a Treacle Tart?”

“Uh, Doy,” she said mockingly. “It’s for your birthday, genius.”

“But it isn’t till next month,” said Harry.

“Eh, well, thought we could spend some time together in our new house without a crowd for a while. Why’re you even braiding my hair?”

“That baby got me thinking about it,” said Harry, as the child’s sobs started to cease. “You know, like . . . do you think we’re ready?”

“Well, what will be, will be.” She squeezed whipped cream on each side, scanning the final product with narrowed eyes. Harry tied the poorly-done braid with the scrunchie, letting her hair fall down to her back. [Y/N] turned to him. “Honestly, I’m kind of scared about the whole thing, you know? Like, aside from the . . . bloody pushing, it’ll be a huge responsibility. And I want to know if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” he found himself saying so casually.

“Okay?” [Y/N] repeated to him, with an expression the combination of excitement and disbelief. “Okay as in, ‘okay let’s start trying?’”

“Okay, yes! Let’s start trying now!”

“Okay, but not right now, though,” said [Y/N] under her breath.

“Why not?” he said. Merlin, I have to stop.

“For one, Karolina’s right there at the doorway with Sydney.”

Harry shifted his gaze from [Y/N] to Karolina, who was now trying hard to stifle her laugh with a sleeping Sydney in her arms. “Okay, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that,” she said with a suggestive smile. “I’ll get going now, [Y/N], Harry.”

“Oh, you won’t try the Treacle Tart out?” called out [Y/N].

“Nah, we’ve eaten a lot of that already. We’re having cheesecake for tonight. Anyway, see you two.” With a friendly wave, she went off her way, leaving the two of them alone in their house.

Harry expected her to berate him, but she was already facing him with a slice of a tart resting neatly on a plate with a lousy candle set in the middle of it. “Make a wish,” she told him.

“Uh. . . I’m bad at wishes, you know that.”

“Then wish to be better at making wishes then make a better wish next month,” she said.

“Okay, I wish to be better at making wishes,” said Harry before blowing the candle out. [Y/N] pulled off the candle and lead him to the living room, where she put down the pan and separated the entire thing to put it on an adorable floral plate she loved.

“Happy super advanced birthday, Just Harry,” said [Y/N], kissing his head this time. “Have some Treacle Tart. I tried, okay?” Laughing, she put a fork on his plate and went to slice one for herself.

“Thank you, soft love,” said Harry as he helped himself to his slice. “Merlin, this is per—”

[Y/N] bursted into laughter, a couple crumbs spitting on the table. She had to get a tissue and wipe the table as she bellowed. “What’d you say?”

“Soft . . . love. Does that mean something bad?”

“No, no, no. It’s just funny to hear it from you. Say it again,” she said, resting her elbow on the top rail of a chair, eager to hear him.

“Soft love?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Oh my— Who told you to say that? Where’d you learn that?” choked [Y/N], wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, sorry.”

“Er — you see, before we left to go here, Ron told me to experiment with . . . pet names.”

“So you delivered?”

“Do you not like it?” said Harry, his fork frozen in mid-air.

“Oh, I do. I so do,” she replied, chuckling. “I’ve had enough of tough love, I could use some soft love. But d’you know what it means?”

When Harry shook his head, she took one step forward to run her hand through his hair, grinning. “Means you accept all flaws instead of trying to build up a wall just to better and correct those flaws.”

“Then what’s so funny?” he asked with genuine curiosity rather than annoyance.

“Oh, Harry. Nothing! I just find you trying new stuff very, very amusing. Moving in here was a good choice, you know. Now I get to find out new things about you,” said [Y/N].

Harry smiled back, his cheeks a tad warmer than usual. “So which do you prefer? Tough love or soft love?”

“Eh, a relationship can’t work with just one of the two. Both works. Now eat your slice before we get working on this house,” said [Y/N] as she snapped her fingers, picking up her own plate and savoring her own work. “Chop chop.”

“You mean home?”

“Yep, I mean home,” answered [Y/N] without any hesitation. Oh, and, just one small update: they didn’t remove the plastic wrap of the mattress until next week.

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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

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Reconcile

happy christmas eve, you lot! i’ve got a little present for you. enjoy this 10,5k of nearly divorced harry trying to win his wife and bitter nine year old daughter back. oh and i threw in a little baby goat in the mix too since it’s set in the peak district and i just couldn’t resist 🥳

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He turned to look at her, who was giggling as she leaned closer to him. She was most definitely not a giggler sober, but he found out that a copious amount of alcohol could turn her into one. He felt slightly guilty knowing that she was going to be hungover as hell in the morning, but she was having a great time.

And so was he.

“I was just thinking about how great you are, how lucky I am to be sitting next to you right now and that you need to drink more water because otherwise, you’d be miserable tomorrow,” he says with a smile as he twisted the cap and handed her the bottle of water.

That goofy smile of hers turned into a gooey smile of affection. “That’s so sweet,” she murmured, taking a gulp of water and handed the bottle back to him so he could take some too. She then tilted her head, giving him a doe-eyed look and asked, “what else do you like about me?”

“Let’s see,” he put a finger to his chin and tapped. “Well, I love how kind and inclusive you are, how you always care about people and that you always see the good in everyone.”

Her smile grew sappier.

“Oh,” he gave her a sly grin. “I also love that thing you do with your tongue on the underside of my cock.”

She burst out laughing. But then she leaned even closer to him and whispered huskily in his ear, “I’ll do that very thing when we get back to the hotel.”

His eyes widened and he wanted nothing more than just to drag her back to their hotel suite and take up on her offer. But he’d promised her that he’d show her around Vegas since she’d never been before, and he wanted to keep that promise.

“Wanna know what I like about you?” She turned to him, still with a gooey smile on her face.

“Do I ever,” he smirked.

“I like that you’re hands down the kindest human I’ve ever met,” she began. “You’re genuine, and grounded. Funny too. I truly hit the jackpot with you. I’m the luckiest girl on earth.”

“Oh,” she added as an afterthought. “And you’re really good with your tongue.”

He wanted to laugh, because she always made him laugh. But he was still stuck on the fact that she thought she was lucky to be with him. He felt exactly the same way about her, like this was always meant to be.

“I wasn’t looking for this,” he admitted honestly. “I know it’s only been six weeks, but I really can’t imagine never having met you.”

“Me too,” her eyes were bright, shining with excitement. “It’s weird, right? Because I swear I’ve never felt such a deep connection with someone this quick.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He murmured. “That there’s a perfect person for everyone out there?”

She tilted her head. “Do you think that’s us?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “I do think that might be us.”

“I think so too,” she said with a tender smile.

This was real.

He was overwhelmed with the understanding that she was his, and he never wanted to let her go.

So he suggested what any sane, semi-drunk man would at that moment. “We’re in Vegas. We should get married.”

***

Harry

Pulling into the drive of what used to be our holiday cottage, but is now where my wife and children live full-time without me, feels strange to me. There’s that moment of what feels like a homecoming—that sense of belonging somewhere where I feel safe, and I know my happiness is inside.

But now, for the first time in ten years, there’s a sense of detachment that I know I’ve got to put in place. It is why I need to take a moment or two in the car before I walk inside to sort myself out and put on a shield. A shield which lets me walk inside, and be okay with the fact that I don’t live there anymore even just for the holidays.

This charming little cottage, which can’t exactly be called little since it is quite spacious and has three bedrooms, has always been more of a second home rather than a holiday home for us. We used to come here often, sometimes even only for the weekends. I’ve always loved this place. Now, looking back, I realised that many of the happiest times during our marriage were spent in this home.

It was where we spent the first few weeks soaking in newlywed bliss after that whirlwind of a trip to Las Vegas when we decided out of nowhere to tie the knot. Then there were the sleepless nights with a wailing newborn, because even though both of our babies were born in London, we always whisked them off here to Bakewell shortly after so we were close enough that both sets of their grandparents could dote on them during the first few weeks of their lives.

After I exit the car, I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect that this is YN’s sanctuary now. The wait isn’t long, because in just a few seconds, the door is opened and there’s my wife, looking like a breath of fresh air.

It had been eight long months since the last time I saw her. Last time was the night when she asked me to leave our marital home, and I fled to LA first thing the next morning. I talked daily with the kids on the phone, but I didn’t really recall ever getting the chance to talk to her aside from the quick polite greetings before she handed her phone to the kids.

“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded. I’ve missed her so much that it takes everything in me to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and kiss the fuck out of her. “Come in.”

“You alright?” I ask her as I follow her into the house. This may sound like I’m just making a small talk, but I’m not. I’m genuinely curious and I want to know how she’s doing.

But she doesn’t even respond to my question. All I get is a head-tilt motioning towards the kitchen. “They’re in the kitchen.”

My gaze immediately lands on the accent table that holds a lot of photos and a key bowl. I silently let out a sigh of relief seeing YN hasn’t removed all of the family photos with me in it. It’s a good sign, but I don’t have much hope behind that. Maybe that’s just her trying to keep everything as normal as possible at home for the kids.

My wife and I never had a big fight when we separated. It had been somewhat rational, but still emotional, discussion. She wasn’t angry, she was just done. And I didn’t fight for her. Instead, yours truly here walked away the next morning and didn’t look back.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life. But nothing ever compares to that. That was pretty fucking stupid on my part, and I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I’ve accepted that maybe this is my punishment for being a shit husband to a wonderful woman who doesn’t deserve to be treated like a second best. She did the right thing by kicking me to the curb, and I’d never resent her for it. If I could turn back time and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. I’d try harder to be a better husband, a better father, put my family first. But I can’t. Now all I can do is just try not to be a dickhead and make things harder for her than it already is. It’s too late for me to try to be a better husband, but it isn’t for me to try to be the best father that my children deserve.

I follow my wife through the living room and into the kitchen, and I’d be dead not to check out her arse in those leggings. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realise both of my children are sitting at the kitchen island, eating scones with their tea.

George, my six-year-old, is the first to turn his head and hop off from the island stool to jump into my arms. “Daddeeeeee!”

“My Booger Butt,” I greet my little lad with a smile as I squat down to be on his level before scooping him up into my arms. Booger Butt is one of the countless nicknames I have for him, and one that never fails to make him double over in laughter whenever he hears it. He’s also Mr Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole sometimes, and he used to be Sir Screams-a-Lot when he was a baby. He thinks they’re hilarious, and he’d always respond by calling me Baddy Daddy.

“I‘ve missed you so much, Baddy Daddy,” he says sweetly as he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck and I swear if I don’t pull myself together right this second, I’m going to cry.

“I’ve missed you more, mate,” I say as I ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

My daughter doesn’t seem fazed by the father and son reunion behind her and continues munching on her scone without even giving me a glance. With my left arm full of my son, I walk up to her and ruffle her hair just like I did with her little brother. “Hey Silly Putty Pudding Pie,” I greet her with one of her nicknames, hoping to get her to laugh. But she ignores me, taking a sip of her brew instead.

I don’t want to give up, so I lean to the side and bend to put my face close to hers. I try again, “hello to you too, poppet.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of scone.

“Minnie,” YN growls, her tone filled with warning.

This is why I respect YN so much. I hurt her badly, broke her heart, and it would’ve been so easy for her to use Minnie as a pawn and turn my child against me. But every time, even on the phone, whenever she is present, she never let Minnie be disrespectful to me in any way.

My gaze moves to my wife—yes I’m still going to refer to her as my wife since she still is, albeit only on paper—and she gives me an apologetic look. I give a slight shake of my head, telling her silently to let it go.

She takes the last bite of her scone and puts the dish in the sink, before walking to the staircase without giving me a second glance. I can see YN trying to hold her tongue from further rebuking our daughter, and I give her a small smile, my silent way of telling her ‘it’s okay.’

“Sorry about that,” she mutters, referring to Minnie’s attitude. She grabs a mug from the cupboard, then holds it up in silent invitation. I nod, and she turns to the pot. “I can’t keep up with her mood shifts anymore.”

“It’s alright,” I tell her, willing to take my share of the blame. “I’m sure the shift has everything to do with me.”

“Not true,” she replies as she pours the coffee into our mugs, adding a splash of milk to hers but keeping mine just like that because she knows I take my coffee black. “She’s been like that with me as well and I’m not sure why. She’s only nine but she acts as if she’s thirteen already.”

I can’t help but laugh and turn to my little lad. “Can you be six forever?”

“No,” he says immediately without even taking a second to think.

“Just no?”

“No,” he gives me a toothy grin. “I want a lego city set but mummy said it’s for eight-year-olds. So I cannot wait to be eight.”

I set him on the counter and give him a conspiratorial smirk before I whisper to him. It’s a little too loud to be considered a whisper, but I want my wife to hear it. “Tell you what, we’ll get one of those sets tomorrow on our day out.”

His eyes light up instantly and my wife rolls her eyes jokingly, “I hear that.” Jokingly, because I know for sure she doesn’t mind me spoiling our children. She does it too.

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?”

“To your mum’s pudding shop for breakfast, then probably fishing, and the toys shop now apparently,” I tell her our itinerary. I have the kids for the whole day tomorrow since it’s Saturday. It’s bittersweet because I’ve missed my children and I can’t wait to spend time with them, but I’m also sad because what I wouldn’t give to turn tomorrow into a family day out instead. I know she would most likely decline, but I can’t help offer her, “would you like to come with us?”

She gives me a subtle shake of her head. “No thanks. Enjoy it, it’s your time with them.”

***

I’m renting a room above The Old Nags Head during my stay here. I plan to stay for a week before I have to go back to London, and even though the thought of having to leave my children again is killing me, I’m trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that it’ll be Christmas soon enough and I’ll get to visit again.

But then I’ll have to leave again.

And visit again, but knowing in just a week or two, I would have to say goodbye to them again.

Fuck, this is killing me. I’m a family man through and through, and not being with them physically hurts. I shouldn’t be in this room sulking alone. I should be there in that home with my wife and children, probably helping Minnie and George with their homework or making dinner for all of us.

I was prepared to sulk some more, but then I heard a knock on the door. I was not expecting company so I’ve got no idea who it is, and I’m quite surprised when I see Jamie, YN’s brother as I open the door.

We were quite close, but now that I broke his little sister’s heart, I can’t tell if this is a pleasant visit or if he’s just here to knock me square on my arse.

“Got time for tea downstairs?” He asks

Honestly, I haven’t got any appetite. But I could use a few pints so I nod and lock the door behind me, following him downstairs to the pub.

The Old Nags Head is the oldest and most famous pub in Bakewell. The pub itself is a former smithy dating back to the 16th century, and certainly looks the part; thick stone walls, low ceilings, welcoming log fires and dark timber beams. The pub remains at the centre of the community, as it has been for hundreds of years. It offers the best classic pub grubs, and even has its own ale called the Nags 1577.

It’s the perfect place to drown my sorrows.

Except, the current owner of that very pub happens to be none other than my wife’s granddad whom everyone here calls Pop. Out of all members of her family, she is the closest to Pop, so I know for sure that I’m the last person he wants to see.

We sit at the bar table facing the window, which is good because Pop is behind the main bar, and this way I don’t have to actually talk to him.

“Ya want owt?” Jamie asks as he does a quick perusal of the menu. I’m not even sure why he bothers, because even I know what he’s going to order. It’s Pop’s signature steak and ale pie. Ten years of being his brother in law, not once I ever saw him order something else.

“Just a pint,” I tell him.

It doesn’t take long after Jamie orders his food and our drinks before two pints are placed before us, and we each take a savouring sip.

And then Jamie point-blank asks me, “so what did you do?”

I really can’t tell anything from his expression, because he keeps his face blank. But I give him a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s what I didn’t do, mate. She didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word,” he shakes his head, “what didn’t you do?”

“I stopped paying attention to my wife. Got caught up in my career. The travelling for tours she understood, but it was when I was home and hanging out more with my bandmates than with my family that she couldn’t forgive. And what little time I had left, I gave to Minnie and George. I think I just stupidly assumed she would always be there for me, no matter what.”

“Was there any infidelity?” He asks.

“God, no,” I shake my head hard. “You know I’d never do that to your sister. I love her, and she’s more than enough for me.”

Obviously, I’m not going to tell him this, but ironically, our sex life didn’t diminish. We were combustible in bed, and my mistake was in thinking that was enough for her.

I look at the pudding shop right across the street as I take another sip, and I nearly choke on my beer when I see a familiar face walking out of the shop.

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I growl.

That’s my wife, walking out of her mum’s pudding shop. She is not alone. There’s a guy with his hand pressed to her lower back while her head is tipped back, laughing at something he’s saying. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach when the bastard’s palm drops from my wife’s back to take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiles, all doe-eyed, as they walk to God knows where.

“What?” Jamie looks at me confused for a second, but then he follows my gaze and he finally sees what’s causing me distress. “Oh, that.”

“You knew about that?”

He nods. “She’s been seeing him for about three weeks now.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“She didn’t tell you?” Jamie asks and I shake my head.

“Three weeks you said?”

Jamie nods again. “He makes her happy.”

“I’m her husband,” I can’t help but say bitterly. “I should be the one making her happy.”

“Look, I’m sorry mate,” he offers, I know he’s trying his best to keep his tone neutral. “Maybe you need to get back in the dating game too. It’ll distract you.”

“I don’t want to fucking date anyone else,” I growl.

“I know it’s hard to get back in the saddle,” he adds sympathetically.

“I don’t want to get out of my current saddle,” I grumble. “I want to keep my current saddle with my wife in it.”

Jamie blinks in surprise, hell I’m even surprised at what I’ve just said out loud because I’ve never admitted this since we split. When YN asked me to leave, I assumed right away that my marriage was over. I didn’t want it to, but I thought there was nothing I could do.

But now, seeing her laughing at another man’s joke and his hand holding hers, I just know that I can’t let her go without a fight.

“Have you told her this?” He asks curiously.

I shake my head again. “We haven’t got the chance to have a civil conversation these days.”

“Then I suggest you stop being such a bloody whinge bucket and have a civil conversation with your wife.”

My shoulders immediately sag in defeat. “I know. I need to sit down with her and tell her how I feel.”

“Which is?” He presses.

“That I want her back,” I mutter.

“You’ve got to have a better plan than that,” he points out. “I mean… I’m not a marriage therapist, but I’m pretty sure that you’ve got to be prepared to fix the shit first.”

I can’t help but tilt my head towards the pudding shop where my wife had just walked out the door. “She’s moved on. You said it yourself that he makes her happy. Tell me how to compete with that.”

“Make her happier,” he says simply. I can only let out a heavy sigh, but I know that's solid advice. “Listen, if you really want to save your marriage, you need to make it work. Romance her again. Lots of flowers, nice romantic dinners out. Compliments, chocolates. All that sort of thing.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But I do know that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do anything about it.”

***

My emotions are a mixed bag this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to spend the whole day with my kids, but the fact that I have just learnt last night that my wife is currently seeing another man doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Jamie was right. If I want to save my marriage, I need to get my head out of my arse and do something to win my wife back. Sure, I don’t even know where to start since she doesn’t give me the time of day. But I do know that starting today, I’m a man on a mission. It’s Operation Conquer YN: day 1.

It’s currently 8:40am, which means I’m twenty minutes early. I hope the kids won’t be ready yet, so I’ll get a chance to talk for a little bit to my wife.

When I ring the doorbell, I can hear George pounding down the stairs, yelling, “I got it!”

The door flies open and he jumps into my arms right away. My little lad truly misses me, and it really does warm my heart. Now, I love my children equally, but before I got here yesterday, I thought Minnie would be the one to jump all over me since she’s a daddy’s girl through and through, while George has always been a mummy’s boy since the day he was born.

But again, I should’ve known. Since YN and I split, Minnie sort of puts herself in her mum’s corner. Every time I actually got the chance to talk to her on the phone when I was still in LA, it was always extremely short before she quickly handed her mum’s phone to her little brother. I try not to take her behaviour to heart, because I guess it’s what nine-year-olds do when they don’t quite understand why their parents aren’t together. They just need someone to blame, and my daughter is way more mature than her age. She’s bloody smart too, which she definitely takes after her mum, and I know that she knows it’s my fault that her mum and I separated.

Now that I think of it, it’s not just my wife that I desperately need to win back. But also my daughter.

“Daddy!” George chirps. He’s got a milk moustache and the sight never fails to get me to chuckle. “You’re early.”

“I know,” I reply with a tender smile. “I just can’t wait to spend the day with you lot.”

“I’m going to get ready!” He announces excitedly as he squirms in my arms wanting to be put down, and he runs up the stairs before I can even reply.

I look around, and my gaze lands on the sofa, a hazel leather sofa that YN picked out. It’s so comfy and I could nap there forever.

Then there’s the coffee table, where YN, Minnie, George and I sat around and played board games. Catan is our family’s favourite, followed closely by Monopoly.

The corner where we always put the Christmas tree, right next to the fireplace. And every year it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I could never get the bloody thing to stay straight.

I miss this little cottage. Sure, the house in South Kensington is our marital house, but this cosy little cottage in the middle of nowhere feels more like home to me. And now I truly get why YN was so adamant to move here permanently after we separated, didn't matter how hard I tried to persuade her to stay in London.

“You’re early,” my wife blinks in surprise, but quickly masks it. “Minnie darling, go and get ready.”

“Do I really have to go?” My nine-year-old whines and I feel a pang. She really doesn’t want to spend time with me.

“Minnie, that’s not nice,” YN reprimands her before I can stop her.

“I’ve missed you, poppet,” I say, wanting to look at her in the eyes but she refuses to meet my gaze. Which hurts, but it’s fine. I know it’ll take some time for her to warm up to me. “I want to spend the day with you and your brother. I promise I’ll try to make it fun for you both.”

“Fine,” she replies, before marching up the stairs to her room. There’s still a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but at least I didn’t get a heavy sigh. I know it’s a small win but honestly, it’s better than none.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells me politely from where she’s sitting at the island. She has her laptop open before her, and I can see her writing an email. I bet she’s working today, even if it’s Saturday, because my wife is such a hard-worker. She works remotely for a consulting firm and I’m beyond proud of her.

I nod and pour the coffee, and I let the silence carry on for a bit before saying, “saw you getting cosy with your new boyfriend last night.”

She instantly looks up from her laptop, giving me a death glare. Her tone is defensive when she says, “that’s none of your business.”

“You could’ve at least told me that you were seeing someone,” I tell her, making elaborate gestures with my coffee mug.

“Why would I do that?” She retorts defensively. “Last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit about me when we were married. Why on earth would I assume you do now?”

Hearing that, it feels like Chuck Norris himself just kicked me in the nuts. I can only mutter, “we’re still married.”

“Not for long,” she replies faintly.

“Don’t say that,” I say, my breath a little jagged. “We can still fix this, darling. I know we can.”

“Are you mad?” She snaps, but then she takes a deep breath, and her tone is a lot calmer when she adds, “Harry, it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. It’s never too late to get our marriage back on track,” I plead desperately. “Would you at least give me a shot?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“You can continue to see Mr Wife-stealer-”

“He’s not a wife-stealer,” she snaps, cutting me off. “He’s got a name.”

“Well, he’s stealing my wife,” I grumble like a stroppy child.

“You’re being such a child,” she retorts. “His name is Luke, he’s a decent guy, and he makes me happy.”

“I’m not afraid to go head to head with him,” I say defiantly.

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, we’re not on a bloody Love Island,” she says in exasperation. “Two children are involved here, this isn’t a game.”

“I know it isn’t,” I reply with a sigh. “Just please give me another shot, darling. Let me remind you how great we were together.”

“You mean the sex?” She demands, one side of her upper lip curls in a sneer.

I bend my head and murmur, “we were dynamite in the sack, weren’t we?”

I see the flash in her eyes as she remembers, and it makes me want to beat my chest in victory. But the euphoric feeling is short-lived when she says, “a relationship is so much more than just sex. If you don’t understand it then-”

“I do, fuck, I do know that,�� I cut her off in a strangled, desperate voice. “At least let me try, darling. Fuck if I’m letting you go without a fight.”

We lapse into silence as she gives me a sceptical look, and I know in this moment that my biggest challenge is to regain her trust, as well as accepting the fact that she has someone else fighting for her attention.

I know this will be tough, because I let her down over and over again. And worse, I let my children down too, because I was never quite able to make my family my highest priority. It was all my fault, I knew it then, still do now. That’s why when she asked me to leave, I couldn’t even argue. I was a shit husband and father, and I deserved that.

Trying to win Minnie is probably going to be the easiest because beneath this ‘tweenage’ attitude going on, I know she is a sweet girl who loves her daddy. I need to devote more attention to her, maybe take her on some daddy-daughter dates. I know it’ll work because I’ve never given her enough on a consistent basis.

YN is going to be the most difficult, because I really broke her heart. I’ve been married to her for ten years, so I can say with confidence that I know for sure she would never fall for things like flowers or gifts. I have to show her that I genuinely want to fix our marriage, and that my interest in her is real. It’ll be like starting all over again.

And on top of that, she’s seeing someone else and she said it herself that he does make her happy. I know she’s not lying about it, as Jamie also told me the same thing last night and I saw with my own eyes how she laughed with him last night. Seeing that killed me, because I don’t have the ability to make her laugh like that anymore, but I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that was happy for her.

She may have sneered when I insinuated I’d be glad to remind her of the good times, but I saw it in her eyes. There was still a slight burn, and that might just have to be my angle.

But then I remember our last time together. It was only two days before she asked me to leave and I remember coming home mid-morning after a meeting with my manager and publicist to find her lying in our bed, clad in sexy lingerie. I had my mouth on every inch of her, a good deal of time between her legs, and after she reciprocated by taking me into her mouth.

The kids were in school, and apparently, she took a sick day because I had told her the night before that I only had one meeting in the morning that day. After, she cuddled in close, and we talked for a while. She seemed happy, but then there was a hint of hesitation in her voice when she suggested, “fancy just spending all day in bed until school pick-ups?”

I mean, what man in his right mind would say no to that? The kids were gone for at least another five hours, I had a gorgeous wife naked and wanting more of what we just did…

Yet, I’d said no. “Sorry, doll. I’m meeting the lads at the studio in about an hour.”

I didn’t see it then, but I do now and it’s clear as day. The look on her face had been blank, and there wasn’t even disappointment like she would usually show me. She hadn’t tried to get me to change my mind. There hadn’t been a guilt-laden frown to give me pause.

I realise now what it was.

It was the moment my wife finally gave up on me.

My chest constricts as it finally dawns on me the pain she must have been feeling. I’m not just talking about that day. That had been our life for several years.

No wonder she asked me to leave.

No wonder she’s moving on with Mr Wife-stealer.

No wonder that, at this moment, I realise I’ve got tons of work to do because sex isn’t going to be the answer in winning my wife back.

***

“Will the baby just eat when you give it the bottle?” Minnie asks her uncle Jamie as the four of us gaze at the baby goat in front of us. For the first time since yesterday, I actually see the slight curve up of lips that form a fond smile. Seeing that smile on my daughter’s face, I’m glad we didn’t go fishing and end up going to the barn instead. We were actually already on our way, but Jamie texted me that the mother goat had given birth this morning, and he wanted me to tell Minnie and George. The goats are a new addition to the farm, so they have been so excited to see baby goats. I knew from the look in their eyes that they would have a much better time seeing baby goats rather than fishing.

It turns out that there’s only one baby goat, because the other one sadly didn’t make it. And the dam isn’t producing milk, so the kid needs to be bottle-fed until the mother is producing again. I can’t help but smile fondly at the baby goat too because it’s adorable. It’s a soft little white goat with a pink nose and ears. The dam is a Pygmy but since it has blue eyes, Jamie thinks she must have Nigerian Dwarf genes somewhere in her.

“It’s a female… a doeling,” Jamie tells her. “And she will if she’s hungry. You want to try to feed her? Look, she’s hungry again.”

We watch for a moment as the baby goat walks on wobbly legs, bleating in hunger. Jamie mixes the powdered formula and makes a bottle for her, then he hands the bottle to Minnie.

But Minnie shakes her head. “Maybe next time. I want to see you do it first.”

“Alright then,” Jamie nods, then turns towards my little lad. “How about you, mate? Wanna feed her?”

“No thank you,” says George as he shakes his head, and then he giggles, “she smells funny.”

“Can I do it?” I ask and Jamie nods as he hands me the bottle.

I sit down against the wall with my children sitting on either side of me. And as if the goat can sense that I hold the key to filling her empty belly, the doeling starts to prance in excitement and falls over a few times due to what I assume is clumsiness. I love that she can walk normally but still choose chaos—honestly, she could’ve been my third child. There’s no stopping the surge of fondness that swells within me as I watch her little antics.

“Come here little crumpet,” I coo at the goat.

The little goat scrambles right onto my lap, bleating hungrily. I wrap my arm around her and tip the bottle. She latches on instantly, and Minnie and George are aww-ing and ooh-ing over the way the baby goat’s little tail swishes back and forth so fast in ecstatic happiness as she drinks her milk.

“You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you?” Minnie murmurs and the little tail swishes faster as she pushes at the bottle to suck the milk down faster. “What’s her name, uncle Jamie?”

“I haven’t named her yet,” Jamie says. “What do you lot think we should call her?”

“Blue,” George suggests instantly, without looking away from the baby goat on my lap.

“Ooh, I like it,” Minnie adds. “Like her eyes.”

“Blue it is, then,” Jamie grins. “Now, even though the dam is still not producing milk, we still need to train her to at least try to nurse, so she’ll do it right away when the dam is finally producing milk. Let’s see if we can get her to try to eat from the dam.”

He plucks the baby from my arms, and a series of yearning bleats come from the kid as he carries her to her mother. He places her near the dam’s udders and gives the baby a gentle push.

Much to our surprise, Blue spins away from Jamie and her mother and runs back to me. Although in all fairness, I am holding the bottle she was just drinking from. Jamie attempts three more times to get the baby to try to nurse from her mother, but she’s having none of it.

Finally, he takes the bottle from me and walks across to the opposite wall. He sits down, holds the bottle out, and calls to the doeling. “Come here, baby. Come eat.”

Blue’s tail gives a few nervous twitches, but she doesn’t move towards Jamie. In fact, she takes a few hesitant steps backwards until she bumps into my legs. I’m amazed as I watch her stare hungrily at the bottle, bleating hungrily, but refusing to go to Jamie.

“Daddy, she thinks you’re her mummy,” says George and both my children burst in laughter.

“What?” I say in astonishment.

“I don’t think that doeling is going to feed from anyone but you,” Jamie adds with a chuckle as he stands up. He walks over and hands me the bottle. Blue jumps directly into my lap.

On autopilot, I offer the goat the nipple but look up to Jamie in panic. “What should we do?”

“Dunno, I’ll just try and do it when she’s hungry again in a few hours,” he shrugs. “But if she still doesn’t wanna eat, I’ll bring her to you.”

Any last vestiges of humour, happiness and downright giddiness over the cuteness of a baby goat fades as I realise I might or might not have just added another task to my list. Heavens help me.

***

“Let’s have a daddy and daughter date tomorrow.”

It’s a solid suggestion, and I really hope she’d say yes. Her little brother has his classmate’s birthday party to go to, so I know it’d be perfect for a little one-on-one time.

We’re on our way back home after spending a whole day together. It was great, and even though I didn’t have happy-go-lucky Minnie, George had a great time, and it was enough for me. And at least she didn’t ask to go home early, so I’d call that a win.

“No, thanks,” she replies. There’s still not a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but it doesn’t sound technically warm either.

I glance over through the rear-view mirror as she stares out the window with her arms folded. Her brother is sleeping next to her, and I figured this might be a good time to talk since she’s trapped in the car with me.

Everyone always says that Minnie is a mini-me, while George is a carbon-copy of his mum. Minnie has my nose, eyebrows, chin, even my smile; which is slightly lopsided and has a dimple on one side. I know I’m biased, but she truly is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.

Where Minnie shines, though, is her personality, which is a combination of her mum and me. She has her mum’s sunny disposition—aside from the days where she’s got a bag on—and always sees the good in everyone. She’s our little ray of sunshine, tender and caring and always trying to make others feel good.

From me, she gets her stubbornness, which even though I know is a good trait to have when she’s older, it made things so much harder when she was a toddler. She also has my terrible sense of humour, but the thing I’m most proud of is her work ethic. I can’t take full credit for that though, because her mother is a hard worker as well.

Ever since she started distancing herself from me, I know which subjects are safe, and which are not. School always falls in the safe category, because she enjoys it and excels. So I figure now that’s where I should start. “How’s school going?”

“Alright,” she replies, still looking out the window.

Now, this really doesn’t sound at all like my daughter.

“Come on, Min,” I say desperately. “Tell daddy what’s been eating you. I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says absently.

“Do you want to go and get some ice cream with me tomorrow?” That was our thing at least once every two weeks and she loved it.

“No, thank you.”

“Ice skating?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh I know,” I say excitedly. “I’ve got a show in London in a couple of weeks, Jingle Ball. Do you want to come with me?”

Minnie has always been my biggest fan, clapping the hardest and yelling the loudest for her daddy. So it really takes me by surprise when she mutters, “shows, shows, shows… that’s all you care about, dad.”

I twist to peer out my window so she doesn’t see the wince that comes unbidden to my face if she looks through the mirror. That was a direct slam against me.

That really does hurt, and I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone.

“That’s not true,” I reply faintly.

“Did you care about my last ballet recital?”

Early this year, Minnie had a ballet recital. She was so excited about it because I had just finished my tour in December last year, and I’d already told my management that I would like a couple of months off. There was no reason for me not to attend, so I promised her I’d be there.

Except at the last moment, I realised I had forgot to switch an important meeting I had with the team from the new Manchester Arena. Since I invested in it, we had a meeting every few months because I said right from the beginning that I would take more than just a capital interest. I wanted to be involved in the development, because that was a huge project and I was really proud of it.

YN was in charge of our schedule and when she reminded me about the recital, which conflicted directly with my meeting, we ended up getting in the worst row we’ve ever had throughout our marriage.

“You’re going to let our daughter down in a way she won’t forgive,” she stated.

I refused to believe that, brushing off her comment with “I’ll take her out for something special later.” But my wife turned and stalked away from me.

That day, the meeting went great and the construction was almost done a few weeks earlier than intended, so there was an option if we wanted to open sooner. YN sent me a text with a video of Minnie’s performance, and it was beautiful. I was such a proud dad that I showed the video to everyone in that room.

When I got home, my wife and children cuddled on the sofa, watching a film. George was snoozing with his head on his mum’s lap on the far end, so I plopped myself down beside Minnie. I tugged on her hair playfully, and asked if she wanted to go out to a special daddy-daughter dinner to celebrate her recital.

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly, not taking her eyes off the telly.

“Come on, poppet,” I coaxed, trying to tickle her in the ribs a little. She only squirmed closer to her mum, not laughing from the tickle but grimacing like she didn’t want to be touched.

YN stared over Minnie with sorrow in her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

“The Ivy?” I tried to tempt her because my kid loves chips, and she’s obsessed with their truffle and parmesan chips.

“No, thank you,” she muttered again, her head resting on her mum’s shoulder and her arm crossed over her middle. YN cuddled her with an arm around her shoulder. It had been clear that they were a unit, and I hadn’t been included.

“Minnie decided she wants to stop ballet lessons, so that was her last recital.”

“Oh,” I’d replied dumbly.

I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say because to do so would be disingenuous. There’s no doubt I killed my daughter’s potential love of ballet by not coming to her recital. I knew that because of YN’s expression of disappointment and Minnie’s dull dismissal.

Later that night, I walked by Minnie’s room and glanced in as the door was slightly open. I had bought her a bouquet of flowers that I gave her before I left for my meeting, and I saw that they’d been stuffed into the bin beside her desk.

I blink out of that memory, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. “Of course I did, my love. If I knew-”

“But not enough to come,” she replies dully. “And what about my debate competition? George’s piano recital? You showed up to none of them.”

I sigh heavily. “Minnie, a lot of parents have demanding jobs where they’re required to work or travel more than others. Sometimes A&E doctors have to work on Christmas and cannot see their children open the presents. Sometimes, a firefighter has to leave their house at night and can’t tuck their kids in bed.”

“I understand that,” she whirls and looks at me through the rear-view mirror. “Except you’re not saving lives or fighting fires, are you? You just get up on a stage and sing.”

“I’m a terrible dad, aren’t I?” I concede. “I know I’ve done things wrong in the past, but I’m trying to make it up to you, poppet. But I can’t do it if you won’t let me.”

She doesn’t say anything and it’s killing me. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” she rushes to assure me and I feel a little lighter. My daughter may act like a tween and have some bitter feelings towards me, but she loves me.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I continue. “Tell me how to make it up to you and I’ll do it. I want things to be good between us again.”

Her eyes flare with shock, and then they dart away as if she’s considering something. I wait expectantly. Maybe she’s going to finally open up and pour out her feelings for me. I’m ready for it.

I’m ready to listen, and validate, and reassure her that she, along with her mum and brother, are the loves of my life.

Her gaze comes back to me, her expression serious, and I brace.

“Can we get a puppy?”

What?

There’s no stopping the unlocking of my jaw and the dropping of my mouth because this was the last thing I expected her to say.

I’m so caught off guard that I can’t even think to immediately tell her ‘no’, which gives her time to launch into all the reasons why we should have a dog.

“Minnie, puppies are a lot of work. You’ve got to potty train them, teach them manners, and they get up for hours at night.”

“I promise I’ll do all that,” she exclaims.

“Like how you were supposed to take care of Fishy?” I can’t help but remind her. Fishy was her goldfish that we had to throw a funeral for a few years ago because she forgot to feed him. That poor sod died of hunger.

Minnie rolls her eyes. “I was six.”

She’s got a point.

Still, it’s obvious part of her request is manipulation because she threw it at me when I opened myself up to vulnerability. She knows I’m trying, and she’s throwing me a clear bone.

Get her a puppy, and all will be forgiven.

“Tell you what,” I look over my shoulder after I parked the car since we’ve reached home. “I promise to think about it, and I’ll talk to mummy.”

“Really?” She bounces in her seat in excitement.

“We’ll talk about it,” I reiterate in a calm, even voice. But there’s no stopping her excitement. The fact that I’m willing to consider is a huge victory for her because she knows that when I make my mind up about something, I never change it.

I open the door for her, and she is quick to unbuckle herself and throws herself at me.

I’m so surprised at the spontaneous act of affection that I almost don’t hug her back. It’s been so long since she’s shown this to me, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

I squeeze her tight, and I can only hope that my darling girl will always love her daddy the way she does right now.

George doesn’t even stir as I pick him up, and I tuck him in his bed straight away since I don’t want to wake him up. He must be tired, and good thing I’ve fed them both dinner.

Minnie even gives me another hug before she gets ready for bed, and that results in me having a permanent smile on my face even as I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see my wife.

“She’s chirpy,” YN comments when she sees me walking into the kitchen. “What did you do?”

“Got her to talk to me,” I smirk.

She looks surprised, and well, I can’t blame her. “Did she?”

“She did,” I nod. “Pointed out all my flaws, and when I asked her how I could make it up to her, she asked for a puppy.”

“What?”

“Exactly my reaction,” I chuckle.

“Boy, if she’s this good at emotional blackmailing at nine, we’d probably be in deep shit in a couple of years,” she jokes and I can’t help but laugh.

I’ve missed this.

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“I can’t.”

“What? Got a hot date already?” I ask teasingly, but her silence tells me what I don’t want to know. “Oh, you’re going out with him.”

“Mr Wife- I mean Luke asked me out first and I already said yes.”

I shouldn’t be laughing because the fact that my wife going on a date with another man is not funny at all, but it’s hard to hide my smirk when she almost calls him by the nickname I’ve given him, Mr Wife-stealer.

“Well, fair enough. He asked you first,” I say nonchalantly. “What does he do?”

“He’s an A&E doctor at the Northern General,” she says, her tone lightens a little.

“Smart then isn’t he,” I mutter.

“Yes. He’s smart, attentive, caring and generous with his time.”

I keep my expression and tone bland, but she landed a direct blow there and it fucking hurts. “All the things I’m not,” I state, voicing the conclusion she was aiming at.

“Well,” she drawls with a tiny bit of sympathy. “I do think you’re smart.”

I give her a side eye-roll before I decide to be downright nosy and ask, “you can’t have been on many dates then?”

“True,” she chirps, a gleam in her eye as she sticks the knife in. “He is busy and his schedules are unpredictable. But when he’s gone, he makes sure I know I’m always on his mind. He sends me flowers for absolutely no reason other than because he wants to, calls me every day and we text all the time.”

Well, sodding fucking bollocking shit wank. I didn’t think YN would fall for that crap. And I realise… I never thought to do that stuff for her. I was the self-absorbed type of person who figured that my wife knew I thought about her all the time when I was away. I mean we were married, so I just assumed she knew.

I’m a shit head.

“What else does he do for you?” I ask and she blinks in surprise.

“Why?” She asks suspiciously.

“I told you I want our marriage to work.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read my tone and see whether I’m being genuine or it’s just bollocks. Finally, she replies primly, “I’m not giving away his secrets.”

What the fuck does that mean? Have they shagged? I would bet a million pounds they had not though, because I know YN and she wouldn’t enter into that deep of a relationship lightly.

Without even thinking twice, I make a sudden step into her. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her body into me. Not a single inch of space between us. Her mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and I use the opportunity to kiss her.

I kiss the fuck out of my wife.

Her hands slap against my upper arms, and her fingers dig into my sleeves. Even as she’s pushing me away, her mouth opens, and her tongue touches mine briefly.

When I pull back, I ask, “did he kiss you like this?”

She shakes her head, breathlessly admitting, “we haven’t-”

My jaw drops. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not,” she murmurs.

“How long exactly have you been seeing him?”

“About four weeks.”

“Honey, he’s rooting for the other team,” I tell her and she slaps my arm.

“Sod off, he’s not,” she counters.

“Four weeks with the hottest, most gorgeous, shaggable woman and he hasn’t tried to kiss you? I mean not that I’m not grateful because, fuck, I am. But wow.”

“Of course he did try,” she rolls her eyes. “But I’m not ready for that, and he’s okay with us taking it slow.”

For a second I don’t say anything in response. Instead, I loosen my hold, bringing my hand to her lower back, and cupping her intimately from behind. Moaning, she leans into me. “I’m guessing he hasn’t touched you like this then.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lets her eyelids flutter closed as her teeth bite into her lower lip.

Fuck. I could drag her to the floor right now, and we could go at it.

But then she comes to her senses, blinking rapidly, and I release her immediately when she gives me a tiny shove backwards.

“You’re not playing fair,” she accuses.

Damn right I’m not. I grab her upper arms, pull her back into me for one last kiss before I let her go just as quickly. “I’m playing to win.”

She takes a step back, brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, and puts on a cool expression. “That’s not going to make me take you back.”

I smirk.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re great with your hands and your mouth, but a lot of men know how to please a woman.”

She’s got a bonus point for trying to make me jealous, but I’m not falling for it. Instead, I give her a devilish smile and dip my head towards her.

“That’s true, but no one will ever please you the way I can.”

I’m enjoying our banter, and I expect her to come up with a snappy retort that might make me kiss her again.

Instead, her expression is sad when she says, “I wish I could be happy with that.”

My heart squeezes, and I lift a hand to palm the side of her neck. I wait until she meets my gaze. “We’re more than just sex, darling. I know you need and deserve more. I’m ready to prove that to you.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead.

She doesn’t respond as I pivot and head through the living room, letting myself out the door.

All in all, I think that went very well.

***

I’m back at my wife’s cottage, waiting for my kids as they get ready upstairs. Minnie has finally agreed to go on a daddy-daughter date and George is going to an overnight sleepover birthday party, and I’ll drop him off at his classmate’s house before I take his sister out to dinner. I’ll make sure to make it up to him by taking him on a special one on one date too next week.

There’s a light rap on the door, and my head swings that way. I have no doubt that it’s Mr Wife-stealer who’s going to take my wife out on a date.

I glance towards the master suite, but the door is closed. YN is probably putting on the finishing touches of her makeup. And the kids are still upstairs.

Nothing left to do but let him in.

Forcing a smile, I open the front door. He blinks in surprise to see me standing there, and I know I’ve got two options here; I could either easily dispel the awkwardness by being cool, welcoming and explaining our schedules happened to overlap.

Or… I could use whatever amount of alone time I have with him to instill some doubt inside his head.

That would be a dirty play, but as I have told my wife, I play to win.

Broadening my smile, I stick my hand out. “You must be Luke. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Harry.”

He seems momentarily frozen, but then basic manners take over. When he shakes my hand, it’s a bit limp, perhaps denoting a lack of confidence. After I release him, I bid him entrance with a sweep of my hand. “YN is in the bedroom. She’s still getting ready.”

Luke frowns over the fact that I know YN is in the bedroom. Probably over me even being here to talk to him. But I don’t dispel any innuendo he might glean from that.

I loop an arm around his shoulders, clamp down, and start guiding him to the kitchen. “Come on in and sit for a bit while she’s finishing up. Want a beer?”

Luke moves to one of the island stools, looking completely frazzled. “Uh… no, thank you.”

I shrug, moving to the fridge and opening it. Grabbing a bottle, I say with a sly grin as I close it. “So glad YN still stocks my favourite beer.”

I am so going to hell.

But that’s the truth. It’s my wife’s favourite beer, too, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I let the implication that I come over and have beers often. Luke’s frown deepens.

“YN tells me you work at the Northern General?” I take a sip of my beer, then lean my forearms on the island directly across from him so we’re eye level.

“Yeah… uh, that’s right.” Poor Luke. He seems incapable of carrying on a polite conversation with the husband of the woman he’s dating.

But I’m going to give him a pass. Setting my beer down, I straighten. “Let me go tell YN you’re here.”

“Um… you don’t have-” he starts to say, but I move past him without a backward glance. Through the living room, down the small hall, and a hard left takes me to the master suite. The door’s closed. I don’t bother knocking because I know YN is dressed.

I find her in the ensuite, her makeup drawer open and she’s huddled over it, touching something inside.

“Your date’s here,” I announce.

She lets out a yip of fright, shoving whatever it was in her hand to the back and slamming the drawer closed.

“Damn it, Harry,” she snaps, her palm pressed against her heart. “You scared the hell out of me. And what are you doing in my room?”

“Just running an errand for you. Wanted to let you know your date is here,” I say casually and I give her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I welcomed him in, offered him a drink, and made small talk.”

She rolls her eyes, rising from her vanity chair and moves past me without another word. I start to follow, but then I hesitate and turn back to the drawer of her vanity. Quietly, I pull it open as far as it will go, spotting a picture of YN and me stuffed in the back.

I recognise it. It’s from a trip we took to Anguilla a few years back, just the two of us, and fuck if we didn’t look happy and deeply in love.

Was that what she was looking at when I walked in?

That could be good or bad, but either way, no way to know the answer. I shut the drawer, then catch up to her as she’s moving through the living room. Luke sees her, sliding off the stool. When she holds out her hands, he takes them and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

Lame.

I sit on the armrest of the sofa, watching. Luke glances over YN’s shoulder at me as he pulls back, smiling victoriously.

I just smirk back. Because he’d probably lose it if he knew the type of kiss I gave my wife just last night. But I’ll keep that information to myself, though.

YN grabs her handbag off the accent table near the staircase before addressing me. “Make sure Minnie locks up when you leave, and remind George I’ll pick him up at ten tomorrow morning.”

I give her a jaunty salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

In return, I get another eye roll.

Luke puts his hand on my wife’s back, shooting me a look that says, ‘she’s mine tonight’, and I want to punch his teeth down the back of his throat. I just smile blandly, because, in just a few minutes of talking to him and watching how they interact, I can tell he’s getting nothing more than a friendly kiss when he brings her home.

YN might want to keep pushing at that relationship, but I am willing to bet that it’s not going to go anywhere. I know this, because I’m sure that my wife is still in love with me.

Read part II here!

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #boyfriend!harry #husband!harry #dad!harry #dad harry styles #dad harry imagines #dad harry styles imagines

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vampkaashis-wife · 3 years ago

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akaashi childhood married

Hi bb I didn’t know whether this was for my 3 words + character deal or just in general so I went with general childhood friends to married ❤️ it starts angsty but it gets better I promise

When you were seven, you realized something about the world. Up to this point, it was acceptable for you to answer, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with “Kei-chan’s wife.”

But Kei-chan’s wife stopped being a viable career at age seven, with everyone telling you to opt for doctor or restaurant owner or journalist or nurse or - oh, and by the way, stop calling him Kei-chan too. Try Keiji-kun instead.

(“Keiji-kun” made him look at you funny, so you resorted to “Akaashi-kun,” which had him look at you more funny. By the time you switched exclusively to “Akaashi-san,” he stopped showing any kind of reaction.)

When you were seventeen, you realized something about the world. The earth is large, but also very, very small. You were certain that Akaashi-san had forgotten most of your childhood memories of libraries and grocery runs and helping both your moms with dinner. You were sure some other girl got the privilege of calling him Kei-chan now.

You were sure that of all the fish in the sea, you only wanted that one, and it should be a criminal offense that your brain still can’t come up with any other career paths besides “Akaashi Keiji’s wife.”

Sure, you have your personal interests and goals, but none of them felt as right as that first one a decade ago.

And suddenly your footing is stripped from under you because apparently no one in the entirety of Fukurodani Academy cares enough about *insert club of choice* to keep your beloved club afloat. The sight of the club room stripped bare was a direct blow to your sanity and will to live (which is over-dramatic, yes, but it’s been the worst week of your life even without that, and goddamn, who keeps ringing your doorbell?)

You pull yourself together enough to open the door with a sniffle, crossing your arms tightly to hold it together. “Hi, how can I- Akaashi-san?”

The boy in question seems to be having it as tough as you, if not worse. “Hi,” the smiles crookedly. “You wouldn’t happen to have an ankle brace?” He’s leaning heavily on your doorframe, and when you usher him in with a bunch of exclamations, he hops in while leaning on your shoulder, and every intelligent thought flies straight out of your brain.

After handing him a bag of ice and telling him that you don’t, in fact, have an ankle brace, you start making calls to his mom and your mom to see what to do when your injured estranged fiancé-but-not-really shows up on a Tuesday night.

By the time the calls are over, Akaashi has made a little origami something. You noticed him fidgeting, but he always does that anyway, so it’s not a big deal. Until he hands you a paper ring inscribed by his messy hand with Kei-chan’s wife and refuses to answer any questions about it.

When you are twenty seven, you realize something about the world. It’s amazing already, but Keiji makes it infinitely better.

He doesn’t remember anything about your old dream, as it turns out, but his mom had mentioned it while he was harboring a huge crush on you. That paper ring that one time was an instinctive thing that he wouldn’t have done if he’d thought about it - but he wasn’t thinking at all, clearly.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Your husband asks sleepily, nuzzling into your shoulder. Lazy kisses bloom across your skin, and you reach back to touch his hair.

“About how lucky I am.”

“Hm.”

“About finding my new dream because I haven’t yet. It’s been years since you made the original one come true.”

“You mean the marriage thing?”

The marriage thing. Keiji could stand to be a little more amazed, but he’s sleepy, so he can have a pass.

“Yeah, that… Keiji?”

“Mmm.” He says as his hands slip over the bare skin of your stomach. His hands are always cool to the touch somehow, eliciting a shiver from you.

“You’re the only star in my sky.” It’s an old thing of yours, the first confession you made while Keiji was explaining something about constellations. You’ve been repeating it ever since.

Each time, the hesitation dissaptes a bit more when he responds, “And you, mine.”

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi scenario #akaashi keiji fanfiction

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years ago

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Hello love! I have this scenario stuck in my head:

Walter hurts his right shoulder quite badly when solving a case (or slipping on ice 🤔)which leaves him imobile to his dominant arm. Being the stubborn man he is, he releases himself from the hospital and back at home has to release that he alone struggles with the simplest tasks. Due to the time of night or a snowstorm outside the only one left to ask for help is that new annoying neighbour (there's the trope I guess)... might lead to a number of embaressing (and hot?) situations...

Wherever that came from... never mind my weird brain 🙈... does that maybe, possibly strike your muse?

Omg. 🤭 Thank you for the request @omgkatinka I tried to make it fluffy and funny, but I'm in a Walter mood lately and it did end up with a hint of smut, so here it goes.

Warnings: slight description of shoulder injury, a little bit of angst, fluff, description of male masturbation

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: Helping hand

Walter groaned when he turned on his side, half asleep and in a lot of pain. His shoulder throbbed like a thousand needles pricked him at the same time, shooting a blinding pain up to his fingers.

"Fuck!" He cursed at himself, rolling onto his back and trying to breathe through his agony. He clutched his sore shoulder with his hand, gently soothing the bandages and blinking through the tears that had sprung at the corners of his eyes.

Walter had hurt his shoulder while on a mission to catch hold of a guy involved in human trafficking. They had chased the culprit through the abandoned factory, barely losing him through the maze of metal staircases when Walter had lunged at the man, tackling him to the floor. But the rusty old work bridge had crumbled under the force, bringing both men crashing down to the ground with metal pieces and debris. Luckily for them they weren't harmed in a life threatening manner, but Walter's shoulder had dislocated, resulting in a torn labrum requiring surgery.

"Fuck this shit." Walter had told himself while lying in his hospital bed on the third day post surgery, pressing the call button for the nurse. He had gruffly told the pale, scared woman that he wanted to go home and he was feeling fine. After arguing with the doctor about his health, Walter had self discharged himself against medical advice.

He thought he had made a wise choice coming home, but he knew he was stupid to think he could make it on his own.

Sitting up on the bed and grabbing the strap of the arm sling, Walter groaned. With his dominant hand rendered useless for the time being, Walter had a lot of trouble with his daily activities. Faye and Angie were in California visiting her parents, leaving him no one to call for help for the past weeks.

He made his way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when he saw the heavy blanket of snow outside. Checking his watch, he gathered it was only four pm and yet it was almost dark with snow still falling steadily. Walter had taken his pain meds and a sleeping pill when he had awoken in the middle of the night, and had effectively knocked himself out for a good twelve hour sleep. With that realization, his stomach growled indicating his missed meals for the day.

Looking around at the kitchen, Walter groaned when he saw the empty takeout boxes and the overflowing trash can. Injury had left him disorganised, making him live like a junkie. He couldn't even remember the last time he had taken a decent shower, sniffing the air as he could smell his own body odour. He was about to grab a trash bag from the counter and try to clean, when his doorbell rang.

Walter groaned, again. He had an inkling it was her. His chirpy neighbor who was the only one who showed up to help him every other day. She was annoying in the beginning, trying to start up conversations when all he wanted to do was sulk. But he had warmed up to her, still keeping her at an arm's length, but allowing her to assist him from time to time. When he opened the front door, there she was, looking adorable covered in cozy woollen attire from head to toe, a cute beanie over her hair, carrying a big lunch box in her gloved hands. She smiled at him, shivering with the cold winds until he moved to the side to let her in.

You could never believe how intimidating Walter had seemed to you only a couple of weeks ago. He would always throw a curt nod at you when you would greet him from your door if you ever happened to cross paths, never smiling or staying for a chat. You had gathered from the other neighbors that he was a cop, Detective Walter Marshall, kind of a loner and always grumpy. There was no denying your attraction to him, his scruffy beard and thick curls always left your fingers itching to touch them, with his accent being a major plus point. But he would never give you a chance to strike up a decent conversation.

It was all fun and games, you liked the chase, even if you were the one doing all the chasing. Seemed like a conquest for you but when his car was missing from his parking spot for days on end, you began worrying about him. Then one fine day, you spotted him out in the curb, trying to open the trash bin with one hand while the other was hanging in a sling. You had walked up to him, out of concern when Walter had turned around to go back inside slipping on the ice, only for you to grab a hold of him trying to break his fall but instead tumbling to the cold ground with him on top of you. He had apologized profusely, wincing in pain as he moved and letting you help him stand up.

From that day onwards, you always made it a point to stop by his house atleast once. It helped that Walter never complained.

"I had made lasagna. Did you have lunch?" You asked, taking off your beanie to hang on the hook and leaving your boots by the door. You felt Walter's looming figure follow you as you made your way to the kitchen. Taking in the surrounding, you nodded to yourself, your question answered without Walter having to utter a word. "Very well, why don't you sit at the table and I'll serve you the food?"

You tried to grab clean plates and spoons, frowning at the dirty dishes from last night, but you didn't blame him. It was only so much he could do with one hand.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" You asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the Detective.

"No. I took sleeping pills."

Placing the plate of food in front of him, you narrowed your eyes at him. "Don't get too attached to those meds though." You handed him the spoon and fork, before getting to clean his kitchen.

"You don't have to do that." Walter protested from his place at the table, almost about to stand up. "I was about to clean around the house."

"With one hand? Come on, Detective Walter, you know better than that. And I don't mind, I was holed up at my house since morning anyway, this atleast gives me a chance to do something." You winked at him, grabbing the empty bottles of water and shoving them in the trash bag. By the time Walter had finished his meal, you had cleaned the kitchen with only the dishes to spare.

"Let me get those." Walter tried to reach for the soap but you were fast enough to grab it first.

"Go rest, I can handle this." You nudged him playfully with your hip. You could not believe your eyes when you saw Walter smile. "Wow! Look at that! I am being graced with a smile."

Rolling his eyes at you, Walter stayed put at his place, handing you the plates one by one. You insisted for him to rest, but he denied each of your requests. You were just about done loading up the dishes in the dishwasher when your phone rang from it's place in the purse that was hanging on the hook.

"I'll put them in the rack, go." Walter assured you with another smile. You nodded at him, handing the gloves and walking out the kitchen. You were texting back your mom, when you heard the Detective cuss loudly, followed by falling and breaking of plates. You hurried inside to find Walter drenched with soapy water and the broken pieces of ceramic and glass on the floor.

"I'm done with this!" He shouted, trying to pry open the velcro of his sling in anger. The edge of his shirt dripped water on the floor with a stream travelling down from the front of his pants.

"Hey, hey." You rushed to him, carefully maneuvering away from the plates, and caught hold of his hands. "It's okay. It happens. Why don't you go change and I'll clean here." You didn't back down when he stared at you, not moving and not giving up. But a silent moment passed and he left for his bedroom without a word.

You walked towards Walter’s bedroom, the silence of the house only disturbed by the whistling winds of the oncoming storm outside. It was late in the night when you had gotten the chance to pay the ailing Detective a visit. With freshly baked cookies in a box, you had knocked at his door only to be left standing out in the cold. He had handed you a spare key for emergencies as the storm warning approached which you never used until today.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, you stopped in your tracks hearing muffled grunts from the other side. The door was slightly cracked open, faint light seeping out to the the hallway. You peered through the gap only to gape at the sight.

The other day when Walter had spilled water over his front and gone to change, you had followed him after hearing him cursing at himself. He had a hard time taking off the wet clothes, making him angrier by the minute. You had helped him then, only to be left mesmerized by his body as your nimble fingers had brushed over his skin.

Walter had his eyes closed, his arm in the sling and resting on his naked chest and pillows with a sheet covering his lower half. His other hand was under the cover, moving up and down as he pleasured himself. You felt your cheeks warm, spreading down to your chest and the tip of your ears as you watched him in his private moment, wanting to turn and run away but failing to do so.

You weren't going to ask him, but you could swear a long moment of sparks had passed between the two of you. Your dreams now featured vivid fantasies with Walter, leaving you in a daze for the rest of the day.

As much as you wanted to stare at his heaving chest, listen to his melodious moans and trace his sweat sheened face with your gaze; this felt like a rude invasion of privacy. You were about to turn on your heels when you heard the whisper of your name rolling out of his lips. Whipping your head to see if you had been caught red handed, you were left baffled to find Walter's eyes closed, unaware of your presence and repeating your name like a mantra while he pumped his length.

You had no idea what got into you, but the urge to be with the man you had been lusting over was so strong, you pushed the door open with heated cheeks and a trembling core. Walter's eyes shot open, widening as he took in your presence, scrambling to hide himself underneath the sheets.

"Wh-what are you-?" He stammered, a rosy pink tint appearing on his flushed skin.

You did not answer him, choosing to close the distance between the two of you instead. You crouched down next to his side of the bed, placing your hand on his scruffy cheek. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted as he struggled to regain his breath and rendered speechless at the debacle. You waited for him to object to your advances, watching as he wet his lips with his tongue before leaning to kiss him. Walter remained frozen for a long second, until he moved his lips along with yours.

Breaking away from the kiss, you smiled at him, a hand creeping to his member that twitched in response. "Do you need a hand?" You asked, smirking as Walter could only nod before you pulled the sheet away from his body.

#ask foodie #walter marshall #Walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #walter marshall nomis #nomis #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #requests

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