#this week end seems suitable

[xjulixred45x]

Mark x male viltrumite reader. Where reader is sent to earth instead of Anissa since he is closer to marks age. With orders to get close to mark and spy on his progress. But starts to grow closer to mark and the earth.

WOOOOOOOooo-DRAMA! I LOVE THIS!

Also, unrelated, but defo Mark (of the series at least) give me HUGE Bisexual vibes

Mark Grayson/Invencible x Viltrimite! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: male

Warnings: spoilers from Both the comics and the series of Invencible, Reader has ISSUES and problems, but gets character devemplot, Viltrume culture, violence. Comfort/Fluff in the end.

• The Viltrumite empire was going through a great crisis. Well, maybe not to the same level of crisis as the plague, but it was definitely enough to make a big fuss. The reader found out because it was the most interesting thing they had had in many years.

• A Viltrum agent had not only withdrawn from his assigned mission on a primitive planet, but his son (an almost pure Viltrumite) seemed to refuse to continue with the mission (it seemed due to some kind of affection towards the species of that world. How absurd)

• For the same reason, there was a debate about who should be sent to check the boy's progress (if he made any progress in conquest) on the Earth.

• One of the first choices was Anissa, an elite warrior who everyone respected. However, the reader could not miss the opportunity to see such a unique case, curiosity was killing him. He then used his best charms to convince Thragg to let him go.

• Much to Anissa's chagrin, the quest was designed for the reader.

• However, what they didn't take into account was the peculiar way in which the reader planned to monitor the young Viltrumite.

• The earth was… .primitive. not Bad. Just primitive . It was what he expected, but it was suitable enough to blend in among the humans Grayson loved so much. From there, he would form his plan...

• Mark was having the worst week of his life.

• First the whole situation with Armstrong, his father, and now the Viltrumites may be coming after him and his family, his girlfriend broke up with him, he decided to leave school to focus solely on being a hero and he honestly felt miserable.

• Until one day, things changed.

• He was waiting for William at the fast food place, just wanting to have a “normal” time before getting back to the action. However, William seemed to be “fashionably late.”

• In those moments, while Mark was simply staring into space, thinking about his things, someone spoke to him. Or well, it seemed like he had already tried to talk to him and he hadn't realized. He was so tired...

• "-Hey! Are you okay man?”

• When Mark realized this, he turned to see a boy around his age, who looked confused at his lack of response, almost worried.

• Mark apologized for that and he and the guy (who is called “reader” apparently) had a friendly chat while he waited.

• He seemed like a very positive boy, a bit of that enthusiasm rubbed off on Mark. Reader said he came from out of state, wasn't on very good terms with his family, and wanted to basically start over in the city.

• Even if Mark was a little worried about the detached way the boy talked about his family, it felt good to talk to him. So when he offered to exchange numbers, he didn't really put up any resistance.

• How bad can it be to have a friend? At least he wanted to have one that wouldn't get screwed because of his superhero job...

• William eventually arrived, but when Mark was about to introduce him to the reader, he had already left. Queer. But then again, he was so tired lately that reader could have left while he didn't notice.

• Meanwhile, reader looked from the top of a water tower, playing a little with his phone's camera to focus on Mark and William leaving the premises, smiling to himself, before taking flight as quickly as possible in the opposite direction.

• Oh, Mark, you're in big trouble~

• From there, Mark and reader would chat relatively often, reader making sure to have a context consistent with his “situation” on earth. Whether it's to see some place in the city, to try some kind of food, even reader discovered that human sports are fun to watch! The more Blood, the better.

• Mark didn't really think Reader's behavior was strange, I mean yes, he ate a lot more than the average person, and he loved to scream in contact games (and scream very violently) but those were normal things in NORMAL guys, right?

• What was definitely not normal was that every time he and Reader went out in public, almost always, something happened where they needed Invincible, Mark swore it was just his damn luck again. Like when he was on dates with Amber, now was when he finally had a social life—

• The thing is that, it wasn't like that, the reader thoroughly studied all the villains in the city, memorized the possible dates of their robberies, and so he could see Invincible in action, it was incredible. His own source of entertainment (WHILE accomplishing your mission!)

• What he don't expect, though, was that at some point, this would stop feeling... good.

• There was one time, when they went to a park, that a villain was especially rude to Mark- I mean, to Invincible. Reader could see how the villain almost pulverized the bones in his left arm, the pain on Mark's face.

• And he no longer felt satisfaction.

• He felt guilt.

• Why was he putting him through that? Clearly this Viltrumite cannot carry out the invasion, he should have noticed that immediately (no, he NOTICED it immediately, but he was so into it out of curiosity and now he got attached--) and go back to the Viltrumites.

• Why did he feel that way? Why now?

• Why did he now feel empathy when Mark told him how conflicted he was about the future?

• Why did he get excited about these silly human activities?

• Why did he start avoiding places where Mark could get hurt when they went out again? Why did he feel bad lying to him?

• Oh no…no no no no no NO-

• Mark had seen many, many strange things, but seeing his new friend, fly through the skull of a sea monster, was definitely a lot to take in one day.

• But that wasn't even the worst thing, the worst thing was that he was wearing a Viltrumite uniform.

• And his whole world stopped. He didn't even feel angry or betrayed, just disappointed. He wanted to be disappointed. Stay away from him even if he was calling him, calling him by his name.

• Despite this, he did not resist when reader grabbed his hand trying to stop him, when he looked up, he did not see a crazy bloodthirsty warrior, not even someone like his father.

• He saw someone sad, regretful, a reader with the world in pieces...

• Because he realized that everything he ever learned, believed in, was wrong.

• Mark had been there before, in his position.

• he couldn't hate him, he couldn't leave him. He wouldn't do it.

• If we jump to the relationship headcanons directly, leaving aside the rocky start, you can bet there would still be drama.

• First of all, Debbie is quite skeptical about letting the reader live with her, Mark and Oliver, but seeing that he was now reduced to a kicked puppy made it easier.

• Mark tries to guide the reader in aspects of Earth culture that he couldn't before, now that he knows his context he can better teach him those concepts (things like his childhood memories, entertainment, ways of getting energy that don't involve killing the other person , etc.)

• To no one's surprise, Mark is very insistent that the reader not talk to Russel, he knows that if he finds out that there is another Viltrumite they will most likely want to open him up to see his weaknesses, so no.

• I think one of the best ways to bond with these two is to play video games, since then the reader can “fight” without really having to hurt themselves and thus learns to change their competitive nature.

• Reader is definitely the more flirtatious of the two, I don't set the rules, Mar doesn't really know how he does it until he remembers that Reader is probably much older than he looks (now he would like to forget that).

• Since they're both super humans, they get to spend a lot more time together (other than missions) and Mark honestly likes seeing the reader's expressions when they visit a new country. He was so used to all the planets looking the same, he didn't expect so much culture from such a small planet!

• Of course, just because the reader is working on being less violent does not mean that he has stopped fighting completely, sometimes Mark calls it as reinforcement, sometimes they both decide to train together.

• Ironically the greatest strength of their relationship is in domestic acts.

• Mark has taught the reader how to cook! Something like that, at least he doesn't cut the entire cutting board anymore. They even have a race to see who eats the fastest. Needless to say, the reader usually wins.

• At first, reader is very, very confused with physical affection, Mark would try to hug him from behind and he would Suplex him. But that is precisely the consequences of growing up with the Viltrumites.

• Now, ironically, reader is stuck to Mark like a tick, and Mark honestly adores him, he seems like a clingy dog. Except that said dog will rip your hand off if you insult Mark in front of him (he still finds it cute).

• There are times when the reader can't sleep, Mark feels like he walks from one side of his room to the other, how he sometimes falls out of bed, and he honestly doesn't blame him. He also has night terrors.

• sometimes Reader just looks behind and regrets EVERY day he didn't get away before, before he did those things, before he destroy so many's peoples lifes. No matter how many times Marks tell him he didn't know better, the Blood is something he NEVER loses ...

• So sometimes they just go into the living room, with a big bowl of ice cream, and cuddle until they're asleep. A nice domestic moment.

• Wow, no wonder Nolan left the mission. Love feels great.

• In general, a couple that has many battles ahead of them, but they will know how to resolve them. Together.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Mark really said "i can fix him" and it worked💀

[adoringaffliction]

Intruder

Charlie Walker x Reader

Warnings: dubcon, mask kink, ghostface, knife play, fingering, PnV, cream-pie, he's a literal murderer so…, petnames, praise, degradation, condescension

Summary: Your friend Charlie has liked you for a really long time, but he's done waiting for permission.

MDNI 18+

It started with chills. They ran up and down your spine continuously. Neverending, everpresent. Then you heard them. Footsteps creaking their way through your house. Empty except for you. Or so you thought. 

The first suitable hiding place that came to mind was your closet. So in you went. Disguised in between a sweater you forgot you owned and the dress you wore to your mom’s birthday brunch two years ago. 

The creaking continued. One by one. Calculated, careful steps until they stopped completely. You tried to contain your breathing. A task that had begun to prove difficult.

Through the slats of your closet doors you peered towards your bedroom doorway.

A figure cloaked in black stood ominously. You’d seen this getup. You’d seen it a hundred times over the past couple of weeks. It was all over the news. You’d begged your parents not to leave, but booked tickets were booked tickets you suppose. But now here you were. Alone, defenseless, and utterly terrified. This is not how you’d pictured yourself dying. You’d hoped it would be in your sleep, a million years from now. 

The figure stood without making a sound. The knife they held glinted in the moonlight from the window, the only light provided. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” they finally spoke in that deepened phony voice. You stiffened among your stale clothing, feet lined up with all of your other shoes. “Oh come on Y/n, it was only a matter of time honey. You knew this.” Your name. They knew your name. 

Suddenly it felt as if all of the breathable oxygen had vacated the premises and your lungs begged for the air they couldn’t have. A gasp. Involuntary, and yet so incredibly revealing of your ingenious hiding place. In what seemed like less than a split second the doors to your beloved closet were flung open and you were ripped from safety. 

“Please! I’m not ready to die yet! I have so much-” 

“Can it.” 

You collided with the chest of the cloaked grim reaper wannabe. The Ghostface killer everyone had begun to fear. A hand covered your mouth and a cold metallic reminder pressed against your throat. This was it. The end. 

��God do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Ghostface asked. The knife pressed closer to your throat and you let out a muffled cry. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.” 

Ghostface removed their hand from your mouth and almost instantaneously you cried out,”What do you want from me!?” 

“Oh Y/n do you really not know who I am?” They spoke into your ear. 

Suddenly you were spun around and thrown onto your bed. Out of fear you quickly crawled back as far as your headboard would let you. Into the mass of pillows and stuffed animals that crowded the head of your bed. 

Ghostface stood at the foot of your bed, the ghoulish mask mocking you as you folded in fear. Their gloved hand reached to the chin of the mask and pulled it off. Released from its confinement, dirty blonde hair escaped and cascaded around your attackers face and in the moonlight their features were revealed. Two deep set blue eyes and a straight but slightly sloped nose came into view. 

“Charlie?” You stammered. 

“C’mon Y/n. You thought that after teasing me and dangling everything I wanted in front of my face for years I wouldn’t finally crack?” Charlie’s regular voice now sounded from the figure, easing your fear only slightly before confusion and more dread began to settle in. 

This was Charlie Walker. One of your best friends. The sweet and awkward boy who talked about movies 24/7 and never seemed to hurt a fly. Yet now, he stood in front of you draped in a twenty dollar grim reaper costume carrying a hunting knife.

“Charlie- I- I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, you dumb bitch. Because you don’t listen to me. Ever,” Charlie hissed. He gripped your leg and quickly tugged your body towards his. “You use me Y/n. You let me fall over myself to try and please you and you sit and- and you watch!” He pointed his knife at you and the tears picked up their pace. “I’ve loved you- for years-” He gritted out. “And you tease me, you make me think that you like me and then you go and date these stupid fucking jocks.” 

“What are you-” 

“Shut the fuck up! It’s my turn to talk,” he snapped. “I was gonna be nice. I was gonna wait. But I’m tired of waiting, Y/n. While you parade around in those tiny skirts all day and these tiny pajamas all night.” His gloved hand slipped past the waistband of your pajama shorts and snapped them against your leg. An involuntary yelp escaped from your lips. “Do you know how unsafe it is that you keep your curtains open when you change? It’s almost as if you want people to see.” 

“Charlie-”

“What the fuck did I say about talking slut?!” He gripped your hair and tugged it until you came face to face with him. Cheeks tear stained and mouth agape from the sudden pain he suddenly smiled. “I was gonna be nice and gentle with you. I thought about this a lot. Laying you down on your bed, making you feel so good. But you toyed with me, so now I'm gonna toy with you.” He let go of your hair and you landed back on your bed. Charlie began to tug down your pajama shorts and you couldn’t stop the way your body pumped adrenaline through you. You’d always liked Charlie. He’d just never been confident enough to really treat you how he wanted to. Always submissive, never taking control. But this was a different side to him. He had your life in his hands, and for some reason it turned you on. 

“Jesus Christ," Charlie all but moaned out as he caught a glimpse of your panties. They were pink and lacey, barely covering anything and doing nothing to hide the wet patch that had begun to form. “God- you really are a fucking whore aren’t you. You like this shit huh?” Embarrassed, you turned your face to the side to avoid looking him in the eye. Taking the knife, Charlie guided your face back to level with his. “Nope- you’re mine, and you’re gonna look at me while I ruin you. Look away, and I start slicing your pretty skin, got it sweetheart?” Your eyes blew wide as you nodded. “Good now spread your legs.” Maintaining eye contact you parted your legs for Charlie and his hungry gaze. He removed the glove on his right hand and drug his fingers along your inner thigh. “Is this all I had to do? Threaten you?” 

“You didn’t have to threaten me, Charlie, you could’ve just asked.” 

“That’s okay, this was more fun.” His fingers pulled your panties to the side and slotted themselves through your slick folds, dragging the wetness and spreading it all over your opened pussy. His middle finger drew circles around your clit as you stared into his eyes, still slightly afraid he might do something drastic with his newfound confidence. Your mouth fell open and a soft gasp rolled off your tongue. “Yeah sweetheart? Does that feel good?” His circles quickened and your breathing became more shallow. “I know it does.” 

A sharp moan left your mouth as Charlie's fingers sank into your entrance, pumping in and out, curling themselves to drag against your front wall. Quicker than you’d ever experienced before, you were at the brink of an orgasm. 

“Charlie- please- I’m-” 

And just like that it was gone. His fingers had slipped out and you let out a whine. 

“Nope- you're gonna cum around my cock like the whore that you are, and you're gonna take my load because that’s what happens to dirty cock-teasers.” You stared up into his eyes as you listened to him pull his cock out. You couldn't even prepare yourself for what you were about to take, so when Charlie began to push himself in you almost screamed.

“Charlie! It’s- It’s too much- It’s too big-,”You sobbed.

“Too bad honey, cause you're gonna take it. I’m going to shove every inch of my dick into your wet little cunt until you can’t think of anything other than how good it feels to be this full,” Charlie spoke down condescendingly. His cock bullied its way through your pussy little by little, stretching you to the point of tears. “Aw. Never taken a dick this big huh princess? Never had your pussy stretched out to the point of no return? Nothing is ever gonna be able to do it for you ever again and you know it. You’re mine.” And with that Charlie bottomed out. 

Stars flooded your vision and it felt as though Charlie was everywhere. His scent, his hands, his cock. Your cunt gripped Charlie like a vice as he groaned and began to pull out. Charlie created a rhythm, each time his dick left your cunt a little the pressure and stinging pain eased, until all you could feel was full. All you could think was full. And all you could say was,”So fucking full.” 

“I know, I know, it's a lot honey, but you can take it. You're gonna be my good little slut and take it.” Charlie’s cock brushed that certain spot inside of you with every thrust. Slowly building up to a climax that coiled up inside of you. Each drag of his dick against your g-spot felt like heaven and the noises you made couldn’t be contained. Little moans and begs for “more” or little pleads for release. His cock twitched inside of you as your pussy spasmed. 

“I can feel you getting tighter. Go on sweetheart. Cum around my cock.” Charlie stared down into your eyes as your brows furrowed and you let out a long, drawn out moan. The aforementioned coil snapped inside of you and you came hard around Charlie's cock. A split-second later you felt an unfamiliar warmness pooling deep in your pussy. Charlie stared at you his lips curled into a smirk as he fucked his cum deep into you. “That’s fuckin right. Take it. Take my cum.” 

“Charlie-” You whined out in overstimulation. When he finally pulled out you cried. 

“Jesus fuck- holy shit,”Charlie gasped. 

You laid there feeling his release drip from your entrance down to your ass. You finally broke away from his gaze to get a good look at him and the knife that was haphazardly laid next to you on the bed. You looked at it and studied it. Only to realize that there were dried blood stains already on the blade. 

“Charlie? The costume- where did you get it…?” 

He chuckled while picking up the knife,”About that…”

[sheepispink]

Love grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི COD MASTERLIST Part of the Sweet As Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི simon riley x (afab) baker! reader (final chapter)

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Another date is planned however is promplty ruined, leaving the both of you trying to do your best in the situation. Thankfully, Simon's a sweetheart, and you love him too much to let him go for a second.

a/n: this is the final chapter guys, im so upset that it's ending but thats why this chapter is extra long lol. also yes the title is based on that song, it actually inspired a large majority of this fic WC: 7.4K

cw: period comfort

PREV

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

Simon was confident— really confident. After the initial embarrassment of suddenly kissing you, it came with a wave of pride for flustering you so much. He had so many doubts when he first realised he actually wanted to pursue you— unsure if you’d even consider him an option, given his stark silence around most. Of course, there was the matter of his work too, and everything else that came with being a man like him. Sure, he was a little—a lot— messed up in the head, but he knew to himself he’d never hurt you; that’s the one thing he could trust.

There was no need to take you out on an abundance of dates when being with you like this was satisfying enough, however, he really did want to spoil you at least a little. An expensive restaurant or maybe he could even take you down to London for a weekend; the ideas have been spilling into his head every night just as you’ve been telling him about all the fun activities you want to try with him. But he’s still not able to get a suitable amount of time off, so a night out will have to do.

He had considered booking out a really fancy venue, but you seemed like you’d get shy if you were thrown on the spot into that, so he thought what better than in the comfort of your own town? Maybe he could even bake something for you— not that he was half as good of a cook as you were, but damn, it’s the thought that counts, right? His mind has been occupied trying to think of the perfect idea for his last few days of training. In fact it was so much so that Price stared at him in confusion when he let out a curse from walking straight into a door. He was still annoyed about that, but he was more concerned about how he’d ask you. What if he was jumping the gun, and you wanted to take things really slow? Though.. He did kiss you straight up and you certainly didn't complain about that.

So eventually you had received the text, telling you to meet him next Friday for dinner at a restaurant near your bakery. It wasn't too fancy, but he knew they served some damn good food, and he was willing to buy you the entire menu if you so wished. Of course, you were over the moon about it, spending the majority of that evening looking for the perfect outfit before settling on something a little formal yet casual all the same. You bought a brand-new pair of shoes to complete it, and now you try the outfit on literally any chance you get just to make sure it’s perfect.

——

“Hi Simon.” You’re practically grinning from ear to ear, and it’s not even Wednesday yet, only Saturday; not to mention how your voice is practically brimming with excitement. He steps forward, noticing how your hands are planted on the counter like you’re impatiently waiting for him to come even closer. 

“Someone’s excited.” He hums and, before he can even order, you have the paper bag filled with his usual placed upon the counter along with a freshly brewed black coffee. 

“Can you blame me? The whole week I haven't seen you.”

Simon loves the little frown on your lips when you say that, especially because you haven't failed to drop subtle hints every time you text him about wanting him to stop by. Life’s been particularly hectic the past two weeks, but you’ve been so understanding about all of it; at least you’ll be very happy on Friday with what he has planned. 

“I know, ‘m sorry about that.” He takes the coffee cup gratefully, quickly sliding his payment in the tip jar before you can swat his hand away like you always try to do. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?” Content, you nod along, joyful for a sliver of his time even when you know he’s working hard for something that’s being planned soon. You know he can't tell you much, so you appreciate any sliver of information he grants, but you’d rather take his time than answers.

——

The door jingles faintly as another customer enters; it’s midday on Wednesday, and you’ve been baking all day whilst your family runs the shop. Simon’s finally got a lunch break that he can actually sit down for, and so he makes his best decision which is to facetime you. As always, the pair of you talk about whatever, and you do your best to smile wide, fingers sticky as you knead your knuckles into the great pound of bread dough.

Although, Simon’s been growing a little concerned, repetitively watching your brows furrow when you think he’s not really looking at you, or trailing off into silence when you run out of things to say. “Hey, love.” You hum in return, shaping the dough into smaller bun sizes, movements a little more sluggish than per usual. “Are you okay?” Immediately, your eyes snap up and stare forward at him, almost like you’re frozen, before nodding your head quickly and returning to the dough again.

 “Yeah.. yeah, I'm fine. Why?”

If he had doubts before, he was positive now as you falter, eyes drooping a little more. “You're exhausted. What time did you go to bed last night?” There it is, his lieutenant tone coming out and making you frown at him as he uses it against you. 

“Only ten thirty.. That’s not even that late.” You groan, moving the phone to face the ceiling so he stops scrutinising your eye bags.

“And what time did you get up, huh?”

“Seven thirty! It wasn't even that early.” You’re right though, and he can't even be mad. That’s around nine hours of sleep, which is plenty for your age and what you need. So why do you look like you’re about to topple over and use that bread as a pillow?

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“Hey— I am not!”

He sighs, knowing he’ll likely not get much farther like this, especially if it really wasn't your fault. It’s only Wednesday, but still, he really doesn't want you to be ill for Friday. “Make sure you look after yourself okay? Sleep earlier if you have to.”

And then he’s gone, probably rushed away from his already short lunch break. You sigh quietly, upset he’s gone but also feeling like you somehow annoyed him. Guilty, you shove your earphones in, an uneasy feeling settling in your gut.

——————-

It’s Friday evening when he drives by, stopping outside the bakery. The lights are off, signalling you’re probably upstairs finishing up. He sends a quick text over, letting you know he’s arrived whilst he leans against the passenger door. A bouquet of flowers is held behind his back, similar to the ones on your prized mug— he just hopes he really has the right ones, and you're not actually allergic to them or something. Then you arrive in your pretty outfit, his eyes raking over your form as you smile at him, lips glossy. As you walk down the steps, he can't help but notice how tired you look despite the attempt to use makeup to cover it up; there’s no way he is just going to let that slide. “Hey, hey wait.. You do not look good at all.” He frowns at you, taking one of your smaller hands in his and pulling you forward as he looks over you. 

“I don't look good?” You freeze, staring at him like he just insulted your entire existence, which he may as well have if you heard that correctly. The sound of your voice sounding so hurt is enough for him to realise his minor mistake, chuckling softly as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Not..what I meant, sweetheart. You look absolutely stunnin’ but… also exhausted, are you sure you’re up for this?”

You blink at him, as if not believing his words in the slightest. “I told you the other day I was fine—can we just go?” The words tumble out, and you noticeably wince at your own impatient tone— you did not mean to say it like that.

  For a second you pause, eyes glancing everywhere as you try to save it, but he just nods his head, pulling the bottom of his mask down again and placing the bouquet in your hands. “Alright, alrigh’. And these are for you, pretty girl.”

——

Despite his reaction, the ride is silent apart from the soft sound of your favourite music playing, though it only serves to make you feel all the more guilty. The restaurant isn't too far away, only a half an hour drive, but it feels like forever especially with how quiet the two of you currently are right now. Annoyingly enough, there’s absolutely no parking nearby, making him mutter a curse beneath his breath before doing a U-turn and parking two streets down. “Sorry, love. Gonna have to walk it.” He looks a little disappointed as he gets out of the car with you following behind before he can open the door for you—that’d make you feel even more guilty. Your small purse is clutched in your hand as you shake your head, trying your best to make up for your behaviour. “T-that's fine, really. I can walk.”

The streets aren't quiet today, a couple of teenagers laughing loudly and a few retail workers finishing their shifts, packing to go home. It’s only seven, but you have no doubt that it’ll only grow louder as more people celebrate the arrival of the weekend. It’s going fine now—at least you think it is. Simon’s talking with his voice low, something about a shop he saw when driving through the other day. Ever since he had fixed up your entire bakery, he’s been oddly intrigued by every deal he sees, tempted to keep himself busy and with the best tools too of course. In your head, it’s his own strange way of spoiling himself. 

You’re really trying to pay attention as he tells you the homeware store nearby is shutting down— you’re hanging onto every word, you swear— but every time another shot of pain riles up your abdomen your breath hitches.  After the first time it happened, he had turned to you in concern, and you pretended to cough, saying you needed to clear your throat. Contemplative, he eventually insisted that you drink some water before he began speaking again, hand gently holding yours as he looked at the restaurants you pass. 

“Hm.. Pottery painting? Didn’t you want to try that out? Maybe you should come here next time.”

“Oh yeah.. I- I should. Hey what about that store across the street? Do you think they got any good antiques to decorate the shop?” Okay, you may have baited him to look away whilst you’re half-keeled over from another stomach cramp–your hand fighting its hardest not to squeeze his one. “Maybe I can have a look later.” He hums in response, turning his head just a second after you stand back upright and smile at him like nothing happened.

Though, you would be incredibly stupid to think you could fool an SAS operator of all people, let alone one that loves you.

His steps have frozen to a stop, the Lieutenant in him coming to show why he has that title when he eyes you down suspiciously, watching every twitch in your demeanour when you look at him, swallowing sharply. “You’re not okay, are you?”

 “What? I’m fine. What kind of restaurant are we going to? I’m already getting hungry just thinking—” You cut yourself off when you notice how his eyebrow is very clearly raised beneath the mask, silently questioning you. He’s not actually mad.. You hope, though you don't get a second longer to consider it before another sharp pain stings your abdomen, making your hand clench your hip. You know that was his last straw when he grunts, Adam's apple bobbing as he watches your features form a grimace, clearly in pain. 

“You’re going home.” He states simply, squeezing your palm in his before pulling you back in the direction you came from. 

“Wait, but it’s not that bad, it’s only a little..” He shakes his head when you grasp his arm, trying to plead with him, but he only picks up the pace instead.

Soon enough, you’re back down the second street, his hand now resting on your lower back as he walks with purpose. His eyes are set forward as he scans the road ahead, narrowed as if he’d kill anything that’d come before the two of you.

“Simon.. Are you mad at me?” 

You look nervous to even ask, a hitch in your breath at each of his sharp and sudden movements and the worst is when you discard his nickname like that. He looks at you, the way you stare at him like you’re going to snap in two if he says anything wrong. Don't you see how much you worry him?

“No.. No, I'm not. Just get into the car, okay? We don't need some fancy dinner when you’re not feelin’ right.”

——

The car is cold, just like this night is, even if it’s been plenty sunny all week. It’s seven thirty now, stopped outside a small Tesco express whilst you wait for Simon to finish up inside. For once, you’re terribly regretting all of this. You’ve never been in a relationship, hell you don't even know what you’re supposed to do in one let alone all of this. If you hadn't messed up the day you avoided him and made him give you reassurance, you’ve definitely done it now. He’s never usually this quiet, and there’s no other explanation than him growing fed up with your antics. After all, who the hell agrees to go out to dinner just to not be able to because of some stupid, stupid cramps?

This was all too much but damnit you were too far away from home now to just run and hide like you always did— like a damn coward does. With thoughts growing more and more self-deprecating, your eyes become wetter by the second until you hear the click of the car door, and you almost immediately sit up straight, sniffling down any prior feelings. Simon opens the driver door, sitting inside before he wordlessly drapes his jacket over you and passes you one of those instant hot chocolates from the machines. He has a little plastic bag with him, one that he doesn't show you the contents of and only places in the backseat. “You were shiverin’.” He shrugs, looking at your confused face before starting up the car again and reversing out of the car park, back towards your home again.

——

“I’ll be back.”

He left you in your apartment whilst he went back to the car, leaving you anxious as you slowly made your way into your bedroom. This place was a mess, and if he was going to spend the evening here—if he even wanted to— this was not going to happen in the slightest. So, even whilst your eyes brim with tears and your lip wobbles, you place away the clothes left out when you were getting ready earlier, along with the random accessories strewn around. As you put away each item, your sniffles only grow even more, almost convinced Simon thinks of you as some weak naive girl; at this point, you were stupid to think you could make this work.

“What are you doing?” He stands in the doorway, blinking as you make your bed, pulling the duvet to each corner and straightening out the creases. “My apartment is messy..” You mumble out, but he only shakes his head again. “No.. No, stop. You’re not well, just… change into your pajamas or something comfy.” Then he’s gone, into the living room to deal with the rustle of something. Meanwhile, you try your best to not sob whilst you put on your warmest jumper and comfiest pajama bottoms, terrified of the ending of this. 

———

Swallowing sharply, you walk towards the couch, noticing him hunched over his phone, looking intently through the UberEats app. He’s done practically everything for you: from driving you back and forth, treating you to a meal and now even buying you something else you can eat just because you're an idiot who can't just push through something as stupid as cramps. Never has he made you lift a finger when he’s perfectly able to do something for you. What do you even do? You make lunch for him every so often, yeah, you had given him some things to help deal with his insomnia that one time, and you always give him something good to eat when he comes down. But is that all? Compared to the things he’s done for you, even when he waves it off as nothing, was far more strenuous than the stupid chicken buns you perfected just for his sake.

Did you even really deserve him? 

The thoughts choke your throat up, making you hesitate right outside your bedroom door. Should you beg for his forgiveness, for being such a bad girlfriend to him? That’d just pressure him to say it’s alright, give you sweet reassurance again— guilt-tripping him. What if this was all a big guilt trip? You had proven you were nothing compared to him, and so he felt forced to comply and help you. That only makes your breaths grow uneven, the seed of doubt growing in your mind as you sniffle to stop your nose from running. 

Stop seeking attention.

Trying to swallow down the guilt that clogs your oesophagus is near impossible, and you’re not even sure if you can face him knowing the person you actually are. So, your hand settles on the handle of your bedroom door, hurriedly deciding on hiding away before you cause him anymore trouble. 

“Cute pajamas.” There’s a smirk on his lips as he walks up behind you and looks at the little bunnies embroidered onto your t-shirt and trousers; he’s feeling a lot more relaxed knowing you’re safe at home now. “C’mon, sit on the couch. I was thinking we could order chinese, been a minute since I’ve had that.” He mutters, gently taking your arm in his hand and leading you over to the couch. You follow, teeth clenched together like you’re frozen in place, whilst he nudges you to take a seat. Though you don't ever reply, making him turn away from the snacks he’s set up on the coffee table, looking back at you properly.

“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, staining your skin as you meet his worried gaze, only feeling all the worse each second he looks your way. “Si- I— I’m sorry!” You blurt out, unable to get anything else out as you begin to messily sob into your hands, leaving a salty taste on your tongue similar to the pit of guilt swirling in your stomach.  He stands there dumbfounded, unsure how to react, since he’s never had to deal with someone seeking comfort from him before. Sure, he’s given you reassurance, but this was different— you wanted him to make you okay again, or at the very least calm you down.

“What is there to be sorry for?” He blurts out, standing awkwardly before you with his hands hanging useless at his sides. Should he reach out? He wants to, but he’s not sure if that’s the right move. Simon always thought he was confident in what he knew, and he always has been with each cock of his gun and swing of his knives. Of course, he knew a relationship was new territory, but he hadn't thought it’d move this fast.

“I ruined the whole evening! You always do everything for me and all I do is give you some stupid tea at the end of the day. An-and you introduced me to all your friends and I can't even show you off to mine because I barely have any that aren't just my parents' friends.” You cry out, rambling so fast your lungs can barely keep up, forcing you to take in long breaths to compensate for it. 

“I’ve done nothing for you! And I can't even walk down two roads to go to dinner with you, which is something you actually want for once because of my stupid period!”  He watches, silent, as you choke on your last words, sobbing again into your hands and very clearly overwhelmed. 

Though, that just explains absolutely everything to him. He had a small inkling, but he didn’t want to be that guy who only assumed because you were a little more ticked off than usual. The couch sinks beside you as he sits down, making you look up at him with teary eyes. “I could argue every single one of those points wrong, but I don't see the need to” He states simply, making you look up at him with teary eyes, curling a protective arm around you and pushing your head to lean against his side. 

The hand around your shoulder reaches up to dry the tears spilling down your cheeks. “No offense, but you’re gonna have to come up with a better argument than that for me to leave you, sweetheart.” 

 “And.. you warned me two weeks ago to not believe anything you say if you start bawling whilst on your period.” Now that elicits the smallest huff of laughter through your tears, instantly remembering that yes, you did in fact say that.

It had been late, and you were messing around with him, but he could tell you were slightly serious when you texted him that evening. You had warned him that you tended to get a little over your own head sometimes, and he told you the same—take his messages past one am with a pinch of salt. After all, it’s been more than once that he’s hurriedly woken up Soap for an emergency that had sprouted from his darkest dreams, and the Scot had to sit down with him and explain nothing was happening at all.  So, he definitely understood that the brain was a strange thing, one that did things you didn't always mean. Though, if you hadn't warned him he’d most definitely spend tonight and the next month reminding you everyday that you do so much for him. For now though, his concern was making you feel okay again, and if you still felt those doubts in the next few days when you were feeling better, he’d be happy to debate how you’ve been nothing but perfect for him.

Although, even after all of that you still look hesitant, like something is seriously lingering in your head. “Tell me what’s wrong–I’m here to listen.” It’s true, he promised you he would, and he was here right now, patiently waiting.

“W-why did you suddenly send me back to the car? And you just– you barely let me get a word in–” That’s what had spiralled the self-depreciation out of control, that and overthinking that is. Though, it is pretty hard to think straight when your stomach feels all queasy and sharp pains keep attacking your abdomen. He realises now the mistake he had made, his breath stuck in his throat as he listens to your words. “I thought you were angry with me..” You eventually mumble out, still sniffling whilst the tears escape your eyes.

 How stupid had he been? 

“I..I’m sorry, love.” His hand tightens around your back, fingers gently pressing into your skin. Of course, you had over thought it, probably analysed each of his little actions too. He had been the one to encourage you to communicate with him, and he didn’t even take his own damn advice. “I’m a bloody idiot.”  Guilty, he lets out a long sigh, his hand retracting from behind you. Now it just gently rests on your hand, almost as if asking for permission again.

You watch as he rests his head in his hands for a moment, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before he turns his head to look at you, your watery eyes and tearful expression. It breaks him all over again. “Honestly.. All I was worried about was getting you home so you could be comfortable again. I rarely communicate on the field regarding the reasons for my actions– I just expect them to follow.” It was true, he had mindlessly assumed you’d just understand and follow, like one of his damn soldiers. You weren’t one of them, and you should never be demanded to just ‘understand’ with such poor explanation on his part. 

“That wasn't right of me to expect that of you. It was never my intention to scare you like that, love. I’m sorry.”

His words are slow, and they don't blame you in the slightest which feels like a massive step away from how everyone has usually treated you. In fact, the apology is so raw, his hand still tentatively resting on yours as he looks so distraught at the realisation. After a second or two, the weight beneath your eyes finally rests, sinking as you droop your head. “I.. Thank you. I just– I knew I was getting over myself but I didn't know what to think of your actions. That.. makes a lot of sense, and I don't blame you– I was just worried I guess...”

Even though you’ve accepted his apology, you still look pretty pent-up, fingers slowly rubbing the hem of your shirt. “C’mere, love. Just ‘cause I explained, it doesn't take the hurt away. You have the right to feel upset.” He watches your hand grasp his, locking your fingers together as your thumb quietly traces the cracks in his skin and the folds in his joints.

“Listen to your body, not me.”

So you do, you sniffle again until you’re silently sobbing into the shirt your hands are tightly grasping the back of. When he follows your lead, tucking you close to him again, you bring your knees up onto the couch to shelter yourself beneath his bicep, warmth radiating off of him. You only begin settling down to sniffles once the pit in your gut fades, and you’re beginning to feel lighter. His hand rubs your back slowly, in comforting circles, whilst he whispers soft words in his ears. He’s no pro, but he does know that you deserve all of this and more. 

You're quiet now apart from the occasional inhale from your snotty nose and coughs to clear your choked throat.  “Feeling better?” Silently, you press your knees to your chest as you sit up properly though still staying close to his comfort and security he provides.

 “Yeah, a lot better.” Your voice is all clogged up, a little raspy, but you’re okay and that’s all that matters.

——

The food delivery driver is only a few minutes away now, but you’re feeling icky as it is so you excuse yourself after the long comforting silence to head into the bathroom. There’s tear streaks all down your face, cheeks puffy and eyelashes damp, yet there’s no weight on your chest, and you no longer feel the burden of guilt swarming you. 

After splashing your face with cold water, you already look a little more put together, but no less pitiful. Though..it’s not like he’ll care anyway, it’s Simon— he proves your anxieties wrong practically every day. Your lips pull up into a small smile, looking back at yourself in the mirror before you turn, opening the door to return to your man.

“Si?” You look around just to hear him hum. “Right here, love.”

He peeks round the wall of the kitchen, gesturing you to come over to where he’s taking out all the boxes. “Woah— how much did you buy?” He doesn't seem as fazed as you are, glancing down at the four containers of each different dish he bought. “Hm? This is a normal amount.” 

Normal?? You were only two people, and he had bought enough to feed your whole family and the stray foxes that lingered around. 

“Here, you can eat these two.” Your jaw drops the moment he slides two, massive, containers before you. “What?!”

———-

You’re still giggling like an idiot when you sit down on the couch again, your plate piping hot and his container steaming. “Alrigh’ stop laughing at me.” He tries his best to be stern, but he can't help it when your eyes are all lit up like that, repetitively fanning yourself with your hand because you’ve laughed so much your cheeks are burning. 

“I can't— it’s just so silly–”

He places the container onto his lap so he can reach over to squash your cheeks inwards to shut you up at long last. “Yeah yeah, I know I'm an idiot. I’m just used to having Soap and Gaz who stuff down two containers each and then a third between them.” He huffs out, slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten you physically couldn't eat that much if you even tried. 

You’ve stopped giggling enough to take a bite of your food when he replaces the fork in your hand with the packet of ibuprofen, making you look at him in confusion. “What?”

“Take them, you’re obviously in pain.”

That makes you raise a brow at him, then down at the tablets and then back over at him again. “Do you think I can't handle it? I’ve had periods for like years, Si— I can handle any of this.” You huff confidently, crossing your arms over your chest as he gives you an just as hardened stare. “I never said you couldn't handle the pain, it’s called making it easier for yourself—“

“Yeah but I wanna see how long I can last without it.”

“You what?” This time he does actually look at you like you’re crazy. But then again, you are right, your body not his. “Just.. just eat the food please.”

———

It’s safe to say that he made sure you took the painkillers the second he saw you clutch the pillow beside you again, doing his best to not roll his eyes when you were still adamant on not taking it. You end up feeling a lot better when it finally kicks in, just leaving you content with your head resting on his broad shoulder. 

He leaves to pack the food away before returning with one of your plushies, more specifically the giant penguin that he had won for you. How could you ever forget that day? “Smells like you.” He chuckles, burying his face into the fur before laying it down beside you who instantly clutches it tight. “I’ve slept with Pingu every day.” You hum, resting your chin above its head and loving how perfectly it fits in your arms. It truly is your favourite thing in the world– apart from Simon that is.

“Only you would name it after that crappy cartoon.” Your jaw drops, offended as he plops himself down on the couch beside you, stretching his legs out as he turns the tv on. “Pingu was legendary, thank you.”

“Uh huh, the penguin who’d make a snoot snoot noise at anything and was as stubborn as you when I denied a pastry.”

“I’m not stubborn– it’s called caring for you.” 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

—-------------------------

One of those crappy game shows are on again, they’re ones you’d usually switch off, but Simon always gets way too invested in them.  “That was definitely the wrong answer” He scowls at the contestant, before switching to a grin when his own guess was right. 

Every time he picks correctly, you get a firm rub up and down your side, and when he gets proven wrong.. you get a squeeze that makes you squeal. His eyes never leave your form when you join in too, chiming in now and then with your prediction, and he kisses your head when you get it right. Though he doesn't fail to notice how you squirm occasionally, shifting uncomfortably to find the right position and failing.

The show has ended and so, his focus has snapped back to you all over again. Out of nowhere he stands, heading into the kitchen and rummaging through the bags he must’ve brought inside when he went back to the car. Then he disappears into your bedroom, before returning to grab your plate and walking back over to place it in the dishwasher. 

“Hm?” You perk up, peeking over the armrest as he continues to move around the room before stopping infront of you. 

“C’mon.” Before you can question what he’s doing, one arm is tucked beneath your legs and the other behind your back, holding you upright. “Woah—hey!” He takes the moment to press a kiss to your lips, making you momentarily stop squirming before he carries you into your bedroom and places you beneath the covers with ease. On the bedside table there’s a steaming cup of tea, some menstrual products and your water bottle filled up to the top beside his own, perfect for when you get thirsty at night. Oh, and obviously some more snacks and the chocolates you were munching seconds ago.

You blink in surprise whilst he tucks a hot water bottle beside you, along with Pingu,  before pulling the covers up to your neck. He grabs the remote, turning on the tv, but this time moves to Netflix, flicking through the series till he settles on the one you’ve been talking about with him. “You call me if you need anything, yeah?”  He teases, fluffing the pillows behind your head. 

“What? Where are you going?”

“Clean up a little, get my bed situated on the couch. I’ll come say goodnight.”

“You—what? No way.” You grab his hand and pull him towards the bed, putting so much force only for him to barely move an inch. Huffing in exasperation, you grab his other hand and tug him. “No way I’ll sleep alone when you’re right here.”

You wanted him here? With you? When you’re like this? Sure, you’re dating and all, but he didn't expect you to want him to stay. He had accidentally made you cry multiple times today and probably pushed your stress levels to the max by simply not explaining something like an idiot. Plus, he always likes to be left alone when he is feeling particularly vulnerable— was this not the same?

“Please?” You plead, and he immediately relents, slowly nodding before gently manoeuvring you to lean back properly.

“Fine, fine, only if you finish your tea. I don't want to hear of a sore throat tomorrow.”

———

It’s late, and you’ve finished your tea now, getting ready for bed. He stands in the bathroom, like he had on your first date, staring into the mirror. If he slept beside you, he could keep the mask on, just half hitched up his face. If he really wanted to, that is.

But was it right? He’d be laying right beside you, so close and the most intimate he’s been with anyone for years, only to keep his mask on. It wasn’t insecurity; it never had been, either. But it was all so strange, he didn't know what to do and, to be honest, he was slightly nervous.

“Si? You almost done? I gotta pee..” You mumble from the doorway, the door swinging open as you lean on it, making you stumble forward. Thankfully, you catch yourself, immediately noticing how he stands before the mirror, dressed in the spare clothes you insisted he keep in the closet. But what you’re more focused on is his hand that lingers near his mask, curling up the edges. Though when he hears you he immediately drops it, nodding without even looking back at you.

You step forward, like a mouse with how silent your feet are. “You don't have to if you don't want to. Whatever is more comfortable for you.” You whisper, gently curling your arms around him, with your head thumping gently against his back. It feels nice, hugging him like this— like you’ve wanted to since the day you met him. 

“Thanks for always looking out for me, Simon. Even when I'm a little bit teary and loopy.”

That gets a small huff out of him, but he continues to stare at the mirror, now focusing on your hands that settle on his side before lightly grazing your nails against him. “If you’re attempting to tickle me, it’s not working.”

“I was not—Okay, I was. How are you not ticklish at all?!” You huff, and he turns around, pinching your cheeks before shaking his head at you. “Go on, do your business. I’ll go make sure the bed’s warm for you.”

———————

Clicking the bathroom door shut, you walk back over to your bedroom, eyes all drowsy. It’s almost ten now, and even if that’s not your usual bedtime, you’re about to make it from how shattered your brain is. You were a tiny bit embarrassed, to say the least. After all, you had burst into tears because he simply did the right thing—to take you home. But then again, it’s Simon and, even if you actually got angry at him for cancelling the plans, he’d have let you punch his chest until you’re satisfied. On the comfort of your couch of course, not outside where the cold would get to you.

Your slippers patter quietly as you walk inside, noticing the main light has been turned off. That’s perfect because your eyes are straining with every second you’re still awake. A yawn threatens to come forward, but you immediately brush it off when you see him. He’s sitting on one side of the bed, wearing only a black t-shirt and sweatpants, on his phone that he usually never touches except for emergencies, of course.

A smile immediately breaks out on your face, failing to be contained as you just stare for a moment, stepping forward until he glances up at you properly, a hint of hesitance in his eyes. “Ready to sleep?” He tries his best to stay as casual as before, you can tell that, but you’ve lost all sense of words so you just quickly nod along, still locked onto him like he’s a painting anyone with a sane mind would fawn over.

“I love you.” You blurt out, crawling atop the bed and making his head turn back to you, surprise written over it. It makes you want to giggle, so very hard, knowing you can now see every little etch that formed his face, the curves, the sharp edges, even properly see his brows now. You love even more that you can make his face change, surprise him, excite him, make him smile. 

“What’s all this about?” Of course, he ignores the obvious, suddenly looking downwards as he opens the covers up and drapes them over you. He still sits atop, almost hesitant to get under before you catch his hand. “Nothin’, just admiring.” You hum, intertwining your hands with his that he rarely leaves bare, apart from the softer moments like these. They’re calloused, and strong, yet so, so, soft whenever they come to handle you. 

After a bit of nudging, he finally gets under the covers, making you sigh with content as you shuffle your way over to him. “You don't mind if I cuddle you, right?” The excitement is written all over your face, clearly wanting to try this with someone for years now, and who would he be to deny? “Jus’ tell me what you want me to do.”

He was expecting you to want him to hug you from behind, or maybe you’d sleep across his chest, but you’re both facing each other in your little bed, and you’ve got your arms tight around his torso and your nose pushed into his neck. He feels your gentle pecks against the scar too close to his throat, down to his collar where many knives have grazed and even on the curve of his shoulder where a bullet had once been lodged. You squeeze him tighter with each one, his own hands tightening on your back.  “Thought I fed you enough—with all of that food.” He  grunts, quieter than usual and you didn't miss his breath hitching when you kissed him again, your nose rubbing against him.

“I’m always hungry.” You hum, grinning, before you pull your head back, staring at him head on. You’ve always loved his eyes, probably because it’s the only thing he would allow you, but this is more than that, looking at him like this. Brown, rich, and full of secrets, enough to make you smile all silly again. You lean forward, kissing his nose full force like he always does to catch you off guard. It cracks a smile on his lips, and he has to avert his gaze for a moment before he turns into some lovesick fool. 

“I think you’re supposed to be sleeping, miss—”

Before he can finish, you’ve caught him in a kiss, your hands curving up his jaw and thumbs cold against his face. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in years, skin against skin, and it feels exhilarating. When you break for some much-needed air, you push your palms into his cheeks, squashing his face before giggling at how his lips have been forcefully pursed. 

Rolling his eyes, he scoops you up effortlessly and pushes you back against the mattress, pinning your hands against the pillows. “You are so–”  He huffs, but it breaks once he sees your wide-eyed expression, and he has to drop his head to contain himself, his body wracking with each shake of laughter. You’re soon flattened by his heavy build, squirming beneath him until he relents and rolls onto his back to let you settle properly. Though, he does grab your hands, restraining them for a moment longer. 

“You gonna behave and sleep now?” He raises a brow at you, his face full of so much emotion that it momentarily stuns you. 

“..Only if you sleep over tomorrow as well.”

“If I get you a pretty ring, we can do that every day.” Finally, he sets your hands free, letting you settle them over his body properly before you yawn drowsily. 

“Don’t need a ring to convince me.” Your face is squished comfortably against his heart, which may as well have legal rights to you at this point. His eyes soften as he watches your eyes droop, his hand sinking beneath your shirt to rub at your lower back, knowing you’re likely still all achy. 

“I love you too.” He returns the sentiment, one hand placed atop your head like it wasn’t a phrase but a vow– a promise. Never in his life did he think he’d ever be in the place he is in right now, and despite Soap’s constant words of wisdom that life is full of surprises, this was one of the things he deemed impossible. Yet here you were, the only person who could make him smile like his heart was light again, and the only one who he’d go to the end of the earth and back for. You’re here, the prettiest girl in the damn world, and you’re next to him. 

Though, he’s even more grateful for who you make him as a person. Just today, you’ve changed him for the better, and since you’ve met him he’s learnt so much in the little things that he probably couldn't even count them on one hand. You didn't fix him, no, you healed him, bettered him as a person until he was here, feeling worthy of someone’s love. He’d never be perfect, nowhere close but he’d sure as hell get close with you around.

“I love you.” An whispered oath, and he kisses your head as the day finally catches up to you.

You’re the only one who could ever make him say those three words because—even if the nightmares ate at his mind, the battlefield consumed his limbs or fate took its revenge on him— he loved you and that’s enough to leave him with peace for the rest of his life.

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

buy me a coffee!

bonus drabble

a/n: i cant believe one small drabble turned into this and after five months, we finally finished it!!!! this is the first cod series i've made and i've loved every single chapter I've put out. It makes me so upset to see it go, if im being honest, but i know it's for the best. If anyone does have any ideas for reader and Simon please leave them in my askbox! I will do my best to at least try to write it up as a bonus chapter but for now, this is officially the end. Thank you for all of your support on this series, you have all been so so sweet and i hope you all experience a love as sugary as this one <3

taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow @enfppuff @oydan @keytofu @vogueprincess @roastyyytoastyyy @pythonmoth

[wynnevee]

a classic

bob floyd x reader

synopsis: an unsuspecting jake hits on you at the hard deck while the gang waits for bobs new girlfriend to arrive (spoiler alert: that’s you)

warnings: alcohol, insecure reader, social anxiety and concerns about fitting in, fluffy bobby ☺️, horny bobby 🤭, hickeys, mentions of sex, unedited as always

notes: the second ‘jealous bob’ blurb. i am really feeding y’all good with this content this week. enjoy!!

you’d been at the bar for maybe five minutes, watching bob and his friends from the bar.

it sounded creepier than it was; really, you were just nervous. stomach twisting, heart racing, palms sweating, absolutely so fucking nervous.

you and bob had only been dating for a year now, but it felt like you’d known him forever. as cheesy as it sounded, he’d quickly became a part of every little bit of your life, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

however, bob also wanted you in every little part of his life… which meant meeting his navy friends.

and just like that: your bubble popped.

it’s not that you weren’t sociable, you were just a bit more awkward than the typical hot-shot pilot. you were interesting, but not… that interesting. some of these guys have flown into certain death and survived—could you really make an impression on them? what if you embarrassed yourself? what if you didn’t meet their expectations?

unable to find an answer to these questions in the floorboards of the house you’d spent all day scrubbing, you’d come to the hard deck early, hoping a drink or two would loosen you up a bit.

it didn’t. and now you watched your boyfriend and his friends laugh and drink, and you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

you just hoped nobody had noticed you—a hope that was squashed when you saw a familiar man in a familiar tan uniform saunter up to the bar.

john? jason? jake? jake, that was it. you’d seen him in group pictures of the squad, and honestly, you’d been the most nervous to meet him.

‘loud, cocky, and weirdly lovable’ was bob’s description of him, and as he walked up to the bar like a male peacock doing a mating dance, you began to see the truth in this statement.

“hey gorgeous, you look awful lonely. can i buy you a drink?”

you didn’t know what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn’t that. you sputtered, almost choking on your own saliva. “i’m sorry, what— what was that?”

you must have misheard him.

he laughed, seeming to think your confusion was amusing or cute. you didn’t like that. “can i buy you a drink, sweetheart? maybe buy you dinner sometime too?”

oh god, this was escalating quickly. “oh, i’m, uh… i’m actually—”

fucking your friend and colleague?

the one you’re here to meet?

absolutely desperate for you and your friends’ approval and so am trying to let you down easy so you won’t hate me?

“you’re cute,” he cuts in, before you could pick a suitable end to your sentence. “sorry, i have a habit of getting ahead of myself around such gorgeous women. let’s start with names: jake.”

“i know.” fuck, fuck, why did you say that?! those first two drinks weren’t a good idea. “i meant—"

but before you could finish, there was a call of your name from across the room and another familiar face coming into view: bob, your knight in shining armor, here to save you from this rapidly sinking ship.

he reaches you in a few strides, face a bit flushed, hair messed and absolutely perfect. wrapping a strong arm around your waist, he pulls you in, leaning down to peck your lips softly.

“hey beautiful, when did you get here?”

“what the actual fuck.”

bob and jake speak at the same time, leading bob to turn to his teammate, pretending to have just noticed him. “hangman, i see you’ve met my lovely girlfriend! sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt; what were you talking about?”

his sneaky smug smile led you to believe otherwise.

it was jake’s turn to sputter, the tips of his ears turning cherry red. he tried to play it off, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “just chatting.”

bob smiled, arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “you look surprised. did you think she was single?”

jake shrugged, shoulders finally relaxing. “i mean, she’s gorgeous—” he looks to you “—you are gorgeous. if he ever fucks up, you know where to find me.”

and he’s off with a wink, no doubt on his way to find a rebound conquest. you feel bob pull you tighter and you’re able to picture his furrowed brow and exasperated expression perfectly.

“dumbass,” he murmurs, kissing and nipping at your jaw gently. “flirtin’ with you, thinking i’d ever screw somethin’ this good up.”

you smile, bringing a hand up to hold his cheek as you lean back to look at him. “you’re getting a little southern there, cowboy, how much have you had to drink?”

he sighs, eyes trailing down your body shamelessly. “not enough that you should feel uncomfortable letting me tear that dress off with my teeth—”

you pat his cheek, turning in his arms so you can further silence him with a soft kiss. “keep it in your pants, lieutenant, we’ve still gotta meet the rest of your friends. can’t have anyone thinking i’m single.”

you weren’t gonna lie: hangman hitting on you did give you a little confidence boost for the introductions to come.

bob pouted, clearly not wanting to share you with the rest of his squadron. he buries his face in your neck and you’re expecting him to mumble something about going home early—you gasp when you feel him bite and suck at your skin like an eager leech.

“bobby! someone will see!”

he hums. “i know. until i put a ring on that pretty finger there, this should give everyone the message that you are not single.”

[azulhood]

Danny and Jazz were almost at the end of their rope.

They've checked almost everyone they knew who would take them in.

Sam's family? Didn't want them living under the same roof as their daughter.

Mr Lancer? He did actually want to take them in but his one bedroom apartment was not a suitable place for kids to live and his teachers salary couldn't afford to support three people.

Tucker's family? Got shut down by Vlad.

Which was the end of the list of who could get custody, well living at least.

There was no way either of them were living with Vlad, and with that in mind, they decided to get creative.

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

When Edward woke up, sitting at an old interrogation table in what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse (don't ask him which one, gothem had too many) and splitting pain in his head from most likely getting knocked out, his first thought was I knew it.

Gotham rogues had been disappearing only to reappear the next day with no memory and often in bad shape, like black mask and Bane.

Some of the rogues, such as penguin and Ivy, believed that they would be safe from the next attack.

Edward was slightly more pessimistic.

And it turned out he was right.

"ahem." Noise brought his attention to the warehouses other occupants.

Two teenagers.

It was strange to think that these two put Bane into a coma, but Edward had spent most of his nights getting the stuffing beaten out of him by a child wearing the colours of a traffic light so he was suitably wary.

"How can I help you?" Being polite was always a good idea when kidnapped by possible meta children (because no normal person could walk away from a fight with Bane, the bats don't qualify as normal.)

"Hi, I'm Jazz and this is Danny." The red head introduced herself and the blue eyed boy next to her. "Nice to meet you Mr Nygma."

"Nice to meet you as well." His mouth responded on autopilot as he panicked over being addressed by name, no one who kidnapped him did that ( which was mostly the bats taking him back to Arkham after another foiled plan) unless they were Amanda Waller.

"Right, now that we all know each other, let's get started." Danny said pulling out a sheet of paper and star themed pen from somewhere.

"Get started on what?" Torture? Edward would really like to know if that was the case.

"The interview." Jazz explained " You just have to answer a few questions then you get to go, after we wipe your memory of course, we have someone who we don't want knowing we're in Gotham."

"Oh, of course." Edward replied faintly as he processed the information given to him.

"And if you get job we'll contact you in a week." Danny added as he twirled his pen. "Got it?"

"Yes." Edward had never been more confused in his life.

[chaot1c0]

valentine's day w/ hsr men <3

I have never celebrated valentine's day with anyone so if I seem lost then that's why ..

sunday -

for sure would be a HUGE perfectionist when planning it all

has to make sure every detail is perfect, and if not, he will freak out

asks the astral express members for help but if it's pre-charmony festival, he'll ask robin for help [ I know FOR SURE he'd bother robin with every little detail .. ]

makes sure to get you whatever you like as a gift, and your favorite flowers with roses

settles for chocolate, but not just any chocolate, expensive chocolate that you like

has been planning for weeks or maybe even months ahead [ he just likes to be super accurate .. ]

even subtly gets information out of you for what you'd like

if he notices you staring at something/taking an interest in something, he'll buy that as a gift secretly

would keep his eyes on you the whole day

"..what's with the stares?"

"nothing, just keep looking pretty, angel."

probably takes you sightseeing or out on a walk, then dinner at a restaurant, and ending with a movie

definitely holds your hand and keeps you next to him the whole day and is more affectionate than usual

jing yuan -

despite it seeming that he hasn't planned anything, he actually has some stuff prepared

he'd just prefer to spend the morning in your arms, is all

skips on work just to have you all to himself the whole day

gets you a huge bouquet of roses and obviously chocolates, with jewelry and a teddy bear

takes you out for lunch and then more cuddles later while watching a movie

if you insist or suggest on doing something, though, he will comply

a little more teasing the entire day, more than usual

definitely takes the day as an excuse to be extra clingy and more affectionate

"what? can't I treat my spouse/lover the way they deserve to be treated?"

allows yanqing steal you away from him for a bit if you insist on seeing the boy [ he pouts and sulks because your attention isn't on him anymore ]

ALWAYS has you in his arms at every given opportunity

"I don't want to lose you, love."

obviously a gentleman the entire day [ even more so than usual, actually ]

dan heng -

from the moment he started liking you the astral express knew about his obvious soft spot for you ..

it's STILL obvious TO THIS DAY.

makes sure your gift is suitable to give to you, even goes so far as asking stelle and march 7th for help

it's safe to say they spent a lot of time considering the perfect gift ..

still gets a bit flustered but otherwise confident [ the back of his neck is red when he's affectionate with you ]

buys you whatever you like along with some flowers for your gift

has march 7th, himeko, welt, and stelle suggest ideas on where to take you

..all their ideas clash with each other and so he ultimately decides to ditch it and instead collect information on what you'd like to do

more pda than normal because if that's what makes you happy, he'll gladly do it

very, very, very, very, and I mean VERY polite the entire day

"happy valentine's day."

aventurine -

it's pretty obvious that he'd go all out and spend a lot of money for you [ does that on a daily basis, actually ]

he'd be extra grand when it's valentine's day

expensive chocolates, expensive flowers, expensive gifts, and takes you out to expensive places

has a hugeeeee bouquet of flowers prepared, with a basket full of chocolates and every item your eyes have lingered on for longer than usual the past week

you guys probably won't be back home till late because he's been spoiling you rotten [ when does he not spoil you .. ]

he'll take you shopping and only buy stuff for you and not him, and when you insist that he should buy something he refuses

"just let me buy you whatever you want, okay?"

if anyone dares to give you a bad time on valentine's day, he'll be even more aggressive, but it'd be masked behind that smug facade of his of course

when you guys do come home, he'll be cuddling you the whole night

very affectionate and very flirty the whole day

veritas ratio -

has absolutely zero idea on how to be romantic, so of course he does some research on it

has prepared ahead of time to know how lovers act on valentine's day

takes you out on a date at a fancy restaurant and makes sure you're comfortable with it

is a huge gentleman the whole day

goes old fashioned and gets you a bouquet of flowers and a simple box of chocolates

also makes a statue of you two together and presents it to you proudly

a lot more pda and affectionate since it is valentine's day after all

he has no idea how to be romantic, so if he messes up and embarrasses himself, then that's why

if he does, he will become flustered and his face will be all red

has no problem with just holding you in his arms the entire day instead of going out

I personally feel like he would take you dancing, just for the sake of it

and if you don't know, he'll be more than happy to teach you.

"follow my steps, dear. you'll be fine."

ever since he started dating you, he's been more polite to you, and there's always a softer look in his eyes

there's no difference on valentine's day, either.

he admires you all day with that tenderness in his eyes and instead of insulting you, he compliments you [ his compliments are shown in a rather interesting way, but it's the thought that counts ]

gallagher -

just like jing yuan, he prefers to spend the morning sleeping in with you

also very clingy the entire day

definitely kisses you a lot, too, even if it's for simple things

gets you flowers and anything you'd like

takes you drinking later on in the night to make sure you have fun but doesn't let you get very drunk and looks after you

"how about I make a drink for you, that sound good?"

very loving and affectionate, even more so than usual

always has a hand on your waist or is holding your hand the entire day

sort of like a guard dog, always making sure that no harm comes your way and that you're safe

caelus -

cracks jokes the entire day and tries flirting [ ends up embarrassing himself instead ..]

gets you a stuffed animal and some chocolates and then drags you to the arcade to win you more items

ends up carrying huge plushies for you on the way home

will later take you to see a movie if you're up for it, of course

decorates your shared living space with roses and valentine's day decorations the night before so that when you wake up, you wake up to a surprise

so much pda and kisses, takes this opportunity to be more loving with you

half of the time he's staring at you with a lovesick expression that makes you laugh

when you mention it to him, he gets all flustered

"..what? no- I wasn't staring at you! you're just.. imagining things. yeah."

overall, he's just making sure you enjoy your day and that you're having fun

argenti -

the first thing you see when you wake up is a huge bouquet filled with roses and a note that says, 'happy valentine's day, my rose!'

there's also 5 boxes of chocolates stacked neatly next to it and an adorable stuffed animal holding a heart

he also went through the trouble of decorating your room to fill it with roses

will already be making you breakfast by the time you're up, and it's your favorite food to eat for breakfast

very affectionate and loving, as usual

also compliments you more than he usually does

firmly a gentleman when you two go out for dinner later on in the day and always makes sure you're safe

when you two return home, he lights all the candles he set up earlier and turns off the lights to make everything look lovely

holds you in his arms as he declares his love for you over and over again, making sure you have at least a small grasp of how much he loves you

also combs through your hair gently as he holds you

if you end up falling asleep, he'll carry you back to bed, put out the candles, and fall asleep with you

gepard -

very nervous about the whole day, does not want anything to go wrong

buys you your favorite flowers along with some other gifts

obviously had to ask serval in advance for some advice on what to do

absolutely showers you with affection all day, from the moment you wake up

takes you out on a walk, holding your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours

decides not to go anywhere and just relax indoors with you the entire day since he wants this day to be between only you and him

tries flirting for a change [ serval's idea ], instead flusters himself in return ..

has you laughing at him but at least he can see you happy

tries his very best to make the day a memorable one since he knows how much you mean to him and how much he loves you

blade -

usually not very romantic and doesn't show affection often

however, just for the occasion [ kafka and silver wolf educated him on valentine's day ], he'll make an effort to be affectionate around you

will take you out on a date somewhere but when you ask or tease him about it, he'll stay silent with a slightly noticeable blush

also will get you flowers and try to smile at you

"..these are for you."

when you both are standing somewhere, looking at the nighttime view, he'll turn to stare at you with the faintest smile

if you catch him staring, he'll hurriedly look away before his gaze returns to you, his cheeks pink

buys you all sorts of gifts and what-not

keeps you close to him at all times and is very protective of you

will let you walk on the sidewalk and he'll take the road for you

when you guys get home he'll let you run your fingers through his hair as you talk to him and he'll make an effort to respond

boothill -

jokingly wakes you up with a grin and a rose in his mouth

"g'morning, sugar."

presents you with a bouquet and chocolate with that sharp-toothed grin of his

as usual, his eyes are filled with warmth as he watches you read- or try to read- his hand-written note

presents you with a bunch of jewelry, eagerly watching you for your reaction

"what do you think, sweetheart?"

lets you wear his hat the entire time you guys are out as he holds your hand, fingers intertwined with yours

buys you lots of sweets and if you have one in your hand he might try eating it right from your hand

starts complaining if you let go of his hand even once

takes you out for both lunch AND dinner

if you get tired of walking, he'll pick you up bridle style and carry you all the way home

will spend at least a bit of the day cuddling you

also does tip his hat over your eyes and kisses you

jiaoqiu -

spends the entire morning begging for you to pet his ears and tail before gifting you with a pretty heart-shaped bouquet and a warm smile

makes sassy remarks all day but they're intertwined with affection

instead of taking you out, he'd have you cook with him

if you don't know how, he'll teach you, of course

..you guys end up getting covered in flour, but at least the heart shaped cake tastes good!

would watch movies at home, cuddling under the blankets with a bowl of popcorn between you both

eventually you both end up falling asleep on the couch and even if you wake up later on, none of you make a move to go to your shared bed

mydei -

has an obvious soft spot for you

buys you a bunch of chocolate just for the occasion

when you go out, he'll be holding your hand the entire time and keeping you close

treats you with huge affection, sometimes kissing your cheek at random

if anyone dares try to ruin your special day, he'll silence them with a sharp glare before going back to staring at you all innocent

would definitely take you to a flower field while the sun is setting, just so you two can enjoy the scenery

also settles for a picnic instead of a restaurant and tucks a flower into your hair with a fond smile

will carry you home, even if you insist you're not tired

phainon -

absolute gentleman, writes a whole letter and has white roses for you in a bouquet

takes you out to a fancy restaurant for dinner, also takes you shopping in the evening to buy more gifts for you

has his arm wrapped around your waist so he doesn't lose you in the middle of a crowd or at random

when looking at you, he often smiles fondly to himself

takes a dozen pictures of you and saves them to his folder that he has dedicated to you

can you tell I was struggling ..

masterlist

[kyouka-supremacy]

The concept of sskk having incompatible schedules (with Atsushi working during the day and Akutagawa at night) is very widespread, and vastly juicy to explore, but now that I think about it, realistically, Akutagawa must work less hours than Atsushi does. All Akutagawa seems to do for his work at the mafia are intimidations, kidnapping and executions, but c'mon, there's only this much intimidations kidnapping and executions the pm can require in a single week; moreso when you take into account that he's not the only member suitable for this kind of job and, given his high-ranking position, they probably don't inconvenience him for just anything. Add to that the fact that it's pretty much canon that he doesn't do reports, and in the end Akutagawa really works one, two days per week max.

To be fair though, compared to Atsushi he must have no protections and employment rights. If Mori calls him for a job at 4 in the night, he has to pick it.

[moonsaver]

Almost a kiss, Always a breath

How close life is unto death. Almost a kiss, but always a breath.

With only about a month left to live – your previous guardian angel, Robin, has been replaced, as The Family decide to assign you one that's more "suitable" to your need. Guardian Angel!Sunday x gn!reader CW/TW: reader is chronically ill, and there's descriptions of how painful it is (a little gruesome) but the actual illness is left vague for self insert purposes. Mentions + implications of childhood abuse, death (reader), lesbians because i just wanted it A/n: As much as I'd have loved to make it Seraphin x reader, Sunday is just a guardian angel who has a more biblically accurate appearance. also it's about just a bit over 11k words. sorry for the delays! ______

"You can stay out here."

You turn halfway to face Sunday, the pair of wings over his eyes firmly shut, the other two pairs slightly bristling at your words.

“I have been assigned to you for a reason.”

You glance at the bright entryway of the boutique in front of you. People would definitely notice something was off. No one can ignore someone like him. At least, they’d sense something would be off.

You turn back to face him. Your hesitant silence seems to spur him to continue,

“I shan't interfere.”

He smiles. You don't think it's genuine. You look up at the various eyes embedded across his halo and wings like jewels. They stare back.

Have they ever blinked?

You shake your head,

“No. Stay out here. You'll scare people.”

You stand your ground firmly, your body facing him entirely now. He hums, his smile vanishing from his face.

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

You reply, and it's followed by silence.

The corners of his mouth perk up slightly, before it's met with lesser and lesser resistance, eventually letting out a wholehearted chuckle.

“I can promise, truly, I won't interfere, nor draw attention. Nothing like the scene at the hospital.”

You sigh.

—

“Sweet mother of..”

You keep Xipe's name out of your mouth, sitting up on your hospital bed as fast as you can, ignoring the jolt of pain in your body from the sudden movement, as your eyes train on the figure in front of you.

The man is clad in white – a suit, to be specific – and seems to have started his day much earlier than you.

“I thought Robin was..”

“The Family has decided otherwise.”

You stare at his covered eyes, only to glance over at the plethora of his.. other eyes blink at you; wide and all-seeing, surrounded by clusters of feathers. A pair of them bristle as you continue to stare, and he clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his (wing-covered) eyes. His halo is golden - just like Robin’s, except.. Bigger. And sharper.

“I'm– I think my intentions were very specific, so why on Earth do I have a Seraphim looking after me?”

“The Family decided the timely course of your fate required an assistance of much.. higher capability.”

You scoff, the covers crumpled under your hands as they clench.

“Robin was adequate– no, more than adequate.”

“I would be aware. I expect nothing less of my sister.”

“Your–?!”

This day couldn't get any more confusing in the mere 15 minutes of it's starting, really. A Seraphim. Sent to be your guardian angel. And he has a sister by some biological miracle.

As if he senses the question you are about to ask, he says,

“Let's focus on a more dire topic.”

He neatly sets down his cup of finished tea on a surface – you don't care enough to check; too busy glaring daggers at the man – a few of his other eyes peeking over at the cup in your stead.

“ugh, great.”

 You groan and plop onto the bed on your back with an ‘umpf', then cringe as the pain shoots up from a plethora of nerve endings on your back.

Sunday continues, regardless of your pained expression, an artificial smile plastered on his too human-like features,

“Roughly 2 weeks. That is all.”

He gets up, and walks with measured steps to the side of your hospital bed, his eyes (in multitudes) staring down at your not-so intimidating glare.

You click your tongue, your eyes zoning out for a moment before they settle back on the teacup he'd just placed down.

“Since when did Seraphims like..?”

“Coffee. It helps, I've found.”

“Found?”

He opens his hand towards you. You awkwardly look at his gloved palm before he speaks to clear your hesitance again,

“Let us continue to whichever place you wish to visit.”

You look at his hand again, now with a dull glaze over your eyes, a plethora of thoughts glooming over your mind before another one of his (unsettling, you may add) eyes catch your attention, breaking you out of your saddened trance.

You breathe out, taking his hand,

“Fine.”

—–

And so, that led you here.

You pick out a dress, then shuffle through the stacked hangers to find your size, as Sunday patiently stands beside you, his obnoxiously white suit out of your vision by your request as to “not blind you.” But you can't necessarily explain about that to someone who covers their eyes for.. 90% of the time, you assume. Regardless, he obliges.

You turn to hand him a few of your clothes to hold, but watch as he stares at a distant baby. Their face is red and swollen, presumably from having cried for a while. The tears in their eyes confirm the suspicion. You look back at him, curious as to what he could possibly find fascinating about a red-faced baby.

..what the fuck?

You observed his eyes – the conglomerate of them making a weird sensation bubble under your skin as you watch all of them blink in succession.

You sigh, for the umpteenth time, making him turn to you. You look at Sunday with a strangely confused expression, as Sunday’s cautious hands pry the clothes from yours. You shift your eyes to see the baby look at you two once again with a face as confused and perturbed as yours.

“You’re lucky not many can see you.”

“Yes, it is fortunate.”

You continue browsing through the selection of clothes, politely waving off any staff member that seem to force themselves to help you regardless of the strange aura they felt around you.

“I’m trying these on. You stay right..”

You reposition him, hands on the sides of his arms as he complies.

“Here.”

He stands, in all his glory, in front of a kids’ indoor playground.

“The changing room is too far from here.” Inquisitively, that seems to be the only trouble Sunday faces, and not the curious glances from a few children making weird faces at his eyes on his back.

“It isn’t. It’s just a few picks, I’ll be back soon.”

He seems to stay silent, although his (unsettling) smile is no longer on his face, which reads him as more intimidating instead.

You shake your head, and then turn to walk over to the changing room.

——

A scream.

It rips through the chill, calm atmosphere of the store, warranting concern from a few employees situated around the changing room,

“I-Is everything okay-?”

“Yes-! Sorry, sorry, Im just–”

You hurry, and shuffle the floating eye into your bag, your hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.

Why was there an eye in your bag in the first place?

Turns out Sunday sent one to stand right dab in front of your stall to ensure your safety in, probably only his opinion – a minimal way. You screamed the moment you opened your door and found a floating eyeball in front of your stall, before realising only that Seraphim was capable of doing such a thing.

You internally let out a beautiful, colourful string of curses, presumably to beat some sense into him, as you wrestle with the bag that's flailing in your bag like an animal caught in a potato sack.

“Stop, stop, Xipe damn it-!”

You bring the bag up to your face, glaring down as the singular eye looks up at you with an unreadable glint from the soft fabrics of your bag,

“If we get caught I swear I will–”

“Uh.. is everything okay?”

You jolt watching the door slightly move ajar as one of the employees gently signal their presence,

Shit, you forgot to lock it!

It wasn't your fault - you were about to step out when you were delightfully greeted by an eyeball, and in your hurry you must have forgotten to lock it.

You throw a sheepish smile towards the door, hiding your bag behind you. You're aware it looks like you've stolen something, so you take a deep breath and pat your bag, careful around the bulge of the eye inside.

“I'm okay, I- I just uh.. saw a cockroach.”

“A cockroach-?!”

The employee gasps, immediate words of apology on the tip of their tongue, but you stop them before they can continue. You swing open the door, having only grabbed a single item as you rush past the employee sputtering on their words, politely dismissing yourself as you beeline to Sunday.

––

You did, thankfully, find Sunday where you left him.

You stood a bit of distance away as he came into your vision, making sure to count the number of his eyes, blinking a few times and recounting to really make sure – who knew staring at his eyes for so long would make you dizzy?

By then, the eye in your bag only nudged a few times, but nothing more than that. On the way you realised there might have been no need for the commotion, considering people can barely see Sunday as is, let alone (one of) his eyes. You sigh tiredly at the thought, but brush it off.

You walked over to the small barricade surrounding the children's indoor playground and observed.

Sunday is crouched down, watching intently as two young girls clack their (very distressed) barbies together, making up drama on a whim. Sunday seems deep in thought, occasionally piping up to add his own additions.

Ookay. You need to stop this.

You sigh, running your hand over your face before calling out,

“Sunday!”

His head turns to look at you, then gets up, unassumingly as though he'd not been getting in on local gossip from girls.

—–

You sigh, pushing off the shoes from your feet as you sit back down on your familiar hospital bed, the door of your room clicking as Sunday ensures your privacy.

“Do you plan on going somewhere?”

“Tomorrow, actually. Since we have enough time, I'll take it easy.”

He hums, merely in acceptance, as he sets down the small bag your recent purchase was in.

“Oh, also, c'mere.”

You motion him to come closer.

“Closer.”

He steps closer, your knee almost grazing against his thigh,

“Closer.”

“Any closer and I-”

You grab his tie and yank him down eye level,

“Do you know what happened in the dressing room-?!”

You sputter out, the embarrassment returning to you as you recall the flustered employee's voice,

“I.. cannot say I do.”

You grab your bag, and out comes bursting an eye.

Ah. He felt something was amiss.

“I was fine on my own! Seriously, if you wanted to check in you could have just walked over! Which guardian angel just casually sends an eyeball of theirs-?!”

“Ah, but I did not want to overbear—”

“I would have preferred that, instead of your eye hanging in front of my stall like a Christmas tree decor!”

…

“Noted.”

You sigh, watching the eye float and join the conglomerate of his, wink at you, making you blink, unimpressed.

——

“I wanna be buried…”

You hum, looking over the green, slightly bumpy landscape, and point to under a tree.

“There. That's perfect.”

Mei seems to take your words in stride, despite the depravity of your humor. She chuckles softly, and turns to you,

“I'm sure it's possible.”

“D'you think I can get one of those colored, glass tombstones?”

“Hm, slightly difficult..”

“Oh please.”

You nudge her shoulder, making her softly chuckle again. Both of you gaze over to the distance, the plot of land sparsely filled with tombstones of other strangers you've yet to know about from Mei.

If the purple haired woman knew anything about you – it was that you adored stories. She never considered herself the best storyteller, but you'd convinced her enough to tell you anyway. Occasionally her companion would join in, greatly elevating the storytelling atmosphere, but for the most part, it was just you two.

Mei, who would tell you of each person she'd buried. Carol, 98, a lovely grandmother. She'd always smell of pie and something herbal – always sure to drop off tea wherever she went, the dull packets that rattled whenever she'd placed them down with her shaky fingers. Only her daughter's side of the family visited. 

Nico, 17. His father comes every weekend to clean his tombstone. He had a green thumb. His gravestone had the most beautiful flowers around him.

Razalina, a mysterious woman who you'd been waiting to hear about from Mei, before Robin was shortly replaced. Your health got worse and Mei urged you to take a break. You miss the flavour of the tea Mei would serve for you two. You wonder how it would feel to drink it for the rest of your life until you'd grow to be 98.

There was a morbid comfort in having a friend as Mei. Acheron – the term suited her. A gentle, sorrowful, but greatly respectful and polite woman who took care of the dead. A mortician you'd gotten familiar with on a whim when you'd bumped into her somewhere. She was going to bury you, and you'd let her with delight. You imagine there was a sort of trust and intimacy in that. She would clean your organs, and lay you to sleep on the naked Earth. There was certainly intimacy in that.

“A wardrobe change, hm?”

She quirks an eyebrow, her words still slightly hushed in caution to not even possibly offend you.

“Thought I'd try something new.”

You kicked a stray rock, looking down at your newly bought clothes, then back up at Mei.

“Went shopping with someone yesterday.”

“Finally let you out of your enclosure?”

“Ugh, for once, thankfully.”

She hums, walking alongside you with a leisurely pace, her gaze drifting over the cloudy sky,

“I'd expected Robin to come with you. I don't think I was able to continue onto the next story with her.”

“Yeah, I did too..”

You look back at Sunday – still following you two a few ways behind, waving as you and Mei observe him for a second.

“quite a character.”

You nod, simply, continuing to look at him as Mei's steady eyes train on you for a moment.

“Scared?”

“No. Never have been.”

…

“Good.”

Mei's assurance was quiet, almost relieved. She turned ahead and continued, and you followed her.

——

The cloudy weather only seemed to thicken with humidity and the threat of rain as the sky dimmed with time, and Mei was kind enough to end the story on a reasonable cliffhanger, making you giggle in your seat.

“There's never enough time, really..”

You say, between your soft chuckling. It always felt like time passed by unfairly fast when you sat with Mei as you used to.

She hums, smiling, her finger circling the rim of her cup,

“Tomorrow will come, so have faith.”

Have faith in a tomorrow. It would have left you breathless had you not heard it from Robin before. You glance back at the Seraphim behind you as if to confirm Robin really wasn't looking after you anymore.

You bit your lip for a moment at the agitation as the thought bubbled in you, before looking back up at Mei and returning her gentle smile.

“Alright. I'll get going. Take care, Mei.”

She nods, getting up with you, as you gather your items and walk up ahead a bit.

Mei turns to Sunday, and mutters something out of earshot.

——

You're tired of this.

You get up once again, in pain. It shoots through you, and pulses in your body. It continues to ebb and intensify with passing moments.

You stifle a groan, biting down on your chapped lips and swallow thickly, a bead of sweat forming over your eyebrow as you clutch yourself in pain. 

No one else is awake.

You zone out in pain, the only sound in your ears of the heart rate monitor beside you picking up slightly. The pain renders you almost still. 

This pain. This all too familiar ache. You despise it, and yet you don't. How many events have you had to skip or leave because of it? How many times have you turned down hanging out with your friends over it? It angers you. It's as though inhabiting a scrawny animal who claws at your insides for nothing. How many hobbies, pastimes, hell even careers, have you missed out on because of this? The all to familiar sight of your friends’ slightly pitiful gazes burns your mind, almost making the pain in your body worse as you squeeze your eyes shut–

A hand.

Your eyes open, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming on your back as you turn your head to look at the hand on your shoulder.

Sunday. He doesn't seem to be donning any gloves this time.

His hands are pretty. The thought floats through the top of your mind like oil on water, the pain pulsing in you barely letting you cling to the present.

“Are you in pain?”

You lick your lips, shallow breathing carrying the response you wish to say. He hums, the noise almost soothing.

His hand moves and rests on your back, the warmth of his palm more comforting than the sweat making your skin shiver. He doesn't seem to mind the fluid sticking to his own skin.

For a moment, you feel the warmth increase, before it dims. Everything dims. The pain ebbs away, making you breathe out shakily, your tense muscles eventually relaxing. His hand slides to your wrist as you lay back down, fatigued from the midnight bout of pain.

“Better?”

You blink a few times, a futile attempt to appear more alert and less affected from the episode. There's a bit of water in your eyes – you didn't notice, but it's nothing you're concerned about.

You turn your head slightly to him, your eyes looking up at him as you ask with a hoarse voice

“How did you do that?”

Sunday hums, his fingers moving from your wrist to your palm, drawing soothing circles in the middle of it as a comforting gesture.

“We are equipped to absolve a bit of your pain. This is our duty. This is how we become pure.”

“Pure?”

His head isn't turned to you, instead a bit low, as he leans back in his seat. He breathes out.

“Purification happens through only a few means. Absolving you of your pain is a major way to do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“It hurts.”

His hand gently squeezes your hand.

“But you are feeling better.”

“It's not fair.”

His head turns slightly to see you. Your watery eyes only become more teary. Frustration, hurt, sadness, anger. There's a scripture in your face as he scans the furrow of your brows, the tears in your eyes and the chapped, dry blood on your lips.

And the silence settles between you two. A tender sort of hurt in the night air as he folds his fingers around your hand. Your eyes trail to his plethora of wings. Pairs of 3. They're beautiful. You watch the conglomerate of his eyes closing and gently blinking, almost lulled to sleep. His golden halo hangs a little lower than usual – sharp, yet elegantly prudent. The ones on his wings covering his actual eyes stare back at you.

You're beautiful. The words stay choked on your tongue like a regretful prayer. Your eyebrows relax, and your jaw unclenches.

Sunday smiles, watching your tear filled eyes close with sleep.

–—

Your shoes click as you circle around the fountain, watching the carved figure in the middle pour out water from various sources. 

Your padded shoes come to a slow halt, followed by Sunday's polished shoes right behind.

“Do you believe in wishes?’

“Hm..”

You shuffle through your bag, picking out something silvery. A coin.

“Yeah. Like.. a wishbone. A shooting star. An eyelash.”

You hold up the delicate coin, but Sunday's attention is trained on your face.

“We find wishes and stories everywhere. If you could.. what would you wish for?”

You gently grab one of his hands, and press a coin in the middle of his palm. He seems to have forgone his gloves once again.

“I am incapable of–”

“It's hypothetical. Come on.”

He hums, glancing at the coin, and then at the fountain.

“I'd like more coffee. One that is flavorful, deep and complex.”

You chuckle and shake your head,

“Be a little more creative. Just coffee?”

You pick out your own coin.

You suppose you were a bit unfair to him. What would you explain about walking to a whale in it's depths? About flying to a mammal accustomed to it's faithful footing? About crawling to feathery or scaled wings?

You throw your coin.

I wish for freedom.

Sunday hums again, pondering deeply.

“Ah, but if I say it out loud, it won't come true.”

“Aww..”

He chuckles, pocketing the coin.

“Let us proceed.”

He holds out his hand to you, and you eagerly accept, intertwining your fingers around his as you walk alongside and make small talk

“They've been struggling to walk and do basic tasks. Look after them.”

Mei's voice rung out in his head for a while, like a record playing over and over in an empty ballroom.

“You can see me.” He says matter-of-factly, instead of a question, after a moment of contemplative silence.

“I'm intimately familiar with death.”

He stares at her distant look for a moment.

“..I have my duties.”

“Sure. Take care of them. Please.”

–—

“Sunday, it's okay–”

A small gasp escapes you as he yanks you a bit closer,

“Watch out for the pothole.”

“The cover?” You look up at him almost in disbelief. 

What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Careful.”

He pulls you aside again, ‘assisting’ you to dodge a very obvious, very blaringly red fire hydrant.

“Ugh, okay, wait.”

You halt, Sunday stopping in his tracks ahead of you as your limp hand refuses to move with his in grasp.

“you don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to keel over if I step on a rock or something.”

“Nonsense, I'm simply fulfilling my duty.”

He turns to you completely, your hand still firmly grasped in his, as he looks down at your troubled face.

“You weren't this.. protective.”

“Hm, something must have messed with your memories. Here, let me–”

You gently swat away his hand that reaches out to you,

“Sunday, relax.”

You both stay silent for a moment. You breathe out,

“Okay, here,”

You step closer, and shake your hand out of his firm grasp, but loop your arm around his, and gently pat his bicep with your other hand.

“Better?”

He stays silent for a moment,possibly surprised for a moment.

“Better.”

He smiles at you, and you return it, both of you continuing forward.

——

“I want a garden. As big as possible.”

“Is that so?”

You kick around a small pebble, stepping on a slightly raised stone platform before looking up to gawk once again at the priceless view – the field of tulips making you stop for a moment.

“Mhm. I want to grow as big of a garden as I can. I've always wanted to.”

He chuckles softly, following your gaze out into the vast tulip field, before returning back to you.

You almost belonged here.

The entire gorgeous tapestry of you. Blending into the delicate backdrop like a painting. He's seen a few portraits in museums that could at least come close to the vision.

“I want to paint.”

You turn and look at him, Inquisitively, as he says so, almost surprising you.

“Really?”

He fully turns to you, and holds out a flower for you to see.

A carnation.

“What do you want to paint?”

You glance back up at his covered face. He steps a bit closer, and places the flower in your hair, moving a few stray strands from your face as he does so.

“A garden.”

You giggle, and the sound blooms in his heart.

“What kind?”

“A big one. With as many flowers as there can be.”

“Sounds pretty.”

He hums. You are, He thinks.

——

Sunday hates the rain.

There are many things he hates.

Overrun schedules, late appointments, rushed deaths, overbearing contracts, unruly protectees, a bad cup of coffee, bright lights.

And the rain.

Both of you pant and huff – you especially – running to hunt for any cover, the pattering of your feet almost matching the rain's rhythm.

Sunday's hand is tightly grasped around yours as he leads you to a small cover; a small awning, the grip so firm you notice the middle of your palm is still dry when he lets go to check you over.

“Are you alright?”

Sunday scans you over, stepping to the side to examine you more, a supportive hand on your back as you continue to catch your breath. You can predict the next bout of pain is gonna be worse. But you shove that thought aside as you nod, turning to face him, wiping away some of the rainwater dripping from his chin.

“You're soaked.”

He hums, disregarding the obvious nature of your remark, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he counters,

“You'll get sick.”

He raises his head slightly to glance over you, gauging something.

“We're closeby, let's just run–”

“No.”

Sunday shuts you down firmly. His tone doesn't allow more room for argument.

He sighs, running a hand through his own wet hair as he contemplates on what to do. You try to scrunch up a bit of your clothing to squeeze out the water, and do the same with your hair as you wait for him to continue.

“I'll be fine–”

You try to softly negotiate, but Sunday takes off his blazer, swiftly putting it over your shivering shoulders, before wrapping his arms around you and–

“Ah- Sunday-?”

You breathed out, almost a gasp, as he pulls you in. His shirt is thinner from the water still soaking it, but the warmth of his body (of which you become too aware about) relaxes you almost immediately. You hesitate for a moment, until Sunday quietly sighs into your shoulder. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his waist, tucking your face into his neck as well. Your bodies exchange warmth, and the water seems to help hold the heat better than before.

“I despise the rain.”

Sunday's muffled voice resounds into your clothes and skin, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips.

“Really?”

He nods

“Why?”

“Alters too many things in the schedule.”

“Ah. I see..”

He sighs again; a puff of breath warming– almost burning your shoulder.

You stay that way for a few moments longer, before you speak again;

“Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“I want to do something.”

He stays silent, as though waiting for your initiative. You loosen your grip, and he pulls away at the indication. You take a moment as you scan his appearance – nothing resembling the once pristine, well kept man you'd seen the first day in your hospital room. Bits of his blue hair stuck to his skin like waves latching onto the shore, the feathers of his wings adorned with raindrops, the blurred effect of his halo under the rain. Your eyes travel a bit lower; his tie is slightly crooked, and his shirt is see through and..

You clear your throat, blinking and turning your gaze away to the pattering rain.

“I've wanted to.. um..”

Sunday's fingers brush against the side of your face, turning your attention back to him.

He brushes away a few strands sticking to your wet skin. His fingers are cold.

Your hands gently grasp his, encasing it, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

You slowly turn, and walk backwards, his hand still encased in yours as you step into the rain, watching his hesitant steps follow you.

You both stand under the rain, the water cradling your skin and washing away your previous efforts to dry off. Your hand intertwines with his, and your other hand rests on his shoulder. He places his other hand on your waist.

You smile, but he still seems hesitant. For a moment, you both stand, simply looking at each other. 

As if to reassure himself, Sunday leans down, and gently presses his forehead to yours.

Your smile falters for a moment, your expression replaced by that of surprise, but when Sunday grins, your confusion floats away. His hand squeezes yours as both of you sway and dance in the rain.

–––

“Is everything okay?”

Or at least – that's what the curious look on your face might say.

Sunday retracts his hand from the water of the fountain, gently flicks it, before wiping it with a handkerchief, drying it off. He sits half turned to you on the fountain's edge.

You stand with an umbrella and a (familiar) floating eye in tow, changed into warmer clothes and dried hair, washed of the rain's scent. 

Sunday had temporarily stepped away while you were showering to visit a smaller fountain closer to where you stayed. He was acutely aware the coin you'd tossed wouldn't be here. 

Always standing. Never approaching. That was how he'd describe Gopher Wood.

Right where you are.

Dressed in black like a curse that followed him – ravens in corners of buildings and lurking from above muddied puddles. Always in the distance, fog following him like a haunting widow, the backdrop of the mist etching him further into Sunday's mind. A hollow that spasms like a missing organ.

“These are necessary measures” he'd say. “Are you afraid?” He took delight.

He took delight in it.

“Sunday?”

Your voice, soft and grounding, snapped him out of the small trance he was in.

“My apologies.”

He says, picking up his folded blazer as he stands and walks to you,

“I have to check your temperature and–”

“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on.”

You hand over the umbrella to him, and shuffled through your bag to pull out a warm and fuzzy towel.

Sunday simply observes you for a moment as you hold the towel in your hand. He tries to reach out to take it with his other, but you pull away. He looks at you hesitant and confused, as you motion for him to lean down.

Carefully, your hands bring the towel to his head, and cautious of his wings, you gently dry his damp, blue hair. He hums, his wings shifting and bristling from the contact at first, before relaxing. 

“You could have told me.”

“You wouldn't let me.”

“I wouldn't?”

You huff,

“You talk too much.”

“You're the one who cuts me off quite often.”

“Touchè.”

Your hands stop for a moment, looking over at his ruffled hair half dried by the towel. One of your hands brushes away some of the hair that sticks up onto his face.

You wish he'd let you see his eyes.

“What colour are your eyes?”

His throat tightened a bit. He'd hate to deny you if you asked to see them.

“..gold.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

You stayed quiet, simply looking at the soft feathers of his wings, your hand moving from his face to hover around the pairs behind his ear, you look at him, and he nods, giving you silent permission.

Your hand gently cards through one of the wings’ feathers, careful to not poke any of the eyes, wiping away any wet edges of his feathers.

“..You're pretty.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.”

You back away, your hand retracting and pulling away the towel but Sunday is a bit faster, his hand grabbing your wrist and immediately stilling you. You both stand for a moment, breathless, and silent.

…

“I.. I'll wash the towel.”

“Ah, it's okay..”

He insists, silently, although his originally urgent grip on your wrist loosens a bit.

You end up obliging, letting him take the towel.

He could feel your pulse. Do humans have normally quick heartbeats?

–—

“Brother!”

Robin grins, ear to ear, proud of her handiwork as she holds up her fingers, sticky from the dampness of the water and the sweat of her small, clammy hands. The water dips into the chubby curve of her elbow, threatening to go up further but dripping down into the water instead, rejoining the gentle flow. 

“Robin, that could be dangerous! We don't know what those plants are..”

Sunday cautions his sister, voice untethered but soft with naivety and youth. His feet remain hesitantly restless on the muddy edge of the small river bank.

She only offers him a closed eye grin, before trudging her short, stubby legs in the water, walking back to the soil where she descended from, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she was cautious not to slip.

“It's for you!”

“M-Me?”

Robin's wet hand reaches out to Sunday's, gently prying his soft palm open and placing a soaked flower, making the water drip from his rounded knuckles. Some of the water seeps into the edges of his sleeves, but not more than a few centimetres.

“It's the flower! From the book!”

“But it's not real..”

“It is! That's why it's white!”

Sunday looks down at the flower again. It looked dreadful, in a way. Like a drowned rat – if he knew he could describe it that way. But from the rambunctious effort of Robin's chubby little fingers having wrestled it out of the water, it looked..

perfect.

It was beautiful in a sense. The white petals were (almost) unmarred, the stamens gently swayed with the soft draft that carried with cloudy weather, and the stem was still slightly rigid.

Robin's handiwork was pretty.

“You mustn't run off like that.”

Robin flinches, and clings to Sunday's back, as he turns to the source of the voice.

His eyes first see shoes. Black, polished, unmarred. Never touched by filth. Then crisply ironed pant legs. Then up, up, and up, until his little neck strained.

Father.

Or what was left of him.

Gold rimmed glasses. A rosemary always adorning his neck.

Sunday's original thoughts, back then, had been none of these incriminating feelings. They'd been quiet. So silent and afraid, as though his father would hear if he thought too loudly.

“What do we have here?”

The man leans down, but it does less to make him non-imposing. He might prefer it, that way. Sunday notices the gentle tinker of his rosemary as it moves forward with his father.

Robin's clammy hands now clenched the soft fabrics draped over Sunday's small back, cowering behind him. His loud, messy sister. His determined, bright sister. Dimmed by the clouds and fear his father brought.

If only he reached out to choke his father with his rosemary right then and there.

—–

“I wish u could have made it ://”

You stare at an old text – probably even forgotten by the sender. The tears make the digital screen a bit hard to read momentarily as it fills up your vision, but it gets easier after they settle on your waterline. 

It's these quiet nights you realise how much company you're missing. Like an artist painting the negative spaces in blotches to carve out the image – texts and hidden whispers like these carved out the loneliness you'd fester in yourself.

Something stirred you awake. Maybe it was the constant lingering pain that threatened to push it's usual threshold. Maybe the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor.

Or that Sunday wasn't here.

Not even his eye. As unsettling as it was – you missed it a little. You sigh, pushing yourself up and sitting on the edge of your familiar hospital bed, careful to not agitate the pain more by accident. You push off the bed, and walk a bit hunched, pulling a shawl over yourself and deciding to go out and search for him for whatever reason.

At least, it's a better way to pass your restlessness than going through old texts. Walking at night didn't seem as bad of an idea – at least within hospital grounds.

––

Sunday remembers the world.

Or what he wishes to remember it as.

Cold, stony alleyways. Unforgiving nights. Merciless fog. A sun that never shines.

Not upon those like him anyway.

His Father – always standing. Never approaching. The fog surrounding him was the same. Always at a standstill.

Until something broke that.

There it was. Blood, seeping through cracks in the broken pavement of the ground. Almost inky from the murkiness and filt that seeped into it.

That was the first time he saw his Father's shoes marred.

“This is necessary, child.”

The Raven perched on his shoulder would bristle a bit, but not more.

No, it wasn't.

“This is our duty.”

It isn't.

“You will have to do what it takes.”

Sunday felt impossibly small that day. Like a fawn's leg caught in a bear trap. As if his surroundings grew a size too big and left him behind like a borrowed sweater. He was always more frailer than the other kids.

He wonders if that's why his father broke him so easily.

His little, golden eyes peered down, lost in thought and terror. He learnt how to ground himself at a tender age.

There was grime under his shoes.

Grime in the cracks of the pavement.

Grime in his father's affections.

He was never pure.

——

You couldn't find Sunday.

Forget that – you couldn't even walk.

Pain shot through you the moment you stood up, making you gasp and breathlessly sit back down onto your bed. Your throat constricted – you couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the frustration.

The frustration that had been ebbing and chipping away at you; second by second, hour by hour.

“I can't make it”, “I'm not feeling well”, “The doctor said..”, “I probably won't.”,..

“It hurts.”

Your lungs tremble, before sucking in a breath. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you hunch forward, glaring through the blur of your festering emotions at the sterile tiles of your hospital room.

The tapered off conversations, friendships fizzled out, disappointed looks.

You weren't blessed. By some being, or some cruel fate, or so on and so forth; it felt like if anything, you were created to be tortured. Like flimsy, rotting meat on a metal rod. Pain was more familiar to you than the crevices of your hand, weak with the trembling in your bones from all the feelings you couldn't even name.

“I wish you could have made it.”

That pulls a sob out of you like a hooked wire piercing and pulling through a fish's throat, making you double over as more continue to bubble past.

You were meant to be tortured; you choke on your spit, and sob past the coughing.

Why? God, just why? Fall to your side and curl up,

Why couldn't you be blessed? What did everyone else have that you didn't? Why weren't you blessed? Why couldn't you be free? What godforsaken sin had your soul committed? What did your fate have in store? What did you do?

Why you?

Burying your screams into the pillow, the ugliness of your reality was softened by it like an interrupted fall from a height.

You cry until your vessel is empty.

Until you feel you've carved a hole out of yourself from the middle.

What it would take to be blessed, you wonder. Your hands clench to your chest, and your heart throbs to live despite.

–

Sunday returns late.

And he returns quietly.

You look up, puffy and tired eyes meeting the wings where his are supposed to be.

He stands idly at the opened door. Blood stains his visage. 

You breathe out, your face warm from your previous bout of sobbing, and don't utter a word. Sunday walks– limps to your side, almost paddling his way, before slumping down into the chair beside you. Some of the eyes besotted on his halo look tiredly at you.

You sniffle. He stays still. You presume he's looking down at the tiled floor.

Your hand comes up to rub away at your sticky face, and soon Sunday's own hand comes up to cup your face when yours retracts.

You lean into his gloved hand, disregarding the grime and the strong, metallic scent. He leans forward, and presses his forehead against yours.

His hair are soft against your forehead. You peer into the deft feathers of the wings that firmly shut over his eyes. Your own hands gently cup his face, closing your eyes. After a moment, he shifts, his face moving to bury itself into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you, a bit too tightly. He stays tense for a minute, then relaxes into your hold.

You both stay like that for a while.

—–

You woke up feeling under the weather the next day. Which was ironic, because the Dawn has never looked as beautiful as it did that morning.

In fact, you don’t even remember how you managed to sleep. 

You look down emptily at your hand – as though you awoke from a coma induced dream, reminiscent of the warmth that was under it just a night ago.

Just then, your door creaks open. Sunday enters with a small box, and stills for a moment before his face breaks into a gentle smile.

“Ah, you're already awake.”

He says, softly, careful to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere the morning sunlight had casted in your room with you two. He walks over and sets the box on your bedside table.

“What is that..?”

“Paint.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He leaves, and a few moments later, you hear a soft grunt in the distance, followed by some wood creaking. Finally, Sunday seems to be able to maneuver whatever he'd been handling and it comes into view as he brings it in;

An easel, and a canvas already set on it.

You smile, at his struggled and awkward movements as he carefully handles the easel inside.

“You wanted to paint.” You recall, propping up your pillows and lazily leaning back onto them.

“I did.” He says, his smile returning to his face after the slightly troubling task. He pulls a chair and sits in front of the canvas, adjusting and pondering over the position of it until he was satisfied.

“What are you going to paint?”

“You.”

“Something more original please.”

“With lots of care.”

“Hm? What?”

You chuckle a bit, Sunday puffing a smile at your seemingly lightened mood.

“You should rest for today. We have a few necessary tasks to look into, aswell.”

You yawn, turning your head to look at the morning sunlight brightening up your room.

“Sure. What are they?”

You hear a clack – the lid of the box having been pried open with a bit of difficulty, as Sunday rustles with the paintbrushes and paints.

“A few things regarding your previous experiences with The Family, reviews, feedback and complaints..”

Ugh. They wanted you to drop a review?

You sigh, stifling a groan as a hand runs down your face. Sunday chuckles, softly,

“I'll take care of the writing part, just answer the questions.”

——

“Hm, how curious.”

The lavender-haired woman stirs her tea with dainty, carefree rhythm, the spoon clicking against the ceramic of the cup as she peers down at the cards on the table.

Mei sighs, her hands folded on her lap as she stares at the golden liquid, occasional vibrations making it ebb the slightest bit.

“He doesn't seem.. angelic, does he?”

Black Swan ponders out loud, her hand picking up and flicking a few tarot cards,

“There's something about him. It feels off.”

“Relative to his sister, even I'd think so.”

The woman smiles lazily, her dawn colored eyes looking up at the purple haired woman in front of her.

“You're quite worried.”

“..I suppose, it's obvious.”

Mei's eyes flit up as she hears movement, followed by a lazy sigh from the woman across her.

Thin, manicured nails faintly brush against her skin as Black Swan holds her hand, her lithe fingers feeling the ridges of her engagement ring,

“And here I’d have thought you’d been more excited to see me back.”

Mei puffs out a prudent chuckle, her hands manoeuvring to hold her lover’s.

“Alright. Care to give me a reading?”

The dawn-eyed woman flicks up a card.

The Hanged Man.

Acheron’s eyes follow the swift movement.

“Let’s see what’s in store.”

——

Sunday thinks he's cursed.

Dirtied, marred. Absolution is in store for the sinners, and exorcism for the cursed like him.

Who dirties the divine? Who damns the dirtied? Whose hands marr purity?

Gopher Wood was not a man of purity. Grime-stricken hands that crawled up from the depths of hell to pull fragile minds into an abyss.

He inlaid a curse upon Sunday – that must have been it.

Why else would he not be able to look at him?

Head down, child.

Sunday's little feet would shuffle together, sweat would stick to the small flicks of his short hair on the back of his neck, eyes fixated on the grimy, cobblestone path under his polished shoes.

Follow my lead. Do not go astray.

His hand would tightly grasp onto a few fingers, barely gripping onto the firmness of the man's hand with his little, clammy ones.

Do not look.

Sunday stops. His heart beats a bit too fast for his tiny body.

Do not ask.

A bead of sweat tickles his skin as it rushes down the side of his temple.

Do not speak.

Tears would bubble at the corners of his eyes, hands red and swollen from being hit for every verse he got wrong. For every word he could not muster out from his throat that was raw from childish blubbering through cries.

He would not speak of him.

“Sunday?”

He holds his breath.

You scrutinize at the pamphlet in your hands, before aiming it towards him and pointing at a word on it.

His hand remains stiffly held in the air, the tip of the brush barely grazing against the painted canvas.

“What does this mean?”

His chair creaks as he leans aside the canvas to take a look at the word you pointed at.

“Ah. Exorbitant. Something unreasonably pricey.”

You make a small ‘o’ shape with your mouth, looking over the sentence again in better understanding.

“How's the painting coming along?”

“It's..”

Sunday takes a moment to glance over the painting.

The sky is barely painted in – it’s embarrassing how much detail he's put into your figure standing among the flowery field, however. The looser ends of your outfit billow among the sunlit garden, a wide smile etched upon your face, flowers adorning your arms in bunches as you try to hold the huge bundle.

“It'll take some more time.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitates. You smile.

“You.. can, however.. I'd like to keep it a surprise.”

You nod, softly,

“Okay. I'll see it when it's done.”

Sunday returns your smile. You continue reading the pamphlet. Sunday takes the time to admire the curve of your lips against the backdrop of sunlight through the window.

–——

You suppose you should have seen this fever coming.

You curl up further on your side, tapping away at a laptop on your hospital bed, putting on a show and huddling further into your additional blankets provided by the hospital. It helps provide background noise in case you want to zone out.

“Hm.. fever of.. 38°C.”

Sunday plucks out the thermometer from your mouth, before placing it on your bedside. His methodical hands mess with various sachets of medicine before neatly presenting a few of them on his open palm.

“You'll need these.”

He hands them over to you, along with a bottle of water. You eat your pills and settle back into your bed with a forlorn, disappointed sigh. Sunday only fixes your covers and tucks you more into bed.

Your eyes trail over to the canvas behind him, covered by a cloth, as Sunday dabs your sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.

“When can I see it?”

He hums, a bit in thought, as his hands continue to gently dab away the sweat on your skin.

“In a bit. I have to add a few details.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes, your weakened body pulling you into sleep as you feel the sensation of Sunday's lips press on the corner of your brow.

And that was the last you'd seen from Sunday.

Not that you're upset – of course not. He's a Seraphim. He surely has much better things to be doing, really. You can't imagine it must have been easy gaining such a status in the first place. And then having to look after a sickly human in the last days of their life? Work must be drab to him.

That being said, you do wish he'd at least tell you where he is.

Your eyes drift over to the overcast weather outside your window.

You hope he took an umbrella with him.

——

“Sunday.”

“Mr. Wood.”

Sunday's voice is sharp – he doesn't bother coveting the offensive edge.

“You've been astray for too long.”

…

Silence.

His gloves creak in protest as his fingers dig into his palm, curled fists at his side.

His smile remains stiffly on his face as one of his gloved hands pushes up his glasses.

“Surely, do you think such blasphemy is tolerable within the Family?”

“I–”

“Im asking, child.”

Sunday breathes out, strained.

“I didn't mean to–”

“Such excuses do not work–”

“Stop cutting me off.”

Sunday's voice wavers at the end. He feels his heart pushing into his throat. The raven on the man's shoulder only bristles, the smile on his face unwavering under the shadow of his black umbrella.

“..You haven't changed, little sparrow.”

Sunday's jaw clenches more. But before he can speak, thunder cracks in the background. His head snaps to look at the distant skies covered by heavy clouds.

It smells like rain.

––

“Take responsibility. Take responsibility for all you have done!”

Sunday's voice cracks through the strain on it. 

To respond is to acknowledge. He knows that filth won't respond. But he tries anyway.

He and his sister – they weren't sinful. They were children. They weren't filthy, they were confused. They weren't sinners, they were hurt.

They were children.

Through countless tortures and rotting, had Sunday realised his training was nothing but an escapist projection of his Father's own fears.

The fears his Father could not absolve in himself – he would, through the raw, blistered hands of a child that did not know better.

Or perhaps it was enjoyment. Or to fulfill his ego. To bolster his position as the shoe that grinded on dirt like him.

Perhaps all of those reasons.

Children with clammy hands, who plucked flowers and grabbed too tightly onto the swing, with scraped knees and a face that basked in the innocence of an eternal Sun.

Children, who were perfect to hurt, for monsters like him. Monsters like him who revelled in the pain of the innocent in lieu of unproven salvation. 

By the time Sunday yells his throat raw, thunder bellows in the background in equal magnitude, the rushing rain doing little to calm his heated face and drowning out the pattering of your feet as you rush to find him in front of the fountain where you both had made a wish.

“Sunday!”

Your voice calls out in the distance, his head snapping to you.

You shouldn't be out here.

He turns to embrace your approaching figure in the distance, his feet thrumming and moving to meet you in the middle, but before he takes a step–

“Do not move.”

The words still his bones. He breathes out, watching your slowing figure, swaying from the fever. Water sloshes lazily along his polished shoes that leaks out from the overfilled fountain. You'd wished for freedom here.

“Do not defy.”

He bites his lip, his teeth gnawing the flesh and drawing blood. He kept his wish in his pocket.

“I have commanded you, child.”

He will always be a sinner.

A sinner who is undeserving of a salvation as beautiful as yours.

“Your thrall is fizzling out.”

He smiles, and Sunday wishes he could rip his teeth out.

You sway, stopping to catch your breath, feeling yourself almost lose balance before steady arms wrap around your body.

“You're soaked!”

You whisper, feeling the dampness of his suit as he pulls you into a hug.

“We need to leave.”

Sunday leads you back, ignoring the weakening tether of his divinity.

Sunday looks back for the final time – a lonely, black umbrella in front of the fountain, it's owner seemingly vanished.

——

You heave, as Sunday helps you back onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, your body only grew weaker. You feared something worse when you could barely feel your pulse, but the way your legs seemed to almost stop working by the time you reached your room, it was already true.

Your figures shuffle as Sunday paces around the room, trying to find extra blankets and covers provided by the hospital, cursing under his breath as he knocks over a few items, some getting caught in his leg. You try not to pay attention to your failing body, but its hard to ignore how much deja vu you're getting right about now. Only this time – the pain is worse. The chill running up your spine at your spike in fever is nothing compared to the cold that's slowly chipping away at your fingers, and the pain in your body is reaching an all time high, making your breaths come out in labored gasps. It feels like a scrawny animal trying to rip out of your body.

He hurries over to you, swaddling you in blankets and sheets in layers, furiously rubbing your arms as he tries to warm up your body from the biting cold of the rain. Thunder strikes through outside your window, and in your fever haze, you catch a glimpse of the painting Sunday had meticulously made. He must have accidentally pulled the cover while pacing around.

Sunday calls out to you, snapping you momentarily out of your haze, but not completely. You were losing consciousness, and fast. His voice is shaking, despite how much he tries to appear calm. 

He knows.

But you can't bring yourself to pay attention. Things float over your mind like an ephemeral dream, your eyes only focused on the golden sunlight of the painting.

There's Sunday. And you. The garden is beautiful, and the sun illuminates your hands, reaching out to each other.

The gold is beautiful.

“Hey..”

You call out, making his panicked actions stop abruptly. His hand cups the side of your face, so gently, as if you're porcelain under his hand.

“What is it?”

“Sunday..”

Your hands tremble, moving up to hold his face, your fingers brushing away stray droplets from the edges of the wings over his face. The pain ebbs in you, and you recognize the familiar action as you sense it dimming, coupled with the sweat forming above Sunday's scrunched up eyebrows. He's trying to salvage this pain.

“Can I see your eyes?”

Sunday breathes out, leaning more into your hands. His hands move from supporting your back to your shoulders, gently pushing you back onto the bed, but his forehead presses against yours. 

You can feel his trembling, cool breath fan the lower half of your face, his own hands clasping over yours. The pain starts decreasing terrifyingly fast, making you afraid of just how much Sunday is trying to take it from you and into himself.

“Sun..”

Your voice whispers out,

“You don't have to–”

“I love you.”

The words hang between you two. You hear the faint sound of him swallow. There's dried blood on his lips.

“I love you too. The painting is beautiful.”

Sunday sucks in a breath, his wings bristling at your words. You feel your hands slowly lose strength.

His wings move. You see his eyes.

And they hold the most beautiful, striking golden Sun.

You're caught breathless for a moment.

Sunday's hands are still clasped over yours as they loosen and threaten to fall away from his face. You sense the trembling in them as he fosters your pain.

“I'm scared.”

His eyes close, eyebrows scrunched in worry and uncertainty.

“I'm here. I always have been.”

“I don't want to die.”

Sunday shifts, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead,

“Wherever you go, I'll follow you. There is nowhere you will go that I won't reach you.”

You close your eyes, tears roll down the sides, and Sunday kisses them away, continuing to whisper against your skin,

“I promise. I'll find you. In every universe you are painted into.”

You smile, laughing bitterly through your tears, your voice cracking a bit,

“You didn't make a wish, you know..”

Sunday presses his forehead to yours, his hand fishing out the coin he'd kept from his pocket in a hasty manner. He holds your hand, and gently places the coin in the centre of your palm.

“Because this will be a promise. I will follow you unto the borders of fate. Wherever you will lead I shall look to.”

You smile, through your tears,

“It's not fair. It's not your wish.”

“It's mine. And I am yours.”

He kisses you. His lips are soft against yours. You can taste his blood.

“I will always be yours. In death, if not in life.”

His hands encase yours. You feel the ridges of the coin press against the inside of your closed hands. 

You die in love.

He is a curse; a man rotten by the grime of his humanity, and thus he turns to you for the salvation of his divinity. But how insignificant such a thing is to him  – He cannot bless you, so he curses you. You who were never blessed now face the miracle of an angel like him. A miracle crafted by the defiling hands of a sinner that cursed you for love.

And he shall follow you unto death like one.

——

Acheron thrums her fingers against the cool counter of her desk, her eyes trained on the register in front of her.

She doesn't know how to tell a story.

Not yours, anyway.

Black Swan hums in the background, fixing the frame over the wall,

“You doubt yourself too much.”

Mei stays silent for a moment, then sighs. Her office chair creaks as she leans back in it. A few moments of silence, followed by a soft peck on the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to see her wife's, the woman slightly leaned over her.

“I'll be home late. I promise I'll spend more time with you soon. I just..”

Black Swan hushes her, her fingers lazily tangling themselves in the woman's violet hair. 

“I know. You have a long day ahead, isn't it?”

Acheron sighs again, closing her eyes, remembering your body in the morgue. Just about a few hours ago, when the rain was hitting it's hardest, she and her wife had taken a relaxed break. Black Swan had drawn some predictions for her, and the sounds of thunder had soothed her troubled mind back to a still pond. 

She opens her eyes again, and watches the precipitation on the window, the gentle sunlight peeking through the breaking clouds, the sound of rain coming to a slow halt. She watched a raindrop sliding off of the leaf of a plant right outside her window. Black Swan has already returned to her own devices behind her.

In just a few hours, you'd been alive. By the time the clouds broke apart and the rain stopped, so had your heart.

And here you were – back with a story of your own, instead. Acheron wishes she was better at storytelling. She hopes her wife can do it justice.

She turns halfway in her seat, looking back at her wife.

“..do you mind.. lending me a hand?”

The lavender haired woman only hums in response, the clicking of her heels as she approaches her again. She places three cards on Mei's desk.

“Which one calls to you?”

Mei takes a minute, analysing the duplicate designs of each card's back. She taps on the one on the left. Black swan picks it up.

“that's good.” She hums, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking back at Mei,

“But I mean, you. Which one really calls to you?”

Acheron hesitates once again, before tapping the middle one.

“Perfect.”

——

“You were right.”

Mei says, before gently blowing on the hot liquid in her teacup,

Black swan hums, lighter at the end, questioning what Mei was mentioning.

“That painting looks better in the centre.”

At this, the lavender-haired woman's mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, before curling into a smile. She flicks a few cards before gathering and tapping the bundle on the table to even them out.

“It does. Aren't you pleased I'm looking after your office decor?”

Mei only hums in response, looking over to the said painting hanging above her office chair, her face hidden by the sunlight of early morning.

“Someone ought to have helped with such a..”

Black Swan trails off, perturbed by the sterile, clean look of Acheron's office where she has yet to make changes.

Mei only laughs under her breath at her words.

“You're right.”

Black Swan's gaze joins her lover's, as she looks to the painting aswell.

The golden sunlight peers through the tender reach of your hands with a certain, blue-haired angel. The same angel who was buried beside you.

“Ah, look.”

Mei looks down at the table, following her wife's fingers, as they tapped on the table.

“What do these cards mean?”

“Take a guess. Tell me what you feel from these.”

Her hand lands on Mei's – slightly coarse from her line of work. Her lithe fingers trace the band of her engagement ring.

“Something.. new. A fresh start.”

She smiles. Her dawn-colored eyes trail to the sidewalk just outside, watching a pair of lovers walk hand in hand under the newly uncovered Sun after the night's rain.

——

“Morning.”

You whisper, leaning down and gently kissing the corner of your husband's brow. He sighs, and shifts, burying his face further into the pillows. It's soon followed by arms that move under the covers to wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay seated beside him. You simply chuckle.

“Goodmorning.”

He replies, his voice soft with sleep. You ruffle the soft tufts of his blue hair.

“Sleep well?”

“Mm. I..”

He opens his eyes, half lidded and blurry with sleep, looking up at you. You both stay silent for a moment.

“I had a long dream.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

He sighs, before slowly sitting up, and burying his face into your neck, and then leaning his body weight onto yours, making you lay down on the bed.

Hm. So this is how it's going to be.

You know your husband too well to know this is going to turn into a drawn out cuddling session. Your hand raises and brushes through the soft, blue locks. You're giving in anyway, because who are you to deny your lover?

He only holds you impossibly closer at that.

“I made coffee. It'll get cold.”

He hums at that.

“It's 10 in the morning, you dork.”

“Ah, didn't notice.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He presses a kiss to your neck in return.

“You haven't shown me your painting yet.”

He stays silent. But then, he shifts, his arms hesitantly letting go of you.

That seems to have gotten him going.

He gets up, and shuffles out of the room. A few moments later, he returns with a small canvas wrapped in a cloth. He hands it to you, then returns to sit beside you, burying his face into your neck once again.

“Wrapped too, hm?”

“It's your birthday.”

You smile. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your brow.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You haven't even seen it yet.”

You unwrap the cloth from the canvas. Your smile only widens at the painting.

There you two are. Your house is behind you two, and there's your garden that you've painstakingly taken care of.

You chuckle, pointing to a few, scattered reds across the greenery,

“You included my carnations.”

His hand comes up to wrap around yours, before bringing it up to his lips, and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course I did.”

You set the painting aside, before getting up and stretching, popping a few joints.

“Come on, I'll make you some fresh coffee.”

You reach your hand out, and he takes it, getting up on his feet as he lets you lead to the kitchen.

———

There's a strange shop that you've recently discovered.

It pops up just about whenever, wherever. A strangely elusive personality culminated by the repeated disappearance and the mysterious purpose of the shop tends to pull you in.

You had visited the shop before – but the memory is fuzzy. You don't remember having anything you'd like to buy. Photo Albums, mirrors, tarot cards, polaroid cameras, antique equipment and trinkets, and strange candles. It was when you were on your way home from work that you decided to take such a detour. Perhaps.. that must've been what it was. Regardless, you decided you'd want to visit the shop again with your husband.

The opportunity was pretty perfect; your schedules aligned, the weather was considerably not so miserable, and you managed to find the shop in time.

It's a bit of a chance opportunity, considering how your husband has taken a liking to a bird that recently ended up in your backyard – the poor thing was scuffled. It's wings were broken and it barely survived through the night you two found him.

Ever since, he'd been collecting photos and capturing the little thing's recovery, bit by bit. 

You smiled to yourself, humming in contentment as your arm was looped around his snugly, basking in the warm glow of the early Sun, walking in a leisurely pace as your husband continued to flick through photos on his phone.

The weather was especially nice today – the rains had stopped a while ago and the time window was perfectly in between cold breezes and a warm atmosphere. You eyed the gentle swaying of newly sprouted weeds and grasses, a thicket of flowers and so on, at the edge of the sidewalk connecting to the wall of a barrier.

The wall would end a few ways ahead, replaced by (slightly worn) fences, as the rest of the land came into view the more you two walked ahead. Your husband would occasionally fill in the silence with little facts he would remember of, while you scanned the vast scenery of the green land behind the fence.

It was a cemetery. The tombstones were warmed by the Sun – or you at least think so, the way a cat seems to be lazily draped over one. There's a hugely amassed tree a few ways up the tombstones, and there lay two solitary ones, just enough distance from the tree for the light to reach under and illuminate them. 

You wonder if they're warm. You wonder if the grass is soft, and the dirt is coldly comforting. You wonder who they were – lovers, spouses, friends. Perhaps they were holding hands through their graves. Another cat sprung from behind one of the tombstones, gracefully approaching the one asleep sunbathing, stomping around the little flowers growing beside the specific tombstone.

You see them greet each other. You see the cat lovingly bathe the sun-kissed one. It's tail lazily draped over the tombstone flicks, drawing your attention to the name. Nico. Below it, reads, Have faith in a tomorrow.

The fence cut the sight a little short as you two walked ahead. 

You think for a moment, almost disregarding the smallness of the thought amongst other things in your head.

“Ah, I don't think I've shown you this one.”

Your husband speaks, leaning over to show you a spontaneous photo of you on one of your dates. You both had taken a detour and rested near the fountain. That must have been when, as you smiled, looking at the photo.

But the thought still lingered quietly in your head.

To be woven so delicately and strongly into someone else's tapestry, until the strings frayed long after your deaths.

What it would take, you wonder.

———

Akin to your habits of detours, and keenly aware of your likings, your husband politely guides you to a cafe you two had visited once (he, thankfully, does not mention the audible growling of your stomach. Coffee is not a good, neither a fulling breakfast.)

You two spend a handful of hours there, simply relishing the downtime you two have together. Hushed, soft conversations, hands held over the wooden table that stayed linked as you two finally made your ways to the strange shop.

It was small, but the arrangement of the trinkets (and perhaps the placement of the lighting) made it look more spacious inside. You two talked at the front where, you presume, the owner of the shop was. A lavender haired woman who spoke in a hushed, sweet tone. Nothing else was off about her except her hypnotizing gaze and the knowing look in her eyes. You two would take your time sorting through the shop, and eventually your husband would pick a photo album.

The woman offered to print a few select photos, and you hesitantly agreed. Although technically this was a strange shop in itself, something about it prickled your skin the wrong way.

So, you waited outside for him as he discussed the details, choosing to admire the carefree and relaxed atmosphere of the day outside.

After a moment, your phone buzzed, and that was your signal. You headed inside, and found your husband listening carefully to the lavender-haired woman instructing on how to take care of the album. As soon as you catch her eye, she smiles at you, and waves. You wave back.

“Good to go?” You ask, looking at your lover in blue.

“Sure is. Feel free to drop by anytime you need some more help.” The woman chimes in, smiling lazily at you, her chin cradled on her hands, her elbows propped up on the counter as your husband fiddles around with the album a bit more.

“Alright.” He says, after a moment, satisfied with his inspection. “We can leave.”

You smile at the woman again as a thanks, she simply waves you two off as you leave. The chiming of the little bell over the door resounds for only a moment as she watches you two with a fixed gaze leave and walk away.

“Hm..”

She hums, her fingers grazing over the plethora of cards sprawled in the pop up desk below. Her finger lands on a card.

The Hanged Man.

“Mei was right.” She smiles.

———

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[aellesira]

—🌹 'THE PRINCE'S ROSE: one. arrival.

“I don’t like any of them, grandmother.”

But one could tell that Kinich hadn’t even properly looked at any of the women in front of him. Kinich’s eyes scanned across the room, his gaze sweeping judgmentally over the gathering of beautiful women sitting across the hall. Bored, he tried his best not to roll his eyes at his current predicament. His grandmother sat on her throne next to him, smiling. It was clear that she had high hopes for these women, but…

They all seemed so stuck-up. Such were like the noblewomen of the kingdom who had spent their lives in luxury and wealth, the empress supposed. She sighed, and then she stood up.

“Welcome, noble daughters of the kingdom, to the palace. As you are all aware, I have decided to get my son, the future King of Natlan, married. This means that I need to find a suitable wife for him. And in two week’s time, that woman will be decided..." "One of you thirteen noblewomen.” The Empress carried herself with the air of a highly eminent and respected royal, and she was, setting an example for you.

You glanced around your surroundings, biting your lip with slight dread. There were all these beautiful women around you sitting beside you, just how would you compete against them?

Not to mention — was that Lady Mualani? Surely a friend of the crown prince would be the most favoured lady here? You couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity, time was ticking.

“As such, the royal council and I have come to the decision to hold a royal contest. The outcome of which will decide the future Empress. Every other day, there will be a competition to test which lady among all of you is the most competent, the most capable. Only the best of the best can rule this kingdom in my place one day…” she paused, gazing intensely from left to right.

The crown prince didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about this arrangement. His eyes narrowed at some women shamelessly winking at him, trying and failing to get him to notice them.

But the Empress had insisted that he was just at the right age to choose a suitable wife. And now, he must find someone. Not that anybody in front of him seems decent enough, but he supposed he couldn’t judge based on looks. Although… looks seemed to reflect perfectly the personalities of most of the noblewomen.

“The winner of each days’ competition will be held in high regard, of course. We will consider them the most. The winner of each competition also gets the privilege of spending additional time with the crown prince at the end of the day," The Empress couldn't suppress a smile at this. "However, the final decision shall be made by him, the last day of the competition will be a ball. I wish you all good luck.” When the Empress had finished, she pardoned herself.

Murmurs among the women rippled across the room like waves, signifying the beginning of this selection. You were given two rules, and only two.

One, only the left side of the palace was forbidden for any of the guests to visit, save for the gardens. Two, small meetings with the prince on free days were allowed as long as they weren’t taking up too much of his time. And respect and kindness towards palace staff and the royals, of course, and even though it wasn’t expressed clearly the Empress knew she would be able to pick out the kind-hearted ones from the foul.

You were given the freedom to roam the halls of the palace, too. Because, if one of you were to be the Empress of this palace, you’d need to get used to this place.

So, you chose to wander a bit. The architecture of the palace was lovely; your eyes were blessed. But, perhaps it was for this reason, that after a while of exploring cluelessly, you suddenly jolted into someone. You let out a grunt. At first, you thought it was potentially a guard, and so you turned around to apologize, but the words were stuck, and didn’t come out of your mouth when you realized you had bumped into none other than the prince.

The prince. Way to make a first impression. You cursed yourself in your head.

For a moment, he only stared at you. Scoffed. If he wasn’t already irritated with the women who, up until a week ago, he had no intention of marrying, he must've certainly been now. He dusted over his clothes, his lizard-like eyes scrutinizing over your form. “I- my apologies, Prince Kinich, I wasn’t looking where I was going- please excuse me-” you stammered, afraid that he already saw you as a clumsy girl. Your head was bowed down in embarrassment at this prospect.

“Move out of my way.” he simply muttered. You turned to the side, and he didn't even spare you a glance and continued to wherever he was going before. When you were sure it was solely you in the great big hallway, you slapped your forehead. The entire time you trudged back towards your guest room, you couldn’t help but wonder if your clumsiness had ruined everything already. And the competitions hadn’t even started… great. Sleep didn't come to you quickly that night, either. Secretly, however, when Kinich laid on his bed that night, waiting for sleep to take him, he wondered if you, the first decent-looking and respectful woman in a group of snobs, although a klutz, would change his outlook on this contest. No, he scoffed. All these ladies were the exact same.

notes, this is going to be one of the shortest chapters i think, but don't worry; things are about to get interesting quickly!

taglist, @adres-tia, @sparklz02

—🌹 'THE PRINCE'S ROSE: masterlist. next.

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 3/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: You didn't think your new home could become any stranger. Shadows have started to follow you, the night no longer the safe haven it once was. It leads you to the one person who may be able to help.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Isolation, Slight Infantilization of Reader

A/N: The penultimate chapter 👀. Had a lot of fun with this series and I hope y'all have too! Last Chapter should be coming out sometime later this week/early this week. It's gonna be quite a doozy 😈

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

You think someone is watching you.

You didn’t think the eeriness of your home could be more uncomfortable, but the unmistakable feeling of attention has made it so. Only worsened by the fact you have no understanding of whose attention it is. Your first thought was perhaps the staff, but you can’t imagine months of your droll day-to-day life would suddenly gain their attention. Not when they skirt around you, ignoring all attempts to make conversations or eye contact, just as they’ve always done.

You’d learned to enjoy the solitude of your home, to be content with your own company. Reading, wandering the grounds, pondering the sky was now your beloved routine, not a prison of listlessness. But now you whip your head around at the slightest shadow. Something prickles on the back of your neck at odd moments, uneasy shivers coming down your spine when you turn the corner, your fight-or-flight instincts expecting something there.

The only other two options would be your father-in-law and your husband. The prior is an obvious no, well aware he confines himself to his study during the day so he may work in peace. The latter is absent during the daytime, supposedly sticking to his habit of sleeping with the sun, so you’re left with no clues.

To make it all worse is the fact that your husband has been present for dinner lately; Every night for the past week, to be precise. It seems to be the one meal he deems worthy of being awake for. But you figured that this was another kink to get used too, surely a momentary lapse before he returned to the routine.

But then he started talking to you.

—

“Was your day enjoyable?”

Your husband opened with, as if this was a normal dinner and you were in a normal marriage.

You hesitate to respond, convincing yourself that you had misheard one of the servants. Caleb isn’t even looking you in the eye, focused instead on cutting his steak.

“Well?” He juts in, right before taking a large bite. It's only then you realize it was in fact him speaking and in fact you who he was speaking to.

“I suppose so.” You finally deign as a well enough response. A suitably polite answer. “It was nothing remarkable.”

“Hmm.” He says, chewing on his wad of meat as he takes a sip of that curious wine of his. You return to your food, figuring that is the end of that. One of your husband's many irregularities, that was all. “What did you partake in?”

That brings you pause, halting your fork, currently being used to awkwardly move around fingerling potatoes. Your appetite starts to leave you.

“...Some of the books from the library.” Your stab at a potato, wishing you could dissent from proprietary like he could and eat through this conversation. “The estate has quite a robust collection. Especially the astronomy section.”

The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain makes you wince, draws your full attention to your husband. For a second, you swear his eyebrow twitches.

“I see.” He stabs his steak like it’s a vicious enemy, and rips away another piece. “Anything else?”

Why are you doing this?

You desperately want to ask. You swallow that urge down.

“I began a new cross stitch today.” You swallow. “My skills are unfortunately unrefined, but I found some beautiful thread I forgot my sister had packed away when-” I was shipped off “-when I first moved in. I’m planning to embroider a Mourning Dove.”

It had been more comforting than you expected, cross-stitching. Forever it had been a habit your mother forced upon you, imploring that good embroidery was only right for a proper lady to know. Now, all alone and homesick, it felt nice to create something that could fly away.

“Hmm.” Caleb says, and that is the end of it. What follows is uncomfortable minutes of silence. Too uncomfortable to eat, you gently push your plate away and stand up, another informal curtsy and a “good night”, hoping that would be the end.

It unfortunately was not.

Edric had let you know the night prior that he’d be busier these upcoming weeks, several meetings with important men or something of that matter keeping him away for the nights as well as the days. You told him it was no issue, even though your heart had tugged at the idea of spending those dark hours alone.

To your great shock, upon arriving at your favorite spot in the garden, your husband is there. Not lounging as he did before, but sitting on the bench. Your bench.

“I did not know you had finished dinner.” You remark, trying to act less flustered than you were. Months ago you would have rejoiced at this change of pace, so bored and listless. But now it left you feeling more than a little aggravated.

“I did shortly after you.” He says, actually acknowledging you with a look over his shoulder. Weirdly, a bottle does not accompany his side. “Thought I’d go for a walk. It is quite a big garden.”

I’m not here for you. He seemed to scream with every word, his very soul. You don’t why know he’s being so insistent, he’s made that opinion very clear in every other interaction so far.

“I see.” You parrot, a surge of obstinance making you bolder than normal, sitting down next to him. This was your favorite spot, you refuse to give it up to him on a whim.

It brings great satisfaction when he scoots away, his body jerking, clearly surprised by you being so close. You’re sure he thought you all figured out, some girl he could walk over whenever he pleased.

You don’t bother speaking first, figuring his stint during dinner was a temporary lapse in judgement. His sheer disinterest made it clear it was from a source of boredom, not genuine curiosity, which spurred this change. Surely, that was the end-

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb says, his long hand, usually adorned with a bottle, points at the night sky. When you don’t respond immediately, he goes to lengths of drawing the ‘W’ shape with his finger.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You say, surprised that he has continued talking to you and that he knows any constellation. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.” You chuckle at the joke, the mood quickly souring when Caleb doesn’t, looking at you like a strange sort of insect.

Edric would’ve laughed.

“And from her,” Caleb traces his hands away from Cassiopeia to another, “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” The words whip out immediately, before you can think better of it, although your tone is gentle. Caleb turns to look at you, wordlessly once more. For a second, you wonder if he’ll snap at your correction. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

Caleb pauses for a moment, retracting his hand.

“Hm.” He hums and turns away.

The awkward atmosphere lingers afterwards, and you almost feel bad for correcting him. You hadn't meant it as a criticism, just as a reminder.

But that just makes you more upset. Why should you care how Caleb feels about your words, unintentional or not? He has made no such consideration for your feelings during your time here, nor does he seem to intend to anytime in the future. He’s a cad, a rake, he could stand to be knocked down a peg or too.

Luckily, the rest of the night is blissfully quiet. You try your best to bat away any lingering feelings of anxiety or awkwardness, simply savoring what you could.

—

Caleb isn’t sure what he is doing.

It was bad enough foregoing his rest and haunting you like a phantom, chasing this incessant new urge of his. Like picking at a scab you know would be healed if left alone, he can’t seem to resist. His body follows you naturally now, using his more inhuman qualities to blend in the shadows, avoiding the poisonous daylight and lingering on your every move. You make it too easy with your rhythmic movements, keeping regular in your entertainment about the house. If not in the library, you were in the garden having tea. If not in the garden having tea, you were embroidering on the lounge. What should be so dreadfully boring is now enrapturing, although it is wounding it feels too good to stop.

Look at him now, bumbling around like a fool, words falling out his mouth like hail against your soft skin. Even when he does catch your attention and get a genuine response, he loses himself in the memories of said moments, reimagining it as vividly as he saw it from the shadows. He remembers the jump of excitement when you found a new book on Greek Mythology on the shelf, having thought you had already read them all. He remembers the look you made when you had made a mistake in your embroidery, your brow furrowed as you undid your stitches. When focused on your work, a tiny sliver of your tongue would sit out at your mouth, something he’s sure your mother scolded you for time and time again. By the time his mind got back to him you were leaving, the same curt response and rigid curtsy as before.

Desperate for a fix, he even ambushed you at your stargazing spot. He could barely look you in the eye, too nervous you would see through his ruse, point and laugh at his boyishness. It was made even worse when you sat near him, tantalizing him with your blood and the beating of your heart, which sang to his very ears.

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb attempts, wondering if this will have greater success. Given your silence, he wondered if perhaps his maker hadn’t pointed it out to you yet. Pride fills his chest as he traces out her shape, wondering what look you have in your eyes.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You reply, and Caleb’s monstrous heart skips a beat. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.”

Caleb freezes, caught off his rhythm, you giggle making him realize that he isn’t understanding something. The disappointed look on your face feels like a blade in his stomach.

He should be angry, furious even. It had been years since anyone had made him feel this way, this inferiority. He had outgrown that, had ripped it out with his own bleeding heart and tossed it outside.

“And from her,” Caleb pivots, hoping the skills of aloofness can work in favor “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” Caleb’s stomach turns. Frozen in his best laid plans, this windstorm of his wife has blown them away. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

It’s all he can do to not scream at that moment. But he fears that too will be as awkward and foolish as the rest of his words, choosing instead to say nothing. To his consternation and relief, you follow suit and do not speak as well, returning to your own stargazing.

When you eventually retire, Caleb should go out. He should find the nearest beast and rip their throat, soak in their blood and be reminded that he was the fearsome beast. He was not the stupid farm boy, he was an unholy abomination built to feast and terrorize.

Instead he paces around his room, wondering what he should say. He looks in the mirror at his facade self, the beautiful face that makes ladies of all classes swoon, and wonders what would catch your eye.

You were smart, clearly, smarter than he anticipated. He thinks you might be catching onto his voyeur-tendencies, once or twice hiding around a corner and popping out, as if to confront your own shadow. Once, when he had left your book an inch or two over from where you had left it, you returned to the room with a quirk in your eyebrow. You had searched the room up and down, even flagged down a servant to ask if anyone had cleaned the library recently.

He had assumed your quietness came from a dull demeanor, just as boring as one would expect from the “wife.” But you had good humor. He saw you joking around with his creator, possibly the stodgiest vampire to ever roam the world, and even make jests of your own. You had tried with him tonight, although it seemed to fly over his head. And you seemed to enjoy dancing, like most ladies, if the way you hummed and swayed down the halls when you thought you were alone was enough indication. These were all things he was used to; Wining and dining ladies with his good charm and superb dancing skills, yet he found himself at a standstill.

His head falls into his hands, a frustrated hunger stirring in his gut. He needs to feed. At least that was an aching he could satisfy.

—

A whole fortnight of this. No peace, no privacy, no respite from the dreadfulness of the estate. During the day you tremored, aware that someone followed in your footsteps but not who it was. During the night all sense of comfort was robbed by him, your husband who, after several months of blissful avoidance, could not leave your side.

The conversations had not gotten better since the first. Mostly one sided, your husband seemed to force himself through every word, barely listening when it was your turn to speak. You don’t know why he bothers with the painful effort, his head off in the clouds, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. It's worse than the silence by a landslide, and you find yourself begging for your husband to start ignoring you again.

But like every one before it, your wishes go unanswered. The pain of it all forces you to focus, to try and find the source of this newfound vigor for this falsehood of a marriage.

All your hypotheses lead you back to one person. One person whom, unlike your husband, could hopefully be reasoned with.

—

You make quick work to scurry out of the dining hall after another painful dinner, hoping the distraction of his meal will keep your husband from noticing your divergence from routine.

Striding deeper into the bowels of the estate reminds you of just how unsettling the rest of the house feels. Each hallway is cleaned too perfectly, each decoration too precisely placed. You never knew furniture could feel so cold, that the sterility of a cleanliness would be so unnerving. It felt as if no one had ever really walked these halls, not for a long, long time.

But you push on, too determined in your mission. You had finally been able to corner a maid during the day, making up a vague excuse for returning a book to have her point the way to the Earl’s office. You’re happy you had the forethought to write it down, sure the enticing darkness around each corner and the amount of turns would’ve befuddled you. But with your trusty papers, you're able to navigate yourself to a beautiful mahogany door, befit with a golden knob and intimidating presence.

Why must everything in this place feel so hostile?

You ponder, wondering if the architect of this place had a hatred of joy and fresh air. But you digress, rapping your knuckles onto the thick door frame. Through the wood you can faintly hear the scribbles of an ink pen and the focused voice of The Earl.

“You may enter.”

His tone lacks the familiarity you’ve grown used to. For a discomforting second it reminds you of Caleb, not of these past two weeks but the months before. You banish that thought away. They are father and son, it is only natural.

“Sir?” You default to polite terms, peaking your head past the grand entrance. Even now the study feels untouchable, makes you hesitant to walk inside so boldly.

The Earl quickly leans his head up, shoulders falling down and a smile gracing his lips. You smother your fluttering heart, reminding yourself of your mission.

“My dear, I was not expecting you.” Edric stands with a dramatic push of his chair, setting his ink pen into its pot. “I apologize, but I fear I cannot join you again tonight. There is still much work to be done.” Edric taps his fingers against his desk.

“Oh it is no issue, Si-Edric. I understand completely.” Finally comfortable enough, you enter the room completely and shut the door behind you. Though this does little to calm your nerves, both for the conversation you must have and the idea of being alone in a room with him. As silly as it is, the hesitance of being alone with a man who is not your husband lingers, even if it is someone proper like your father-in-law. “I actually wish-” You words catch, but you will the butterflies in your stomach away, “-I wish to talk to you about something else. If you are available to it.”

Edric’s brow quirks, a minor change in his usually flawless face. For the very first time, he looks caught off guard.

“Of course, my dear.” Edric pulls out a chair for you to sit, moving his own so the desk won’t block you from each other. You nod in thanks, knees knocking together. You were never great at confrontation, and after finally finding peace in your new home, you fear disturbing and ruining what you have.

But Caleb is doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Your hands fiddle with each other in your lap, forcefully distracting you from making eye contact with Edric. He sits now with his ankles crossed, his arms resting on the sides, looking all like a king receiving his subject. Given his authority and your desperation, he might as well be.

“Now, what would you like to speak about?”

“I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I would like to start with my appreciation for your kind intentions, as I know it is what most likely drove you to act in such a way.” Your finger bones ache with how tightly you clench them. “That I appreciate you taking the effort to…encourage Caleb to spend more time with me.” Encourage is probably the incorrect word. If you knew anything about your husband ‘bribed’ was most definitely more accurate. It is the only thing that would make sense given recent circumstances. “But while I understand why you would think such a move was for the best, I’d like to implore that it is not necessary.”

You can hear a pin drop, your father-in-law quiet as the dead. It urges you to keep speaking, to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. At the least to release the issues from your mind, to get them off your chest.

“I know you are a good and honorable man, and that from the outside I must look so pitiful to you. That my lonesome nature most likely urged you to aid in my companionship, but I have found much happiness in this place in these past months. I see it as my home, and I do not mind the quiet.” You’ve released the fabric of your dress, moving instead to the fascinating shapes of your palm lines. Still, you proceed. “As…uncouth as my husbands, they seem to make him happy. He does not seem to enjoy the quiet nights like you and I do.”

A heat decorates the apples of your cheeks, spreading all the way down your neck and up to the tips of your ears. It seems silly looking back on it, having more in common with a man no doubt twice your age than your own husband.

“So, if you could speak to him and let him know that he is free to live as he likes, that he should not feel responsible for me, I would most appreciate it. Please tell him that I am quite happy with the way things were before.”

With you.

Your twisting heart does not know if it wants Edric to understand that unspoken sentiment.

The tapping of Edric’s fingernails on the chair arm finally pulls you attention, sounding cacophonous in the void created. It draws your eyes to finally look Edric head on, to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, his reserved face leaves it difficult for you to do so.

“I see.” Edric finally breaks it, his fingers speeding up in their rapping. Something squeezes in your chest, wondering if perhaps you’ve offended him with your presumptions.

“I did not-” You bluster, trying to explain before he assumes anything. But a wave of Edric hands stops you in your tracks.

“I am not offended, dear.” The Early gives a gentle smile, a nod to show the truth of his word. Relief washes over you. “I am simply…surprised.”

You swallow your response. As attentive and understanding as Edric is, he is still a man, still subject to misunderstandings of a woman’s true heart. While Caleb is quite handsome, it takes much more good looks and the bare minimum to curry your favor.

“I shall speak to him.” Edric finally commands, standing up from his seat and sending you scurrying to do so on your own. A bubbling feeling fills your chest, the relief of knowing things will finally return to normal. At least the nights.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“It is no problem.” Edric says with a wave of his hand. “I commend you for bringing it up with me promptly. I understand that can be a difficult feat, especially when I am such a recluse.”

That lightens your mood even more, giving you a gentle giggle.

“I think you presume too much of your intimidation, good sir.” You lie, as if you were not petrified of facing him not 10 minutes ago. That fear seems silly now. Of course Edric would listen, when hasn’t he?

You don’t notice the way Edric’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the way his eyes for only a second dip down to your collarbone.

“Perhaps I do.” Edric pats the back of his seat. “Well, while I do enjoy your company, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb and I am quite confident I can find my way.” You weren’t really, but you also were not ready to admit that to him.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my dear.” Edric nods his head, quickly moving his chair back behind his desk, no doubt to resume his business. You drop into a small curtsy yourself, a new energy in your steps as you leave. Even with the labyrinthine task of returning to your room ahead of you, you can’t be despondent.

You have a feeling things are taking a change for the better.

—

It takes everything in Edric’s immortal power to not burst into laughter the second the door closes behind you. Even with the thick wood as a barrier and your inferior human hearing, Edric is sure his cackling could be heard from miles away.

He had planned to court you slowly. Push the boundaries of his affection with every visit, subtly make you dependent on his touch and his closeness. Then, he would pull away, make you truly long for him. It would make his return all the more dramatic, hopefully swell your emotions to such a size that you would not turn away more uncouth behavior. A hug, a kiss to the cheek, maybe even a peck to your soft lips.

But now his son had revealed his hand, clumsily so. Scrambling to hold on to the toy now that it was being swept away, every bit the petulant child. He had made his own desperate move for your affections and was failing miserably.

It's cruel how much glee that gives him, Edric thinks, chuckling into his hands. He needs to remind his son that such obvious peacocking is hardly a foolproof strategy, teach him subtler ways of luring and ensnaring prey, nonetheless a partner. The boy had been riding on his good looks and inhuman charm for too long.

Ahh yes, and you. Who came to him, who chose him. Who ran into his arms and pleaded for safety. How could he not give it to you? His sweet dearest, his darling future. Edric’s nails dig into his palms and he’s sure if his heart still beated, it’d be racing a mile a minute. A palpable thirst burns in the back of his throat, one Edric knows won't be satisfied by any half-thought meal.

This has all but confirmed it: plans are changing. It seems the timeline for his machinations are moving up, given your clear displeasure. Who is he to deny you?

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Heart Without a Home

Pairing: Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x f!reader, Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader Warnings: Angst, emotional infidelity. Word count: ~9k

Summary: Her and Aegon have been an item for three years, and she couldn't be happier, though she has grown to dread special occasions spent with his overbearing family, particularly his moody younger brother. A Christmas week with the Targtowers gets to the root of all of the ill feeling.

Author's note: Day twelve of Smuffmas - home videos and voyeurism. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The dull morning light of late December winter filtered through the curtains that they never remembered to close, the room silent save for the sounds of their quiet breathing. Aegon laid naked in her bed, sprawled on his front across her body, his head rested upon her bare chest with his eyes closed as she cradled him. Her fingertips gently massaged his scalp in soothing circles. She could feel from the oil within the roots that he was a few days past the need for his hair to be washed. Ordinarily she wouldn’t care; she loved it when Aegon’s fluffy platinum hair was a little on the dirtier side, it sat flatter to his head and looked less unruly, retaining the scent of peppercorn and bergamot that seemed to cling to him, that she had grown to love.

Yet she knew she would have to tell him to wash it, if only to save him from the disapproving comments from the woman from whom he had inherited his wild mop of curls, though hers were a vibrant auburn. It was Christmas Eve, and they were due to travel back to Aegon’s family home for three days; the shortest possible amount of time that his mother, Alicent, would allow and the longest that he would agree to. His younger siblings, Aemond and Helaena, usually always arrived the day before and stayed right through until New Year’s Day. That would have felt like a prison sentence to Aegon, so a compromise had been settled upon, and she intended to ensure it was as painless for him as it possibly could be. That included pre-empting his mother’s criticism of his hygiene and encouraging him to wash his hair.

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” she urged softly, shifting slightly beneath him as she stroked her hands down his back, “you need to jump in the shower.”

“Mmmm…don’t want to,” he groused sleepily, clinging tighter to her, nuzzling further into her body.

She chuckled, attempting to push the dead weight of him from her but failed miserably. “We have to leave soon. If we aren’t there by lunchtime then we’ll never hear the end of it from your mum.”

“Oh, god forbid we aren’t there for her horrible smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels,” he bemoaned, rising slowly up on his elbows to look at her, his brow furrowed in an expression that she was sure was intended to convey his annoyance, but just appeared adorably tired and grumpy to her. God, how she loved that face.

“But,” she countered, tapping his nose lightly with her index finger, “you get to be warm under all that nice, hot water while muggins here has to coax your dopey mutt outside in the freezing cold and try to convince him to go for a piss. I’d say you’ve got the better end of the deal.”

Aegon smirked, rolling off of her and onto his own side of the bed, nearest the wall, where Sunfyre’s bed was. He peered over the edge, watching as the large golden retriever laid on his back, all four paws in the air, snoring quietly. “You know, if you and the hound wanted to head back for a few days, I’d be happy to stay here,” Aegon muttered quietly, giving Sunfyre’s paw a playful shake, which caused the dog’s eyes to open, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he saw who loomed above him.

She rolled her eyes, disentangling herself from the sheets and rising from the bed, beginning to rummage through her chest of drawers for something suitable to wear to take the dog outside in. “Very funny. Shower. Now.”

“Ugh, fine,” Aegon huffed, pulling himself from the mattress. He paused, still utterly naked as he stood in the doorway. “Will you at least have a bacon sandwich ready for me when I’m finished?”

She turned to him, a black hoodie clutched in her hands, and tilted her head, her tone one of mock confusion. “And spoil your appetite for your mum’s lovely smoked salmon?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he grinned before heading across the hallway and into the bathroom.

She laughed, turning her attention back to getting dressed. 

Aegon’s playfulness had been what had first drawn her to him when they had met three years prior. There was a shitty, little live music venue that she frequented most weekends – The Blue Pearl – the sort of place that’s dingy, smelly, with damp in the walls, and toilets that are always blocked, yet somehow the bar still feels justified in charging the better part of six pounds for a pint that’s more line cleaner than it is beer. The night they had met there had been a local indie band playing there, which had drawn a crowd of less than twenty people. Aegon had burst through the doors, already half drunk, with three friends in tow and offered to buy drinks for every person in the place. That was how she knew he was different – nobody could afford to do that – this was the sort of place where if you were going to buy a drink from the bar, it would likely be a coke that you’d then add the vodka to that you’d snuck in inside a hip flask. His thousand watt smile had charmed her and, at the end of the night, when he’d insisted that he couldn’t possibly leave without a kiss and her phone number, she had known she was in trouble.

In the beginning, things hadn’t been that serious. Aegon was a party boy, and she knew she wasn’t the only girl he was seeing. She didn’t mind, and was happy to keep things casual, because he was fun to spend time with. But as time had passed, and feelings developed, she found herself the sole recipient of his affection and, therefore, was pulled deeper into his world, able to understand the full extent of the wealth he was born into and the trauma that that brought with it. Aegon rebelled against the status of his family, choosing to live in a rented house share with his friends, Martyn, Leon and Ed. The few times she had visited she had been disgusted by the squalor the four men had allowed the house to fall into. Once, Leon had bought everyone in the house a Cadbury’s Creme Egg as an Easter gift and Martyn had accidentally sat on his and squashed it into the sofa cushions. She had been horrified to find it still there when she’d visited again a few weeks later. There was also the crusty, old assortment of boxers and socks that covered the surface of the white, plastic picnic table that stood in the back garden; Ed had laid them out there to dry one sunny summer’s day, having done a rare load of laundry, and then just never bothered to bring them back inside. They were still there by Halloween.

She had been pleased when Aegon and Sunfyre had begun spending more and more time at her place, not just because it meant she didn’t have to endure the hovel that they lived in, but because the two of them made her cosy, little flat feel like a home. Now, she and Aegon basically lived together in all but name. He only ever returned to his place when he needed clean clothes or to cool off if they had argued.

Aside from coming from old money and, therefore, leading a lifestyle that was so extravagant it made her uneasy, Aegon’s family maintained a dynamic that was strained at best and volatile at worst. Thankfully, Aegon kept his visits limited to special occasions only, meaning they only spent time with the family for birthdays and Christmases. His mother was an anxious woman and, though it was clear she loved her children dearly, she was often overbearing, not knowing how to properly express her care for them all, so it often came across as needless fussing and nagging. Their father had passed away, and Alicent had remarried to a man named Criston. He was harmless enough, though so broodingly quiet that she went out of her way to avoid being left alone with him. Otto, their grandfather and Alicent’s father, was a stern man who reserved the harshest of his criticisms for Aegon. He disapproved of his decision not to join the family’s investment banking firm, regularly reminding his grandson that there was no stability in the events marketing startup that he had founded with his father’s inheritance money. Aegon’s brother, Aemond, was indifferent to the point of being cold, he offered little in the way of conversation, only speaking when spoken to, and seemed content enough to keep to himself. Besides Aegon, Helaena was her favourite of all the family. She wasn’t particularly warm, but her nature was gentle and if you engaged with her regarding a topic she found interesting, she would animate in a way that made her features light up as she talked excitedly.

Their father had a daughter, Rhaenyra, from a previous marriage. Though she had never met her, and she was never present at any of the gatherings she attended, her influence hung over them all like a shadow, creating contention and bitter resentment. Aegon liked a drink, but she hated how paralytic he allowed himself to become when visiting his family. A means to cope with the ill feeling, a way to make the time pass quicker, perhaps both, she couldn’t tell, but seeing him in that state broke her heart. He was damaging himself, but also reaffirming his family’s opinion that he was a waste of space. She knew he was anything but.

They just had to get through tonight and then Christmas Day, and then they’d be driving back home again by Boxing Day lunchtime. And if there was nothing else to look forward to, at least she could console herself with the abundance of gifts. Alicent always ensured that each of them had a huge pile to open. Hers were always fairly generic; high end skincare, an expensive bottle of bubbly, artisanal chocolates and designer label accessories, but each year there was also one that was so personal, so thoughtful, that it made her feel guilty for ever hesitating to come in the first place. The first year she had spent Christmas with them all, she had received a platinum bracelet inlaid with glittering sapphires, and last year she had been given a first edition of her favourite book, signed by the author. As dysfunctional as the Targaryens were, they were insanely generous to those closest to them.

***

The tyres of her little Fiat 500 crunched over the gravel of the driveway leading up to the property,  the lengthy track was flanked by rows of perfectly sculpted hedges, beyond which sat acres of immaculately manicured lawn on either side. The drive from the gates at the roadside all the way to the house felt almost as long as the journey from her flat. 

“Got enough petrol to make it up the drive?” Aegon asked, casting her a smirk from where he sat in the passenger seat, fingers drumming restlessly upon his knees.

“You make that joke every time we visit,” she sighed, turning the steering wheel to maneuver the vehicle as the gravel track curved around the large, circular fountain that stood at the front of the massive house.

“And I’ll keep making it until it gets a laugh out of you,” he quipped, turning to unclip his seatbelt.

Ordinarily, his earnest intent to make her smile would have made her heart melt, however, this time the sentiment fell upon deaf ears. She stiffened as the familiar feeling of inadequacy settled upon her like a stone as the faded red brick building, encased in trailing ivy leaves, came into view. As she had predicted, everyone was there already; outside was Alicent’s sleek, forest green Mercedes AMG GT, with Otto’s Rolls Royce Phantom and Criston’s Porsche Cayenne parallel parked at either end. She drove around to where Helaena’s sky blue VW Beetle was situated, with Aemond’s Triumph chopper propped precariously behind it, and pulled to a stop in front. It was the least intimidating of all the vehicles present, so she felt more comfortable leaving her beaten up little car there.

She turned the engine off and, as though sensing her discomfort, Aegon’s hand grabbed hers, intercepting her as she reached to unfasten her seatbelt.

“It’s just three days and two nights,” he reassured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “we’ve got this.”

No sooner were they out of the car and unloading Sunfyre and the bags from their respective places on the back seat and the boot, than Alicent was hurrying from the house, her long auburn curls flowing behind her.

“We were starting to think you weren’t coming,” she said, kissing them both on their cheeks in greeting. She paused, looking intently at Aegon as her hands smoothed his hair, before calling over her shoulder to her husband, who was already making his way towards them. “Criston, fetch the bags!”

“Hello, you two,” he greeted softly, divesting them of their luggage, “safe journey?”

Sunfyre’s excited bark came in place of an answer. The large, golden dog bounded across the drive and into the house, wagging his tail.

“Oh god,” Alicent said, frowning in concern, “I don’t think Aemond has locked Vhagar away.”

“Right then, shall we?” Criston asked with a raise of his eyebrows, as Alicent chased after the golden retriever.

Once inside, she caught a quick glimpse of a fluffy, black cat racing up the grand, wooden staircase in the foyer, with Sunfyre in hot pursuit.

“I’ll take these to your room,” Criston gestured with their bags, following the same way the animals had gone.

“Shouldn’t we go and get the dog back?” she asked, turning to Aegon.

He shrugged. “He’ll come back when he’s ready. If Aemond didn’t want Vhagar used as a chew toy, then he’d have kept her shut away.”

Placing a hand at the small of her back, he moved her further into the house. No matter how many times she visited she would never stop being awed by the sheer opulence of it. The floors were polished hardwood, a dark mahogany hue that matched the panelling of the walls, which stopped three quarters of the way up to make way for dark bottle green paint and brass sconces. Alicent had decorated for Christmas, in an understated and tasteful manner as always. A garland wrapped around the bannister of the stairs, complete with crimson bows, and sprigs of holly had been hung from each fixture on the wall.

“I couldn’t find the cat, but I’m sure Aemond will sort her out,” Alicent announced, appearing from the kitchen with an open bottle of champagne in her hand, “we’re just through here.”

She ushered them through to the dining room. A large, oval table sat in the centre of the room, draped in a green and gold table cloth, with candles in the middle and places set for seven people. A spread of bagels, cream cheese and smoked salmon was plated and ready for serving. The head of the table nearest the fireplace set into the far wall had been left empty as always, a mark of respect for Viserys, the deceased patriarch of the family.

Otto was seated beside the empty space, with Helaena opposite him. Her large African grey parrot, Dreamfyre, perched upon her shoulder. Helaena was busy tearing pieces off of a bagel and offering them to the bird, watching intently as her large black beak pecked indelicately at them.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that at the table,” Alicent complained, placing the champagne into an ice bucket as Otto rose from his seat to greet his grandson with a clapped hand on the shoulder, and his girlfriend with a chaste kiss on the cheek, before taking his seat again, and gesturing for them to do the same. She sat next to Otto, with Aegon on her other side.

“I’m not keeping her in a cage,” Helaena protested, looking up at her mother with a slight frown as she continued to feed Dreamfyre from her upturned palm. “Vhagar and Sunfyre get to roam freely.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, taking her own chair at the opposite head of the table, next to Aegon. Her fingers automatically moved to straighten her cutlery. “Well, this is the last time any of you bring your wretched beasts with you.”

“You say that every time,” Aemond said quietly, slipping into the room with Criston trailing behind.

“Well, this time I mean it,” she said frustratedly, rubbing her temples.

Aemond sat between Helaena and Criston, which meant he was directly opposite her. It was as though the cloudiness of his left eye somehow intensified the stare of his right, and she squirmed beneath the intensity of his piercing blue gaze, suddenly grateful when Criston reached across to offer her a flute of champagne, giving her an excuse to look away.

“It wouldn’t be a problem if Aegon would keep that fucking mutt of his under control,” Aemond snapped, shooting an accusatory glance towards his brother.

“Enough,” Alicent commanded, forking a slice of salmon onto Criston’s empty plate, “have you and Helaena even bothered to greet either of them yet?”

“Hello,” Helaena offered with a soft smile, “when did you get here?”

“Literally just arrived,” she replied, giving a quiet thanks to Aegon as he passed the salmon plate to her.

“That’s nice,” Helaena nodded.

“Not the word I’d use,” Aegon muttered under his breath, earning himself a stern look from Alicent.

She served herself, before passing the plate to Otto. He paused as Helaena held her hand out, refusing his attempt to dish out food for her.

“I’m vegetarian, Grandad, remember?”

Otto bristled, eyes moving from the salmon and then back to his granddaughter. “Oh…right. Well, I’m sure your mother can find you some ham in the kitchen.”

“Can’t eat that either,” she said apologetically as he sighed in exasperation. She finally relieved him of the serving platter and passed it to Aemond, who promptly set it back in the centre of the table.

“Are you not eating?” Alicent asked, leaning forward to look at him with large, imploring eyes.

“Had a protein shake after my run,” he explained curtly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Right,” Alicent responded, her tone clipped with annoyance. She raised her glass in mock toast, “merry Christmas, everyone,” then took a swig before setting it heavily back upon the tabletop and beginning to spread cream cheese across a bagel in hurried, angry movements.

“Maybe you could set some salmon aside for Vhagar?” she suggested to Aemond with a slight smile, attempting to ease the tension.

“It’s smoked, it’s bad for her,” Aemond replied irritably, causing her to shrink once again under the weight of his scrutinising stare.

Looking to her side, dread formed like a stone in her stomach as she watched Aegon drain his flute of champagne – doubtless, the first of many. The rest of the meal passed in tense silence, until they were finally all excused. 

The rest of the evening was awkward and uncomfortable, as Criston and Alicent busied themselves in the kitchen with meal preparation for Christmas dinner the next day, Aemond disappeared upstairs to his room, and Otto engaged Helaena in a game of Jenga that she seemed to be more interested in encouraging Dreamfyre to perch upon than actually play. That just left her with Aegon, and ordinarily she would love that, except for the fact that he had polished off most of bottle of champagne to himself at lunch, and had since demolished a bottle of red wine, so was now barely lucid as he sat next to her on the plush sofa, leaving her to watch Home Alone on the plasma screen TV by herself.

As the evening wore on, and everyone in the house slowly started making their way to bed, she decided it would probably be a good idea to attempt to relocate Aegon to his own room, instead of leaving him on the sofa where he was currently sprawled with his mouth open. 

She leaned over him, gently shaking him. “Come on, Aeg, let’s go upstairs.”

He groaned softly in his sleep but didn’t move or wake up. She sighed in frustration, tucking her arm around him and attempting to lift him. His dead weight was too much for her and he flopped heavily back against the cushions after she’d only managed to raise his torso by a few inches.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed in annoyance, raking a hand through her hair.

“Problem?” Aemond’s voice asked softly from behind her.

She turned, seeing Aemond holding an unlit cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other, clearly on his way through the living room to the French doors that opened out onto the patio of the back garden.

“He’s passed out and I can’t lift him,” she responded, her voice tired and resigned.

“Of course he is,” Aemond muttered with a roll of his eye. He pocketed his lighter and slipped his cigarette behind his ear, before moving towards the sofa. “Here, let me.”

She watched as Aemond crouched, tugged Aegon by his armpits into a seated position, and then hoisted him over his shoulder – his older brother's torso hung ragdoll down his back, while his legs draped across his front.

“Where do you want him?” he asked, his usually measured voice slightly strained under the weight of Aegon.

“Just in his room, need to put him to bed.”

She followed behind Aemond as he walked slowly through the living room, down the hallway and then up the stairs. It felt awkward to walk behind him in silence, but she supposed if there were ever a time for the pair of them to have their first proper conversation then it wouldn’t be when he was carrying her blind drunk boyfriend to bed.

Walking down the landing, he stopped at the third door on the left, gently pushed the door open with his foot before flicking the light on, then unceremoniously dumped Aegon onto the bed. His body bounced slightly as the mattress dipped and then righted with the force, but he remained fast asleep.

She looked around the room, seeing how neatly their bags had been left at the end of the bed. It was a shrine to Aegon’s adolescence; Blink 182 and glamour model posters were plastered across the walls, while lads’ mags and old beer mats were strewn across every surface. There was a framed photo that sat upon the bedside table, of a teenage Aegon grinning from ear to ear as he held Sunfyre as a puppy. Her gaze fell upon the dog bed in the corner, where he was sleeping.

“Shit, I forgot to take him outside for a piss before bed…”

“I’ll do it,” Aemond offered, leaning against the doorframe, “I was going out for a smoke anyway.”

“Thank you,” she smiled softly, turning back to face him as he whistled to get Sunfyre’s attention.

The dog stretched slowly out of his bed, his tail wagging lazily as he padded towards Aemond. “You know, you could use this as your get out of jail free card,” Aemond told her, his hand absentmindedly ruffling the dog’s ears.

“What do you mean?”

“Leave. While he’s still passed out. No one would blame you.”

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head. “I’m not ditching Aegon just because he’s had a bit too much to drink.”

Aemond eyed her appraisingly for a moment, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hm. Lucky Aegon.” He turned away, patting his thigh as he walked, calling out to Sunfyre, “come, hound!”

She laid there feeling restless and irritated for ten minutes; Aegon’s snores made it impossible to even entertain the idea of falling asleep. She climbed out of bed, pulling the curtain back a fraction as she watched Sunfyre amble around the lawn of the back garden, illuminated by the security floodlight, cocking his leg against Alicent’s rose bushes.

As her gaze fell upon the patio she made eye contact with Aemond, his face turned up towards the window as smoke rose in a delicate spiral from the lit end of the cigarette he held between two fingers. She hadn’t expected him to be watching her and the sight made her heart skip a beat, a shocked gasp escaping her as she let go of the curtain, allowing it to fall closed again.

“Fucking hell,” she whispered to herself as she climbed back into bed, waiting for her pulse to stop racing in panic, “I hate it here.”

***

“Are there any coconut ones?” Helaena asked, kneeling on the carpet in front of where Aegon sat on the sofa, pawing through a tin of Quality Street.

“Disgusting choice, and all yours,” he responded, plucking out a few of the blue foil wrapped chocolates and dropping them into her upturned palms.

Helaena smiled happily, turning away and crossing her legs as she began to unwrap one of them.

It was Christmas morning, and Aegon had woken up surprisingly early and blissfully hangover free. She attributed it to how early in the evening he had passed out, though she didn’t feel so fresh herself, having been kept awake half the night by his snoring and her own anxiety over her encounter with Aemond.

He had said nothing to her that morning, simply sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the news on his iPad. Aegon was not so serene, he had dragged Helaena out of bed and insisted she show him where their mother had hidden the Christmas chocolates.

“Oh, horrible children!” Alicent scolded, knotting her dressing gown at the waist as she entered the lounge and caught sight of the half empty tin of sweets. “What about breakfast?”

“It’s alright, Mum, I’ve got that covered. Here,” he plucked a Green Triangle from the container and carelessly sent it sailing towards her.

Criston stepped from behind her, reaching up and plucking it from the air before it could make contact with her temple.

“Unbelievable,” Alicent said in annoyance, throwing up her hands in resignation, “I don’t know why I bother.”

She looked guiltily at the pile of empty wrappers in her lap, then at Aegon, as Alicent stomped away with Criston in tow. “Maybe we should put them away.”

“Why would she buy them if she didn’t want us to eat them?” he argued, unwrapping a caramel swirl. “They aren’t just there for us to admire.”

“You aren’t supposed to sit and eat them all to yourself either, you greedy little shit,” Otto glowered, stepping into the doorway.

“Not to worry, grandad,” Aegon grinned, “I’ve got a toffee penny here with your name on it.”

“If you even think about throwing a chocolate at me, my boy, I will make sure you live to regret it.”

Helaena whipped around, wide eyed, and snatched the tin from Aegon, placing it on the carpet before slamming the lid back on. “We shouldn’t have these out if they’re going to upset people.”

“Good,” Otto conceded with a nod, “I trust the three of you plan on changing out of your pyjamas at some point today?”

“Would it be okay if I jumped in the shower?” she asked sheepishly, embarrassed to ask as she tried to ball up the sweet wrappers in her lap as discreetly as possible.

“There are four bathrooms in the house, dear, you don’t need to ask,” Otto responded with a curt nod, before ducking back out of the room.

She raked her hands through her hair, her mind feeling foggy with fatigue and her insides churning with a combination of too much early morning chocolate and dense unease. Aegon gripped her arm gently as she rose from the sofa, and she paused, turning to look at him.

“You’re in a mood.”

It was a statement, not a question. Aegon knew her too well, of course she was, but what was she supposed to say?

You got so fucking drunk last night that you passed out and basically left me alone on Christmas Eve, then kept me awake all night with your snoring.

Despite knowing what a tense situation this is, you’re not making it any better for yourself or anyone else by deliberately going out of your way to be antagonistic.

She said neither of those things. Now wasn’t the time to reprimand him or start an unnecessary argument; there’d be enough of those today. 

“Just tired, missing our bed,” she replied quietly, offering him a small smile of reassurance.

“Course you are,” he grinned, releasing her arm with a wink, “I’ll make sure to tire you out properly tonight.”

Helaena made a noise of disgust, clapping her hands over her ears, and she used that as her excuse to leave the living room, and head upstairs to one of the bathrooms.

Just today to get through, then we can go home tomorrow, she thought as she sat on the edge of Aegon’s bed, wrapped in a towel, skin still damp from the shower.

She had left the door ajar, and as it creaked open she expected to see Aegon walk through. She jumped slightly as Aemond appeared in the doorway instead.

His seeing eye widened momentarily, before he cast his gaze towards his feet. “Fuck, sorry, door wasn’t closed, so I thought–”

“Aegon’s downstairs, if you’re looking for him,” she interrupted, not wanting to suffer through any further awkward apologies.

“I was looking for you, actually,” he replied, his eye darting quickly away again as it landed upon her once more. “Mum wants to do presents, and I was coming upstairs to grab this anyway—” he lifted his silver camcorder in explanation, “so she asked me to get you.”

She was grateful that they had both seemingly reached a silent agreement not to address the accidental eye contact through the window from the night before – the more she thought about it, the more she realised there wasn’t really anything to talk about anyway.

“Be there in a minute,” she said.

He nodded, stepping out of the room and closing the door fully behind him.

Every time she visited, Aemond had his video camera out at some point. Alicent had gushed to her once about all of the videos he had captured over the years of special occasions, how talented he was at framing shots perfectly and then editing the footage into something that captured the mood of those precious memories. In the three years she had been a part of their lives, she had seen him filming plenty of times but never actually gotten to see the finished product.

Once dressed and back downstairs, everyone was already gathered in the living room, It’s a Wonderful Life playing quietly on the TV. Otto sat in the armchair, while Helaena sat crossed legged at his feet, with Dreamfyre perched upon her shoulder. On the sofa on one side of the coffee table, Criston and Aemond sat at opposite ends, Criston slowly sipping a coffee while Aemond fiddled with his camcorder. Aegon reclined with his feet up, stretched out across the sofa on the other side, a hand lolling down onto the floor, absentmindedly stroking Sunfyre. Alicent knelt beside the huge Norwegian fir tree in the far corner of the room, its red and gold ornaments twinkling as she sorted gifts into piles.

She patted Aegon’s legs gently, and he lifted them enough for her to sit before resting them across her lap.

“Aegon…” she began, quietly enough for only him to hear.

“Mmm?” he jutted his chin upwards slightly, regarding her with a gentle raise of his eyebrows.

“You know Aemond’s video camera?” she ventured, plucking invisible fluff from the leg of his jogging bottoms.

“What about it?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Why don’t we ever see the videos he makes?”

“We do.”

She shook her head, keeping her tone hushed. “I never have.”

Aegon shrugged dismissively. “I guess not, but why does it matter? We don’t need to watch them, we were there, we know what happened.”

It wasn’t enough to sate her curiosity, but before she had the opportunity to press the issue further, Alicent ushered them over to the tree to grab their respective gifts.

Her and Aegon had exchanged presents at her flat the day before Christmas Eve, a means to preserve a piece of the festive period that was just for them, but also to ensure that the significance of their gifts for each other weren’t lost in the overwhelming abundance that his mother delivered on Christmas morning.

It was strange to her that everyone tore into their pile at the same time, rather than taking turns so everyone could see what everyone else had gotten, but as she watched Alicent perching on the arm of the sofa next to Criston, looking on with a soft smile as her children unwrapped their presents, she could understand why it was this way. Amidst the buzz of the sounds of tearing paper and gushing thank yous, it was the closest she had ever seen the family come to genuine happiness.

Alicent had gone way overboard for her as usual. She unwrapped Chanel No.5 perfume, a cashmere jumper, an Elemis skincare gift set and a pair of white gold hoop earrings. It was a large, flat present that piqued her curiosity the most though; it was heavy and solid, and as she pulled the wrapping paper away it took a moment for her to understand properly what it was; a map of the exact layout of the constellations in the sky on the day of her birth. Her lips parted slightly as she stared at it in awe, trailing her fingertips down the coolness of its smooth surface. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was made of marble; a thin indigo slab which represented the night sky, with gold inlay mapping out the constellations. Tiny diamonds sparkled at each appropriate juncture, serving as the stars. Her breath caught in her throat, tears welling in her eyes at the thoughtful gesture.

It felt almost too personal, too intimate to be a gift from her boyfriend’s mother, and she wondered if perhaps Aegon had snuck another gift here for her. She patted at his leg gently, discreetly trying to get his attention as he was busy tugging the cap off a bottle of aftershave and giving it a sniff.

She turned the plaque towards him, tilting her head in silent question, but he simply shrugged, his bottom lip protruding slightly as he slightly shook his head to feign ignorance before turning his attention back to his own gifts.

“Wow…thank you, Alicent.” she said, looking across the room to where Alicent was sitting, watching as Helaena encouraged Dreamfyre to tear open a present with her beak.

“Oh, you’re welcome, love,” she replied, glancing up quickly with a bright smile, “I’m glad you like them.” Her attention then immediately went back to Helaena.

At Alicent’s quick dismissal, she looked around the room, everyone was preoccupied with their gifts or someone else’s, except for Aemond, who was filming – she hadn’t even noticed him start.

As the morning bled into early afternoon, Otto dozed in the armchair, while Helaena helped Criston and Alicent to cook Christmas lunch. The majority of her gifts had been put away upstairs, except for the plaque. She sat admiring it, unable to believe how beautiful it was, while Aegon sprawled out on the sofa, drinking Buck’s Fizz, with Sunfyre snoozing on his legs.

“I’m bored,” Aegon complained, causing her to look up from where she was sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Put something on the TV then.”

He wrinkled his nose, clearly unhappy with the suggestion. “There’s not anything good on. I think Aemond brought his Switch, we could play Mario Kart?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask him.”

“He’s always ages when he’s having a fag, just go and grab it from his room, he won’t mind.”

“You go and get it,” she retorted defensively, horrified by the idea as her voice raised an octave, “I’m not letting myself into your brother’s room and taking his belongings.”

“But look how sleepy Sunfyre is,” Aegon said, pouting his lip, “would you really be so cruel and make him move?”

“You’re so fucking lazy!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Aegon laughed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Seriously, Aemond won’t care. But if he comes back in before you’re back down here, I’ll tell him what you’re doing, so he knows it was my idea. Sound good?”

She sighed, knowing he wouldn’t drop it until he got his way. She didn’t have the patience to listen to him pester her until Aemond came back inside, so she rose to her feet, placing her plaque on the coffee table as she stood. “So fucking lazy,” she muttered with a shake of her head as she left the room.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she climbed the stairs. She’d never been in Aemond’s bedroom before – she supposed it wasn’t really his room anymore, just the place he slept when he visited, but it was still his space and the idea of intruding upon it made her incredibly uncomfortable.

She paused as she reached his door, her hand hovering over the door handle, before drawing in a steadying breath and pushing it open.

The space was more orderly than Aegon’s was. One wall was simply book shelves, filled with rows and rows of hardbacks, there was a Deftones and a Tool poster stuck neatly upon the other walls, and Aemond’s computer desk and chair were tucked away in the far corner. At the centre of the room was Aemond’s neatly made bed. Vhagar lay curled up in the middle of the duvet. The fluffy black cat’s amber eyes cracked open to look at her inquisitively as she stood looking around the room, trying to figure out where Aemond would have put his Switch.

Bloody Aegon, she thought, until her eyes fell back upon the computer desk. Aemond’s camcorder sat upon the desktop, plugged into his open laptop. The case for his Switch lay next to it.

She walked over to the desk, fully intending to simply grab the Switch and then go straight back downstairs, but as she moved closer, the sight of her own face on the laptop screen captured her attention. It was a thumbnail of the video that Aemond had taken that morning within an open folder of multiple video files. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, it wasn’t her business, but seeing such a close up shot of herself made the urge to click irresistible.

The video started with a slow pan around the room, Alicent watching on as everyone else opened gifts. It lingered on Aegon for a moment, zooming in as he unknowingly leaned his face back at an unflattering angle, creating a double chin – she laughed at seeing this – then the shot moved to her, zooming out to capture her unwrapping the plaque, then zooming back in on her face, capturing her eyes welling up and the touched smile that tugged at her lips. The shot remained on her until the video eventually cut to black.

Her brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment stirring within her. Why was nearly the entire video of her? If Aemond was intending to create videos of happy family memories, then why focus solely on his brother’s girlfriend and not the people he was actually related to?

Unable to stop herself, she closed out of the video and clicked onto the next. This was one from back in the late summer, when Alicent had hosted a barbecue for Criston’s birthday. The camera panned around the back garden, with a brief zoom in of the meat sizzling on the grill, before zooming out again. When the camera fell upon her, it lingered, a full body shot at first, before gradually moving in upon her face, catching each sip of her drink, every time she touched her hair, or laughed.

“You looked beautiful that day.”

“FUCK!” she yelped, jumping as she turned wide eyed with fright to see Aemond standing behind her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said calmly, “but you are in my room after all.”

She watched in disbelief at how unbothered he was as he moved to sit on the bed, ruffling a hand through Vhagar’s fur. The cat chirruped happily, the noise an obscenely cute contrast to the clawing dread in the pit of her stomach and the wild pounding of her heart against her ribcage. An acrid taste filled her mouth, sour and unpleasant, as she struggled to get the words out, wanting to understand why he’d been filming her.

“What the fuck?!” was all she was able to choke out.

“It’s not anything perverted, don’t worry,” he reassured her.

That was what worried her. She knew Aemond wasn’t being a creep, the videos hadn’t lingered on her breasts or anywhere that wasn’t her face. It would be easy to deal with, easier to shrug off if she could just explain it away as Aegon’s younger brother being a pervert, but this seemed like something deeper than that, and that scared her. 

“Are…are they all like that?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling.

“All the ones since I met you, yeah,” he admitted.

“Jesus christ,” she whispered, putting her head in her hands. A dozen different questions raced through her mind, none of them she was certain she wanted the honest answer to. She wanted to be out of this room, away from Aemond, to forget what she’d seen and everything he’d told her.

“I know how it must seem, but–”

“I don’t care how it seems, I don’t want to hear it,” she cried, grabbing the Switch case and bolting from his room. She took the stairs two at a time, her face burning hot and a lump forming rapidly in her throat.

Alicent and Criston had made a tremendous effort for Christmas lunch; an enormous turkey sat in the centre of the dining table, alongside a nut roast for Helaena, with side dishes of roasted chestnuts, potatoes, brussels sprouts, stuffing, carrots, gravy and cranberry sauce all in abundance.

Despite how delicious it all looked, she couldn’t begin to fathom eating any of it. Her stomach churned, she felt shaky and nauseated, her mind unable to focus on anything besides the videos she’d seen on Aemond’s laptop. The calmness of his reaction had unnerved her. Regardless of her lack of appetite, she kept her focus fixed upon her plate, determined not to look up and see him as he sat opposite her. She poked aimlessly at a carrot, pushing it around on her plate.

“You okay?” Aegon whispered, leaning across to her, “You’ve not eaten anything.”

“Oh no, do you not like the food?” Alicent asked with concern, having overheard.

She raised her head, immediately feeling guilty as she saw her mother in law’s brow furrowed in worry. The last thing she wanted to do was insult her cooking when she’d gone to all this effort.

“It’s lovely,” she said, forcing a polite smile, “just feeling a bit hot. I might pop out for some fresh air before I finish my plate.”

“I can make you something else, if you’d prefer?” Alicent offered.

She hated the silence that had fallen around the table, hated the eyes she could feel upon her.

“Really, this is delicious,” she reassured, slowly rising from her seat, “just need some air.”

She gently brushed off Aegon’s hand as he reached for her, offering him a tight smile as he looked up at her with a puzzled look upon his face. “Back in a sec.”

The cold air against her skin felt like the prick of a thousand tiny needles as she stepped outside, wrapping her arms around herself. She huffed out a shaky breath, sending a plume of white billowing outwards in front of her. She tried to keep her focus on the rose bushes that framed the perimeter of the lawn, a means to ground herself and draw her focus elsewhere, to anything but Aemond. She wanted to go home. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, of the fact that she had unearthed something that now couldn’t be undone.

Hearing the French doors to the patio open and then close gently from behind her, she sighed, her shoulders sagging as she rolled her eyes, not bothering to turn around. “Honestly, I’m fine, Aegon, just go back inside.”

“It’s not Aegon, it’s me.”

She froze, the sound of Aemond’s voice made her heart lurch, but her initial shock quickly morphed into anger and she whipped around to face him. She watched as he cupped his hand around his lighter, the brief flicker of the flame casting an orange glow over his sharp features as he lit his cigarette.

“You shouldn’t have followed me out here.”

He narrowed his eye, observing her silently as he blew a tight line of smoke out through pursed lips. “Bold of you to assume that. I always have a cigarette after I’ve eaten.”

“If Aegon catches us–”

“If Aegon catches us, then what? What is there to tell him?”

“I don’t know, but something about this feels wrong.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, so there’s nothing to tell him.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ve managed to say nothing for three years,” he replied with a shrug, taking another pull on his cigarette.

“Christ, Aemond, what does that even mean?!” she demanded, losing all patience, as she threw her hands up in irritation.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” he admitted, averting his gaze and exhaling smoke slowly through his nose.

“If it concerns me then I have a right to.” She folded her arms across her chest, staring at him defiantly.

His head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he advanced upon her, causing her to take a step back. “You want to know? Fine. Being around you is fucking torturous.”

“I—I’m sorry…” she stammered, as her heart hammered wildly in her chest, tendrils of fear creeping along her spine.

“No, I am,” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “because I’m so irrevocably, incomprehensibly, driven to the brink of insanity, in love with you that every moment I’m with you I spend cursing my luck that Aegon met you first.”

Her breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as her lips parted in shock. She stared at him in wide eyed disbelief, as he gazed back in saddened resignation, his cigarette burning to ash between his fingers.

“You can’t…we can’t,” she stammered, “I’m with Aegon, I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to,” he whispered sadly.

“So now what?”she asked, her voice trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“You go back inside,” he replied, reaching up with his free hand to wipe her tear away with the pad of his thumb. The gentle touch made her skin tingle. “And you say nothing, and I continue to love you from afar, just as it’s always been.”

Her feet carried her on autopilot, she felt numb, but paused in the living room to wipe her eyes and compose herself before heading back to the dining room. She grabbed for her wine glass as she took her seat once more, downing its contents in a single gulp and relishing in the way the burn in her throat and chest gave her something else to focus on.

Aegon grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close. “Glad someone’s found their Christmas spirit!”

God, how she wished that were true.

She felt like a spectator in her own body for the rest of the day, going through the motions but not really participating, simply acting on autopilot. She barely registered the arguments over post Christmas lunch board games, for once grateful that Aegon was so plastered he hadn’t noticed how far into herself she’d retreated. She kept stealing glances at Aemond, unable to believe his confession to her in the garden earlier. He was never someone she would ever have considered as a romantic prospect, because he was just so closed off. Now she found herself studying the way his snowy hair fell across his forehead, the sharp angles of his side profile, the gentle curve of his lips. She hated herself for it, as though on some level she was being unfaithful, even though she hadn’t asked for any of this.

Not even Aegon’s snoring was enough to penetrate through her wall of thought as she lay in bed with him that night. Aemond didn’t know her, not really, so he couldn’t love her. It was a silly crush, he’d get over it, and everything would be back to normal the next time they descended upon Alicent’s house for a visit. She kept the reassurance on a loop in her mind, allowing it to lull her into an uneasy sleep.

She didn’t think she had ever been so glad to pack a bag the following morning, as her and Aegon readied themselves to leave. She couldn’t wait to see the back of this place, to forget about all of this and just get back to the cosy life that she and Aegon shared together.

“Gonna have one last hurrah in mum’s rain shower,” Aegon told her, grabbing a pair of socks from his bag and giving them a sniff to make sure they were clean, “see how much of a dent I can put in the hot water before we set off.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long, I wanna get on the road soon.”

“You’re even more desperate to leave than I am,” he said, studying her carefully, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she reassured him, stepping towards him and winding her arms around his neck, “just keen to get the drive over with, you know how much I hate it.”

He smiled, giving her a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “How could you hate it with me as your passenger princess? I’ll think up a playlist while I’m showering.”

She was zipping her bag up, looking around Aegon’s bedroom to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, when there was a gentle knock on the partially open door.

“Come in,” she uttered distractedly, grabbing Sunfyre’s tennis ball from under the bed.

She righted herself, stiffening when she saw it was Aemond. He hovered in the doorway, his posture one of awkward uncertainty as he held the plaque she’d unwrapped the day before in his hands. “You left this on the coffee table downstairs. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget it.”

“Oh, right…thanks,” she said quietly, taking it from him and wrapping it in a jumper before placing it in one of the bags.

“I just wanted to–”

“Listen, I–”

Both of them smiled coyly, before Aemond gestured towards her. “You go.”

She gave a nod, stepping closer to him. “Look, I just wanted to apologise for overreacting yesterday. It’s just a silly crush, and I’m sure with time it’ll fade.”

“Don’t do that,” he said with a frown.

“Do what?”

“Diminish my feelings.”

“I’m not, but you don’t even know me…”

“Did you like my gift?”

“What?”

“The plaque, you seemed quite choked up by it yesterday. And the book the year before that, and the bracelet the year before that.”

“Those were all from you?” she asked, her chest suddenly feeling too tight as her stomach churned with shock and unease.

“Yes, so I’d say I know you rather well. What did Aegon get you?”

“Headphones.”

Aemond cocked an eyebrow. “Very thoughtful.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, mirroring his stern tone from earlier.

He sighed. “Sorry, I’m not trying to mess things up for you guys.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I just want you to be happy, and if it’s Aegon that makes you happy then I’m content with that. I know my love is wasted, but if you’ll allow it, let’s just carry on as we have been. It seems to have worked for us so far.”

She softened at his words, and he reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She found herself squeezing back, committing to memory how his palm sculpted to her own, his fingers covering hers.

“In another lifetime,” she whispered sadly, drawing back.

“In another lifetime we’d be fucking great together,” he smirked, “until next time.”

She watched as he disappeared from the room, fighting the urge to cry, knowing that Aegon would be out of the shower any minute.

As she settled into the driver’s seat, the car packed up and goodbyes exchanged, Aegon turned to her. “Told you we’d got it,” he said with a proud smile.

Yet as his hand reached for hers, squeezing it in reassurance, she could only think of how different it felt to Aemond’s.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[skyahri]

This is my current prompt list. Some are more developed than others and there's a few things I'm working on that aren't on here because, well, I just don't wanna share them lol. Feel free to use these as you will but please tag me! I appreciate the credit and I genuinely just wanna see what yall do with these.

MHA

Class 1A thinks Aizawa is lonely, so they steal his phone and download a dating app. Little do they know he's been married for almost a decade.

You and Bakugou reveal you're having a baby! You decide to surprise your friends before making it public, but it's turns out they didn't know you were even dating.

You'll be assisting Midnight and Thirteen in overseeing the female students at the UA Dorms. Upon meeting, Aizawa immediately dismisses you due to your less-than-professional style choices. Little does he know that your big smiles, frilly skirts, and cutesy heels are a stark contrast to your firm and assertive mindset.

Aizawa is picking Eri up from school when he runs into you- a classmates parent wanting to invite Eri to your daughter's birthday slumber party. For obvious reasons, Aizawa has reservations, but you offer to host them before hand to ease his worries. The whole thing seems terribly bothersome, but the pleading look in Eris eyes forces him to agree. Turns out, you're not so bad after all.

FTM Bakugou who is accidently outed by Inko Midoriya courtesy of baby pictures. Deku saves him in that moment, but he knows it's time to actually tell his friends. He starts with Kirishima.

(NSFW) You have a hybrid quirk and go through an estrus every six weeks after hitting sexual maturity. Still busy with your life as a third year UA student and unable to outsource your issue beyond the school walls, you look to someone just as pent up as you are. Luckily, Katsuki is more than willing to take the bait after you threaten to ask Deku of all people.

Pro hero Dynamite was spotted in public with a woman- wait, is that a wedding ring?! He'd done his best to keep you secret, not wanting you to experience the negativity associated with being romantically involved with someone famous. When fans find out, he prepares for the worst, but- wait... it seems they... love you? Possibly more than him, too!

(NSFW) After convincing Yagi to take over Aizawa's dorm duty tonight, you both make your way to a frat party being thrown at your college. He's definitely out if his element, but when his pretty little girlfriend begs him to dress up as Ghost Face and come along, he can't say no can he? Especially not when youre dragging him into the crowded kitchen for a drink and sit on the countertop, your short skirt riding up just a bit and- well, hes still a man at the end of the day. Too bad it's ruined by a handful of problem children who snuck out to be here. (All students are of age and in their third year. They just wanted to party lol)

Yamada finds a box of old pictures in Aizawas closet. When he comes across some from their teenage years, Aizawa remembers how happy you used to be before everything changed. When did you stop being... you?

(NSFW) A run of the mill mission goes sideways when the Villains have an unexpected player on their side. In an effort to protect your students from whatever mystery powder that's been thrown your way, you take the full force of what seems to be... sex pollen? You're able to save face for the remainder of the mission, but your composure is slipping quickly. Luckily, one of your coworkers is more than willing to help you deal with the... side effects.

Naruto

It's Kakashi's inauguration and Team seven is stoked! But wait, who's that woman standing next to their sensei at the podium?!

The village elders have been bothering Sasuke about reviving the Uchiha clan, going so far as offering to find a suitable candidate on his behalf. He initially declines, but as time goes on and he has yet to find a decent woman, he begrudgingly accepts.

Kakashi tasks his genin with watching over a civilian woman while he's away on a mission. Its simple enough, right? When he returns to the village and finds out they completely fumbled the mission, he's pissed. I mean how hard is it to keep his pregnant wife safe for three days?!

Kakashi has always seen his students as young, but has never thought of himself as old. Well, not until he's picking his kid up from school, where he runs into his former students, who are also picking their kids up. It doesn't help that Naruto and Sakura encourage their kids to call Kakashi 'Grandpa'.

Sasukes only friend is Naruto. That was fine when they were kids and practically only had each other, but now the blonde was a somebody, and that meant his time would have to be divided. Luckily you're around pester him in all the right ways.

(NSFW) Kakashi learns he has a size kink.

Tenzo is leading team seven back to the village, but he needs to make a stop first. It's a quick errand, one that will surely aid Narutos training, but might be a little difficult. They arrive at a house in the middle of the woods where you're already waiting for them. You look a little familiar, though. Almost like Pervy sage! (Jiraiya/Tsunade secret love child au lol)

Shikamaru is an attractive guy. He's handsome, smart, and cares deeply for his loved ones. Aside from how lazy he can be, there's nothing wrong with him. So why is it when he's seen around with you- the prettiest girl in the village- no one thinks anything of it?

Kakashi is wandering the village when he sees a new face moving into his apartment building, actually, right across the hall from him. When you turn around, he finally sees the baby strapped to your back. Being the gentleman he is (more so bored since his forced retirement), he helps you bring the remaining items upstairs. Then helps build them. And also takes you up on your offer for dinner.

Someone is messing with team seven, distracting them from their training. After spending all day trying to figure out who's behind the pranks, they come face to face with a little girl, hiding behind an oddly complex genjutsu in the trees. When captured and brought to their sensei, he taunts his students for getting bested by his six year old daughter.

ATLA

Zuko is tired of palace life, but as the Fire Lord, he can't exactly walk into town for a normal outting. He waits for the Autumn Mask Festival to sneak out, where he runs into you- a stranger willing to help him have as much fun as possible. Turns out you're the palace gardener, who immediately recognized him and decided to take matters into your own hands.

You're the decendant of an air nomad who was away from the temples to gather supplies during the raid 100 years ago. Your lineage is a well kept secret hidden smack dab in the middle of the fire nation and your parents have been diligent on passing down the knowledge of the air benders. When you hear of the avatars revival, you make your way to them and offer your teachings.

JJK

The kids having to tell their pseudo parents wives that they were KIA. Yuuji/Nanami, Megumi/Gojo.

Suguru Visits you one last time before he disappears, unknowingly leaving you pregnant. Its a secret you swear you'll take to your grave, but things get a little complicated when you start to see the curses hed been telling you about your whole lives. Then, at six years old, your daughter touches one of the creatures you'd been steering her away from, and it turns into an orb. You have no choice but to dig through Sugurus old things to find his phone and contact the one person you know could help.

Nanami lives across the hall from you. He's older, has a great job, and is a total buzzkill- but that only makes him all the hotter. Youre young, still in college, and incredibly annoying. He swears you speak another language- one chocked full of obscure references and inflated by flamboyant body language. You pester him in the halls and knock on his door to offer pastries at ungodly hours, so why did he hand over his phone so easily when you adk for his number? [Bonus!] Its been two months since your neighborly antics have turned into a full-blown friendship! You've spammed his phone with cacophony of memes and lore that he doesn't understand. You call him between classes and let yourself into his apartment to leave treats on his counter. He wants to be bothered, really, but can't find it in himself to be. You've just handed him an invitation to your masters ceremony- wait, what? His ditzy neighbor is getting her masters in aerospace engineering?!

Nosey teenage Yuuji is peering over his older brother, Sukuna's, shoulder and sees him texting a girl. He tells anyone and everyone who will listen, making them curious as to who this mystery woman could possibly be. Backed into a corner, he finally introduces you to, well, everyone, and they're shocked to find out youre a total ray of sunshine! Kind, bubbly, and a kindergarten teacher to top it off.

Sukuna, the King of Curses, is not a patient or forgiving man, but for some unknown reason, he allowed you to do as you pleased with him. You spoke freely and touched without permission, a gift youve never come close to abusing. One day he comes home from God knows what, in an obviously sour mood, and while you proceed with what you think is a good attempt to quell his anger, you're met with a slice to your cheek. It's minor, likely to not even scar, but the act is enough to cause a rift in your relationship and he has to find a way to mend it.

(NSFW) You're the best physics tutor at Yuuji's university and he's in desperate need of help. With more students than private rooms in the library, you settle on sessions at his unlces house. It's Saturday morning, you're gearing up to write an essay, only to discover you've left your laptop at his place- but that's no problem, because his uncle is home and can eat you in. Too bad he left out the part about how hot Sukuna is.

Lmao color-blind Heien Era Sukuna.

It's the middle of the night and you've been ditched by your friends at a club down town. With the last round of drinks kicking in and your phone battery running low, you call the only person guaranteed to be available on a Saturday night. Too bad that person is Yuuji's asshole older brother who's always been a little extra mean to you.

Nanami notices the shift almost immediately. In the five years you've been celebrating events at the nice restaurant down town, you've always ordered the salmon. Last time, however, you ordered steak despite how often you complain of red meat upsetting your stomach. Your occasional pining for sweet treats has become a nightly routine. A few bites of ice cream out of the freezer or something you grabbed from the konbini on the way home. Youve never used the restroom in the middle of the night before, but it's been a pattern the past two weeks. The final straw was your increased drowsiness. Youve always been an early riser, often beating the sun, but your internal clock has shifted forward. The addition of naps to your days does not go unnoticed by the blonde. You don't think much about any of these things until your husband is placing a box of pregnancy tests in your hand and asking you to trust him.

Suguru isn't sure why he agreed to a blind date set up by Satoru of all people. He's busy thinking of ways to politely escape whatever the blonde could have possibly sent his way, when he notices you taking the seat in front of his. He'd been expecting a loud, ditzy, party girl- not too unlike the ones his friend brings home on the regular- not this. No, youre obviously of higher class, someone closer to Satoru's status, if the quality of your clothing is anything to go by. You offer your name as well as your relation to Gojo, and its no surprise that your father's are long time business partners. By the end of dinner hes asking for your number, damn near vibrating in place as you type it into his contacts and send a little heart emoji to yourself so you have his too.

Your friends are complaining about men. You're happily listening, not having much to add since you're in a happy relationship, but one thing catches you're attention. "Isn't six inches kind of small?" Well, no, it's not. Apparently your boyfriend is very gifted, something you were unaware of since he's the only man you've ever been with. (Heavy Toji coded)

You don't know how you ended up here, sitting on the edge of Shoko's bed, bodies awkwardly contorted so your knees are touching hers. Her hand is in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss. She tastes like smoke, something so undeniably her.

In an attempt to prank Nanami, Gojo breaks into his apartment to leave a little something on his counter. As soon as the front door opens, though, he's met with a frying pan stopped just short of his face. He looks from the object to you- a civilian woman dressed in only a button down- but before he can say anything you're already retreating further into the apartment. It's easy to piece together that this intruder is like your husband, so you do as instructed and run into your room, hide under the bed, and call him. He's rushes home, nearly causing an accident in the process, and is pissed to find out the threat is only his annoying coworker. He coaxes you out of the room, open arms ready and waiting for the adrenaline drop youre sure to experience. When all is settled, Gojo's only defense is that he didn't know Nanami was married.

Toji has never felt old until he met you. You bartend at the club he frequents and after shooting his shot for what had to be the hundredth time, you finally agreed to a date. Then another. And another. And suddenly he was completely immersed in the world of his twenty four year old girlfriend. It was fun at first the drinking and dancing and partying- but he's not as young as he used to be and the liquor is catching up to him. At his wits end, he finally confesses that he can't keep up. Luckily for him, youre more than happy to stay in wit your old man boyfriend.

Baby daddy Sukuna who only recently got his shit together. You'd had enough of the in and out- the inconsistency, the empty promises, the lack of support- it was all affecting your daughter. He either needed to sober up and stay out of jail or you'd move forward with terminating his rights to your daughter.

Sukuna is in charge of the company while his father is in the states for the next month. His first order of business? Firing you- his father's bratty secretary. When Wasuke finally returns and sees his prized assistant gone, he panics, thinking his son drove you away. When he learns the truth, Sukuna is sent to beg for your forgiveness.

Streamer Sukuna, who plays first person shooters and horror games, collabs with you, someone known for their soothing minecraft asmr and animal crossing videos.

Gojo thinks you've been dating for the past year while you've been pining in secret, having no idea that this man was in wayyy deeper than you.

Gojo couldn't possibly be married, right? Then who was he on the phone with that could've had such an intimate contact name? That he was calling dear and love? Yuuji and Nobara are on the case! Too bad they could've just asked Megumi, who would've told them that his pseudo father is not just married, but a father as well.

Fairy Tail

You've known Laxus a long time, always by his side to support him, even if you didn't agree with his actions, and his banishment doesn't change that. One day during your travels, he tells you to stand by, that he can feel the guild pulling him and he'll be back soon. When a month passes and there's no sign of him, you venture back to the guild only to be met with terrible news. What's worse, is youre three months pregnant.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mimic III

McFoord x Toddler!Reader

Summary: You're being suspicious

There is a hole underneath your fence, at the very end of the garden.

Also at the end of the garden, is a shed. It doesn't get used much so it's a little run down.

There's no connection between the hole and the fence, not an obvious one anyway. Not one that would make Caitlin investigate them both so obviously.

She's much more concerned finding out the reason for your strange behaviour.

You've been shifty recently, which is especially strange for such a little girl. Your second birthday is coming up very quickly but you've seemed to develop fairly quickly now that you've been hanging around with Sam and Kristie's Chook when Caitlin and Katie are busy.

You've also gotten shockingly independent.

There's no need for your leash when you're in the house and Caitlin's happy to let you run around the garden by yourself as she does the dishes, checking on you through the windows periodically.

You're being a little weird and what's even weirder is Coopurr's food going missing.

Caitlin's sure that she's not overfeeding him because he hasn't put on any weight but his biscuits and his wet food are going down so quickly that someone must be taking them.

That someone, it turns out, is you.

Caitlin catches you doing it one afternoon when you grab the whole box of biscuits and a sachet of wet food before toddling out to the garden.

She sighs, letting you scamper up the far side and duck behind the shed before getting up to follow you.

Caitlin really hopes you haven't been eating them like you were when you were younger.

"Gremlin!" She calls," Don't take-"

A puffed up ball of fur hisses at her from where it's dangling from the scruff of it's neck in your hand.

"What is that?!"

"My Spicy!" You say proudly," Spicy, Spicy, Spicy!"

"Katie!" Caitlin yells," You better come out here!"

You're still holding the kitten by the back of the neck, humming to yourself as Caitlin notices the pile of cat food you're been hoarding.

She crouches in front of you, gently reaching for the kitten before flinching back when it tries to scratch her. "Where...Where did you find it?"

"Stuck under fence," You tell Caitlin," I save Spicy."

Caitlin forces a smile on her face. "That's nice. How long have you been looking after him?"

"One week," You reply," My Spicy is special!"

Caitlin warily shuffles closer, kept at bay by the flashing claws off this feral kitten.

"You're being very good with Spicy but can I have him?"

You frown. "Spicy's hungry."

"I'll feed him."

"Caitlin? What's-"

Katie skids to a stop in front of you both, mouth hanging open and discarded dish towel on her shoulder from where she was using it to dry the dishes.

"Spicy, my kitty!" You exclaim," See?"

Spicy snarls and Katie very gently throws the dish towel at him before taking him from your grip.

"Spicy!" You cry, moving to kick Katie but Caitlin's already got you by the back of your overalls, dangling you above the ground as you whine," My Spicy!"

"Katie's just...taking Spicy for a bath."

"I am?"

"Yes, Katie, you are and then we'll take Spicy to the vet."

Secretly, Caitlin hopes the vet will tell her that she needs to take the kitten to the shelter. She doesn't particularly want it in her house but you seem to have gotten attached, if the way you keep fighting against her hold is any indication.

"Want Spicy! Spicy's mine!"

There's that as well and, when Katie comes downstairs with the kitten suitably pissed off and still hissing, you go straight up to it for cuddles and it relaxes in your arms.

"No vet for Spicy!" You insist," Spicy's good!"

"I'm sure Spicy is..." Katie's arms are full of scratches. "...Tolerable but we still need to check he's not sick."

"Then bring home!"

"I don't know, Gremlin, he might want to be with other cats." Katie's very proud of herself for coming up with that excuse, mentally patting herself on the back even as Caitlin shakes her head in disbelief.

You unwrap her excuse so easily, pointing to where Coopurr is sitting, licking his own bum.

"Have Coopurr," You point out," Coopurr is cat. Spicy is cat."

"Er..."

"We keep Spicy," You declare, nodding and rocking your new kitten," Spicy, new home!"

[d-targaryenshoe]

Sweetest Affaire - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1132

Summary: Two lovers are not precisely acceptable when one is wed, would you not agree?

You were certain that you had been the luckiest woman alive when you had married Anthony Bridgerton. 

His smile could light up a room, and his eyes seemed to hold a thousand secrets.

 He was charming and witty, and even after all these years, you still felt a flutter in your stomach whenever he touched you.

 But there was a part of you that ached, a part that felt unfulfilled. You knew that he was still seeing Sienna.

Your marriage had been a love match, of that you were certain, but Anthony seemed to think that he could have his way do so too.

 He believed that he could love you and Sienna at the same time and that you would both be content with your arrangement.

 You, however, weren't not so sure. You knew in your heart that you couldn't compete with the other women, not when Sienna was everything that you weren't.

Your bed had grown cold over the years, your passionate nights a distant memory. 

Anthony spent more time with Sienna than he did with you, and it hurt.

 It hurt deep in your soul to see the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

 It was as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else that he truly loved you.

You tried to be understanding, to accept the situation for what it was, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. 

You loved Anthony with all your heart, but you couldn't help but feel like you were nothing more than his suitable wife. 

The thought of losing him to Sienna, of watching him walk down the aisle with another woman, was enough to make you want to scream. 

You knew that you needed to do something, but you didn't know what. 

All you could do was pray that fate would intervene, that something would change and that Anthony would finally see you for who you truly were.

The only woman he had ever loved and the only woman he would ever need.

Meanwhile, Anthony continued to lead a double life. He loved you both but in different ways.

Sienna was his passion, his fire. 

She made him feel alive, made him feel like he could conquer the world. With her, he felt free and uninhibited.

 You, on the other hand, were his comfort, his anchor. You were the woman he could rely on, the woman he could come home to. 

You were the mother of his children, the woman who knew him better than anyone else.

 He tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, that he could make you both happy, but deep down, he knew that he was lying to himself. 

He was in denial, refusing to accept the truth of his feelings.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The tension between you both grew thicker with each passing moment.

 You tried your best to ignore the signs, to pretend that everything was fine, but you could feel Anthony pulling away from you.

 You knew that he was preparing himself for a future without you, and it hurt you more than anything else ever had.

 You wanted to confront him, to demand the truth, but you were afraid of what might happen if you did. You were afraid of losing him completely.

One night, as you both argued about some trivial matter in your bedroom, Anthony said something so cruel, so hurtful that it cut you to the core.

 He accused you of being selfish, of only caring about yourself, of not understanding the depth of his love for Sienna. 

The words stung like a slap across the face, and for the first time in your marriage, you felt truly defeated. 

You looked up at Anthony, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you knew that this was the end. 

You couldn't take anymore.

With strength you didn't know you possessed, you pushed past him and walked out of the room. 

You didn't stop until you reached the safety of your own chamber. There, you collapsed onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

 It felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders as if you had finally found the courage to face the truth. 

You knew that you couldn't go on living this way, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't. 

You needed to do something, anything, to make Anthony see the error of his ways.

You had been ignoring him for months.

Anthony began to rummage through your memories, desperate to understand where it all went wrong. 

He recalled the countless missed dinners and moments, the times he had chosen business over quiet nights in front of the fireplace. 

He realized he had ignored the very foundation of love and companionship you had built.

Determined to make amends for his shortcomings, Anthony concocted a plan, ever since he left Sienna.

 He decided to gather you and Eloise, who held an opinion highly valued by both of you, for a heartfelt conversation. 

Anthony wanted to beg for forgiveness, to show you how sorry he truly was.

Eloise, a woman of immense grace and wisdom, agreed to mediate your meeting.

 She understood the depth of Anthony's guilt when it came to Sienna, but she also harbored resentment towards her brother. 

She saw how you had suffered silently, and the anger welled up within her, making it difficult to suppress.

You were gathered in the sitting room, a pot of steaming tea placed between them. 

Anthony's palms were clammy with nervousness as his eyes met yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"I cannot begin to express how sorry I am, y/n," Anthony pleaded, his voice laced with genuine remorse. 

"I see now how I have neglected you, and I swear to make things right, forgive me."

Your eyes brimming with unshed tears, regarded him with a mix of sadness and apprehension.

 You had built walls around your heart, walls that had shielded you from the pain of feeling unloved. 

But Anthony's request broke through those barriers, stirring up a mix of hope and trepidation within you.

Eloise, unable to hide her anger towards her brother, interjected sharply.

"Anthony, by all gods, you have caused Mother and Y/n an immense heartache. Your words alone are not enough. You must prove your love through actions, day in and day out. Only then will forgiveness be earned."

Anthony, aware of his sister's anger and knowing she had a point, nodded earnestly. 

"You're right, El. I have taken y/n's love for granted for far too long. I am willing to do whatever it takes to regain her trust and rebuild the love we once had."

[mommageto]

Domestic Hashira: Part 2 (Himejima x Reader)

Title: Domestic Hashira: Part 2 (Himejima x Reader)

Word Count:  1808  words

Description: (Y/n) and Gyomei navigating the unfamiliar territory of an arranged marriage. 

Warning/s: This fan fiction may contain disturbing or implied sexual content that may not be suitable or sensitive for readers. Read at your own risk. 

Part 1

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The sun is veiled by haze, and the sound of bushes dancing as the freezing breeze passes by. You were sitting on a rock beside a river that flows from the feeble waterfalls. It was one of those walks you enjoyed taking with Himejima when neither of you was occupied with any activity on that day. The walk you always have with him to enjoy the nature surrounding you always ends up with exciting conversations to get to know each other better. 

As newlyweds, it seemed too far to build a relationship with a man you barely knew in the beginning. Nevertheless, you both had a mutual apprehension about starting over. Throughout the days, you and Himejima opened up to one another, starting with both your pasts, where you found comfort in each other. 

"I couldn't accept all of the things that happened that day. My parents were everything to me. It wasn't easy to lose both of them. I miss them so much," you said to Himejima while looking down on the stream of water passing through your feet. With your words, Gyomei turned to you and gently placed his large hands on your head. He rubbed your head tenderly. "(Y/n), your parents loved you deeply. They may not be here, but their memory lives on in you," he replied.

Himejima's words of affirmation have always filled your recent days with delight and a sense of security. There is something about his use of words that tells you it is precisely what you need to hear. That healed a part of you and allowed you to look forward to your future with clarity. Gyomei's line of work may be risky, but you have faith in him. 

Gyomei informed you that he will be away for a week for a mission on a farther land south, where there were incidents of demons attacking a huge village. This is the part of your relationship that you dislike the least. It is not because he is constantly putting his life on hold but because of the loneliness that comes with his absence that you have to endure.

To doubt his skills is merely an act of foolery. Himejima always trained with relentless determination. He is committed to every single thing he does, from his training to his relationship with you. Himejima ensures that he is trying his best, if not becoming better. This is a part of him that makes you admire him even more. 

As you've accomplished your social duties as a wife, you went straight home. This was the day Himejima ought to arrive. Nothing but the pure longing to reach out and be in your husband's arms is what you desire. With such haste, you went to the training area by your house. Himejima frequently goes to the training area. This is how he usually finds consolation in meditating after an extended mission. There he was, standing on his feet, and you approached the giant man from behind. 

Gyomei, a subtle shift in his massive form, tells you he knows you're there around the place. Even before you and Himejima became closer, he never failed to sense whenever you were around. He indeed did possess quality senses, and they were helpful in his relationship with you. The stone hashira has put his boulder to a halt and turned to greet you. 

With you closer to him, he pulled you in for a warm and delicate embrace. You can feel the tears in his eyes falling down. "I've missed you so much," you whisper in his ear. His arms tightened around you, offering a comforting warmth against the chill of the evening. For a moment, there were only the two of you in an intimate embrace, leaving only the soft rhythm of your heartbeats echoing in the quiet space between you.

As you slowly move away from Gyomei's grasp, you look up to him and see a delicate smile painted on his face. This offers you a bundle of joy. His hand cups your face to feel your being. "I'm so glad to be back home with you," he says. You leaned on his hand and rubbed it. You never fail to appreciate the physical love you share with Gyomei.

"I apologize for having kept you waiting."

"No, you don't have to. I'm just happy you're here with me now."

"That reminds me," he says. With a slight pause, he pulled out a rectangle-shaped box from his pocket and gave it to you. "I got you something while I was away," he continued. You opened the gift to see a sakura kanzashi. Your eyes lit up at how mesmerizing it was.

The smile on your face has doubled from what it was a while ago. You cannot help but be flattered by his gift. "I thought you were just the strongest and biggest Hashira there is," you teased him. "You never told me that you're also the sweetest Hashira." 

A gentle chuckle escaped his lips. "I may be a hashira, but I am your husband, too."

You loved every moment you shared with Gyomei. It didn't take long for your relationship with Himejima to flourish. Both of you were well respected by everyone in the Demon Slayer Corps. With your lineage as a relative of Kagaya Ubuyashiki and Gyomei's position as the leader of the hashira, people tend to be attentive whenever you and your husband are both around. The other people thought you were a beloved couple. 

After you had dinner with Himejima, he held your hand on the way to your shared bedroom. The night was still young, and both of you decided to cozy up before sleeping together. This is something you enjoy with Gyomei during the night. He's lying at your back, and you're in his arms, watching the moon's watchful gaze from your window.

The size difference between both of you has made you feel like a stuffed toy for him. Himejima does not like to admit it, but he loves your size. He perceives you as a fragile being for him to forever protect and hold. 

"Are you comfortable enough, (y/n)?" He asks you. You turned your head at him and nodded in response, only for him to plant a kiss on your forehead afterward. The way his lips filled your forehead made you feel the love of Gyomei's physical affection. 

It didn't take long for you to face him and start kissing his cheeks one by one after another. Himejima could feel your kisses all over his face. Until you reached his lips. This caused him to be surprised and stare at you for a while. The eye contact you both had was full of tension until you both gave in to the pleasure of kissing each other on the lips. 

Your body was leaning at Himejima's massive form with arms wrapped around his being, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing into you. His arms moved down from your hair, slowly reaching to your waist, feeling the moment he shared with you. It didn't take long for your hands to feel his hard and muscular form, moving your hands from his shoulder to his biceps. You can feel Gyomei's hands tighten his grip while holding your waist. This encouraged you to explore more of his built form with your hands while not holding back from the intimate union of both of your lips. 

Every part of him is bulky and muscular; you can appreciate Himejima's athletic physique as you continue caressing his body. Despite his large, hard chest, you felt the fast beat of his heart's vibration. As you were in the moment, you felt greedy for Himejima. You wanted more of him, and you needed more of Gyomei. Your left hand was supposed to feel his abdomen, but it dropped between his legs, where you felt the heat of his hot and large manhood. 

Himejima pushed you away. It took a moment for you to catch your breath. The tension, the heat, and the feeling were there, but Gyomei stopped them. For a while, you felt the sense of embarrassment creep up from your head to your toe. 'Was I pushing myself onto him?' you thought to yourself. 

This made you feel uneasy. For a woman, it is unlikely for this to happen or for you to feel this way. Numerous thoughts filled your head, and you questioned why Himejima stopped. He is your husband, and you have undergone the sacred act of marriage; you didn't understand how it felt wrong. It seems to you that Gyomei doesn't feel as 'attracted' to you as you thought.

"(Y/n)—" he uttered, but the embarrassment you felt made you not want to face your husband. 

The night felt like your first day; it was silent, and not much conversation was involved, which was different from how you fixed it to be. It also felt like a long night, as you could not put yourself to sleep. However, it felt like the stone hashira did not get to rest peacefully either. As you've noticed, Gyomei does not sleep silently. He has a deep, rumbling snore, and that is something you have observed after several nights of sleeping beside him.

The following day, you can hear the morning chirps of the birds, and the sun's rays hit a part of your room. Your eyes slowly opened to wake you up. Your hand reached out to your side to find the familiar being you slept with. Himejima's presence beside you was nowhere to be seen as you opened both your eyes. You sat down to collect yourself and saw his bed area fixed already. Thus, your brain recollects the memory of last night. You were hoping for that night to be just a nightmare. 

It was still too early in the morning. The thought of where your husband is is bothering you. 'Did he leave for a mission?' you pondered. You walked around your house to search for him. You peeked at the training area by your home, where Himejima usually does his morning meditation and training. There was no sign of him there. 

"My lady, are you looking for Himejima-sama?" You were startled by the voice of your older servant, Yoko. "Himejima-sama woke up early to train near the waterfall."

It didn't take long for you to go there and watch your husband do intense training. You can only watch from afar, as you do not want to talk to Himejima for now. The view of the stone hashira withstanding the pressure from the waterfall. With the time you spent knowing your husband, he only does intense training when he's stressed after a battle where he could've saved many lives. However, to your knowledge, something like that has not happened previously.

This story has a Part 3.