#Let’s think about other fathers in my fic because I’m not sure I have many good ones there XD

[ahotknife]

Hi!! First of all, I love your fics, you’re incredibly talented and I would eat up anything you write <3

And now, my question! You always write Adam as dominant and a bit of a sadist (which I totally agree with), but yesterday I was thinking about how that fits the canon idea that Adam is scared to death of becoming his father in terms of violence. Because the way he practices sex is violent, and obviously his partners (Ronan at least) enjoy it, but wouldn’t he be afraid of losing control and crossing a line? So, how do we think Adam approaches this?

It’s just a thought that popped out of my mind and I really wanted to know your opinion on that!

Okay, that’s all 🌟 Thank you and have a good day!

hi! yes i have had many conversations about this and will attempt to distill this response into a few main points.

1. the application of controlled violence against a consenting peer is radically different from physical abuse of any kind. kink, and especially impact play or physical punishment, is a form of catharsis and it’s all fun & games for all parties involved. if it’s not, you’re doing it wrong.

2. adam has darker, violent tendencies in canon—messy but true. he wishes he’d been the one to punch his father, he kills whelk (or at least ensures he doesn’t live), he masterminds a pretty extreme way to destroy greenmantle’s life. this does not mean he is doomed to become physically abusive, but the impulses are there. adam likes power. he wants to have power, and he likes to identify power in other people so he can come up with ways to control it—in his daydreams these methods are often physical.

3. to my earlier point about catharsis: people are into what they’re into for a reason. i’m not saying this is a conventional or necessarily “pretty” itch he needs to scratch in his brain, but i think there’s something to being the person who hits instead of being hit. i think there’s something to being able to exercise a compulsion onto another person and then tell that person they did a good job, they did so well, they’re so good and he’s so proud of them. not to be all “you just wouldn’t get it” but if you’re not into BDSM it’s probably not going to make much sense. you’ll just have to take my word for it that engaging in that kind of scene is really fun and everybody involved gets off on it.

4. specifically regarding ronan, it’s pretty clear from canon that ronan is a masochistic thrill seeker. aside from the tattoos, fast cars, and reckless behavior, he starts fights on purpose and does things that will undoubtedly result in injury on purpose. he doesn’t attempt to temper his own physical responses or urges, and he doesn’t shy away from adam’s. also: ronan is bigger and stronger than adam—i don’t think there’s a way adam could really truly hurt him. there is always that risk, but i don’t think ronan’s in any danger of real damage. first of all that’s not adam’s goal, second of all ronan wouldn’t let him do it. (only i know the super secret adamronan safeword that lurks in the peripheral awareness of all my fic.)

tl;dr—adam already has the impulse to be violent. adam already has an innate preference for physical behavior & responses. he won’t be his father, because he isn’t his father. deciding you’re not going to abuse your loved ones is enough—he won’t abuse ronan, because he doesn’t want to. if he had kids, he wouldn’t abuse them, either, because he doesn’t want to. we see him curtail a few outbursts in mixed company—he’s capable of it even without an actual outlet for it. kink would be a practical, consensual way for him to sublimate his desires into something he enjoys. i think he approaches it knowing it’s something he wants and something ronan wants—no point in ignoring or repressing something so huge if you can get some really good sex out of it. kink is like a sandbox—it’s a controlled environment where safeguards are in place to make sure no real damage is done (as long as what you practice is SSC/RACK), so you can have a lot of fun there.

and also: it’s hot & i like writing it, so adam approaches it thinking it’s hot so that i have reasons to keep writing it. but don’t worry, it IS grounded in canon.

hope this helps!

[lieutenant-amuel]

Happy father’s day to Angel’s dad :D

The best dad in the WBTL universe <3

[cheolaholic]

bound to you; jww (trailer !!)

the world will burn before he lets you go.

abo universe • mafia au • arranged marriage • fluff, smut, angst • hurt-comfort

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc; 22k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

summary; With a subtle fire growing between two vastly different souls, are they doomed to surrender to a bond that binds them together? Or... are they exactly what each other need?

contains; mafia boss! wonwoo, florist! reader, alpha! wonwoo, omega! reader, reader knows how to fight back/stand her ground even though she’s submissive, right hand man! woozi, beta! svt members (cheol, woozi, gyu, vernon & chan), mentions of JxW, wonwoo is unhinge but not too unhinged, woozi encouraging/supporting wonwoo to be more unhinged, wonwoo wears glasses, very subtle “where is my wife!?” trope, not really sure who fell first and who fell harder, unplanned pregnancy, the honeymoon scene is sweet AND nasty

mature/trigger warnings; dom! wonwoo, sub! reader, big dick! wonwoo, knotting, biting/marking kink, size kink, use of sex toys, g-spot stimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you do the nasty), mating press, implied sex marathon when reader is in heat, somewhat of an aftercare, reader is extremely horny when in heat, wonwoo doesn’t mind bcs he’s just as horny and has really high stamina, tummy bulge, creampies, squirting, that one business proposal scene, drugs (heat inducers, heat/rut suppressants), forced drugging, weapons (guns, knives, needles etc), abduction, violence (it’s a mafia au so, yea), mentions of miscarriage, etc

petnames; his (Nonu, Alpha), hers (Doll, Babydoll)

a/n; was lowkey stressing about this fic for a bit ngl but WOOHOO NEW FIC COMING SOON !! read it now on my patreon, or you can wait til 30th April 2025 KST for it to be released here & ao3~ taglist is closed !! see you all in my next work !!

Your tone came out sharper than you intended when you replied, “You think you can control that?”

A sly smirk tugs at his lips, “Control? It’d be fun to break you, sure, but… I quite like the idea of having a feisty Omega by my side. Believe me, babydoll, I know what it’s like to prove yourself to be seen and acknowledged. I had to do the same to prove it to my father and grandfather. You didn’t think I was handed this position just like that, did you?”

"I don’t doubt you had to fight for it," you say quietly. "But I’m not here for a power struggle. Not with you, not with anyone."

He shifts slightly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Look, babydoll, I don’t expect you to bend over my desk or lap whenever I tell you to. But, I do expect you to listen to me when it comes to your safety or if you’re ever caught in the crossfire of my dealings. Is that understood?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a shiver run down your spine. The grip he had on your thigh had goosebumps rising, but the touch wasn’t just possessive; it was also protective. A silent reminder.

“I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself, babydoll. But being capable doesn’t mean you have to face every danger alone, and in my world, in my life, it’s not kind to the unprepared despite their capabilities to be able to stand up for themselves.”

You bite back the words you want to say, about how you weren’t some fragile porcelain doll. That you didn’t need him to look after you like you’re some helpless Omega –

“I’m not asking you to give up the control you have over your life. I can see as clear as day that you’ve been able to manage just fine without an Alpha.” Oh.

“What I’m asking from you is to trust me when it matters. I know this marriage is out of convenience, for the sake of the mating bond, but you’re not someone I’m willing to let slip through the cracks either. Not without a fight.”

His words pulled your defenses down just a little, but you still held on tight to the edges of your resolve. Perhaps it was because of the many judgemental and snide comments you’ve received from others, especially Alphas, in the past that made you want to argue with him. The way he speaks, so calm and measured, you were itching to fight back.

But, something in his eyes stops you. There was no sign of mockery, no superiority – just a raw honesty you’d never thought you’d see in an Alpha. Much less the one that practically rules over the entire city.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” You voiced out, sounding quieter than you’d intended. “I didn’t ask for you to be my mate. I didn’t ask for you to try and protect me.”

While he doesn’t flinch at your words, there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tense in his shoulders that tells you he isn’t completely unaffected by your words.

“I know, babydoll,” his tone now tinged with something that feels like understanding, “But, believe me when I say that I am not asking for your submission. I’m asking for your trust. If I wanted to control you, I would’ve made that clear six months ago.”

“Can’t believe those bastards had to wait six months to do this stupid party…” you mumbled, cheeks heating up as you realised you sound like a girl throwing a little tantrum.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Well, our schedules have been overlapping. I think they expected us to go on a honeymoon for a while.”

“Tch, as if I’d ever want to be on the same bed as you.”

“Moving back to the topic earlier, I’m not asking for a leash, babydoll,” his voice is low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to let me stand by your side when the world gets too heavy. Because it will. And when that happens... I don’t want you to face it alone. All I ask for is your trust and to let me understand you.”

You’re unsure of what to say next, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. You’ve spent almost your entire life resisting the idea of relying on anyone, but here he is, asking for something as simple as your trust.

The sincerity in his words linger, and for the first time, you wonder if you’ve misjudged the Alpha. Maybe he wasn’t like the others that were trying to force their way into an Omega’s life. Maybe he wasn’t looking to bend or break an Omega so they’d be solely dependent on their Alpha.

Maybe he too was looking for something different. Something that goes beyond fated bonds and forced relationships.

You look at him, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder if there’s a part of you that could trust him.

[quantum1mmortality]

oooooo I have so many ideas…

If you have a kid with curly, how does he react as a father? He gives me SUCH STRONG girl dad energy and I can’t tell you why. This man is a GIRL DAD. How is he as a parent? Does he cook? Can he help his kid with math homework? Is he a family man? I’m so curious to see your thoughts on this.

Prob like the 7th request I've gotten for dad/dilf Curly 😭😭 also to my very special anon who has been in my asks for a very special Jimmy request, give me a few days, it'll be out love 🪽(I'm busy asf rn)

Tw/cw; none!! All sfw this time :) see guys I can be family friendly when I want to be

Not proofread

I've actually gone over this in the tags of a different post, I do think Curly would be a girl dad. He'd want twin girls and you guys canNOT tell me different.

After you come home from the hospital, Curly would do literally everything for you and the new babies. He'd prepare healthy meals for you, he'd help clean and feed the babies, if one of them started crying in the middle of the night he'd insist on being the one to take care of it, etc.

Basically the bare minimum but is still praised because the bare minimum is hard to come by now.

I see Curly as the type of man to be raised by a single mom and having no father figure. Morbid? A bit, but it helped shape him into the super awesome sauce girl dad he is today.

Because of having an absent father, Curly would go above and beyond to make sure he's present in his children's lives. Any days he has off, he's spending time with you and your new baby girls. Oh, his daughter's are in a school play? He's calling off work and showing up with flowers and chocolates for both of them. Shit like that

Curly would come into work late or just take the day off completely if you needed extra help with the kids. He'd leave work early to pick them up from school if you couldn't. He WANTS to be there. And just remember guys, if he wanted to, he would.

Curly would also try to be home early so he could read them bedtime stories. Idk I just think that's cute.

Once they start growing up, he's getting more into their interests. Curly would be the type of dad to let his daughters put makeup on him and have them do his nails. He would happily walk into pony express as a well known captain and have nail polish everywhere on his hands BUT his nails.

And yes, he would help his kids with their homework. Something about Curly makes me think he took mathematics in college, and I can safely say he is breaking every generational curse by not making your children cry over their math homework.

BONUS CONTENT!!!; Curly would want older twin daughters (obviously, we just went over that) and a younger boy. He would want to name the boy Dallas, but I can't think of any names for the girls. He'd like the name Phoebe a lot, so probably that and maybe a name like Sophia for the other twin.

A/N; too many curly fics, must make master list

[angelicalchaoticabyss]

Don’t ask why I’m writing this at 6:04 am because at the time I’m writing this I’ve been awake since 2:35 am because I’m stress about school and this fics have been my medicine.

So, can I ask for the ultimate cookie reader! that had just escaped the lab and is just confused and touched starved wreck, that the five beast find. Since Dark Enchantress is planning to betray them (I think idk) they don’t bring ultimate cookie reader back to the lab. STRICTLY PLATONIC because my aroace ass can’t handle romantic stuff (mostly)

We'll Protect you

Mystic Flour Cookie:

Mystic Flour Cookie is by far the gentlest/nicest with you. In her own apathetic way. She sees the selfishness of Dark Enchantress Cookie and her cruel wishes towards you. And she will not stand for it. Mystic Flour Cookie gladly welcomes you in her pagoda, allowing you to share in her knowledge and wisdom.

She teaches you a lot about yourself and trains your heart to be more stable and calmer. She enjoys watching you play with Cloud Haetae Cookie, although she has had to step in when your incredibly baked strength tends to get too much for the lion dog.

She doesn’t mind when you try to touch her, like holding her hand. She’ll lightly hold your hand back but other than that not show much to you. But she does understand that you need this and will occasionally pet you like she does Cloud Haetae Cookie.

Burning Spice Cookie:

Burning Spice Cookie can be mean at times, but he means well for you. He quite enjoys the strength you have no idea what to do with. He sees how you have little control over it, so instead he trains you to both fight and control your massive power. He likes having you as an apprentice and having someone who can match him if not best him in a fight.

Once you’re properly trained, he teaches you the tides of change, how the constant flow worked and how boring it can become. When it comes to touch, he’s VERY hands on to show you how to do everything properly. He’s not the most physically affectionate with you (In a friendly way), but if you want a hug from time to time, he’s willing to give it as a reward for all your hard work.

Burning Spice Cookie is utterly enraged that Dark Enchantress Cookie would betray them, and he feels even angrier that she’d use the equivalent of her own child to do so. So, in his mind…you’re his child now. And he would never use you as a means to an end.

Shadow Milk Cookie:

He’s honestly the most eager to have you in his domain, after all his spirit was there as you were being created. He finds you most amusing and is very touchy with you. He’d squeeze the daylight out of you if you let him. He’ll hold your hand, pat your head. But in exchange he will treat you like a child, his child. After all, he was there to watch you bake so why wouldn’t he consider himself one of your fathers?

He'd help you control your incredible stores of magic and use it to your advantage. He’d also teach you the wonders of deceit and when to use it, but he would never lie to you. And you can promise that he would be there if you had a nightmare, shaking in your sleep and crying from the oven. He’d soothe your heart and promise to keep you safe.

As for Dark Enchantress, he’s not surprised she’d try to betray them, but he’d make sure she’d regret it. Due to his lack of trust in many cookies, he wasn’t one to fall for her lies so easily. And he’ll double make sure she pays for the hell she brought you into.

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

They are by far the cuddliest with you…but also in a lazy way if that makes sense. While they sloth around in their domain they’ll often have you in their arms. While they nap on clouds, trees, the ground, you name it. Eternal Sugar will often be cuddling you while you and they sleep the day away.

They’ll teach the wonders of finding time to relax and be slothful instead of worrying about everything. Though sometimes, they’ll be the one awake while you sleep, petting you and whispering comforting words to keep your nightmares away. They care for you like they would their own child after all.

As for Dark enchantress, they had feeling it was too good to be true with her so they wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. But they WILL make her suffer if she comes for you. You’re their little sloth after all.

Silent Salt Cookie:

The least touchy of the beasts and well…doesn’t really speak. They train you in how to use specifically swords and conquer your incredible speed. The most you’d get from them is a pat on the back or a hand lingering on your shoulder when you need comfort. However, while very rare, Silent Salt may also take off their helmet so they can look you in the eyes to show sincerity.

It takes you a while to fully understand Silent Salt Cookie and their methods, but you came to learn they did care about you. Unlike the others, Silent Salt Cookie doesn’t come to view you as a child to care for, but more of a little brother/sister/whatever to protect and guide. To teach.

For their opinions of Dark Enchantress betraying them and her potentially coming after you…well…they’re fully prepared to cut her in half next if it means keeping you safe.

[mangotangerine]

what if ozzie created hell's version of ao3 and then radiostatic became one of the most popular ships but alastor didn't find out because ew, technology, until one day he did, but the top 69 fics are written by the same person & have incredibly realistic aspects that only one other person in hell would know

well, i wrote it. see below the cut for what i have so far

vox writes fanfic (and his username is alastors_babygirl)

Alastor goes nearly a century without acquiring any of those ridiculous, overdesigned electronic devices that the rest of Hell rots their brain with.

×

Things have been odd as of late. Angel Dust has been giving him strange looks—not the usual objectifying leer meant to evoke discomfort, but something more inquisitive—and Niffty has taken to giggling every time he walks past that tacky television they keep in the lounge. It hadn’t bothered him at first, as Angel Dust has always been a strange fellow, and Niffty is… well, Alastor isn’t sure if even she understands her own whimsy, sometimes.

But now, it’s getting a bit out of hand.

“Niffty, my dear,” Alastor says, “I have a question for you.”

She giggles, likely because he is standing next to the television. She manages to get it under control, though he can still hear the laughter in her voice as she says, “Yes?”

He glances pointedly at the television, then back at Niffty, and her grin widens. She kicks her feet and covers her mouth to hold back the giggles that threaten to erupt, and Alastor sighs. He is not going to get satisfying answers from her. “Never mind,” he says, weary. “Perhaps Charlie knows.”

×

Charlie blushes a bright red and flips her phone face-down in a panic, when he finally asks her in her office.

“Um—um, well…” she trails off, body language broadcasting her discomfort.

“This is getting tiring,” Alastor says, letting irritation bleed into his voice. “Despite my confidence that it is not the case, because who would be so foolish, I feel as though I’m being mocked. It is quite unpleasant.”

“No! No no no!” she squeaks. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” she takes a deep breath. “The fan fiction.”

“The what now?” Alastor asks, eyebrows furrowing.

She bites her lip, glancing down at her phone. “Asmodeus um… launched this new website,” she starts, and Alastor wrinkles his nose in disgust. Ugh, not this nonsense again. “And, well… people write stories on it about... about media or things they’re fans of. Like—like use the characters and setting, and… andyou’rethemostpopularship,” she says in a rush.

Alastor looks down at himself, and then back up at Charlie. “I didn’t take you for the type to be critical of somebody’s figure, regardless of the inaccuracy of your statement,” he says, clearly disappointed, and Charlie gasps.

“No! Ship—ship, like relationship! Not—I would never.” She’s offended now, frowning at him. “Why would you think I’d—”

“Please, Charlie,” Alastor says sharply, “Explain to me in plain language.”

She bites her lip, then shrinks a little in her seat. “Sometimes people… um, write stories about people, who they think would be good in a relationship… like romance stories.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Alastor snaps.

“You’re the top—you’re the um, most popular, uh, ship. Relationship. Well, not just you, it takes two—anyway.” She stops, and smiles at him nervously.

“Who is the second party in this ‘relationship’ involving myself?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

When she tells him, he very politely demands to be shown this website, and she meekly flips her phone over and slides it toward him. He looks through it, smile fading slowly until it’s just a barely-there quirk of the lips. “Who?” he asks, unable to hide the venom in his voice. “Who is writing these?”

“Many—many people, Alastor. It’s—there’s—I, I mean, you see how many stories!” she squeaks.

“Do you read the ones where I’m involved with your father?” he asks, suspicious, as he points at the device. She gasps.

“No!” Charlie practically yells. “No, I do—I do not read sex stories about my—”

“Sex stories?” Alastor asks, voice thick with radio distortion, and she covers her mouth in horror at her own mistake.

“I—I mean, not all of them are—I mean, there are a ton that are just—and not just with my dad, but with—you know, him, and they’re—they’re so sweet, Alastor!”

The exhaustion is settling in his bones now, his ever-present smile twisted into a sardonic grimace. “I fail to understand how there can be any stories involving me and that—that walking billboard that are sweet.”

“Well, um…” she hesitates, nervous. “You could… you could read some?”

“I will most certainly not be doing that,” he says. “I will be going now. I appreciate your transparency, as painful as the information was to extract from you.”

Alastor leaves with his signature flourish, melting into the shadows.

×

He goes a week before he folds, though he has one of those egg creatures Sir Pentious left behind procure an electronic device for him instead of trying to find one himself. He then commands it to demonstrate how to navigate to that vapid archive of obscenities everyone seems so enraptured by.

Though there are a lot of these creepy little stories, and just as many writers, the most popular of these ‘fan fiction’ novellas are all written under the same pen name and have very specific personal details that only one other person in Hell would know.

Well, he supposes it has been quite a while since he’s gone to terrorize that tower in person. Why, he’s been positively angelic since his return to the public sphere. It’s time to pay his old friend a visit.

×

He could go in the front door, cause a scene, really ham it up for Vox’s pervasive cameras, but that’s too easy. Too predictable, and what sort of performer would he be if he didn’t improvise and change things up a bit?

Alastor materializes in Vox’s office, behind his chair. He is, unfortunately, not alone, as Alastor had hoped. Startled, Velvette screams, and Alastor turns to blink at her owlishly.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks.

Vox spins around in his chair so fast it keeps spinning, makes 3 revolutions before Vox manages to stop it. Alastor looks Vox up and down, nose wrinkled in distaste.

“I just greased it!” Vox says defensively. “It doesn’t do that all the time, I can—I can control my chair!”

“Why is he here?” Velvette hisses, and Vox points menacingly at Alastor.

“Yeah! Why is he—why are you here?”

Alastor inhales deeply, and lets out a slow, disappointed sigh. “We need to talk.”

“Get out of my fucking tower,” Vox snaps.

“I’d love to,” Alastor says, “as soon as you answer some questions about the creepy little love stories you’ve been writing online.”

Vox blanches, as much as a television screen can blanch—that is, his face turns greyscale, reminding Alastor very distinctly of the picture shows his mother used to take him to as a child. It’s very amusing, on Vox.

“Velvette, get out,” Vox orders, voice sharp. The color slowly bleeds back into his face, one pixel at a time.

Velvette gets up, looking like she’s about to argue, when Alastor turns to face her directly, twirling his microphone in hand as his smile grows.

“Fine, fuck you,” she spits, and makes her way out.

Then it’s just Alastor and Vox. Vox and Alastor. Two old friends. Two old buddies. Pals. Former pals. Ex-partners.

“I can explain,” Vox says, panicked.

“Oh,” Alastor says, sounding delighted. “You’re admitting to it so easily? Usually you’re more difficult than that.”

“Fuck,” Vox groans.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[e-dubbc11]

A Christmas Wish

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, smooches, mentions of Billy’s shitty childhood and a couple of swear words.

Word Count: 2.1K-ish

Summary: You love decorating the Christmas tree but Billy doesn’t and he tries to put on a smile for you so you try to make it better by giving him a few special gifts.

A/N: Greetings and Happy 2025 to my lovely friends! Hope you are well and I apologize for being quiet lately. I’ve been sick and my entire week off from work was spent trying to recover from whatever lovely cold is going around.

I tried to put this out before Christmas but obviously that didn’t happen and I’ve also been a little bummed about friendly interaction, everyone seems to have disappeared but whatever, I digress.

Oh I’m also thinking about trimming down my tag list again just because I don’t feel like wasting anyone’s time if you’re not interested in reading my fics anymore. I dunno, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’m sure it will pass…

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Some of them were very delicate.

The ornaments were old, made from very thin glass and passed down to you by your parents, that they received from THEIR parents. There were a handful that said “Baby’s First Christmas” followed by your name written in beautiful script. A pink bulb that was stuffed with “angel hair” was one of your favorites. That’s what your dad used to tell you when you were little which you thought was a cute story.

Billy had taken the ornament tote out of storage so the two of you could decorate the tree together. Mostly, he just sat back and let you decorate the tree. He wasn’t particularly fond of this time of year or any holiday.

A brass ornament with a sleeping baby and the year you were born, a red bauble with your name written in silver glitter on the side, and a bone ornament with your childhood dog’s name on it were a few more of your favorites.

Each ornament had a story like who gave it to you and what year, and if there was a reason they picked that particular one. The dates ranged from the time you were born up until recent years. Some of them were handmade from when you were a child that your father thought you might like to have along with the one he gave you last year with a picture of you and Billy inside for your first Christmas together.

Trimmed to perfection, which was obviously Billy’s doing, the tree stood impressively in front of one of the large windows in the penthouse so it could be seen by others, looking out from the tops of their buildings. The warm white lights shined against the dark green needles, giving off an enticing invitation that made it so you couldn’t help but stare at it.

The branches were full and abundant with plenty of room for all of your ornaments as shades of red, green, and gold bounced off the delicate glow of the white lights.

This time of year brought back so many fond memories for you. Billy couldn’t say the same thing. Growing up without a family, this time of year was just a reminder of all the holidays he spent in the group home, alone.

He didn’t have any ornaments from childhood to hang on the tree.

“The decorations they put up just made me more depressed.” He had told you. “The old pathetic little fake tree, it was all bullshit, and it just made me hate her even more for leaving. They called the group home Ray of Hope but there was nothing hopeful about that place.”

He had a mother, she had been out there somewhere but she didn’t want him. She never did. That shattered your heart, twisted your stomach into knots, and left you wondering how a mother could do that to her own child.

The darkness that comes with the winter months is hard enough so you thought a tree would light up that darkness, make it colorful, and maybe brighten his day just a little bit.

Billy put the tree up for you, because you wanted it and because he loved to see you smile, even though the Christmas season didn’t bring him any happy memories like it did for you.

But you were determined to make it better, he deserved it and you loved him more than anything.

**********

If he had ever wanted to talk about it, Billy would be the first one to tell you that his childhood was shit but he worked hard to make sure children in need would have a better Christmas than he ever did so he helped out collecting Toys for Tots during this time of year.

So he had a lot of long December days where he wouldn’t get home until late.

The lights in the penthouse were dimmed to create a warm and cozy environment for when Billy came home. The presents you had for him were nicely wrapped and sitting on the large coffee table near the couch, you picked up his favorite cookies from the bakery, and had a glass of his favorite bourbon ready and waiting for him.

His keys jingled in the door handle as he walked through the door.

“Another late one, sweet girl. I’m sorry.” Said Billy.

He was always so apologetic when he worked late but you understood.

On cold nights like tonight, you loved to sit in the dark, a fire blazing in the fireplace, relax in comfortable clothes, with nothing but the Christmas tree lights on, and quietly look out at the city skyline. You had been enjoying a cup of hot chocolate and reading your book when Billy walked through the door.

He walked over to the couch to give you a quick kiss and then head to his office but you stopped him.

“Can you sit for a minute, handsome? Please?” You asked.

He desperately wanted to get more work done before really calling it a night plus he liked to find any excuse he could to not be near the Christmas tree.

“Can it wait, baby? I just wanna get a little work done.” He said, firmly.

Normally, you could wait a little while until he was finished but tonight was different, this was for him, and you just really wanted to give him something special.

But you decided to put your foot down.

“No…actually, it can’t wait, Billy.” You said.

Billy hated to disappoint you or make you angry with him so he sat down on the couch, next to you. He noticed the present as he took a sip of bourbon.

“Did you get an early present from someone at work or somethin’?” He asked.

Biting down on your lower lip, you shook your head and tried to keep from smiling. You were excited to give him his presents.

“It’s for you, Billy.” You said, softly.

Billy set his glass down, looked at you and then looked at the box.

“But Christmas isn’t for two weeks, sweet girl.” He said with a slight smile.

You replied, “I know…open it.”

The wrapping paper was all white and you had tied a perfect bow with royal blue ribbon. His long fingers carefully untied the ribbon and set it aside. Billy then tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a large white box. As he removed the top, he stared at the blue tissue paper inside for a minute before digging around for the gifts underneath.

Billy first pulled out his United States Marine Corps ornament. He read the saying on the back out loud for you.

“From the Halls of Montezuma

To the shores of Tripoli

We fight our country’s battles

In the air, on land, and sea;

First to fight for right and freedom

And to keep our honor clean;

We are proud to claim the title

Of United States Marines.”

Billy looked over at you and started to say, “Baby, this is…”

But you stopped him.

“There’s more, my love. Keep going.” You said, kissing him on the cheek.

He found his Christmas stocking next. It looked like yours except his was red to go along with your green one and his name was embroidered at the top, in the same font to match yours, and a hook to hang it from, over the fireplace. The final gift in the box was a plain red bulb ornament with his name written in silver glitter on it, just like the one you received as a child.

You wanted Billy to have ornaments that were his and his alone for him to hang on the tree. You hoped it would make this time of year a little happier for him.

“Sometimes I forget that this time of year isn’t pleasant for everyone. I was hoping to make it a little better for you, Billy. So I got you ornaments that are just for you.” You said.

He replied, holding the stocking and glitter ornament in his hand, “They’re just like yours.”

“I wish I could take away your bad memories, but I can’t. So I thought maybe if you had new memories…that, um…” You trailed off with a hitch in your voice.

Billy didn’t let you finish. He just leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips, the sweet taste of vanilla and a little spicy from the nutmeg on his from the sips of bourbon he had a few minutes ago, and the woodsy scent of his cologne floated past your nose as you kissed him back.

The warm white lights reflected in his onyx colored eyes and his smile traveled from the curl in his lip, up to the lines around his eyes. Billy didn’t have to say how he was feeling, you could see it in his eyes, see it in his smile, and you felt it in the way he kissed you.

“These are just…I don’t…thank you, sweet girl.” Said Billy.

He looked over at the tree for the first time since he arrived home and actually smiled. Billy finally had his own ornaments to hang on the Christmas tree and he looked excited about it.

“Go ahead, baby.” You said with a warm smile.

Billy rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, loosened his tie, stood up while carefully holding his ornaments, walked over to the tree and pondered about where he should place them. You knew the perfectionist in him wanted to pick out the perfect spot for them.

He found your ornament with your name written in silver glitter and he placed his on the branch next to it. Billy then found a branch near the top for his Marines ornament that he needed the stepladder to reach and he hung his stocking on the opposite end of the fireplace from where yours was. He said he had to keep it “symmetrical” which made you chuckle. There’s that perfectionist trait hard at work again.

Billy actually looked content, finding places for his ornaments and hanging his stocking on the fireplace. He finally had the experience that he didn’t get to do when he was young.

Forced to grow up faster than he should have, Billy Russo’s childhood was stolen from him by the person that was supposed to protect him and love him but she didn’t. His mother left him and never looked back so it really wasn’t a mystery of why he didn’t trust anyone, why he never got close to anyone, or why he never had a long term relationship.

You were helping him work through some of that pain and building trust so he would never have to go through any of that hurt ever again.

As he sat down, you let your head gently fall against his chest as he kissed the top of your head. You felt your eyelids getting heavy and it was a relief to close them as you pulled your legs up onto the couch. His body was a warm cradle for yours.

“I love you.” Whispered Billy, kissing the top of your head again.

With your eyes closed still, you smiled and replied, “I love you too, Billy. I just want all your Christmas wishes to come true.”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, my love. My only wish is I wish I didn’t have to wait so long for you.” He said in barely more than a whisper.

Tears stung the back of your eyes as your heart began to race and your fingers started to tingle. All Billy had ever wanted was to be loved and something as simple as a Christmas ornament with his name on it, you knew he’d cherish it forever because it came from someone who showed him he deserved to be loved and he was worthy of affection.

You finally understood why Billy always kept you close, why he never let you wander too far from him, and why he had a hand on you at all times. Sometimes he held on a little too tight but it was because he didn’t want what he had to go away or be taken from him like it had all those years ago.

The little toy soldier that was attached to his keys was the first thing you ever gave him and he was constantly reaching into his pocket to make sure it was there. Just like the ornaments, the toy soldier might seem insignificant or small to anyone else, but to him, it was everything.

You gave him back some of the childhood that was taken from him and you will never forget the smile that stretched across his face.

Your parents always said that it was better to give than receive…and giving Billy a happy Christmas memory allowed you to finally experience what they had been talking about.

And they were absolutely right. Making Billy Russo smile really was the best feeling in the world.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @vaguekayla @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf @sweetserendipity65

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads @jediwizardelf @thejanecampaign @milea @folkloreofyennefer @mysweetlittledesire

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again

[lightlycareless]

Hi! As a Naoya fan, I really appreciate what you do for us and girl, I just love your works <33

So, Eh, I don't know how to say this... Can you write a fic about him where he has been married to a woman chosen for him by his clan but after so many years, he can't forget y/n? I mean, it's so cliché Ik, but I just can't get it out of my mind. It's like he really loved her and would've even eloped with her but at the end, it was y/n who asked him to go back to his clan since she knew that it was Naoya's fate to be the clan head. So, eventually y/n leaves and Naoya marries his wife and he gets to be the head of Zenin clan and later on, he kinds wishes his wife would give birth to a daughter so he could name her after y/n. Or maybe she does and while everyone expects him to torment the poor wife, he would silently pick up the baby and hug his daughter as if he wishes she was her baby?

so yeah, that's it, thank you anyway.

Hello!!!!!!!!

Omg thank you so much I'm soooo glad you like my work 🥹❤️

HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGH this ask has been on my mind since it first popped up jfc you know how to torture me.

I have been working on a small fic too with a similar topic, it's not going to be that long as my other work but I think you'll find it enjoyable too hehe. ... if I ever get back to it. heheheh.

ajkghasjgha anyways, let's get right into it.

warnings: angst. mentions/implications of death and unaliving someone :s. naoya is really cruel when referring to his unborn child.

Happy reading!

“If we ever have a daughter, I would like her to be named Naomi”

Is the first thought that crosses Naoya’s mind upon learning that his wife is expecting a daughter.

But beyond that, there is no excitement. No glee in his eye upon learning he’s to become a father in just a matter of months, his seed finally taking root after many dutiful attempts.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a cute name. And I always thought it was adorable how your family named the children after their parents. You are no exception, Naoya.”

He should be happy, right? Glad that his efforts ultimately paid off.

“That’s not too cheesy, is it?”

“…I think I’ll be happy just to have a family with you, regardless of what the baby is named.”

That he was to have the cherished family he always dreamt of having with the love of his life, after so many years of solitude…

Except he wasn’t.

Because his wife, the one carrying his child, wasn’t you.

…

…

…

Ever since he lost you, for a lack of better words, nothing has been the same.

“A daughter… of all the possibilities. Let’s just hope she’s strong.” His father would say, disappointed by the announcement. Naoya remains quiet, uninterested to respond but still deep in thought.

“Do you think they’ll look like you?”

“I hope not.”

“Gee, why not? I know I haven’t seen pictures of you as a baby, but I’m sure you were a cute one!”

Because I want them to look like you.

The sole purpose of his futile life was gone. And with it, any semblance of concern. Care for all that happened around him, or anyone for that matter.

Including his supposed partner, the woman the Zen’in assigned him to marry and continue their legacy. Even when she stood before him, seeking comfort, or at least encouragement after seeing the doctor, to Naoya… she was simply not there.

“Naoya-sama.” She’d call to him once in the privacy of their room, right after the doctor had left. The woman named Taeko, had always been… loyal, meek, submissive. Never one to retort or do anything that wasn’t to please him.

Yet, as much as she had fooled his family, Naoya was still able to see right through her.

Taeko didn’t care about him; no, not at all. The only thing she truly she cared about was the heir. The money that came along with his title, the financial security this meant for her…

More so now that she was pregnant; dictating that even when divorced, she would never have to work a day in her life.

Perhaps if he hadn’t discovered what love was, then maybe he would’ve struggled to discover her true intentions. Unfortunately for them, he had met you, with whom he learned what it was to be happy for once in his life… a teaching that will forever live on within him, naturally making this marriage almost impossible to coexist with.

As well as painful, remembering that this is all he had left of you, besides memories.

Naoya keeps quiet even when his wife calls for him yet again, not bothering to lift his gaze from whatever it was that took his attention, nor requesting her to proceed.

She takes his silence as her cue to continue.

“I know having a daughter wasn’t in the plans, but…” Taeko said, stepping closer to him. Just a few inches away from touching him… “I am still excited to welcome this new stage in our life.”

Of course she is. Her future is firmly set, regardless of his family’s ideals and the baby’s gender.

“I was actually thinking of naming the child after you, to follow your clan’s tradi—”

“You will not do such thing.” Naoya scowls, swiftly turning around and pushing her away, the burning look of his enraged eyes reveals she’s reopened a painful wound she’ll perhaps never comprehend.

Nor care to do so, believing instead that his anger came from her supposed failure to bring a male heir onto the Zen’in clan; and not because of the privilege—no, the right she’s stripping away from you.

Because you are the only one that deserved to be the mother of his children, the one to name them, love them, raise them…

Not this poor excuse of a leech.

“I heard you were having a child… congratulations, Naoya.” Ranta begins, partially unsure on how to approach the future father, or to do so at all… eventually settling to go through with it anyway. An announcement like this must make anyone happy, right? “Although I never expected your first child to be a girl! I mean… I always thought you’d have a bo—”

“This isn’t what I want, and you know that.” Naoya coldly cuts through Ranta’s words, making him flinch. “So, spare me the theatrics.”

Ranta swallows, he is amongst the few, if not the only, who knows the truth, the depths of his relationship with you:

Or your supposed fate.

And how angry he got when he knew the truth… or what he suspected, anyways.

Your disappearance wasn’t a simple coincidence, a misfortune of fate.

It was a necessity for the Zen’in’s plans; you quickly became nothing less than a hindrance once Naoya announced his intentions of marrying you.

They couldn’t permit a woman of your background to become Lady of the House. An unruly, opinionated girl that went against every single one of their beliefs. Nor could they allow you to free Naoya from their grasp.

And so, they did what was necessary. Get rid of their obstacle, call it a simple disappearance, cold feet as others assured, and let everything fall back into place.

Leaving Naoya behind with his cruel family, yet again.

But they’d never admit it. They would just say that your family decided to search for better opportunities elsewhere, you tagging along.

Yet, the body of an unidentified woman found in the middle of a forest near your home would indicate—

“—What are you going to do?” Ranta asks.

“There’s nothing for me to do.” Naoya frowns. “The only person I ever loved, the one person I should’ve never let go… is gone, and now, I’m stuck in this nightmare, alongside a woman that wants nothing from me but my money. Just like everyone always is.”

Ranta wishes to deny his accusations, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to his grieving friend. It would insult him, and you.

“…But…”

“But what?” Naoya retorted.

“…Well, you should at least… consider the baby. They—they shouldn’t be held accountable for what their mother has—”

“Don’t even dare call that thing my child.” He coldly declares. “It may have my name, but that thing is not mine. What assurance do I have that it is? She could’ve easily bedded anyone to get the job done!”

“Naoya! You— you shouldn’t say that!”

“Can you prove the contrary?”

“No—but it’s not right to make these assumptions either!”

“Then what do you suggest, dear friend of mine?”

“I… I think you—"

Have to let her go.

It becomes clear to Ranta how gravely he had underestimated the wound your absence had inflicted on Naoya’s heart—but perhaps he never wanted to admit such thing, for it would only remind his friend of what he once had and now lost forever.

But no matter how much he wished to act the fool, there was no hiding his heightened destructive tendencies, his aggravating isolation, which he already did with people he didn’t like, rising tensions between members alike, forcing them to steer clear of Naoya if they wished to live another day; or pester his father about the misbehavior of his son, forcing him to burden his wife with duties of cheering him up, or something if she wished to stay at the estate—

All for naught, for she had effectively ceased to exist the moment she announced her pregnancy. For the following 9 months, Naoya wouldn’t look her in the eye, even when sleeping in the same bed. Not that there were many opportunities to do so, for he eventually confined himself to whatever other room was available, officially dictating their marriage as unsalvageable.

Some took it as a reflection of his disappointment, a rightful reaction to have towards a female successor.

But Ranta knew better. Those close to him knew the truth.

He was openly reproaching his wife for having taken your place.

So naturally, he wasn’t there when Taeko went into labor. He wasn’t attentive to her calls, desperate pleads of companionship and support—he simply walked past her cries as she gave birth to his child and headed straight into the training grounds, just what he had exuberantly done these past few months to distract himself.

Yet, as much as he wished to run away from his reality, he wouldn’t be able to escape his duties, forced by relatives alike to go and meet the mother of his daughter to officially recognize her. Regardless of the brewing animosity between the two, if there were no other suitable candidates, this baby was still to be the future of the Zen’in, and thus, necessary to name.

Naoya doesn’t bother to wonder on who’d the child would look like the most, still, he knows he’ll hate it even more if she ends up a carbon copy of her mother—would it even matter if she took more after him instead?

Nonetheless, curiosity manages to get the best of him when entering the room where his wife and child awaited, walking past the midwives and straight to his so-called partner, leaning close to the small bundle wrapped in a white blanket, making up his mind in effectively cutting her out of his life if she ends up looking like Taeko.

But when he begins to get a glimpse of her small face…

The most unexpected happens.

As if the child knew her father was near, she slowly opens her eyes, revealing a golden gaze that reinstates her relationship to him—followed by a small patch of his black hair on top of her head, the shape of his eyes…

But most importantly, the words you once confided to him during the intimacy of the night.

“I want them to have your eyes. Your nose. Your hair. Your smile. I want the world to see all the things I love from you through our children.”

As well as your burning desire to have children that looked just like him, even when he hoped otherwise.

He doesn’t know what it was. Certainly not the excitement of having a life permanently intertwined with a woman he didn’t love; but something about your memory, how much you desired this moment, the innocence that engulfed such child, one that he only thought possible through you, his features shown through her, and how vulnerable she felt once in his arms…

Naoya found it unnecessary to wonder what kind of reaction you would have, still, he liked to imagine the brightness in your face, the love in your eyes, the grin on your lips: to be overjoyed to finally have a family with him, eagerly waiting to live out the future that waited for the three.

If this is the way you’d continue to live on, then he’d honor such memory; one last insult to the family that had continuously hurt him over and over again, through merits they would never wipe away, no matter how much they’d try—

“The name, for the child.” The midwife asks, moving closer to Naoya.

Under his own conditions.

“Y/N— Y/N Zen’in.” Naoya declares, softly looking down onto the child. “That will be her name.”

“Wh—What!?” The mother gasps, quickly understanding the implications behind his selection, followed by a futile attempt to make him reconsider, stop him from removing her existence!

But he had long erased her from his consideration, declaring that she was to have no relationship with the child, opting to raise her himself, his sole successor; Taeko would have whatever she needed to live a comfortable life, but that was it.

Naoya would give his daughter all that she needed to strive as a sorcerer, or whatever else she’d decide to pursue.

He’d swore to love her and raise her, protect her from the cruelties of this world, do all in his power to make her happy… but most importantly:

Treat her as if she had been yours.

Essentially, dunno if I managed to convey that, yes; you were killed. an act that scared your family away and left Naoya without knowing what ever happened.

Also, I'm debating whether to write a small epilogue hehe. I have written a bit extra after this but decided to cut it out.

AND OF COURSE the name... originally I was going to name his wife Kayako but I've decided to take advantage of the animosity we feel against the name Taeko and there you have it :))) 🖕 bye Taeko.

Ngl this was sad for me to write; I always hated/enjoyed the topic of Naoya marrying off someone else because of reasons, though it was clear he always longed for you and viceversa. Or not. I just like angst 😭 and fortunately, this isn't the last time we're going to see something like this :) I do have something I'm working on, I just gotta connect the dots. I intend it to be quite short anyways.

Anyhow, thank you so much for sending in this ask!!! 😭 it was such a treat to torture myself with.

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!! ❤️❤️

[marksbear]

Whenever you have time, can you do Kazan Yamaoka/the Oni. I have never played or seen any videos but I’m thinking of possibly playing sometime in the future.

If you have any tips it would be greatly appreciated

-🐙

Okay so my first fic back officially! I’m in a way better place than I was. It was a huge family issue with my mothers side so. All is good now!

Happy late Father’s Day and all that!

KAZAN YAMAOKA “THE ONI” X MALE READER

-He learned how to be gentle with you.

-Anytime the both of you are in the trial together he will give you free gens and hatch.

-You watching him brutally chase the other survivors.

-He let’s you ramble on and on as he cleans his blade.

-One time he had slashed you from the back because you were doing a gen. But when you had turned around and he saw who you was he felt so guilty.

-Many of the killers and survivors were shocked to know that you two were married before getting stuck here.

-You showing him the survivors that you don’t like before any trial. Like the ones who was being mean to you or etc he goes for them first.

-Let’s you touch his mask.

-He gets butterflies in his stomach anytime you call him pretty. Even with all his scars and his other flaws.

-He had to warm up to affection and the sweet words.

-He likes to trace your face and hands with his fingers because one he likes to compare the size and see how fragile you actually are. And two because he just like feeling of your warm skin against his cold one.

-Him trying to avoid you the best he can during his blood fury.

-You randomly giving him a hair clip to keep his hair out of his face. At first you was just did it as a joke, but you were surprised to see him actually wearing and using them.

-He will let out a deep groan or a sigh if he’s upset or irritated at you.

-You always catch him off guard when your just randomly and casually standing next to him. It actually spooks him a bit.

-Very overprotective and possessive of you. He gets jealous very fast.

-He gets bad at you for helping someone with a gen of getting someone off hook. He was jealous about how you gave them attention.

-He likes to randomly rest his forehead against yours before he has to go kill in a game.

-One time he was very jealous and mad he shoved you inside a locker and made sure you couldn’t get out until he calmed down.

-He can’t really talk so he just makes random sounds that comes close to saying your actual name.

-Loves the height difference.

-Stares at you intensely and randomly.

-He loves to scare the living hell out of you during games.

-Watching him brutally Mori a survivor because they had pushed you away to be left for dead. Little did they know they just pushed you into your husband.

-He acts like he hates getting affection and babied but he secretly loves it.

-If a killer kills you in a game he would be so pissed and petty at them.

-When you escape a game he’s just waiting in the forest by the fire waiting for you holding back the excitement that you survived.

-Likes to randomly stand above you so you have to look up at him. It gives him butterflies and he loves it so much.

-Likes the color pink.

THE END

[mamawasatesttube]

oooooh you wanna do the Kal and Kon fic sooooo badlyyyyyyyy ooooooooh

I DO... i really do... ouuuughghhhhhh they make me feel ways!!!!! souperfam save me... save me souperfam... (here have a little more of it just for funsies :3c)

--

Kon’s jaw sets into something firm and unhappy. He doesn’t shrug Clark’s hand off his shoulder, but the thought clearly runs through his head as he stares at Clark’s wrist. He scowls.

“I didn’t need help,” he insists, dragging his eyes back up to Clark’s face. “I was fine.”

Clark lets out another slow breath between his teeth. How does he make Kon understand that sixteen year olds, emancipated minors in the eyes of the state or not, should not be living in Suicide Slum, being exploited for free labor in exchange for housing, and getting targeted for being superheroes every single day?

“I wouldn’t call the place you were living ‘fine’,” he says delicately, and shakes his head. “Kon, if you’d just—I’m sorry I didn’t think about where you were staying sooner, with Cadmus having vanished during the war and all—”

“What are you talking about, man?” Kon’s face is even redder. Is he … ashamed? That makes no sense. “I’m no one’s responsibility! You had so, so much else going on, and I’m not—the last thing I wanna be is some extra burden on you! I’ve always been in charge of me, myself, and I. You don’t gotta suddenly start thinking you gotta handle my room and board or whatever! I don’t want you to!”

“Kon.” Clark runs his hand through his hair. He should’ve asked for this talk to be over lunch. With the sun gone, he’s suddenly aware that he’s just… so tired. “I have never once considered you a burden. You’re family. And family lean on each other in times of need.”

Kon’s lower lip juts out in a slight pout as he glares at the golden metal under their feet. It only makes him look younger, and Clark wants to hold him just as badly as he wants to shake him until he understands.

“You’ve saved my life before, many times,” he adds. “In Pokolistan, for one. When the Tribunal kidnapped me, for another. Or I was sick thanks to Encantadora, for a third. I needed help, and you, Steel, and Supergirl were there for me.”

He’s going to ask, is it really so hard to think I want to be there for you, too?

But something in what he just said was the wrong thing to say, because Kon flinches again. He does shrug Clark’s hand off his shoulder now, turning away. “Yeah, but that’s not the same! You don’t have to—!”

Clark doesn’t understand. Why is it so hard to tell Kon that people who care about him want to take care of him? Why does he find that so hard to believe?

He thought Kon was okay, until now. He had friends—Dubbilex, Roxy Leech and her father, Kon’s manager, and that reporter, Tana, who he was sweet on. Wasn’t he okay? Did they not—were they not good to him? Or was it something at Cadmus? He had Guardian, there. Clark trusted Jim Harper. Surely he was a good mentor to Kon, and not…

Was it his death that did this? Did Kon get so twisted up in his own head because of grief? Clark doesn’t know, and he can’t know unless Kon talks to him.

“I don’t have to what, Kon?” he asks.

Kon actually stamps his foot like a child. It leaves a slight dent in the globe’s metal; Kon’s cheeks flush red again, and with a dull bong! the metal pops back into place.

“Nothing! It’s just—I don’t want you, or anyone, trying to ‘take care’ of me! I can take care of myself!”

Something in Clark’s patience frays, and he snorts. “Clearly not always!”

Kon looks like he’s just slapped him.

[importantgalaxyrunaway]

the snap (Matt Murdock x fem-reader )

Summary: after the blip Matt was blipped away. But what happens when he shows up after everyone comes back?

Part 2 Warnings: angst, I mean it this time ok? I teared up writing this. But with fluff it has a happy ending trust me. Im dyslexic so there are probably/definitely going to be spelling errors. (I’m trying yall. Let me know how I did my first fic for Matt I think I’m going to make a part 2. Please comment if you can and reblog are appreciated if you want ❤️) mentions of pregnancy and childbirth and children

My eyes take in the childrens bedroom. It was small and quant but cozy. The nightlights lit up the room and my five year old daughter was layed down on the soft pastel blankets. I sit down on the side of her bed. She was so beautiful, her sweet brown eyes and brown hair. Her name was angel Murdock, She resembled Matt so much, sometimes it even hurt to look at her. It showed his best attributes on her. Even though she was only five years old she was already fearless, the teachers at the preschool always say she’s already getting in fights with the bullies in the class, no fist fights yet thankfully. It was her bedtime so you were finishing up reading a story to her about a princess and prince who fought a dragon.

“And they lived happily ever after the end” I kiss her forehead. And get up from her sleepy form.

“mommy, why do all the other kids have dads?”

Her question struck me in the heart. Leaving a wound size I couldn’t even patch up after patching up so many of Matt’s wounds. But I remain calm and collected like her words were just a simple question. Which they were, she’s just a curious child, there is no way that she knows how deeply I am affected by them. I twist my diamond ring on my finger and bite my lip trying to figure out how to answer this question without terrifying her. I can’t lie to her, I promised I would never lie to her.

“Angel, your father….went away. Hes gone he went with another half of the universe”

“will he be comeback?”

“no, no he won’t” I answered quietly trying to keep myself from sobbing. God I feel so weak, it’s been five years! Fiver years and I still can’t get over his death

“did he leave because of me?”

“no! No, he never knew about you sweetie. He was taken before he knew”

I take a shaky breath and kiss her on the forehead “goodnight” I leave her now asleep form and creep to the kitchen. I look down and the sink and I can’t take it anymore. Grief racks my body as sobs come out in waves. Why? Why did you have to leave I know you didn’t do it on purpose but why? It’s so unfair. Mathew I miss you. I know The city needed but mainly I needed you. I bring my knees up to hug my chest. I feel so weak, so fucking weak it’s been 5 years and I still haven’t recovered. I tpull myself together and wipe my tears mainly because I hear noises outside. A lot of noises. Screams, cries, laughter, sobs. I run to the window and open the curtain. Hundreds and hundreds of people are flooding the streets. Some are hugging, kissing, others are just staring in disbelief. Poeple are running in all directions and so so many of them are confused. Who are these people? Where did they come from? Could they he the ones who were snappe—

Knock! knock! knock!

the noise of someone at my door shattered my trail of thoughts like a broken mirror, breaking me of my trance. Who on earth. Or any planet for that matter would be calling to me at this hour? I tentatively get up. Cross the room and open the door, I was not prepared.

there. Right there stood my husband dead for 5 years after the blip. He stood in his lawyer suit in the doorframe. Just as he was before he left. He’s exactly the same. To him no time has passed at all. But I’m sure he’s heard it’s been 5 years on the streets. My body is rigid from shock utter shock. He takes off his red glasses so I can see his face again. A small gasp escapes my mouth as my eyes lay upon him again. Hes so gorgeous it actually hurts. Makes my heart ache. To say I felt conflicted would be an understatement I was downright a wreck inside. He so damn pretty. Was all I could really think. my shaky hand reaches up and caresses his face as if feeling he’s actually there and this isn’t some hallucination.

“sweetheart, I’m real” he smiles

“I-i Matt you were dead—you-you—oh!” I choke out in sobs

I seizes his head and he walks closer to me closing the door. I kiss him desperately like a woman starved. The kiss is searing and leaves us gasping for air. As soon as we break the seal we dive into it again and I let out a small whimper that allows him to slip his rougue into my mouth. I immediately submit to him and let him take the dominance. After sometime in a log swaying kiss. We stumble towards the couch where he tries to explain to me what happened but with me kissing his neck desperately it’s hard for him. In the five years he was gone I never took a lover. I couldn’t bring myself to. I was always thinking about Mathew even if he was just in the back of my mind. Especially as I walked down the more dangerous streets of Hells kitchen without him.

“sweetheart—sweetheart— “ he lets out a small groan that is music to my ears “are you going to let me know what happened or let me explain” he laughs.

I pull back and bip my lip “sorry”

”I know five years have passed someone on the street told me that after they did I ran to find you I’m sorry—“ his head tilts to the side as if he’s picking up something “there’s another heartbeat in the apartment”

I take his hands “Matt this is a lot to take in I know but….”

“y/n you can tell me anything” the way my name rolls of his toung sounds like honey. He runs his finger over my silk nightgown, his favorite fabric. He takes his time training my figure and them cup up to claps both my hands again “anything”

Reassured now I start my tale “the day of the blip was also the day I found out I was pregnant. Turns out half the universe was blipped away. You’ve been gone for five years now. The pregnancy was hard, half the doctors were gone, you were gone. Without many people to support it was hard but, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who looks so much like you. I named her angel Murdock.”

he’s silent for a bit. I feel sorry I know how much it is to take in “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you sweetheart. I left you and everyone behind. God I feel so guilty.”

“Mathew there is nothing to apologize for! You couldn’t control it!”

We’re silent for a bit and I wonder if he’s listening to angel’s heartbeat. He beams “I can’t believe I’m a father.” He laughs “ironic isn’t it?”

“what is?”

“the devil is the father of an angel” he muses. His face is bright and happy

“I never thought of it that way” I ponder “she’s already fearless like you”

“Hm, maybe not a good thing. But she sure has the Murdock fighter genes. I’m just sorry I missed the pregnancy and everything”

“well we could always try again?”

“I’d love that” he purrs into my ear in his deep voice. And his head rests in the crook of my neck as he leans into my body. And I’m so so starved for touched after all these years I hold onto him like he’s the last thing in the world. I practically melt into his touch as I haven’t been intimate like this in so long.

“don’t leave me” i whisper

“no sweetheart” his strokes my hair “im never leaving you again”

it feels so comfy with his bodyweight on mine on the couch we don’t even bother to move to the bed as we fall asleep there that night not wanting for a second to leave each other’s arms. It would be hard to explain to to angel who this man she never met was will figure that out in the morning. Things are always better in the morning. No things are always better now that’s he’s back. Everything seems fixed, my whole world.

[randomness-is-my-order]

Considering you like mlb.

What's your opinion on the whole "Marinatte and Co. keeping Gabriel bring monarch a secret from adrien" thing? Cause man it's made adrienette more icky to me, cause yeah ik mari has her reasons but idk 😅

before i answer anon, just know that when i say i’m into mlb, i mean that after being disappointed by the canon media i have exclusively engaged with the fandom output (fics, art, some analyses) and stopped watching the show post like the fourth season. xP

my opinion on the “marinette and others keeping adrien out of the loop about how his FATHER was the main antagonist of the show for multiple seasons and actively harmed him both inside and outside his superhero identity to keep him ignorantly happy and let him believe his pos dad was a hero” is that it is some truly spectacular bullshit. idk how the show is proceeding from this pithole it is has dug for itself but the very fact that adrien’s kept in the dark about such a crucial piece of information by the very people he trusts the most is gonna sit sourly on anyone’s tongue who cares even remotely for his character and even marinette’s, for that matter.

i think it is really ironic that one facet of adrien we are shown to affect him most negatively is when he is kept out of secrets and alienated in terms of information and we went through a whole arc about ladybug learning to keep chat noir in the loop and then she goes and repeats the same process, only this time it’s so much worse. i’m assuming she’s doing this for “both” chat noir and adrien but it’s especially egregious for adrien since marinette/ladybug KNOWS how poorly gabriel treated his son. idk man, i think the writers could have resolved this so much better than bypassing the confrontation (chat noir vs gabriel) that so many of us had been awaiting.

and of course, marinette’s just a kid with absolutely too much on her plate and she’s probably feeling very guilty about all of this and there will be an eventual blow-up of the secrets kept but here, the drama of the situation matters less than maintaining the integrity of the narrative which was already compromised during last season’s finale. everything done now has to grasp at straws to reach a point that compensates for the absence of adrien’s involvement in the downfall of his own father and subsequent matyrdom and the choices ladybug and others took in the wake of it but honestly? i’m not sure the writers will handle the gravity of such choices with enough weight for me to be compelled by whatever character development they show.

adrien’s agency has been repeatedly compromised, mishandled, disrespected over the course of the show and it continues to be so, so i don’t blame you for being uncomfortable with adrinette in the current season because i feel the same way. being manipulated and thereby controlled “for his own good” is not a good look and all the history we have on his character and gabriel’s makes it really harrowing as a plot point to watch unfold (which is why i’m not gonna). until and unless adrien is treated like a person capable of making his own decisions, allowed to know everything that relates to him, allowed to be a person who can react in whichever the fuck way he wants to potentially devastating news, the relationship between adrinette in any form won’t restore the balance that has been off for seasons now.

atp anon, the fandom is a gift that keeps giving so go on ao3 and find a retelling of the recent seasons that are probably more faithful to both adrien and marinette than the show will ever be.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Idol!Yang Jeongin x F!Reader TW : Jeongin is mean ; reader insecurities ; breakup ; fluffy at the end though ; Word Count : 2.2k Request : @moon0fthenight : Can we do an aNNNNGGGSSTTTYYYY innie fic where reader is depressed but my man has been coming from home after a bad day and just takes hun it put on her, (like way bad) and everything comes down like her insecurities and stuff and she breaks up with hom but he begs her to stay A/N : Working on as many requests as I can!!! My request completion attempt will take a brief pause on the first week of July though so I can start working on Season 2 of Before You Fall!! But for now... ENJOY!! I feel like I kind of veered off the track of the actual ask, but it's still close and I hope you still like it!!

“I think work has just been really stressful for him lately.” Your phone was held between your shoulder and your ear as you worked on dinner, quickly cutting up the carrots as you listened to your mom. 

“Maybe you should try to do something special with him? Try to keep his mind off work for a bit.” She offered up, and you hummed in agreement, turning your phone on speaker as you set it on the counter. “A small date, just getting him out of the house. It worked wonders with your father and I, that’s how we’re still together after all this time. Sometimes stress just piles up, you know.” 

“Yeah… You’re right, I’ll try that.” You mumbled, setting down the knife and sighing heavily. “I’ll talk to you later, mom.” You said, quickly hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath. Jeongin was your first serious relationship, he was the first person that you could really see yourself with. You loved him, but sometimes he just… doesn’t show the same kind of empathy that you do. If Jeongin has a bad day at work, the rest of the evening would be just as stressful for you trying to please him. If you had a bad day at work, it was nothing, easily blown over. 

For some reason, Jeongin just assumed that since he made more money, his job was more important than yours. His stress was worse than yours. His emotions were more important. Everything he did, everything he felt took priority over you. At first you let it slide, you just loved him so much and you wanted him to be happy, you wanted him to know that you cared, but you felt like it was time for him to care about you. 

It’s not like your life was any easier just because you weren’t an idol, if anything, it was just as hard. You had to follow his schedules, making sure that dinner was done in time for when he got home even though you were never 100% sure when he’d be home. All of the guys knew about you, and when he was having relationship troubles, he could go to them for advice. You on the other hand had to keep it all a secret. No one could ever know that you were dating him, he wouldn’t be able to handle the scandals or the rumors. Your life was hard, and you were tired of pushing that all down for him, to make sure his life was simpler. 

“I’m home.” Jeongin sighed from the front door, kicking his shoes off, the rubber soles marking up the wall where they hit. Not that he cared, he’d just have you clean the walls or repaint them if he finally came to realize it. “Hyunjin kept coming at me about the dances, I can’t get it right.” He slumped down into his chair, running his hands over his face. 

“Well you just started learning the choreo two days ago… It’s not like you’re going to be a master at it immediately.” You responded, hoping that it would somehow make him feel better. “I got all the stuff to make your favorite dinner when I got off work. Do you want some?” You thought that maybe bringing up your own work would make him ask about it, pique his curiosity about how your day went. 

“That’s great, babe. Get me a big bowl, I’m starving.” He sat up a little in his chair, and you nodded slowly, biting your lip as you walked over to the stove. Of course he didn’t care, he wasn’t even slightly interested in your life. It was all about him, always about him. Did you even exist in the relationship for anything other than cooking his breakfasts and dinners and washing his clothes? He didn’t even touch you anymore, not unless he was super bored and had nothing else to do. 

You placed his bowl down and then grabbed your own, sitting across from him at the table. “Work was awful today… the customers were rude and my manager was short tempered and shitty because I wasn’t working fast enough…” Sure, he hadn’t specifically asked for the details, but maybe he’d show some sort of concern or maybe even compassion after hearing about your day. 

His eyes rolled as he groaned. “It’s just retail, babe. Don’t be such a cry baby about it.” He said and you once again bit your lip, dropping your gaze into your bowl. “I have managers to listen to, Bangchan, I’ve got reporters up my ass all the time. I’d love to have it as easy as you do.” He took another bite of the soup, humming softly to himself. “Finish your dinner so we can watch our show.” He motioned towards your bowl that you had left untouched.

“I was thinking that… maybe we can go out… on a date or something?” You mentioned, picking up your spoon once more and taking a small bite of the soup. “Just to take your mind off of work… and to give me a small break from my job.” Your feet were tapping nervously under the table, your hand shaking as you held the spoon. “Even if it’s just the park… to walk around or something… I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long and…” 

You trailed off, your eyes moving lower to look at your lap when you heard Jeongins sigh. “I literally just said I constantly have reporters following after me… and you suggest going out together?” His bowl was lifted to his lips as he took a long sip of the broth before placing the bowl down again, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel him looking at you. “I’m sorry that I’m busy and I can’t just work 6 hours and come home and relax. Some of us don’t have it that easy.” 

Everything you did was easy in his eyes. He didn’t know how you felt, he didn’t know what it was like. “It’s not… easy…” You muttered, your teeth pressing harder into your bottom lip as you tried to keep it from trembling. “I just wanted to spend time with you…” 

“I’m not stopping you from spending time with me, but for Christ’s sake, I don’t want to hear about how awful your work is when my job is way harder than yours.” There it was again. Why was it a competition of who’s job was the worst? Why did it matter? Why couldn’t you just be there for each other? “My day was awful enough as it is, and then I want to just enjoy dinner and a movie with you and I have to hear about how rough it is to ring up a couple customers. It’s kind of annoying.” 

Annoying… you were annoying…? “Just because I’m not dancing and singing… it doesn’t mean my job isn’t hard. You don’t even know what it’s like…” You mumbled under your breath, but his eyes slightly widened as he leaned forward across the table to hear you better. 

“Say that again… Speak up, I hate it when you mumble.” He groaned, reaching over to tilt your chin up. “And look at me when you’re talking so that I can at least try to read your lips if I can’t understand you.” Did he not even notice that you were trying not to cry right now? 

“I said that… You don’t know what it’s like…” You said just a little louder now, and you could tell that he heard you, his finger falling from beneath your chin as he leaned back in his chair. “My boss is an asshole, I have to deal with customers that bitch and complain at me all day long, I barely even get a long enough break to breathe before I have to go back in and deal with it all over again. I come back home and I can’t talk to you about it because apparently my job and everything I do is shit to you. I’m so alone here and even if I had someone to talk to about how I feel, I couldn’t because no one can know about you and I being together… Even though it doesn’t even feel like we are.” You were breathing heavily as you looked at him, at least you hadn’t looked away yet. “Why are we together? I… I don’t even know… I… I want to break up.” 

Now those words hadn’t actually been planned, and they most definitely hadn’t been thoroughly thought over before they had left your mouth, but now they were out, hanging in the air above the table like a chandelier. “You… Want to break up?” He questioned, as if giving you another chance to take back those words, god, he wanted you to take them back, but he didn’t want to say anything yet… He needed to know if you actually meant them. 

So you thought it over, and you thought for what felt like a good bit before ultimately nodding your head. “There’s nothing here… for either of us… I don’t even know what we’re holding onto.” You sniffled softly before clearing your throat, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel so nervous talking to him, everything was finally out on the table. “I’m tired of competing… I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. You don’t even ask me how my days have been… it’s always all about you. I’m tired of giving my all and… not even getting 25% in return. I want to break up, Jeongin.” 

There were many things in this world that your heart couldn’t handle seeing, and one of those things were tears in Jeongins eyes. His fox-like eyes completely glossed over as twinkling tears trickled down his cheeks had your heart aching. “Please… Don’t leave me…” He shakily whispered, his hands folded on the table as his thumbs rolled over each other. “You’re… You’re my first girlfriend and… I’m still learning how to do this right.” He took a deep breath, coughing immediately afterward as the lump in his throat got larger. “I’m trying, and I’m always scared that I’m not doing enough… and I was right… I’m not doing enough. I’m doing everything wrong.” 

“Jeongin…” 

“But you are good enough!” He cut you off with the choked out declaration, his head finally lifting to reveal his puffy red eyes as his tears continued to fall. “A-Ask Chan hyung…. I never shut up about you. I annoy the hell out of everyone there because you’re all I talk about. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, and I’m so lucky I have you and I don’t want to lose you just because I’m an idiot.” 

“Jeongin… I…” 

“And work has just been really stressful lately.” He continued, and you knew that it would be pointless to try to get a word in while he was ranting, so you sat back in your chair, watching as he continued to sob, his lips trembling as he spoke, giving his words a sort of vibrato. “I don’t know why I try to compete… I know that your job sucks too… You can quit it… I want you to quit it… I don’t want to think of people treating you like that. I’ll support you, I’ll support us… And I know that you’re tired of hiding… And I’m tired of it too… I’m gonna talk to management. I want to post pictures with you, I want to show everyone our matching outfits, I want to show everyone how beautiful you are, how lucky I am…” His words broke at the end as his face fell back into his hands, his breaths becoming heavy and quick as his sobs grew silent and his voice became hoarse. “Don’t… Don’t break up with me, please… Just one more chance… I’ll be better… I promise.” 

You pushed away from the table and got up, watching his eyes widen with fear as he watched you, but you walked over to him, lowering down onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I didn’t know you cared that much…” You whispered, kissing his cheeks that were salty with the tears that he had spilled. “I love you, Innie…” 

His arms snaked around you, holding you on him, making sure that you won’t even try to get up. “I love you too… I love when you call me that…” The sigh of relief was audible even after his face was hidden against your shoulder, his voice muffled against the sleeve of your hoodie. “I don’t think I’ve panicked that much since right before we debuted.” He chuckled nervously, his eyes wide as he looked up at you. “Were you… Really going to break up with me though…?” Your own eyes wavered before you hesitantly nodded yes and then his eyes somehow widened even more. “Yeah well… You can’t do that. I won’t allow it. Next time you think about breaking up with me, talk to me first, and if I’m being an asshole, hit me… And if I’m still being an ass, then you can threaten me with leaving.” He took a deep breath before letting it out in one heavy huff. “Ugh, my eyes feel like they’re gonna fall out. Come… Come, it’s cuddle time, and we’re watching our movie and you’re not allowed to move unless it’s for a bathroom break or a snack trip.” He planted kisses all along your cheeks, pulling you closer every time you tried to move away. “No! Receive my love! All 100% percent of it! I’m never letting you go! You’re mine!” 

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

Venom

Pairings: father Miguel O’Hara & gn!teen!venom!reader, Venom x teen!reader

Imagine: what it would be like to be Miguel’s son and a spider-man along with venom, spider-venom? Idk guys

Warnings: mention of death, mention of parent death, mention of injuries, father Miguel O’Hara, idk what else, not proofread

A/N keep in mind the first part of this is before Gabriella died. Second I am aware that Miguel has a son somewhere out there in the comics, third don’t mind me referencing Moon Knight in some parts, lastly this is actually based on one of my ocs, but I made this fic x reader instead :)

Side note: I did imagine reader to be male (like my oc is) but I made it gn!reader so that everyone can read it

You lived on earth-TRN1042 (is that the name, it was when I searched it up, might be wrong tho), with you father Miguel O’Hara and your sister Gabriella O’Hara

Your canon event as tragic as it is was to watch as your father died — which would eventually lead you to become Spider-Man

You’d been bitten a few days prior and was still adjusting to the whole power thing

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, Here’s the thing Miguel (earth-928) lost his family on his earth and when he found out a way to go into other earths he found your earth. The one where he still had a happy family

His original plan was to just watch from afar, but when your father died, Miguel made the rash decision to take your fathers place, which didn’t go as smoothly as he thought, after all you had watched your father die

At first you thought you were going crazy when you first saw Miguel, apparently he’d been with your sister all day. You didn’t trust him one but, you knew for a fact your father was dead so when you saw him playing with Gabriella and her dolls you were in shock, you’d told Gabriella to go to her room, once she did the interrogation started, you’d felt your father take his last breath so you sure as hell would find out who this imposter was.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your father”

“No, no, no, no, I watched my father die, who are you?”

Miguel knew you wouldn’t stop your interrogation until you knew what was going on, this led to him giving you a long explanation about different earths, his family and everything in between, how he got his powers and literally his whole life story, only to ensure that you would let him stay, he wouldn’t stay against your wishes

You let him stay, not only because you knew what loss felt like, but you hadn’t told Gabriella yet and you didn’t know how you could tell her that her actual father was dead, and it would prove to be good to have an adult raise your little sister with you, so you let Miguel stay, eventually you saw him as your father too, Gabrielle being none the wiser when it came to her fathers true identity.

The first time you called Miguel “dad” or something alike, he was overjoyed

Miguel didn’t really enjoy you going out to beat bad guys up but he never told you not to, he knew why you did it so he never stopped you, and he used to do it so it would be kinda hypocritical of him to force you to stop, instead he’d be at home, and every time you snuck in through your window you could find Miguel in the living room ready to patch you up, telling you of every time for being reckless and getting hurt so many times

Don’t be offended when he calls you an “reckless idiot” (he’d probably say it in Spanish though) when you get home nearly half dead (Miguel might of overreacted a bit)

It was around this time when you started to get memory gaps from time to time, some fights you didn’t even remember how you defeated the enemy, and some days you woke up in an alleyway, (kinda like Steven in episode one of moon knight)

Before it all went to shit I’d like to think that Miguel gave up on the spider-man part of him and was just a single dad with his two kids working a boring job — not at Alcehmax, he won’t do that mistake again

You all lived rather peacefully for the most part, you’d help Gabriella get better at football/soccer, going to an ice cream shop every time after one of Gabriella’s matches, loss or win didn’t matter there was always ice cream after a match.

And then in a single day it all got taken away from you, in just a couple of minutes all you had ever known was gone

Your whole earth started to disappear along with the people in it, you’d been out on your daily spider-man patrols when it happened, you saw your father/Miguel running with Gabriella and so instead of trying to stop whatever was happening — or more like knowing you couldn’t stop it as you had no clue what it was — you went into the direction of your family.

And when your sister disappeared you didn’t know what to do anymore, Miguel at least able to think somewhat took your hand and soon enough you were on earth-928, and from a screen you watched as your dimension disappeared into nothingness

This left many questions and problems but the question you were mostly focused on was the fact that you hadn’t disappeared

Turns out the spider that bit you had bonded (idk if this works but it does now) with a symbiote — Venom — who was from another earth, and when the spider bit you, you’d not only gained spider-powers but Venom transferred over to you and the two of you bonded, this changed your DNA and caused you to be able to coexist on your own earth along with the earth that Venom was from (does this make sense ain’t got a single clue)

Turns out Venom hadn’t made an appearance (to your knowledge and Miguel’s) because he protected you whenever you couldn’t yourself, and all those memory gaps that you had was the times that Venom had taken over (you know kinda like Jake with Steven and Marc in Moon Knight)

Fast forward a bit and you’d joined the spider-society

You had learned to coexist with Venom, it took some time but it worked out in the end, at first people would think you were crazy as you yelled at nothing (except for you you were talking to Venom who was speaking inside your mind), a lot of spider-people stayed away from you not wanting to be near Venom as he is supposed to be a villain, but when they realized you were one of the good guys they stopped avoiding you and Venom

Venom would deny it to his grave but he is extremely protective over you, if anyone hurt you he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt/kill/eat them

Miguel also became way more protective, after he lost Gabriella he only had you left and he would only send you out on the easy missions — that is until you snuck out on one of their worsts missions and got hurt because no one else new you were there — cue Miguel letting you go on dangerous missions so that you wouldn’t sneak out again and possibly die, at leas if he knew where you were he could make sure you didn’t die.

Not only did Miguel become more grumpy and strict with all the rules, you also become a lot more grumpy as you grieved your sister, and friends

And then all the shit with Miles happened but that’s for part 2,3 (part 2 siding with Miles, part 3 siding with Miguel idk which will come out first)

[phantomato]

Tom Riddle As A Parent: Why So Compelling?

(to me. Not meant to generalize.)

Tom-as-parent runs counter to canon in possibly baffling ways. He despises his own father and has no respect for his mother. He doesn’t have a confirmed romantic or sexual attachment to anyone at any point in the story—I’m disregarding Cursed Child here, as my canon is the original seven-book series.

Tom is ill-suited to parenting: we see him in a challenging job or unemployed but busy with his pursuit of power. His personal qualities include a lack of bedside manner, and he’s shown to tolerate putting on a polite face only when it serves him with people who have more power. Yet I’ve written Tom as a parent multiple times, including my longest work. The idea continues to compel me. What gives?

Canon Tom has no business being a parent—let me make it his business

Partly, I want this because it is just so unlikely to fit the character as we know him. Whenever a fic idea or characterization choice seems incongruous and wrong, my impulse as a writer is to wonder how to make it right. What shifts must take place for this person to do this thing?

I’ve long held that I am interested in a Tom Riddle who can feel love. Not that he loves easily or admits it to himself, but that he is a person with the ability to feel that emotion. Given that Tom can love, a child is an interesting place to explore that. How did the child come into his life? How did he reconcile himself to loving it? What shape does that love take? No matter the universe, some parts of Tom will always struggle to be a conventional parent.

This is a great path for Tom as an unintentional parent—kidnapping Harry of course, but also (my favorite) partnering with a single parent and navigating the family he gains as a side effect of that romance. Particularly coming into a teenage stepchild, which was an interesting writing experience because with an older child who remembered a deceased birth parent, I was free to give that Voldemort less personal responsibility for the kid. He could create something other than full parenthood in his relationship with Theodore Nott, where they came to understand and care for one another through their shared love for Nott Sr. I let Voldemort recognize his own unsuitedness to parenting and thus make compromises with it, and the relationship was overall more emotionally moving to me as a result. 

Tom Riddle will have an impact on any parenting that I force him to do. Because he’s not traditionally fit for it, the unique form his parenting takes is a chance to say so much about his character and the choices that he’s made in that universe.

Forcing Tom to reconcile with himself

It’s no mystery that Tom Riddle has parent issues. His mom dies while birthing him. He was raised in an orphanage. He kills his father. There are a lot of obstacles in the way of Tom having a healthy relationship with parenting.

In making him a parent, then, I’m asking his character to get with it real quick. There is a baby or a small child only growing older and more independent by the day; they are pulling their ideas of the world from him like a sponge sucking up water. He will have an influence on them. And what has Tom Riddle ever wanted more than influence?

Part of what I like about parent!Tom is asking what would happen to him if he took the prospect seriously. He is responsible for this kid, so he takes care of them. There must be many feelings there. After all, Tom went to his father seeking something. Magical heritage, sure, but he knew before he walked up that hill that he wouldn’t find it, and still he went. We can’t know anything with certainty (except in fanfic), but when writing him as a parent, I like to think that he might be changed when he’s forced to play the opposite role.

Tom with a child is a Tom who can possibly come to understand his parents or regret not getting to know them. He might see his mother’s care, to deliver her baby where he would live. He might see his father’s fear, at confronting his own trauma through the form of his child. He never got to learn what his mother might have taught him, and my own dislike of her aside, the character of Tom might miss her, forgive her, or never learn about her abuse. If he does know that his mother assaulted his father, it might spark his regret over committing that murder. And he Mrs. Cole as a caretaker as well, whose faults do not erase the intimacy of their relationship. All of these emotions can be explored via reflection as Tom experiences raising his child. He is making his own choices about being a parent, dissimilar or not to those made by Merope and Tom Sr. and Mrs. Cole, and facing unpleasant facts about his sympathy for their positions.

And all of this is equally as interesting to me when Tom is the child, or when he considers his feelings about his parents and mentors later in life. Tom’s hope to be a teacher likewise takes on more dimensions if we consider mentorship and influence on young people as relating to how he might feel about his own childhood, or what must change to make him suited for that responsibility. Tom-as-parent is particularly special as it features in fics that have helped define my characterization of him, and it is because the role is so unnatural for him, not in spite of it, that it inspires this kind of consideration.