d47

beatrix-franklin  asked:

47 Turndaette , 50 Shrixie pretty please💖 {loving your fics so much!!}

Thank you :D

47: “You’re seriously like a man-child,” Shelagh notes, hands on her hips, as she looks at the adoring look Patrick is giving his new car.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Patrick asks, his brows furrowed but his mouth framed by a smile.

“Boys and their toys are the same thing as men and their cars,” Shelagh says, remembering how Timothy used to polish his toy cars and planes till they shone every week.

“Do I detect a hint of sinful jealousy here, Mrs. Turner?” Patrick says, smirking.

“Not at all, Mr. Turner, because…” she starts, but Patrick closes her in his arms and presses his mouth to hers, cutting off whatever explanation she wanted to give with the sweetest of kisses.

“Just remember that you are my favourite toy of all, darling, one that I’ll never tire of and I will always love and shower with attention and respect,” he says, resting his forehead against hers and rubbing the tip of his nose against her till she rolls her eyes and smiles, too.

 

50: “Oh God, I need a drink,” Trixie whispers, hands in her hair and tears on her cheeks.

“You don’t need a drink, Trixie, and I don’t believe you really want one, either,” Shelagh says.

“I always want one, but I don’t want the second, or the third, or the fourth, or however many follow if I have one, and I don’t want the shame and the guilt come morning, either,” she confesses, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief to stop her mascara from running.

Shelagh feels slightly out of her depth here, so she falls back on her usual method: taking the speaker’s hand in hers and staying silent, listening to whatever needs to be said.

“Sometimes I am desperately afraid that I will not be able to control myself, and I’ll grab a bottle and drink all of it, because even if I don’t like the way it burns down my throat like bile, I like how it makes my thoughts hazy, and my sight blur, and allows me to stop thinking about everything, and then I feel weak,” Trixie says, her bottom lip trembling.

“To know all of this about yourself, and to fear it, shows me that you aren’t weak, Trixie,” Shelagh says, pulling Trixie close so she can have what she really needs: a good hug and a long cry.