#to be fair one of the papers is on the god of small things which like

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Life As We Know It

Word count: 11k

Summary: What happens when your friends die, and you and your ex-boyfriend gain custody of the baby? (requested from: 🦔)

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

Bradley was watching the football screen on the flat TV. Meanwhile you sat on the other end of the three seater sofa reading. It was amusing that after all these years Bradley was still a big fan of the New York Jets. He always dreamed of having a flat screen TV, and now here he has it. Instead of reading your book, you were staring at Bradley longingly.

Under no circumstances have you ever thought that you and he would ever meet again. But after your best friend Malia and her husband died in an unexpected car crash, it left their 3 month baby girl without parents. To your surprise under Malia and Caleb's will, you and Bradley Bradshaw were written out as the God parents.

They must have written it before you and Bradley had broken up. It was already terrible seeing your ex boyfriend again after your friends died, but even more horrible when the estate lawyer revealed that both of you would hold custody over small Giovanna. Not to mention the grief of losing your college best friend so sudden and quickly. 

It wasn't ever in your plan to have kids this soon in your life. But you had to do it for both your friends. You had given up your personal space, and lived at Bradley house for the babygirls sake. Bradley had turned down promotions, you gave up your freedom to travel, Bradley would have to cancel out on his friends multiple times for the baby and both of you sacrificed your sleep as well. But the one thing Bradley could not let go of was his grudge on you for cheating on him.

You understood where he was coming from, you would probably feel the same if you were in his shoes. But it made it a bit awkward and uncomfortable to live with him at times. All you could do was accept accountability for your stupid actions, and move on. If you could go back in time to redo the past you would one hundred percent take back your actions of going home with a different person that wasn't Bradley.

As you stared at him over the top of your book with your legs stretched out you couldn't resist and thinking how different things could have been. Bradley had grown up after 2 years, he bulked up and grew muscle. His once fair skin is now a beautiful caramel color. The shaggy curls that fell on his forehead were turned into a sharp regulation cut. His honey burnt eyes looked tired after all the baby trouble, but he still looked good.

Bradley probably could feel your sharp gaze at him but he didn't dare take his eyes off the tv. After moving in with Bradley, he didn't spear you a second of his attention which was understandable yet so very irritating. He was aware and alert of all his surroundings and he most definitely knew you were admiring his side profile instead of your book.

To add more sound above the play-by-play commentary on TV, on the baby monitor resting on the coffee table Giovanna started to cry.

"Not it." 

Both of you said at the same time touching your nose. For the past 3 cries you had lost nose-goes. You knew you lost this one but you didn't want to move off the couch.

"I said it first." Bradley commented not bothering to shift his gaze at you. You closed your book frustrated, it wasn't fair that Bradley had faster reflexes than you.

"Rock, paper, scissors for it." You put your fist out towards him desperate not to go up. For a second you swore you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. Which did make your heart skip a beat since nowhere near you did he ever look happy.

"No, you lost. Go." Bradley leaned back against the couch feeling no sympathy for you.

You left the living room with a sigh, making your way upstairs to the nursery. Right now Bradley was probably grinning now since your bothersome presence was gone. You twist the door knob and you're greeted with the most lovely high pitched crying you have ever heard.

"Hi Gigi." You muttered to the hysterical infant. Gently you reached down into the crib and picked up Giovanna, making sure to hold up her head. Based on your forearms against her warm bottom, you could tell she needs a change of diaper. "I got you honey."

After changing a diaper for months, you moved into the changing table, placing her small tense body down on the thin cot. When Bradley found out about the death of Caleb, he didn't waste a second on moving all the nursery items out of Malia and Caleb's house into his small home. You asked him if you could help assist in the move but Bradley coldly said he would do it himself.

But out of this major step up he made in his life, the thing that pulled on your heartstrings the most was Bradley had painted the spare room sky blue, and added small white clouds to the walls. To the baby it didn't matter where she was, but to Bradley it was important she still got her room.

You hand blindly tapped around the shelf under the wooden changing table for diapers and felt nothing. You poked your head down remembering you had forgotten to grab the case of diapers down stairs, and restock the changing table. Giovanna mouth opens wide in a quivering wail, gums bare, and chin trembling. Her tiny brows knitted together.

You moved to the crib grabbing the small baby monitor and speaking into the small sound system.

"Bradley, could you please bring the diaper box up please?" You felt embarrassed to even talk to him, the shame of your mistake all those years ago still haunting you. It took a second before any word was spoken by him.

"I don't remember losing this round." Bradley's raspy voice had you fluttering eyes shut. Before you could start begging, Bradley spoke again. "Hey but kiss G goodnight for me." Then it was utter silence.

I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheat on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. You said to yourself and you quickly dashed downstairs for the pampers

⊹☆~⟡⋆

You got little Giovanna every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Bradley got her Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. It's like you were a team but a broken one. Holding on for the sake of the child. The days Bradley or you got her, of course one another still helped around for a little but then you were completely free.

It was Thursday morning and Bradley and you were moving through the kitchen doing your separate routines together. Bradley was holding small Giovanna in her strong arms feeding her a small bottle of formula milk. Meanwhile you made a yogurt parfait adding your granola and fruit in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

When you cooked breakfast, you always made extra for Bradley. Stubbornly Bradley would never take it. So on occasion you would slip it into the passenger seat of his bronco so he had no choice but to take it. Always you made extra for him even if he didn't eat it.

In the fridge there were definitely sections. The top shelf was yours, the bottom one Bradley's, and the middle one just condiments and baby formula. You would sneak the Tupperware leftovers into his bare section. Then the next time you were in the fridge the Tupperware box was back on your shelf.

When it was Bradley's turn to take care of the baby, he usually had iceman's wife kindly babysit her, as he went off to work or sometimes just called in sick and stayed home with Giovanna. By this time Bradley was usually out the door, so for a second you thought he was waiting for breakfast.

"Hey I was wondering if you can do a favor for me?"

Your eyes immediately snapped up at Bradley as you never heard those words for him before. Obviously he wasn't looking at you though, staring at the small baby in a pink onesie while she perfectly sat in his arms. The picture of Bradley in his navy green flight suit holding a small Giovanna would forever be tattooed in your mind.

"Yeah?" You asked, feeling a bit too excited for your own good. You went back to adding strawberries in your yogurt since he wouldn't yet look at you.

"I got this important briefing today." You glanced at him. Bradley set the bottle down on the counter before moving the baby upright. Her face over his shoulder as he patted her small back. "And Sarah can't watch G for me today."

You already assumed what the next words lined up. But you didn't jump at the chance to help him, your shoulder slumping down since of course this was a baby related matter. When you didn't respond yet Bradley rolled his eyes, forcing him to get the words out he didn't want to be spoken out loud.

"...So I was wondering if you could take care of her for today?" Once the infant let out a small burp Bradley cradled her back down into his arms. Your eyes didn't leave your yogurt this time. This could be your chance to get on Bradley's good side. For those awkward football nights to become a comfortable hangout. Yet your mind wondered back to when he didn't bring the pamper box up for you.

So out of pettiness you twisted the circle lid on to your bowl and said: "I don't remember today being my day to take care of her."

With that you grabbed your breakfast, left his yogurt parfait on the counter and exited the kitchen. Leaving Bradley standing there with his jaw clenched, holding Giovana in his arms.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Maybe if I wasn't an asshole yesterday she would have helped me. Bradley thought to himself, staring down at the 4 month baby in his arms.

"Alright, I guess today it’s ’take your goddaughter to work day.’ " Bradley glanced at the yogurt and with his free hand, stretched his arm out to grasp the container. Just this once, I'm eating for me not for her. He moved to the closet where the baby's Winnie the pooh bag was. He ducked down and pressed his shoulder against the wall before standing up properly and getting the strap off the hook and onto his shoulder.

"I know I almost traded you today. But don't give me a hard time for it, please." Bradley said in a baby tone holding Giovanna's small body in one arm and his yogurt in the other. The small girl made a small cooing noise as he made his way out of the house.

"Yeah I know, your godmother looked pretty today." Bradley admitted to the baby. You always looked pretty, but Bradley just had to pretend he didn't see it, for his own sake.

When Bradley got to hangar late everybody looked at him as he made his late entry. Looking like a professional godfather with a diaper bag over his shoulder, and holding a black stroller basket in his hand. He heard some of his coworkers laugh and Maverick looked at him like he was crazy.

"Rooster you can't have babies-"

"I'm sorry that it's such an inconvenience to you that her parents died." Bradley angrily stated, leaving his godfather speechless. He wasn't sure if he spoke for the baby or for his younger self as well. "Listen, I'm sorry. But I don't have anybody to watch her. She's asleep, but the moment she starts crying I'll go out into the hall and take care of it." 

With that Maverick helplessly directed Bradley to the open seat in the back. Bradley moved down the aisle taking the seat and setting the portable baby basket on the floor and set the Winnie the pooh bag down as well.

His ears were tuned into the flight instruction Maverick gave, but his attention was on the baby asleep in the basket. With Bradley’s boot propped up on the edge of the basket, he gently tipped it back and forth, rocking her gently.

After that Bradley had to deal with finding where to change her since there was no fold out table in the men's room. Realizing Giovanna's onesie was too small for her, having multiple women gush over the baby, and learning that Giovanna likes yogurt when he placed a dot of it by her lips. Natasha watched over Gigi in the rec room as he did his flight practice.

The moment Bradley was back home around 4 o'clock. He went straight to your room that used to be his spare bedroom. Giovana cradled in his arms, ready to pass you the baby, now since he got home. This time around Bradley didn't even knock, opening the door and seeing you laid on on your bed with your phone in your hand.

A funny thought tickled his brain that it would be nice to lay next to you. Especially since you looked so peaceful and uninterrupted. It reminded him of the days you waited for him at home in your shared apartment with open arms.

"I gotta shower, you watch the pumpkin for a bit." It wasn't a greeting or question, it was a demand as he went over to the other side of the bed and placed the baby in your arms. A fond look over took your eyes now that you had the baby once in your arms again. That second Bradley immediately missed having Giovanna warm body in his embrace.

"So how did it go?" You hesitantly asked not at all bother by the fact he just bursted in here. Bradley stood there for a few seconds debating whether to rant or not.

"Swell." Was all Bradley could say remembering he had spilt milk all over his car seats. Bradley left the room with no other words being said. Once he got to his master bedroom he realized his shower only shot out cold water. Last month he would prance into the extra bedroom and shower there since the water was always warmer.

Now with his ex-girlfriend in the other room, he would just have to suck it up and deal with the ice cold water. But today the idea of showering with cold water left Bradley shivering. So he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and white t-shirt and walked down the hall to your room.

Since he wanted to use your shower Bradley knocked on the door this time before letting himself in. The moment he set foot through your door he felt somewhat better seeing you taking a picture of Giovanna. He felt the tightness in his shoulder disappear for a second when you looked up at him.

"Can I use your shower? Mine only sprays cold water." Bradley found himself looking at you way longer than he usually does too caught up in the scene before him.

"Yeah go for it." You casually said looking back at the baby and letting out a delighted squeal. "Gosh you're so cute G! You're like the doll I always wanted." His feet were pasted to the ground forgetting why he was here. A small smile pulled on his lips; Bradley always thought you would make a great mother for his kids. He almost wanted to tell you he loved you at that moment.

Your eyes looked back at him and that’s when his feet directed him to the bathroom. It was a very odd feeling, being in the shower and feeling safe that you were behind the door.

Once Bradley got out of the shower he thanked you, but found himself yearning to be in the same room as you two girls.

"Do you mind if I sit for a little?" Bradley pointed at the spot by the edge of the bed. He had no right to ask that especially with the way he had been ignoring you for the past month. You hummed a response and Bradley took a seat. He had nothing to talk to you about besides the baby. "Did you see the little rash on her thigh?" He asked, turning to look at you.

You grabbed one of your silk pillows before setting down sleepy Giovanna on the nice material. "Yeah. Don't worry we put baby powder on before the diaper this time so she should be good." Your attention was on Bradley once again and there was nothing he could do besides feel embarrassed about how badly he wanted to kiss you at that moment.

"You know she likes yogurt?" Bradley stupidly announced not knowing what more to say.

"Does she?" You perked up, raising your brows.

"Oh yeah. You should have seen it." Bradley laid back against the foot of the bed wanting to see Giovanna sleep. "Got a finger full and put it by her mouth to try, and she ate it without making a face." The soft rise and fall of the little baby’s chest made Bradley smile. Babies were such a blessing, for a second Bradley was glad she was too small to understand that her parents had passed away.

In this moment laying next to Gigi, Bradley felt drained from the day's events and sleepiness overtook him. Closing his eyes to rest his eyes lids for a second. Slowly starting to grow unconscious.

"You took the yogurt?" Was the last thing Bradley heard before he had completely blacked out on your bed.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Not a day went by that you didn't think about Bradley accidentally falling asleep in your bed. Both Giovanna and Bradley had tired each other out passing out side by side. You kept telling yourself it was the pure utter exhaustion that had Bradley out like a light in your bed, not because he wanted you close... But why the hell would he sit down in the first place?!

You had thrown a blanket over him and an hour later he had woken up. Automatically you thought he would leave but he got up and gently placed Gigi in the middle of your bed, before laying down in your bed. What the hell?! Bradley hated you, the hell was he doing casually laying in your bed, like he did this everyday... a few years ago he used to.

Bradley didn't bring up the sleepover in your room, nor did you. It was the same routine with Bradley after that, grocery shopping together, occasionally greeting each other good morning, him watching football while you read on the couch, trying to get Giovana to say her first words.

Once when you were on the couch you had blacked out while doing a word search. Yet somehow the next morning you woke up in your own bed. You didn't ask Bradley but you were 100% sure that he had tucked you in. But obviously you didn't ask.

Slowly but surely you had a feeling that Bradley was warming up to you. Like the past could maybe stay the past and you could work together, to make eachother life easier. That's why you made sure to butter Bradley up before he realized that you could be trusted once again.

Everytime he lost in nose-goes you volunteered to check on Giovanna instead, when he lost his keys you helped him look, when he came back home you offered up your shower before Bradley could ask.

On a Monday afternoon when he came back home rather late, you had Giovanna on your lap playing with the rainbow stacking ring toy. Bradley was wearing civilian clothes so this must have been one of the rare nights he went to the Hard Deck. His Hawaiian shirt was a blue decorated with black palm trees, you were certain he wore that shirt the day he had planned you a surprise birthday party many years ago.

"Hey." Bradley passed by the living room, moving to his room not caring to talk to you like usual.

"Hi," You threw your head back following his every movement. "Do you wanna know the score of the game?" Bradley stopped in his tracks and smirked a bit. You never cared much for meatheads pushing each other on a field before so he was amused.

Bradley rested his hand on the white stair ball finial, and propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me."

"Eagles 25 and Buccaneers 11." You started bouncing your leg making Giovanna gently coo. Bradley pressed his lips together, trying not to smile.

"Did you search that up?"

You shook your head and lifted your head up focusing on Giovanna instead. "No." The baby grasped the red ring sliding it down on the pole "I watched it." You timidly confessed.

"Did you?" Based on the sound of his voice you could tell he was smiling. Not being able to see his facial expression reminded you of when he was deployed and you could hear the warmth in his voice through the phone. "Since when do you watch football?"

"Today when I missed you sitting next to me." You muttered so he couldn't hear. You grabbed a green ring and slid it on to the pole. Giovanna burbled in disagreement, her small hands pushing the ring up and out of the pole.

You thought Bradley had left but his raspy voice had your blood pumping rapidly through your body. "Since what?"

"Nothing"

"No, what did you say?"  Bradley egged on moving off the stairs and returning back to the living room. Everything was left unspoken between you two, so he was pushing your limits wondering if you had the guts to say that to his face.

"I said nothing."

⊹☆~⟡⋆

"Do you need the shower?" You instantly asked Bradley when he had knocked on your door. It broke his heart that you always thought he wasn't here for you. Using your shower was now just becoming some bullshit excuse to come visit you and be close.

Through the reflection of the dark window, you were doing your mascara. Now that your eyes didn't linger on him, he missed your attention now since he didn't have it.

"No, Giovanna toy keyboard doesn't work, and I think I left some spare batteries in your closet." Bradley checked you out since you weren't facing him, his eyes focused on your ass a little longer than necessary.

"Yeah, you can check." You answered. Too busy fixing your appearance to get it yourself. Bradley walked into your cozy room and opened your closet. "Are you sure you want to hear those lovely symphonies she can play?"

Bradley laughed at your sarcastic comment. "Hey if it keeps her happy." His eyes scanned over your selection of clothes before looking at the top shelf. "Honestly I think I'm more addicted to the cat keyboard than she is." He heard you infectious laugh as Bradley grabbed at a navy shoe box with no lid.

The batteries were clearly not in there, but the items in the box had captured Bradley’s attention. It wasn't morally correct to be going through your things, but how could he not when an old polaroid strip of pictures of both of you kissing was in the shoe box. Your closet door opened prevents you from seeing his snooping. 

The photo booth you took that in was so tiny, you were sitting on Bradley lap while the pictures were taken. The Polaroid square of you guys making funny faces used to be in his wallet. It was a bit odd you kept it after all these years but perhaps for the memories?

Curious overtook him and he kept going through the box. His heart did a flip when he realized this box was dedicated to him. There was a movie ticket of your first date, the souvenirs shot glass he got from Florida for you, his beat up cap he thought he lost. A dried dandelion, that you had wished upon to be together forever. A baseball he wrote his number on, and a rock with googly eyes Bradley stupidly made for you one day when you wanted a pet.

Bradley forgot some of these things had completely existed.

"Did you find it?" Your voice had startled Bradley. He stole the pet rock from the box before sliding it back onto the shelf.

"On second thought, I think the meow meow piano sounds just fine with zero sound." Bradley closed your closet giving you a once over before you turned around to face him. "You look beautiful." Bradley's mouth moved quicker than his brain. He felt like he was caught red handed.

Your face lit up at the compliment "Thank you. I'll see you later, Rooster."

Time heals all wounds. For once Bradley might agree with the saying because, for the first time in forever Bradley could forgive your past actions. It wasn't the shoe box that changed his mind, but everything else in-between. You had thrown a blanket over him the night he fell asleep on the foot of your bed. You watched the eagles game to tell him the score. Made him food even if he didn't eat it. Always giving him your full attention, every time he talked to you.

The truth was Bradley had never stopped loving you. It was hard enough already that one of Bradley's best friends had died, but to make it worse they were the 2 people that had brought you and Bradley together. Bradley was just a chauffeur at their wedding, a little lost between careers. Meanwhile you were one of the cute bridesmaids that stood besides the bride on the steps. Wearing a silk lavender gown that fits you like a glove.

Melissa and Caleb were nice people, so they had let Bradley sit at one of the tables during the wedding at the fancy country club. Bradley's eyes were burning into you. The moment you recognized his piercing gaze, you shot him a smooth wink with a gentle smile. The small gesture did something to him. Feeling recognized and reassured in a crowd where he knew no one.

After eating the food the caters had so kindly served, he went back to the black SUV, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Bradley sat there for a while listening to music with his seat reclined. That's when he heard the knock on the window. The bridesmaid hadn't had her fun yet.

With a smirk Bradley rolled down his window.

"I got you cake. Was wondering if I could sit with you?" You licked some frosting off your finger holding a plate of lemon cake and a bottle of champagne. Bradley unlocked the passenger door for you. One thing led to another and the chauffeur had his fun with the bridesmaid. That's where it had all begun. If it weren't for Bradley's unemployment crisis, then he would have never met you at Melissa and Caleb's wedding. The thought genuinely scared him.

That's why it felt like a punch to the gut when both of you were announced as Giovanna godparents. Melissa and Caleb thought both of you were made for each other. The night of their wedding you had catched the money bouquet you had pointed the flowers at him and said: “Baby it’s gonna be you and me up there next!” That day was the first time he met you, and technically you were a complete stranger, but he believed you.

There was this regret that lingered, when you had moved into his house. If Bradley forgave  you for cheating before then the pair of you could have been living together for a long time now. He wasted time that could have been. Lots of if’s played on his mind. If you and him hadn't broken up, Melissa and Caleb probably wouldn't have gotten into a car crash. If Melissa and Caleb didn't die, Giovanna would still have parents.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

It was crazy to know that you had spent 2 months raising Giovanna, and living with Bradley. It was Thanksgiving. Which lands on a Thursday, so Bradley had responsibility over 5 month Giovanna. The little girl was growing too now. Her hair was getting a little longer so you had to brush it down. She could crawl now from Bradley back to you and her teeth were starting to come in.

For Thanksgiving you had asked Bradley if he had any plans. Last time, you remember he was the life of the party, he was the music, the entertainment, the drunk, playing with the dog, the social butterfly of the function. Actually Bradley was a fun time in general, he had that positive mindset that made everyone smile.

But you were surprised when he said he had nothing going on. All his friends were home for the holidays, so there would be no get together. It broke your heart because Bradley didn't have any other family to celebrate with. Meanwhile you had plans with your sister's family to eat turkey at 6 in the evening. You had invited Bradley but he kindly declined saying he didn't want to intrude. No matter how much you told him he was more than welcome he said he would be fine at home with Giovanna.

Around three o'clock you were already dressed to head to your sister's house. But when you were going down the stairs, Bradley's back was facing towards you. He was sitting on the floor in the living room with Giovanna. The parade was playing on TV and there was a tower of blocks being stacked between them.

G was wearing a white long sleeve shirt with an orange dress that had a small pumpkin embroidered on the center pocket.

"You're such a little pumpkin you know that?" Bradley fondly stared at Giovanna stacking blocks on top of one another. She started to giggle when they all topped over hitting the ground with a soft thud. Bradley could never handle the cuteness, scooping the baby up into his lap, and kissing all over her chubby face. "You're my little pumpkin right?"

She stared up at him with her hazel eye, the exact same color as her father's. Giovanna didn't know how much she meant to Bradley. That he would give her the world if she asked for it. Bradley kissed her forehead giving her a little squeeze.

"Don't grow up on me okay? You're not allowed to."

Everything about him was amazing. Probably still one of your favorite people even after you broke up. You didn't want Bradley to catch you staring for the millionth time longingly. So you shook your head and quickly scurried off the stairs in the direction of the foyer. You slipped your kitten heels on and we're out the door.

When you were in your car and turned the engine on you weren’t able to put the car in drive. The whole week you've been looking forward to this. Your sister made the best mashed potatoes and was an amazing hostess. Always had fun party games that had you doubling over in laughter and fondly looking back at when they were memories. The family picture that always took way too long to get snapped. You'd always loved the sense of family when everyone listed what they were grateful for.

But this time around the two people you were grateful for wouldn't even be at the diner table. You were just outside of the house, and you already missed them. It's safe to think that you might have separation anxiety from those two. Going to Thanksgiving at your sister’s didn't even seem appealing when you could be home with Bradley and Giovanna. Yes, you had grown up with your sister and cousins, but you had a new family now to prioritize and put first.

You backed out of the driveway and instead of going in the direction of your sister's house, you went the opposite way to the grocery store.

Once you had gotten to the Grocery store thirty minutes away from your house, you realized you never cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Last time you tried helping when you were younger, your mother had kicked you out of the kitchen. Saying you did better off watching the parade. Times like this you really wished your mom wouldn't shoo you away, and showed you how to prepare the turkey.

Staring at the freezer full of turkey, you couldn't resist shaking your head feeling nauseous. No way would you be able to cook that, and make it edible. The next best thing was the warm rotisserie chicken under the yellow oven lights. Turkey, chicken- tomatoe, tomato, pretty much the same thing. So you grabbed the warm plastic box and placed it into the cart.

You were ready to turn the dinner into a lazy one, as you reached for the mashed potato mix on the shelf. Then your hand dropped back to your side. Bradley liked the mashed potatoes with the lumps in them because it reminded him of his mom, since she never had the patience to fully smash them down. You ditched the artificial mashed potatoes and went back to the produce, to grab some real potatoes.

Oh and Bradley also likes pumpkin pie. Never finishes the slice, but he likes the thought of one. Maybe he would prefer brownies and ice cream, like his mom used to do?

You took a shaky exhale feeling the emotions bubble to the surface, while grabbing a sack of potatoes. The biggest regret you ever made in your life was cheating on Bradley. He was the best boyfriend you ever had, and you had thrown 4 years down the drain like it was nothing. Bradley trusted you to be loyal to him; he told you his fears, secrets, likes, traumas, hobbies, and you didn't even think twice about that.

Tears started to flood your vision while you pushed the cart towards the dessert aisle. You were convinced that you were an awful person. Everything changed after Melissa announced she was pregnant in July. You had been dating Bradley for almost five years and there was zero ring. You tried convincing yourself that you weren't ready for marriage or kids or living together. But with Bradley you never felt so sure in your life.

Bradley said it was never the right time to get married, it's like every other day in the year he was doing a mission or getting deployed. He wanted stability for both of you when you got married. That he was waiting for a point in his career where everything would settle down... but it never did. You didn't care about stability or the right time. Every day felt like the right time for  forever to begin when you were with Bradley. You loved everything that came with Bradley Bradshaw, even down to the crazy deployment set backs.

You got tired of hearing it'll happen tomorrow, or this year, or "soon baby, when everything works out." The world was gonna keep on spinning and you were still waiting for Bradley's perfect moment to strike like the Rooster in him.

Around the time of Melissa's first ultra scan, you were sick of waiting. You had gone out with your sister and a group of her friends to a club. Not somewhere familiar like the Hard Deck but something across town that wasn't Bradley’s scene at all. You were just so pissed at the timing, and everyone growing up without you. 

Then the shots happened, cocktails, and a beer (which you weren't a fan of but you drank it because it was Bradley's favorite). After drinks, it correlated to dancing to the heavy music blasting in the club.

Some guy ended up grabbing at your hips when you were swaying them. You looked around for your friends, none of them in sight. First thing you thought of was: Bradley would not like this. You weren't even remotely attracted to the guy grinding against you and he didn't hold a candle close to Bradley. Yet another thought came in: I also don’t like sitting around waiting for Bradley to get his shit together, so what did it matter if I danced with some random guy who had the same build as my boyfriend?

You couldn't even blame the influence of drinking for what you had done after that. Because you were fully aware that it wasn't right, except you were so numb to it all in that moment you didn't care. But when you had got to sleep in a bed that wasn't Bradley's you immediately regretted it. There would be no church bells, or baby showers after your tramp behavior.

The day after when you were severely hung over, Bradley had called you asking you to come grab a bite with him at your guys favorite burger joint. When You got there you looked and felt horrible, but the moment you sat down he still greeted you with: "Hi beautiful."

Bradley was so happy to see you, and when he leaned down to hug you, you felt disgusted and ashamed with yourself. Bradley had ordered your favorite before you got here. He looked so tall and handsome and he was all yours for those last few minutes. Your food hadn't even been served yet. But you couldn't bear leading a kind hearted man like him on. After a massive exhale you confess your sin while crying immediately.

The only times you have ever seen Bradley heartbroken was when Natasha and Bob had gotten hurt during a training accident, and both anniversary days when Carole and Nick died. Now you were the one to be a part of his pain. Bradley had let you explain yourself through sobs. Not telling you to breathe, or calm down. He made you feel sorry and ashamed.

After that he was gone. Bradley moved out of the apartment first, leaving you with an empty place. Where 4 walls haunted you with the memories built inside. It didn't matter how much you called him because he never answered. With your tail between your legs you went to the Hard Deck to try to show him he still meant the world to you. But none of that mattered to him any longer, and you understood that.

A one night stand and your whole relationship was ruined. You couldn't even look yourself in the mirror after that. All you felt was pure utter hatred for yourself, that the best part of your life was gone because of your own actions. Then it occurred to you that it was better waiting your whole life for Bradley to be ready then, have him out of your life for good.

You ruined your own forever, and now you were forced to deal with the consequences everyday near the love of your life that would never forgive you. Most of your Thanksgiving shopping was spent wiping your eyes, like you have been doing for the past 2 months. Knowing this was your fault.

It was around 5 o'clock when you came back home. When you entered the house with grocery bags marking your arms, Bradley was no longer in the living room.

Not only did you have a breakdown at the supermarket but you still needed to prepare some massive feast you weren't even in the mood to make anymore. But you moved forward.

You didn't do so much besides mash the potatoes, make gravy, sautéed green beans, mac n’ cheese, and brownies. You took the rotisserie chicken out the package and plated it on a cute tray. The dishes containing the food all matched with each other all being white. In Particular, you were a big fan of how cute the gravy boat looked.

You had a rag over your shoulder as you lit a candle on the table. Hopefully Bradley didn't assume you were making a move on him, and just wanted to hang out with him.  After arranging the silverware, and three plates around the table you suddenly felt embarrassed by doing this much. Never have you eaten dinner at the table all together once since you’ve lived here, and if you did eat it was only ever in the living room in front of the tv.

A frown fell on your lips. It felt shameful to walk up stairs and tell Bradley that Thanksgiving dinner was served and ready. It was a very vulnerable feeling to show that you did enjoy his company, and might have even preferred it over your actual family members.

"I thought you were at your sister's."

Bradley sounded as shocked as you felt, when you saw him in the dining room. He was holding Giovanna in his arms and with her tiny hands playing with his dog tags that were tucked in his shirt. Your mouth felt bone dry, standing there awkwardly like you had been caught doing something terrible.

"Well- I uh. I was, I was gonna go and but I thought-"

"You made this?" Bradley pointed at the table with a raised brow. Suddenly the rotisserie chicken in the center felt like the biggest disappointment on the table. Everything felt so pathetic, and you wished the floor had swallowed you whole.

"Mh hm." You nodded. Giovanna's face planted into his chest and Bradley's lips pulled into a small grin. You couldn't tell if it was because of the growing baby in his arms or the Thanksgiving dinner.

"And we're gonna eat together?" All you could do was, nod your head nervously not knowing what was the right answer. The suspense for his feeling about this was killing you.

"If you want. I'm sorry about there being no turkey- I just. I never learned how to prepare one and it was last minute and all but." Your ramble was cut short.

 "No, no I love it. it's perfect." Bradley looked at the mash potatoes fondly. You hoped he would taste the lumps in them later. "You actually care about me." It was hard to tell if that was a question or statement coming from his tone of voice.

"Shut up." You laughed it off like it was nothing.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

What the hell was Bradley doing on this date? He didn't even like Thai food, let alone how busy a trendy restaurant could be. The worst thing about dates was the small talk he had to pretend to care about. By all means the raven haired girl, Caroline across the table from him was very nice and pretty. But mentally he wasn't at the restaurant, he had never disassociated so hard from reality before.

Bradley missed you and Giovanna. It felt like he was counting down the seconds until he got to see you two again. He longed to smell the lavender scent that stuck to your clothes, and the way Johnson & Johnson shampoo smelled in Giovanna hair. The smell in his imagination tickled his nose like he was actually near both of you. Bradley felt the bump in his front pocket, where he carried the flat pet rock he stole from you. It was like he was a little kid with his comfort blanket, somehow carrying the stupid rock made Bradley feel like he was closer to you.

All he could do was nod his head at Caroline pretending he understood everything she was saying. How could Bradley be on a date with another woman when he knew he loved you? After the Thanksgiving meal, it was all set in stone for him that you were all he ever wanted and needed. Bradley didn't have anybody to share that holiday with, and you had gone out of your way to ditch your earlier plans to make and eat dinner with him and Giovanna. Lumpy mashed potatoes, and Brownies with ice cream for dessert just like his mom used to do it.  It warmed Bradley's heart that you still remembered those stupid silly details he would retell about his childhood Thanksgiving. It made him smile that after 6 years of saying you wanted to learn how to cook a turkey, you still didn’t know how. The rotisserie chicken didn’t matter though, what mattered was that you had tried with the intention of eating all together. 

He felt seen and cared for, the exact same feeling he had when he had dated you before you had cheated on him. Always he blamed you for what happened, that was what had him sleeping well at night. Except for the past week straight it wasn't so easy to go to bed. He kept tossing and turning and the thought came to mind: maybe if I married her earlier on, we would still be together.

If Bradley put himself in your shoes then he would get sick of waiting too. He most likely would feel insecure, if you kept on putting the idea of marriage off. So he did come to terms with the thought that maybe you felt like an option instead of a priority. Not most girls wouldn't deal with a guy getting deployed 3 times a year and still wait for him to get back, but you did. From the moment he met you, he recalled you saying long distance relationships were stupid, but for him you sucked it up.

Maybe it was his fault that you cheated on him.

"Bradley?"

Caroline giggled, once he didn't reply to her question. Then his mind floated back into his body, and he was sitting at a table covered with a red cloth and a yellow candle flickering between the two of them. The food had arrived and he didn't even recall seeing the waiter place the dishes down.

"Sorry I get distracted sometimes. What was that?" Bradley raised his brows and glanced at his stake. He didn't even remember ordering either.

They made small talk trying to get to know each other but Bradley was still thinking about you. Random Thought crept in and out like: is she thinking about me too?

Whatever happened to her favorite sleep shirt that used to be mine?

Do you know I stole the pet rock from your box, and keep it in my pocket wherever I go?

Did the scare on your lower back ever healed after you scrapped it against the pool?

Does she still think of me when ‘Great Balls Of Fire’ plays?

Does she realize I carry her to bed when she falls asleep on the couch?

There were so many thoughts left unanswered because Bradley never asked you. Up until now did he actually start making full conversations with you instead of humming replies and using head signals. Bradley never wanted to be home so bad in his life. Even if that meant you reading on the couch, while he watched tv.

Bradley didn't even finish his food before he was pushing his chair out the table and reaching for his wallet. Times like these Maverick words rang in his head: don't think just do.

"I'm sorry Caroline. It was nice meeting you and having dinner, but I gotta go." Bradley picked two bills of one hundred out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

She furrowed her brows staring up at him. He never liked to ditch anybody, but this didn't feel right at all. "Okay... is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just feel a bit under the weather." Bradley stood up from the table. Caroline was the move on girl, to help him get back out there and get over you. Turns out Caroline would be the girl that had him miss his ex more. "It was nice seeing you Caroline, have a nice night." She wished him a fair well and he quickly moved out the restaurant before the staff could question his departure.

When he turned the engine on in the Bronco he let out a sigh of relief that he would be heading home.

After the drive back to Coronado, Bradley was unlocking the front door, shaking the keys a few times by the door to alert you he was coming in. The whole ride back, Bradley’s mind left the car thinking about imaginary conversation he would have with you that would most likely not happen. A few fake scenarios about the night ending in a kiss, or hug, and a little further in his bed.

Bradley threw the keys in the ceramic bowl, and took his shoes off. While in the restaurant his lap had felt awfully empty without Giovanna sitting with him. Bradley strolled into the living room and smiled at the sight before him. You passed out on the couch and Giovanna was on your lap fully awake, staring at the kids show on TV, like she could understand the words.

"Pumpkin, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't tire your godmother out?" Bradley asked the baby. Her attention snapped to him and a gummy smile took over her small face. On instinct Giovanna was stretching her small arms out to him. Bradley was such a servant to this girl, because in seconds he was sweeping her off your lap, and holding her high up in the air. Her beautiful giggles had Bradley chuckle. After playfully lifting her in the air a few times he brought her back down to his level.

"You miss me?" Bradley kissed her soft chubby cheek. Bradley took her soft coo's as a yes. "How's my girl doing huh?" He pressed lips on her forehead. Taking an inhale of how her head smells like the yellow Johnson & Johnson soap. Bradley pulled away and with his big finger he booped her small button nose.

"I should put your godmother to bed, huh? Can't leave her down here." Bradley stared at the little girl in his arms waiting for a reply. Obviously she said nothing, just staring up at him with her clueless hazel eyes. He was gonna protect and take care of Giovanna for the rest of her life and he wasn’t mad about it at all. "Gosh you're so cute, I want to eat you." Bradley put her small hand up to his mouth and gently sank his teeth on her small finger. Bradley kissed her hand before looking back at your relaxed face.

"I'm gonna put Gigi upstairs and then I'll come back for you okay?" Bradley reassured your sleeping self, as he went up the creek steps. Once Giovanna was in her crib Bradley moved back downstairs. He made sure everything was put away and locked up, before he went back to the couch where you had fallen asleep.

Bradley had done this a total of 5 times, and he was pretty sure you never noticed. Careful not to wake you, he placed his arm underneath your knees, and his other arm under your back. Bradley easily got you off the sofa. Carrying you always reminded him of how much he used to love doing it. The only light provided was the one shining down on the stairs, so he made sure not to skip or trip any steps.

The old wooden floorboards creaked underneath him, and a small laugh had caught his attention. Bradley looked down at you, in his arms and there was an obvious smile that you were holding back.

"You're such a fucking liar."

Bradley huffed out, once you had the liberty to have a good laugh. Your energy was so infectious he found himself laughing. It left him wondering if you played pretend all the time to have him carry you up the steps. Here Bradley thought he was so slick with bringing you to bed, but it looks like you did notice.

"I saw an opportunity so I took it." You reasoned. Bradley avoided eye contact because if he did look at you, he was sure he might solidify his brewing feelings. There was a part of Bradley that told him that it shouldn't feel natural to hold you like this, but it felt so right.

Bradley got to your room and gently kicked the door open. "Sorry, We don't do free rides here." He placed you on the bed like you were a delicate flower. You rested on your elbows staring at him amused.

"Sorry, What form of currency do you take?" You raised your brows expectantly. First thing that came to mind was a kiss, but he shook his head.

"Just don't let it happen again." Bradley warned as if this wasn't the peak of his night. This little moment felt better than being on a date with some random girl Natasha set him up with.

At the same time both of you spoke.

"How was the date-"

"I'm gonna go cheek on G-"

Bradley wanted to slam his head against the wall for not thinking of any other small talk besides the baby you had in common.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning Brad." Your cheeky little smile had definitely dropped. He would be lying to himself if he said that you being upset over his absent presence didn't slightly excite him.

"Yeah, Night." Bradley was hesitant to go, but ultimately left, closing your door.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sighed to himself as he went to Giovanna's room. Once he looked down at the crib he was surprised to see that the little girl had passed out in the short time he went to collect you upstairs. She looked like a little lamb when she slept. Her features were not fully developed, but she looked like her parents. She had Melissa’s straight brown hair, and Caleb’s ears. Bradley never thought he could love a little baby so much in his life. Giovanna was worth every Hard Deck trip and rank he had given up. 

"Sweet dreams G. Scream if you need anything." Bradley kissed the tips of his fingers and then pressed them to her forehead. He turned on the small baby monitor by her crib, made sure she was comfortable before he left her room.

Bradley somehow forgot which way his room was, and magically ended up knocking on your door again. Once he was allowed entrance Bradley, opened the door, and you were still in bed resting against your head board.

"She fell asleep like a little lamb-"

"Do you wanna use the shower?" Both of you spoke above each other. It occurred to Bradley that it might be odd that he was here, considering he only entered to use your shower. For a second he almost thought it was okay for him to be here.

"No, I just wanna talk to you." Your curiosity peaked. Bradley had nothing interesting or planned out to say, he just wanted to be next to you. Bradley decided to be bold and move to the other side of the bed, and lay down with his head against the headboard as well. Your head turned to him, waiting for him to say something. Bradley felt settled knowing he had figured out his feelings on you, but he felt antsy in front you. "What was the score of the game?" Bradley stupidly asked now that he felt all nervous and tongue tied.

Your laugh made him smile. "Uhm hate to break it to you Eagles lost, 33-36."

"No." Bradley said playfully, any other day he would be heartbroken if the Commanders won, but since he was in your bed, it didn't hurt too much.

"Yeah I'm sorry." You nodded in a pitiful manner. There was a silence that fell over both of you after, he couldn't tell if it was comfortable or awkward. He guessed it was uncomfortable since you were quick to speak again. "How was the date?"

"You know-" Bradley thought it was better to lie or settle on the truth. He already laid in your bed, might as well say it how it is. He spoke quickly because looking into your eyes made his stomach flip. "I couldn't really enjoy it, I was missing you guys too much." The words hung in the air finally being said. Your eyes had softened but you had looked straight ahead. A small smile captured your side profile.

"I have the same problem." You admitted making Bradley feel relieved. "Don't worry we missed you too." A grin pulled at his lips. Crazy how far a little communication could get you. "Wait, can I tell you something? But promise you won't think I'm weird or laugh." You sat up against the headboard. It seems as Bradley's confession had started a domino effect and you wanted to let something off your chest as well.

"I promise." Bradley nodded, feeling very good about himself since he had gained your trust.

"Okay." The hesitation flashed before your eyes just like it had with him earlier. You took a deep breath and spoke. "The 3 days the remote control to the TV was lost, I had hidden it so you were forced to talk to me."

Bradley didn't let his jaw drop, or laugh. He controlled his emotions, pressing his lips together, even though inside he was freaking out about it. Your little plotting had worked because in those three days Bradley did start talking to you way more than he usually did. Bradley recalled being very annoyed when he had missed the Eagles game last week, but he wasn’t very upset about it now. It felt good to hear that. It felt even better to know you would go to those measures for him to open up to you. Bradley glanced at your poker face, he had a feeling of the silence and his lack of reaction might be driving you crazy. He didn't want to judge you, so he decided to admit something as well.

"When you kiss Giovanna goodbye, I get a little jealous I don't get a bye bye kiss." Bradley turned to look at you and you started to erupt In a fit of giggles. "You can't laugh." Brad bent one of his legs up, trying not to laugh at himself. Your room was turning into a confessional, because there were a lot of things both of you had on your mind.

"Sorry, I'm not judging at all." You put your hands out in defense. The Thanksgiving dinner, and watching football games for him proved you still cared about him. But hearing it was a whole different feeling. He thought the conversation was over but you revealed another thought. 

"When I go out with a new guy and he does something I don't like. I think Bradley would never."

Bradley hated thinking about you going out with another guy, but it was nice to know that you held him as the standard or expectation. You still thought of him the same way, he did with you. Your eyes anticipated his next admission. Bradley let out a little laugh at how eager you looked.

"Can't laugh." You pointed a scolding finger at him. He put his arms up in surrender like you did not too long ago. Bradley wasn't sure he wanted to admit his thoughts, he was sure that he was way more screwed in the head then you.

"You left a perfume bottle in the apartment when we broke up. Sometimes when I get lonely-" Bradley let out a nervous laugh while shaking his head. He was gonna regret this later. "I spray the perfume on my pillow, so it's like...I'm laying next to you."  Bradley physically couldn't face you, so he started to rub his forehead. There was no laugh, or gasp from you. Just acceptance and no judgement. But he didn't know your facial expression since he was too embarrassed to face you.

"I have a shoe box dedicated to you. It's got souvenirs of our relationship in it."

"I already know that one." Bradley ignorantly blurted out before he could think. A gasp came out of your lips and you swatted his shoulder in disbelief.

"How do you know that?"

Bradley was a red mess now. He was sure his ears were crimson, like every other time he laughed too much or got embarrassed. "When I went to get batteries in your closet. I found the box." Bradley bucked his hips up and reached into his front pocket. He pulled out the flat grey rock with googly eyes.

"I know this was missing!"  You shrieked out snatching the pet rock from out of his palm, the contact made his heart rate pick up. You must go through the box often, if you knew the rock was missing. "Start confessing before I throw Erile at your head." You smiled at him once he finally had the courage to face you again. Erile, that was the stupid rock’s name, he had been trying to figure that out for weeks.

"I don't want to say anything. Your confessions are so mild compared to mine." Bradley chuckled trying his best to maintain eye contact with you. You placed the pet rock on his folded knee.

"Fine, I'll give you two." You hummed and looked up at the ceiling trying to think of some. Still had the cutest thinking face he had ever seen. "Alright, here's one. I learned how to play piano. So I can play great balls of fire because-"

You cut yourself off reaching for the rock but Bradley grabbed it off his knee before you could. Last time he tried teaching you basic piano skills, you ended up on his lap, while you requested him to play song after song.

"Your second one?"

"Every day I listen to the Playlist you made for me." That made him smile. Because he wasn't a passing thought, but one tattooed in your brain. But still your confession was as crazy as the ones he's committed. Bradley pressed down at the plastic googly as and began to state his secret.

"When I get deployed, I take all your past letters out of my attic and put them in my bag. Then when I'm in my bunk, I pretend like I'm reading them for the first time. When in reality I have all of them memorized… I find it crazy that somebody loved me that hard."

"Baby I still love you that hard." You admitted with a laugh. Once you realized what you had said, you were quick to move past it like it didn't happen. Bradley didn't get a chance to say his I love you too, since you moved on to your confession. "I bought some expensive crystals. Hoping it's magic would have you forgive me."

Bradley started laughing, now realizing why he saw pretty colored rocks everywhere around the house. "How's that working out for you?" Bradley smirked.

"Mh well you're talking to me right now, so I'd say pretty damn good." Your laughter is always his favorite melody. He wasn't into the whole hippy chick zodiac thing. But right now- god bless those god damn stupid rocks. This was probably the best night he had in your two months living here with him. Bradley placed the pet rock down on your white sheets, wondering if he should shut.

"I got a good one." Bradley crossed his arms over his chest. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.

"Let's hear it." You mimicked his pose crossing your arms as well. It felt like he was picking the petal off a flower. She loves me, she loves me not. She ironically loves me... or not.

"My biggest regret was not marrying you when I had the chance."

That was the final comment that left you speechless. It's like both of you were trying to outdo one another, instead of realizing the things that were being spoken out loud. You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head. Every time you cried your bottom lip would quiver and jutt out, so you bit it to prevent it. The last thing he wanted to do was have you upset with him.

"Bradley I'm so-" Bradley gently brushed his lips over yours. Not long enough to be considered a kiss but maybe an accident. But you were so caught up with the past the action of intimacy went unnoticed by you. "I can't do anything besides say I'm sorry one hundred times. And say some bullshit like I wish I could take back the past. If you gave me a second chance I would not mess it up." You rambled on letting the tears pool at your eyes. Your earlier confessions didn't compare to the amount of emotions that went through your eyes in these few seconds. "Please, you didn't even offer me a second chance. But I would wait now Bradley. Whatever you wanna do, I'm with you. If you want me to change, I would. My biggest regret is even thinking about somebody else when you were everything I have ever wanted."

You sniffled, wiping at your runny nose. A soft smile came on your lips that read, it's okay if you wanna keep pushing me away. None of your love letters when He was deployed had compared to this moment. It felt like everything was right in the universe. All the years of wondering and yearning were being said out loud. Bradley still loved you, and you still loved Bradley. Both of you had always been sure.

"C'mere." Bradley said with open arms. You hesitated before scooting closer and his arms were wrapped around your waist and your face was pressed to his chest. The missing piece of the puzzle was finally put into place. "I forgive you." Bradley muttered into your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

"Really?"

"With my whole heart." Bradley wasn't lying one bit, he forgave you. He was over with all the, ignoring you and pretending like he didn't see your kind gestures. Bradley had figured out his feelings, and never felt so sure of somebody before.

Taking care of Giovanna got stressful sometimes and going through the emotions of lost loved ones was tough. But with each other it felt like you could manage it together. These were the roughest times both of you would be going through, and it was better to do it together then separate.

AHHHHHHH! 🦔 I said give me 3 or 5 days to write this. I meant 10 to 20 business days hahaha. So sorry for the wait, I hoped you liked it. Cheers to my first request <3

[meanderingwistera]

Saint

Summary - After your ability to heal others was discovered you were taken to a monastery high in the mountains. The monks raised you in their ways and their beliefs. Once you are old enough you begin to offer your healing abilities to people who need it.

Soon enough you attract something you never intended too and he won’t give you up now that he has found you. Pairing - Kitsune!Suguru Geto x Saint!Reader

Content - Smut, Somno, oral (fem receiving) some fluff, religious imagery, no specific religion stated, afab!reader, Dark Content, violence, manipulation, mental conditioning, dubcon, baby trapping, obsessive behavior, isolation, stalking, deification, slight horror elements if you squint, the relationship starts out somewhat healthy then spirals from there

Word count- 7.1k

A/N - This was a lot longer then I expected lol

Banner credits - @cafekitsune

There is a rumor of a Saint living in the halls of a mountain top monastery.

They are said to be benevolent and heal others without thought. Rumors say they are ethereally beautiful and are sent by god to the world to remind them of his teachings.

Suguru wants to laugh at the idea.

He knows that humans like to make up pretty little lies. They give meaning to meaningless things and try to name things that are nameless. It is how they get through life and Suguru finds it pitiable. Why delude yourself into thinking that something is looking down at you from the sky? 

It won’t keep humans from the darker sides of themselves. Sometimes it can encourage that. Many men of faith use religion against other humans for their own gain. So why humans even bother with it in the first place confuses Suguru but he lets them have their meaningless delusions.

As a spirit Suguru has lived for many years, he is older than the systems that humans have in place. He has heard his fair share of fairy tales from the mouths of humans. Sometimes they are amusing, others are just ridiculous, much like the one being told right now.

“The Saint up there really can heal you!” A man says and holds out his wrist, “They healed my broken wrist.”

The other man looks amazed, his eyes are wide and his mouth is agape.

“Really? My wife has a bad back, do you think they can heal that?” He asks desperately.

Suguru tries not to laugh as he walks by the two men. How stupid do humans have to be to believe that a Saint exists. There is no higher power so someone sent down by them is a ludicrous idea.

But the idea sticks in his mind. It lodges itself in the back of his head as he moves through the village. He rolls the idea of a saint around in his mind. They would most likely be a scammer and they seem to run a good scam if the word has gotten this far.

A look into this “Saint” couldn’t hurt.

Suguru finds himself in the middle of a huge line a few hours later. His leg aches with the self inflicted wound he gave himself. The people around him are in various stages of pain. Some only have light cuts, others have broken limbs. 

The line moves slowly and most people come out looking better than before, which intrigues Suguru. Soon enough he is next in line and is ushered into a huge room. 

The dark wooden floors are a contrast to the paper shoji doors that line it. The monk escorting him in bows to the person in the middle of the room then exits. 

Your white robes catch his eye, the white color signifying innocence and godliness. They are rather modest in make and design, as if to muddy your appearance to make you more approachable. Suguru wants to laugh at this play to get him to trust you.

The white veil over your face is something he hadn’t expected. Maybe it was to give an air of mystery to you that will draw people in. The white thin fabric falls just short of your lips in a taunting show of skin.

Suguru doesn’t wait for you to motion him forward and walks up to you. You don’t even flinch as he stops only a mere few inches from you. 

“What ails you?” You ask with a small smile.

“My leg.” He replies to you, a sceptical tone to his voice.

Suguru is ready for you to be a fraud.

Someone peddling to the masses for offerings. What Suguru is not prepared for is to be wrong. He has never been wrong about humans before. They are fragile and somewhat stupid creatures but as your hand fits in his and a warmth fills his body he is proven wrong.

The warm feeling spreads throughout his body. It mends his broken leg and soothes slightly sore muscles from the walk up here. A soft sigh leaves his lips. When you retract your hand he almost doesn’t let you.

He had never cared for religion or anything of the sort. It was a waste of his time. He doesn’t know if a higher power exists but he now knows of your existence. You who heals the sick with a kind smile, who uses this gift to give to others with no reservations about it.

You are an angel- a divine being sent down to this terrible world by some higher power. He had read a few religious texts in his younger years and had been intrigued by the idea of saints but now that he sees you he is not intrigued, he is addicted.

Suguru stands a bit taller now that his leg is no longer broken and you have to look up at him. It gives him satisfaction that he could engulf you in his arms to hide you from the other undeserving people who come to steal some of your light.

“I wish you a safe trip down the mountain.” You tell him in a cheerful tone.

“Thank you.” He responds and walks away from you. As he leaves Suguru wants to laugh at your statement.

Because now that he has you he won’t be leaving this mountain for a while.

Your life is a peaceful one. 

The monastery is a place of tranquil reflection and you bask in the peace it offers you. You are safe in its walls and with the monks. And You usually feel at ease while walking through the halls. 

But there is something watching you.

You feel its eyes baring into your back. And every time you turn to try and catch what is watching you you see nothing. 

Your subconscious mind keeps telling you to run from the thing that has attached itself to you. You feel haunted- no, hunted by it. You feel like a rabbit being chased by a fox. A rabbit ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The heart in your chest is beating so loud you feel it in your ears as you look around.

The feeling of being watched never truly goes away. The eyes follow your every move and nowhere in the monastery is safe from them. Even when you are praying or healing others you feel your subconscious telling you to run from whatever is watching you.

You don’t fully understand the thing’s aim. It hasn’t tried to hurt you but it hasn’t put you at ease either. So you are in a constant battle with your fight or flight instincts. After weeks of keeping this feeling from others you can’t take it anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say and hug yourself tightly, curling in on yourself. “I am constantly feeling eyes on me.”

The Head Monk, Eiji, hums in understanding, “We can perform a cleansing ritual for you, it could help.”

You nod numbly at his words.

“The wards here are strong and can keep spirits out. You are safe here.” He says and takes your hand in his.

You give him a small smile, trying to channel your usual happiness. Eiji doesn’t look convinced by your smile and sighs. 

“I will have the monks pray for you as well,” He says and gives you a hug.

You feel safer in his arms. Eiji had raised you since you came here when you were ten. He taught you everything you knew about God and everything else. His opinion matters to you and his words help to soothe the worry deep in your chest.

Hopefully the ritual will free you of your fear.

The monastery you live in doesn’t have very good wards. They are old and let him walk in and out as he pleases. What that old Monk told you was laughable, the wards are like spider webs that can easily be pushed aside.

It is so easy to watch you, to find out everything about you. Suguru keeps an eye on you from the shadow of the trees that line the monastery. You spend most of your time wandering the halls or healing people. His eyes trace your outline and he commits it to memory.

The monks are always around you or the maids that attend to you. He may not like that they are near you but he does makes a note of how they attend to you. Suguru will need to know how to take care of you to keep you happy when you are his.

The more animalistic part of his brain urges him to take you now. To keep you safe from the people who take your light for granted. It takes his years of experience with patience to keep himself at bay. 

Suguru doesn’t want to scare you, he wants you to be comfortable with his presence.

But tonight he can’t stand this distance much longer, so Suguru makes a bold move. He walks into your set of rooms, he wants to make you comfortable but Suguru can’t stay away from your orbit for long. He longs to worship you the way you deserve. 

As he walks through the dark halls he checks to make sure that everyone is asleep. Your maids are all in their beds and sleeping soundly. His footsteps are the only sound in the hall as he walks to your door. 

The door is slightly ajar and he slips into your room. He quietly makes his way to your bed. Soft sighs leave your lips as he creeps closer. 

Your sleeping form is peaceful and he craves to curl around you. Your body would look so beautiful in his arms or under him. 

You don’t stir when he gets closer to the bed. Suguru chuckles at how deep a sleeper you are. He is so close to you but you are still asleep and unaware of him.

Suguru leans over you and takes a deeper look at you. For the first time he can see your face. Soft features scrunched slightly in sleep are illuminated by the moonlight. Suguru understands why they would hide your face from others. 

He feels like he has seen the face of god. This is why god’s face can’t be looked upon, people would go mad with just a smile from you. Wars would start from just the shape of your lips alone, whole countries destroyed with a flutter of your eyelashes. And he would fall to his knees to worship you if you just asked.

Suguru decides that he can no longer hold back from you.

After you take a break from healing people and the monks purify your spirit you feel better. The eyes that you once felt on your back have vanished. 

Your steps are lighter as you walk around the monastery. You feel the cheerfulness that was drained from you deep back in. It is the best feeling in the world to be free of whatever was haunting you.

On one of your regular walks through the expansive halls of your home you bump into someone. You have never seen him before.

“I am sorry for bumping into you.” He apologizes and bows to you.

Blinking in surprise you put a hand on his shoulder in a plea for him to stand back up.

“Please don’t bow,” You say quickly, “I am a normal person like you.”

When he stands up to his full height your eyes are immediately drawn to his eyes. They draw you in. Their lavender color slowly fades into bright violet near the edges, they are a color you have never seen before. 

You barely register him talking to you as you are preoccupied with his eyes.

“I am the one at fault.” He repeats himself with a fox-like smile on his lips.

“You are fine!” You respond with both embarrassment and intrigue.

He joins you on your walk after that. 

You learn his name, Suguru, and how he came to be here. He is very knowledgeable about many subjects. It is a shame you think to have him here and not out in the world with the amount of knowledge he has.

Suguru also asks many questions about you that you have never really been asked before. The Monks are not really talkative so you mostly talk to the people who visit you for healing or your maids. And even then you don't talk about yourself much so it takes you some time to think about some of his questions.

A week later the daily walks with Suguru become routine.

Suguru has managed to work his way into your life in a matter of weeks. The time he walks beside you makes the time spent in the company of the monks worth it. As you grow closer to him he slowly coaxes out more about you that he couldn’t learn from just watching you. 

He is very surprised to learn that you are very timid for your position. 

You rarely talk about yourself, choosing rather to focus on him and your faith. He feels a twinge of jealousy when you whisper god’s name with such reverence. You shouldn’t be so reverent to something that could never rival your divinity. 

But he feels better when he sees you blush at his complements. Your cheeks heat up at the slightest hint of compliment or touch. It is adorable how easy it is to fluster you. Your reactions are more addictive than any drug he has come across.

Sadly you always are pulled away from his conversation and gentle teasing, whether it is by your own accord or someone calling for you. His hands twitch with the urge to hold you to him so you can’t leave every time you walk away from him. 

Suguru doesn’t want to restrain you, he wants to protect you. Something divine like you needs to be safe from those who wish to use you for their own selfish desires. 

More often then not it is the head monk who steers you away from Suguru’s company. You, none the wiser, follow him as he steals you from Suguru.

The Head Monk has proven to be a great obstacle in his plan to get to you. His remarks towards Suguru are sharp and his glare even more so when you are involved. He can see through Suguru’s act in a way he has seen for a few centuries. Suguru would respect his intuition if it wasn’t getting in his way. 

So he needs to get rid of him.

Suguru waits for the Head Monk to come into his office at the end of the day before he attacks him. The sun is set and the room is dark except for the candles that are flickering in the dark. Suguru is hiding in the shadows of the room, the usual mask of humanity gone.

The Head Monk sweeps into the room with a weariness to his features. He practically slumps into his chair with a sigh. His guard is down and Suguru seizes this opportunity to kill him. It is easy to tap into the more violent part of his nature. To let his claws rip through flesh and bone, to let blood stain his robes and splash on his face. 

Suguru allows himself to utterly destroy him. He revels in the mangled bloody mess he makes. The Head Monk puts up a fight at the end. A last burst of adrenaline from a dying man. Most humans fight at the end, trying to use their last bit of energy to get away from what is hurting them.

When Suguru is done the monk is an unrecognisable heap of a body on the marble floors. You can’t tell his brain matter and internal organs apart from one another. The white and tan robes he wore are stained with his own blood.

The body is easy to get rid of. Suguru scatters it around the mountain, never letting too much of it be in one place. The animals will feast on his scatter remains.

He cleans up the mess he made before dawn. His hands are scrubbed clean of all blood before the sun creeps above the trees. And the floors look clean enough that you would have never guessed that he murdered someone last night.

Now nothing will stand in his way.

Over the next few days people begin to worry when the Head Monk is nowhere to be found. Everyone scrambles to find him but they come up empty handed. 

The effects shake the whole temple. People try to figure out who will take his place and if there should be a mourning period for him first. Everyone is either in a panic or in mourning.

Suguru is the main candidate for head monk. Even if he has only been in the temple for a few months his personality and piety are revered by the whole community. He sees this as a wonderful opportunity to get closer to you so he takes the job. 

You, of course, are devastated by what happened. Suguru knows that you saw that man as a father but he feels no remorse for the murder. He can see the tears that stain your veil as you pray for his soul. He gently takes you into his arms to comfort you. 

“I am sure he is safe in the lord’s hands.” Suguru murmurs softly to you.

He made sure of that.

“Thank you Suguru.” You pull back to thank him with a sad smile on your lips.

He suppresses his shiver when you say his name. It is so sweet from your lips. Maybe that is the way it is supposed to be spoken but he hasn’t heard it that way before. 

“Don’t thank me, I just hope to live up to his legacy.” Suguru says with a fake sense of uncertainty and lets you go reluctantly.

“You will do great.” You reassure him and to his surprised delight you bring your hand up to cup his cheek. Suguru leans into your hand with a sigh, melting into you kind touch. You giggle softly at his reaction. 

“Don’t doubt yourself, god will guide you.”

“He will.” Suguru agrees through his teeth. “But I would also like your guidance from time to time.”

You blink up at him in surprise, your pretty lips parted slightly. 

“I don’t think that I will be of much help.” You look down, trying to downplay yourself.

Suguru’s heart aches when you try to discount yourself this way. He takes your chin in one of his hands and lifts your face gently up to look back at him. 

“You are sent by god, your voice matters above all others.” He tells you.

Your face heats up as he holds you face up. Just the smallest bit of contact has you this flushed and he would love to see how you would react to all the things he wants to do to you. You pull away with a nervous laugh and smooth down your kimono. He almost coos at your reaction.

Suguru has all the time in the world now to help you become accustomed to his touch.

Suguru becomes more present in your day after he becomes head monk. He will drop by to see how you are doing or to just talk something over with you. His attention makes you feel important and you can’t help but flush when his hand brushes yours.

You dream of him. The crescents of his eyes and the soft curve to his lips follow you even in sleep. 

The dreams always leave you wanting. His hands trace the hills and valleys of your body. His lips are pressed to your neck as he works you open. You ride his fingers as he coos at you with praise for doing so well. You get so close to release then you wake up.

“Are you sleeping well?” Suguru asks you one day, all softness and concern.

You can feel some fatigue from your constant waking up in the night and the sleeplessness that comes after but you can’t tell him. 

“I am fine!” You deflect and wave off his concern. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Suguru seems to debate what he wants to say. Your footsteps and his are the only sound in the empty halls. You have realized that you haven’t seen that many monks today. 

“I have heard that sleeping with someone in the same bed can help that.” His comment breaks through your line of thought.

You look away at the thought of sleeping in his arms. He would be warm and maybe the dreams would stop if you were in his arms. 

“But who would want to sleep in the same bed as me? I don’t think I could do that if it wasn’t someone close to me.” You explain your concern to him.

“I will offer up my bed to you anytime.” Suguru says and his usual fox-like grin is back in full force. Your heart beats loudly in your chest.

“Maybe I will try that.” You admit softly.

“Will I see you tonight then?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Yes.”

Later that night you pace back and forth nervously in the hallway. Your hands smooth down your kimono in a soothing manner. It doesn’t bring your nerves to heel thought.

You have never been this intimate with another person. Your position as a Saint kept you far away from others' physical contact. There has always be a thin veil between you and the world. So now you don’t know what to do now that you have been invited to touch another person.

The only light in the dark hall is the flickering lamps in Suguru’s room. You can’t really see him but you can see an outline of him in the lamplight. Finally schooling your face into something less terrified you open the shoji door slowly. 

Suguru is sitting at a low desk with a book open. He is the picture of serenity as his eyes skin the pages. His kimono is rumpled slightly, exposing more skin then most would bare. You can’t help but trace your eyes down his exposed neck, collar bone and chest.

“Ah,” He says with a grin, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his honey sweet tone. You feel the sudden urge to flee to some place safer. It is a contrast to your growing attraction to the man in front of you. 

“I didn’t want to disturb your reading.” You say and he closes some of the distance between you.

“You could never disturb me,” His hand reaches behind you to shut the door, shutting you in. “I enjoy your company, no matter what I may be doing.”

Suguru’s hands are gentle as he walks the two of you to his bed. His hands are soft and practically envelop yours. He directs you to sit on the bed as he blows out the candles.

In the dark you can’t see him but you hear his footsteps as he approaches the bed. You tense up as he sits down on the opposite of the bed. For a brief moment you swear you feel that pair of eyes again. 

Then Suguru’s warm touch guides you down on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest. You make yourself comfortable, still keeping your head on his chest.

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him.

His chest rumbles softly with a chuckle.

“If you are comfortable then I am.” Suguru murmurs to you.

His hand begins to run up and down your back in a soothing manner. It feels good if not a little foreign. You have not been touched in this way for years now so you are both melting and tensing at his touch. 

Finally your body melts into his embrace fully. You sink into his chest and he wraps his other arm around you. It is peaceful like this, it is a peace you haven’t experienced before. For the first night in weeks you fall asleep almost instantly.

Suguru watches you sleep with barely concealed lust. 

You fit in his arms the way he has been imagining for months. Your body is beautiful pressed against his like this. His eyes are better at seeing in the dark then a regular human’s so he can see how your lashes flutter in your sleep and your softly parted lips. 

Suguru needs to feel you against him fully. He needs to know how you would taste on his tongue. 

You stir a bit in your sleep, thighs squeeze together around his thigh. Desperately you grind on his thigh chasing your high. He smiles to himself, you must like the dreams he has given you. 

He knows it’s cruel to deny you realise for weeks on end but the way you squirm is too pretty. Your soft moans and whines are a symphony to his ears. You are so helpless like this and Suguru likes you that way. You only need him.

Careful to not wake you he reaches a hand between your legs. You are already so soaked for him, your cunt so ready for him even if your conscious mind still pulls away from him. He runs a finger along your folds slowly, you shudder at the contact. 

“How cute.” He coos at your reaction and pushes a finger into you.

Your grip on his kimono tightens as he retracts his finger then pushes it back in. Once he is sure you won’t wake up he picks up his speed. He adds another finger and your cunt clamps down on both of his fingers. You are grinding down on his fingers to chase your orgasm. 

You arch as he finds your g-spot. 

He can feel you getting close, “Come on, you can cum for me, I know you can.”

It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers before you are spilling all over his hand. Your breathing is still even as he raises his hand to his lips. You taste so sweet on his fingers and he might get addicted to you.

You have never felt better after a week sleeping in Suguru’s bed. It is a vast improvement from the previous weeks of little sleep. You are certain that he is magic because of how easily he can get you to sleep.

More and more of your days are spent with Suguru. It must have been a week or so since you have left the wing Suguru’s room is in. You have practically moved into his room, most of your things are there since you spend your nights in his bed. He also takes great care in helping you with your nightly routine.

Suguru helping you get ready for bed started out gradually. At first he would just brush your hair for you. Then it slowly grew into him helping you dress and bathe. You had been skittish about the idea of having him see all of you but he had shushed your concerns and told you that he just wanted to help. His touch as he helps you is soft and gentle, almost reverent. 

He will trace circles on your back as you sleep so you fall asleep faster. Sometimes when you need it he will work out a tense muscle, you don’t get them much anymore because less and less people are coming for healing. It was perplexing how you rarely see a visitor or a monk anymore. 

You had stopped seeing visitors because the only ones that came were to visit the shrine and not to see you. The monks as well never really came to see you anymore. And your maids have seemed to have left you in Suguru’s care. 

But you don’t mind because Suguru is good company.

“I think I am going to take a walk around outside the monastery tomorrow,” You say with a yawn as you settle into bed, “I have been spending so much time with you that I haven’t seen another person in a while.”

“Of course.” Suguru says and there is something off in his voice but you just chalk it up to you being on the verge of sleep.

You fall asleep on his chest a few minutes after. 

Suguru is devastated that you are trying to leave him. You want to leave the wing of the monastery that he has carefully reinforced the wards to keep you in and safe. He has tried so hard to make you happy here and you want to leave.

He needs to let you find out what can happen if you try to leave him. He doesn’t want to let you get hurt but you have to learn to not slip away from his safe embrace.

Before that he wants to tie you to him in a more permanent way. It needs to also make you happy, he would rather die than make you feel upset. His only wish is to protect you and make you happy. Looking down at your soft sleepy expression he comes up with a way to keep you with him forever. 

Suguru has never thought much about kits. Most Kitsune mate then go their separate ways, it is strictly for reproduction. Kitsune are not monogamous so they can have multiple partners over their long lifetimes. And the kits grow up fast under the care of their mothers so he never bothered with it. 

But humans are different, human children take years to mature fully. And humans only have children with someone they marry or settle down with. If you have a kit or two of his then he can keep you with him for life. And even after this life he will find you in the next.

Suguru can just imagine you with his child. The children would have your eyes and his smile. You would love the baby since it is yours and you would have someone here that Suguru wouldn’t be worried about taking you away from him. As if you approved of the idea you nuzzle into his chest with a sleepy sigh. 

He flips the two of you so your back is on the bed and he hovers over you. The only sign that you may have noticed him moving you was a flutter of your lashes. You don’t stur as he lowers himself between your thighs. Suguru needs to prepare you for him and what better way than worshipping you in this way?

You are still sleeping soundly as he kisses your inner thighs. His instincts urge him to bite and mark you as his. He wants to claim you body and soul so there is no doubt that you are his. You are his Saint, you are his everything.

You are his God.

Suguru lets his head dip down between your thighs. He has gotten a taste before but this is so much better. Suguru has dreamed of being in between your plush thighs and now he is experiencing the heavenly reality of it. 

Your legs are starting to close around him. He can see your face scrunch in confusion and pleasure at the same time. You must be waking up finally.

Suguru continues on but keeps his eyes up to watch as you flutter your pretty eyes open. He sees you groggily look around before a moan escapes your throat. 

You fully wake up and look down at him, “What are you-?”

“You were just so needy and I wanted to show my devotion” Suguru says and puts your right leg over his shoulder to get his face closer to your dripping cunt.

You moan, high pitched and whiny, as his tongue grazes your clit. His hands grip onto your thighs, holding you to his face, as you begin to arch into him.

You gasp as he swirls his tongue around your clit. It was too good and you were already so sensitive. The waves of arousal wash over you as he plays with your clit. You won’t last too much longer, so he speeds up.

“Too-” You don’t really know how to finish that sentence. Everything is simultaneously too much and too little. 

“Take what you need from me.” Suguru offers you and you whine at how wrecked his voice sounds.

His tongue makes you dizzy. Too far in the haze of pleasure you begin to grind down on his face with your hands in his hair. You pull his hair for some form of leverage against your close orgasm. 

Suguru groans as you do, the vibration going straight to your core and you come undone. You reach climax and your thighs try to close but his grip keeps them in place as you twitch and arch. He groans as your cum oozes out of you onto his tongue. 

Your moans are so sweet as he eats you out through your orgasm. He holds you in place as your body subconsciously tries to get out of his grip. But he won’t let you go, not now that he has tasted heaven in between your legs. 

He lifts his head out of your cunt to watch your chest rise and fall as you catch your breath. The sight of you, post orgasm with your head nestled in his pillows, turns him on so much that he cock is straining against his robes. 

Suguru lets you catch your breath as he strips his clothes off. He can’t stand being in these robes anymore. They are just another thing holding him back from you. He catches you staring at him and stops undressing.

“Can I have you- all of you?” He says and runs his hand down your cheek.

“Please Suguru.” You ask him so nicely.

“Whatever you want lovely.” Suguru gives you a kiss as his hands open up your kimono with practiced precision.

You have never wanted to be worshipped despite your position as a saint. It was ridiculous to think that people would dedicate their lives to you because you can heal others. You always just wanted to help others and coexist.

But Suguru might change your mind if his worship is like this. 

His lips are so soft on yours. The softness in his touch conveys his emotions to you. The press of his lips to your skin is a promise of love. The heat of his hands on you speaks of his devotion to you. You could drown in his worship and you just might.

Suguru works you open in the same practiced way he did with opening your kimono. You gasp into his mouth as his fingers curl and hit that one spot in you that makes you see stars. His fingers pump in and out of you in a slow yet steady rhythm.

Finally he deems you ready to take him. You try not to squirm from the overstimulation of him sinking into so soon after your first orgasm. The stretch is painfully sweet as you feel all of him deep in you. 

“So good.” He murmurs to you as he lets you adjust to him.

“Kiss me again.” You ask breathlessly, needing him as close to you as possible.

“You are demanding tonight.” He teases you with a smirk. “But who am I to deny my Saint?”

Suguru’s lips are on yours as he begins to move. His mouth greedily swallows all your sweet whines. You feel so enveloped by him, he is all over you and it feels so good.

He pulls back to look down at you.

You look up at him through your tear stained lashes and he kisses both of your eyes tenderly. He can’t help but be captivated by how graceful you were even when you were overstimulated like this. Suguru finds your g-spot again and he aims for that sensitive spot every time he thrusts up into you. 

“Oh god- oh god-!” You ramble as he fucks you.

“God isn’t fucking you, call out to me instead.” He tells you.

You nod and bury your face in his neck as he picks up his pace. Soft moans of his name fall from your lips as he fucks you.

Suguru tries to be gentle, you are precious, but you just feel too good. You are so tight and he feels himself getting closer to his orgasm. He groans as your nails claw at his back. That will leave marks but he doesn’t mind that you are staking a claim on him. 

He was yours from the moment he first saw you anyway, and now you are his. 

“I love you.” Suguru murmurs into your hair as his thrusts get more and more sporadic.

“‘love you too Sugu-” You get out before it is cut off by his lips on yours.

His mind can’t wrap around something divine like you loving someone like him. But he won’t question you, your words are laws as far as he is concerned. You are his god and he is just a humble devotee.

Suguru groans as your words and how tight your cunt is send him over the edge. You are not too far behind, your body spasming as your second orgasm shoots through you. 

He holds you through it and keeps his cock inside of you to make sure it takes. Suguru can’t take any chances that he won’t get you pregnant. He whispers to you of how good you took it and how he loves you. You cling to him like a lifeline as the aftershocks of your high quiet down.

“Was I too rough?” Suguru asks, concern on his face as you look up at him, your eyes more seeing then before.

“No! Just I-” You pause, trying to figure out what to say, “I am still learning how to accept a lot of touch.”

“I will help with that.” Suguru vows and kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you Suguru.”

You look at the long hallway of Suguru’s wing of the monastery. It is peaceful here, the rushing waterfall next to the open air corridors gives you a sense of serenity. 

Suguru had told you that he had decorated this part himself after the last Head Monk had passed. You walk past a long tapestry of a swirling mountain range. It is a beautiful painting and you are still in awe of it after a few weeks of residing in this wing.

The main hall of the monastery comes into view, people bustling through the hall. You smile wide and walk faster. It has been so long since you have talked to someone besides Suguru. The thought excites you as you approach.

You pass the threshold only to find yourself a few feet back from where you originally were. Perplexed, you walk forward again, attempting to walk past the end of this hall. 

It is the same outcome. 

You try again and again and again. 

The same outcome happens every time. 

You are starting to get frantic as you try for what feels like the millionth time. Frustrated tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you find yourself back at the threshold.

“What are you doing?” Suguru’s voice comes from behind you.

You turn back to him, “I can’t leave! The hall isn’t letting me leave.”

Suguru looks concerned and walks over. His arms envelope you as you cry into his robe. You hug into him for comfort as you try to understand what is going on.

“It’s okay,” His hand runs up and down your back. “You don’t need to leave.”

His words run through you like ice cold water.

“What?” You fight out of his hold.

Suguru looks completely relaxed as he reaches out for you.

“You don’t need to go out there, it is much safer here.” His voice is soft.

“But I want to-” You argue but he is looming over you in an instant.

“It is dangerous out there.” He takes your hand in his, a reassuring smile on his face. “But I have made sure that you are safe.”

You wretch your hand out of his and run for the end of the hall. Panic has a hold of you as you attempt to leave again. You feel like you did all those months ago, watched, hunted. Your heart beats in your ears as you cross the threshold only to be placed right back where you started. You are trapped. 

Suguru’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body engulfing yours but not in the way you felt last night. This feels overwhelming, heavy, as he wraps you in his arms.

Looking up you see Suguru staring back at you. Something is different about him. His eyes are darker, more predatory than it was before. His gaze feels exactly like what you felt before he came to the monastery.

It hits you like a ton of bricks that Suguru was the thing watching you.

His grin widens and you see fangs. To your horror his canine teeth are sharper than before. He isn’t human, that is something that is apparent now. Suguru always was an inhuman type of beautiful but you never guessed he wouldn’t be human.

“What are you?” You whisper.

You attention is drawn to the fox ears that you now see on his head. They are a dusty red color and twitch slightly as you gasp. You have been told about Kitsune before but they are supposed to be just myths. 

Something to scare children from traveling too far into the woods. 

But Suguru is all too real.

“I don’t- I don’t understand!” You say and attempt to get free.

Suguru turns you around to look at him, “It’s okay, all you need to do is stay with me.”

You look up at him in fear, his face drops in response as if you were rejecting him and not just trying to go outside.

“Fine.” His mask of hurt falls away from his face. “I really didn’t want to restrict you but I can’t have you running from me.”

Without warning Suguru picks you up in his arms. You struggle against his chest as he walks back to his room but it is no use. He has an iron grip on you, like a rabbit trapped in a snare or in the jaws of a fox.

“Stop struggling or I will tie you down.” He is firm with his reprimand.

With a small hiccuping sob you stop trying to struggle against him. He looks down at you with sadness, his ears flat against his skull. His heart hurts as he sees your pain. But you have to learn.

“This isn’t permanent.” Suguru says, trying to soothe you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Just until you learn that you aren’t leaving me- ever.”

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | FC43

summary — in which franco’s just been thrown into the glamorous world of formula 1, and as his slightly jealous partner, you don’t take all the people flirting with him too lightly

pairings — franco colapinto x princess!reader (established relationship)

pronouns — none explicitly, fem presenting

word count — 2090

note — i have another princess! reader thats been in the drafts for like two months but this one lowkey wins

YOU WEREN’T NECESSARILY THE jealous type. there were sprinkles of it growing up: jealous of those who had a normal life, jealous of the other kids who got to do whatever they wanted, and jealous of how no one seemed to want to hang out with you because you couldn’t really bring much to the table. 

you had a good life and a good upbringing, but you never really understood any of it until you were midway through your teenage years. that’s when the weight of being in a royal family hit. but even then, and still now, why did it matter so much when your older brother was the crown prince anyway? and how his eventual children would be in line for the throne before you? 

you weren’t jealous of that at least, despite only having turned twenty-one this year, you didn’t want the throne at all. you wanted to go do things, see things, not have more responsibilities held over your head. that was the life your brother wanted, a life he was already accepting; it certainly wasn’t for you.

meeting franco colapinto for the first time at thirteen was probably the reason your whole trajectory changed. he was so carefree, happy, free to do as he pleased — you couldn't do that. you couldn’t remember why you had ended up at some karting championship in copenhagen now, but you were glad you did. you met him there, talked to him there, and he embarrassed himself with not knowing how to greet you there. you’d giggled, telling him he didn’t actually have to greet you with a bow like how they do it in the movies, and that was that.

you’d met him again at fifteen, and he hadn’t exactly learnt from his past mistakes . . . not that you minded. uttering a “i did some research” with a cheeky wink and a kiss to the back of your hand, your face had flushed a pink so bright that it had your mother thinking you’d come down with a sudden fever. it was sweet, he’d slipped you his email on a small tear-off bit of paper that he had prepared ahead of time, and you’d replied with the number that directed to the landline beside your bedside table. six months later, you were dating. 

YOU considered that maybe there was a little bit of jealousy bubbling up in your stomach when franco got his seat in formula one. you were so excited that he had finally achieved his dream that you’d turned the cottage you lived in together into a mini celebration: you made breakfast with a side of wine, then hopped on a plane to buenos aires so that he could go see his family about it. 

the one thing you had not expected was just how much he would be loved in the sport . . . by teenage girls. and girls your age. and journalists. and literally anyone who thought he was attractive. he had personality and was so much fun to talk to, but oh my god you did not think that the whole of the internet would start livetweeting about how they wanted to fuck him. 

in all fairness, they didn’t know about the two of you. it was fairly easy to hide when they had such a secluded cottage on royal grounds. your relationship was coming into its seventh year soon, you’d gotten engaged in january, and somehow it was still a secret with how much you two were public figures. 

it had been a few races too many now, and if anything, it had only gotten worse. maybe you were jealous because you hadn’t seen franco since he left for singapore, and the mexican grand prix had just ended. the only thing stopping you from going to instagram and posting a shit ton of photos and videos of you and franco together was the fact that you had just landed in brazil to see him now that you weren’t busy. 

you’d gotten good at the whole lowkey thing after years laying low as a royal trying to go out on dates with franco. all you had to do was toss on one of franco’s hoodies, pull the hood up over your head, and make sure you walked inconspicuously on your own. the bodyguards you had to have with you all dressed super casually also and trailed behind and in front a reasonable distance away until you were outside the airport and loading your bags into the back of a range rover. 

you dropped the hood the second you hopped into the backseat of the car, immediately launching yourself at your fiancé before the door was shut. franco laughed as he peppered delicate kisses across your face, each one more frantic than the last like you would disappear if he were to let go. you vaguely heard the door shut with thanks to the bodyguard walking around to the front seat of the car, and you made a mental note to thank him the moment you were all caught up with franco. “i missed you,” his tone was heavily accented in that voice that you loved so much, that voice that sounded so much better in person than it did in terrible quality over the phone.

“missed you more,” you mumbled softly, breathing in the subtle note of vanilla from his soap underneath the familiar cologne he always wore. you knew that the sooner you fastened your seatbelt, the faster you’d be driven to the hotel, so you hastily clipped it across you and snuggled back into franco’s side. “we are having words when we get out of this car,” you mumbled.

franco’s eyebrows furrowed, “we are?” he asked, and he felt you nod against his side. “right, we are.”

IT WAS NICE TO feel normal again. being with franco equalled feeling like you were a completely other person. you kept him separate and would be until you were married — he obviously didn’t accompany you to family events or royal appearances because you’d worked a deal out with your parents years ago to keep things private just until you were absolutely sure you were spending your life with him. his first public appearance would be your january wedding under glittering snowflakes. 

you were ready to break normal. the feeling had been crawling under your skin for months now, ever since he was called overnight out to italy and kickstarted his new career in being an international heartthrob who everyone was convinced was a playboy bachelor. he was nothing of the sort when he was currently cuddling into your side in his hotel room, half-asleep and trailing his fingertips up and down your thigh. 

“i don’t like seeing what people say about you online, you know,” you dared to finally bring up, months of jealousy trying to break free in your tone. franco could hear remnants of it clear as day, even in his tired state. “i can’t even say anything.”

he knew you weren’t dependent on your phone, it was only ever when he was away that you constantly had it on you to call, text and check F1 updates on twitter. at this point, the whole reason you had a phone was for him. of course you were in tune with what people were saying about him online. did you enjoy watching the tiktok edits people made? yes. that did not help your case in the slightest, though. “aw, baby,” he hummed, “what would you say?”

“that you’re my fiancé,” the label was still so new, so warm across your tongue. franco’s smile was immediate at the sound of it. “not theirs.”

“aw,” he cooed, “is someone a little jealous?” you groaned instantly, moving to push away from him. franco quickly sprung like some kind of trap, suddenly so awake as he wrapped his strong arms around you to hold you in place. “you are!” he laughed. “you are jealous!”

“. . . maybe,” you admitted, caving a little quicker than you liked. “it is hard not to be, no? look at all the attention you get from everyone else while i sit at home and have to watch.”

it had always been a difficult situation, he experienced the same jealousy on occasion, too. whenever you’d go to events with your family and were greeted by other nobles close in age to you or you were overly polite at fundraisers and celebrations, he saw it all when he turned on the tv or simply went online. it was so simple: your relationship wasn’t public – really, it was your own collective fault.

“we won’t have to deal with this for much longer,” he mumbled, and you felt each exhale brush through your hair; a soothing lullaby for you only. “january isn’t too far—”

“i don’t want to wait,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could even think about them. “i know we talked about it . . . but what if we just— just, i don’t know,” you stuttered uncharacteristically, shyly. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this way. “i don’t know.”

“you do,” franco kept his voice low, a gentle murmur that had you melting into his embrace impossibly further. “talk to me.”

your mouth fell open and then closed, then did it once more. you supposed it couldn’t be anymore embarrassing than that one time you had to admit that you liked him in front of four middle-aged bodyguards in a playground. that had been bad. this should be nothing. “i don’t want to hide anymore.” franco remained silent. “i want to hold your hand like . . . like how lily and alex get to,” it was the first example to come to mind, having seen them through lily’s account on instagram last grand prix. “but,” you quickly added, “if you don’t want to—”

“of course i want to,” franco chuckled to himself, “i wanted the privacy for you more than i wanted it for me.” he admitted it in a way that you knew wasn’t meant to make you feel guilty, but you couldn’t really help but feel your heart sink a little in your chest. 

franco could feel the sudden drop, your souls intertwined long ago. “. . . that sounded terrible, i know,” he poked his fingers into your side, pulling gasped giggles from you. “but you’re technically more famous than i am,” there was subtle tease in his tone among the seriousness, “i wanted what was best for you, you know that.”

“mhm,” you hummed in thought, tapping your fingers against his. “i just don’t think i can wait anymore. i want to watch you in person, especially while you are at williams now. i don’t want to miss it.” you were his second biggest fan behind his family, and who knows when he would get the chance to drive a formula one car again? if you missed this now, you’d never forgive yourself for it. 

“okay,” he nodded, very chill about the whole thing. it wasn’t surprising, you knew he didn’t mind in the slightest. exposing your relationship just meant that he got to show you off to the world as if he were the luckiest man alive. showing you off to his close friends and family wasn’t enough anymore, and here you were giving him the chance. “how do you want to do this?”

the one thing you sadly couldn’t do was just show up with him when he was at the track. you sadly had to have at least two people with you for protection as your parents wished, and so more arrangements would have to be made and it would be a whole bigger deal than it should be. 

“hm . . .” you thought, trailing off as your hand slowly inched towards where your phone was sitting on the bedside table. “i have an idea.”

“can you do it later?” franco asked with a tired smile, sitting up to pull the blankets over the two of you and settling his neck to rest against your neck. “i want your attention now.”

“mhm, my love,” you turned your head to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, his soft curls tickling your lips. “get some sleep, i love you.”

“i love you more,” his voice reverberated against your skin, rumbling through into your chest. “so, so much more . . .” he trailed off into slow breathing, falling into an instantaneous sleep — the sleep he only managed to get when you were tucked safely into his side.

princessofdenmark: can u guys pls stop hitting on my fiancé now

[dalgomii]

۪ ݁ 이마크 — the anatomy of 'home'.

• SYNOPSIS .. neither of you have all that much to your name. but, here, in the small sanctuary of your brand new—and still very vacanct—apartment, with a mattress for bed, a small kitchenette yet waiting to filled with the smell of home and living off of takeout to your heart's content, you just might have the most priceless thing in the world: happiness.

♡ WORD COUNT .. 2.5k

☆ NOTES .. established relationship. you and mark talking through the night over a pizza picnic, that's the story. got way too poetic and in my feels at the ending and then fumbled it lol. happy first tumblr post to me, yay! :)

Lately the pep in his steps have been noticeable. Even the mundane task of picking up delivery and climbing five flights of stairs because the elevator still hasn't been installed in the building couldn't dampen his mood. Mark walks in through the front door, practically skipping, two boxes of pizza in his hand.

Inside is like a sea of knicknacks yet to find their rightful place in the one bedroom apartment tucked into the heart of a bustling metropolis.

You smile up at him from where you are sitting, unboxing the things your mothers had insisted on buying in the name of home decor. "Done chatting up the delivery guy?"

Mark rolls his eyes, setting the food on the kitchen counter which was overflowing with utensils left to be stowed away. His gaze stops at your Harry Potter mug, one of the few things finally freed from your incessant overdone packing with the wrapping paper to make sure nothing broke during transit.

If the cogs of his brain cleared from the fog of bliss long enough, he would vividly recall the story of winning it at a fun fair — a mere consolation prize as opposed to the big pygmy puff plushie he'd originally promised you. Still, no matter your carefully hidden disappointment he'd assume, you had kept the mug, taking it out every morning for it to enable your insane caffeine consumption.

Perhaps it's the fact he'd seen it with you so many times, warming your hands on a cold morning or staining the corners of the Sunday newspaper acting as paperweight, Mark had forgotten it was his to begin with.

"For your information, I was getting the scoop on the local restaurants. So when you come home too tired to cook, I can swoop in to save the day."

"So heroic, my knight in shining... takeout boxes? You know all this could be avoided if you just learnt to cook?" Your sarcasm is met with bubbling laughter, making you beam up at him. "Come here for a sec. How does this look?"

Raising a brow, Mark goes to stand right behind you, narrowing his eyes at the wall of cat pictures and movie posters framed above a white table that held up a shimmering and ridiculously fragile glass vase.

He frowned at a couple things he thought had long since lost, in his childhood home or the studio apartment he used to shared with three others which looked like it was struck by a hurricane on a good day, hung up on the tiny bit of space by his bookshelf.

Specifically a Wham! vinyl.

The one you'd bought Mark on his first birthday that you spent together as a couple. The effect of the years passed is visible on the not-so-shiny black surface marred with misplaced dents and scratches. Yet the 'I know you've wanted this for a long time. Happy Birthday, rockstar' written in black sharpie onto the center label is still as fresh as his memory of receiving it.

"It's pretty," he states finally, genuinely, and hopes to God he played it cool enough. But who was he kidding? Five years of desperately trying to be nonchalant wouldn't have been comparable to a second spent being yours. Mark adds as an afterthought, "Let's hope it stays that way if we stumble into it."

You can't help a snort, "If? More like 'when'. Your foot eye coordination is whack in the morning."

Mark lets out a scandalized gasp, pointing at you, "Take that back right now".

And you, being the responsible, independent, tax-paying adult, stick your tongue out at him making him shake his head before looking back at the picturesque nook in your new residence.

"We need to get some flowers for the vase, huh?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah", you smile over a stifled yawn, pretty and serene, stretching your hand up to your boyfriend. He takes it as cue to pull you up from the ground. His hand remains twined with yours even after you're standing. "Peace lilies. And maybe chrysanthemums for a pop of color?"

Mark finds himself grinning at your hopeful gaze, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Anything you want. We can go first thing in the morning."

He feels his eyes widen when you cross the small distance between you, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, you're the best," you whisper, brushing a few strands of his fringe away from his forehead before you moved away, leaving Mark standing there frozen like a statue. A very red in the face statue.

He thinks you know exactly how to make him weak in the knees.

You stand in the middle of the clustered living room, every inch of space on the floor filled with cardboard boxes and your belongings packed with bubble wrap. "I don't think we can finish this today. Plus, it's getting late. Let's just eat and go to bed, yeah?"

But everything you say goes in one ear and out the other. It's baffling how many times Mark would get stuck in his head over the smallest thing about you.

It's more of a habit he'd developed – or so his friends insist – back when he first met you at orientation on campus.

No, you weren't a wide-eyed freshmen and he wasn't one either. Yet, somehow the friend-of-the-world music major had managed to stumble upon the live art workshop your department had set up.

From then on, it was only ever "Did you see how beautiful her eyes are? It's like the whole galaxy is mapped in them!" or "She's so recklessly kind, dude! Today she ran into traffic to save this one old lady's cat! How much more perfect can she be?"

Mark Lee isn't a stranger to waxing poetics– hell, he does that for a living, writing lyrics with the power to make people laugh out loud, be a metaphorical shoulder for people to cry on, to feel so intensely with just words alone.

But then every syllable fails him when it comes to you, a soul so beyond the realm of letters and alphabets that nothing he could ever scrap together feels enough.

It's like the universe had decided from the very first moment you both locked eyes that this was it for him.

Mark knew it when you waved at him with amusement threaded into your expression from behind the stand you were running and he reciprocated shyly after looking around to make sure at least twenty times that it was indeed him you were waving at.

When Mark asked for your number after finishing a basketball game as state level champions because the adrenaline high of the win and the elation in having spotted you cheering him on as he nailed the deciding shot from halfway across the court turned him into his most confident self — only to be reduced to a stuttering mess when you saved his contact on your phone, blowing him a flying kiss goodbye before walking off alongside your giggling friends.

When his idea of a perfect first date to a fancy rooftop restaurant got rained on, and just when Mark was considering to never show you his face ever again, you both ended up in the backseat of his car on a McDonald's parking lot, talking and laughing and he found out that you were just as much of a rambler as him.

When a houseparty his friend Jaemin was throwing in their new shared apartment landed you on his bed, your lips like a safe haven, searing affection and praises onto his skin. That night Mark had been afraid to so much as go to sleep, scared that he would wake up to an empty room, and perhaps a half-assed note saying if he was a good fuck.

So he had stayed up till the wisps of dawn graced the city, holding you close and kissing your forehead over and over again. When you woke up, you had caught him in his bluff immediately, coming over that afternoon just to make sure he actually slept for more than an hour.

Mark thought love was a frightening emotion, too large for fickle mortal lives, too complex to fully comprehend.

And maybe he wouldn't really ever understand love in it's entirety, but he did see a version of it in you — one that was tailored for him and him only.

Mark knew it especially when after an entire year of flirty back and forths, holding each other through your biggest wins and losses, learning to be so well-versed in each other that it surpassed rationale, he asked you out.

You hadn't been particularly ecstatic, claiming you were going to ask him first but just as quick, your arms coiled around him in a tight embrace under the stars painted across the vast expanse of the universe witnessing that one deserted beach at exactly midnight.

Mark Lee fell in love with your smile but he kept falling over and over again for your heart. A heart that is irrefutably made of gold.

And he knew that if given the chance, he would remind you just how precious you are and how precious whatever it is you share is, over and over again till the sky falls.

It took Mark a while to bring you down from the pedestal he'd put you on, to accept that your love for him is as real as the existence of the world. Perhaps a speck of cosmic dust in the grand scheme of things but, to you, it is life.

That when you said "I want you to try hard, but try hard to be the best self of you. Mark, you're the sweetest, most hard-working person I have ever gotten the chance to know. So, please, don't take him away from me", you had meant every word.

It takes you snapping your fingers in front of his face to bring him out of his thoughts. You stand before him in a baggy t-shirt — one of his that you'd stolen ("permanently borrowed", you'd correct him) saying his detergent smelled better than your own — and your hair an untamed mess. You're the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

"Mark?" You whine again, cradling his face in your palms. "Baby, don't zone out again. Food?"

Huffing a laugh, Mark pulls you towards the kitchen island with a hand around your waist, "I'm here, I promise. Where do you wanna eat?"

You survey the living room that had turned into your temporary storehouse in dismay. "Dinner in bed?"

"Minus the bedframe, you mean?" Mark muses making you wail.

"Oh my God, for the last time, I'm sorry I didn't check the delivery date was so far away. Please forgive me, good sir!"

Mark clicks his tongue in faux contemplation, biting back a smile at your dramatics. "I'll think about it."

Pouting, you help Mark set the pizza boxes down by the matress in the middle of the bedroom floor, dragging him down to sit beside you. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"

"Hmm... A few kisses and maybe something else?" He smirks, wriggling his eyebrows and causing you to smack his chest.

"You're such a man," you hiss and then with a coy look, push him down to lay on his back as your straddle his waist. "Though, that can be arranged," you whisper low and sweet, but right as Mark's hands grip your hips, you roll away towards the food, "After we eat. I'm starving!"

"A minx, that's what you are!" Groaning, Mark drags you back into him, tickling your sides till you are begging to be freed.

Dinner goes on without either of you bothering to put something on the background. The T.V. isn't installed yet and though you have your laptops, the comfortable silence and occasional sparks of conversation are more than welcome.

"You think we were meant to meet?" You ask out of the blue, when the moon is high in the sky. There are empty pizza boxes crushed into the trashcan and two half-empty beer bottles rest by your feet. Your fingers trace mindless patterns on Mark's chest, nuzzling into his side while he leans against the wall as though it's a makeshift headboard. “Like there’s a huge, incomprehensible divine plan that we’re just... following?”

"Yeah," Mark says simply. Though you would loath to admit it, you admire Mark’s easy belief in his own convictions. "I think that people have, like, agency and responsibility and stuff, like – okay, so we met, but me asking for your number after that game, or asking you to move in with me was on me. The big stuff, that’s fate, or the plan, or whatever you wanna call it. But we can still choose where we go from there."

"So me and you — that’s the big stuff?" You ask teasingly, and nudge Mark with your shoulder.

He sputters comically, well-practiced indignation clear on his face, "Shut up, I’m trying to have a philosophical debate here.” But his pink ears betray him, a pretty flush creeping towards his neck.

"I kinda like the idea that it’s all random, though," you say. "Like, if everything’s a coincidence. If everything leading to this moment was just a lucky series of accidents. Don’t you think that makes it special?"

"I guess." Mark looks up at the clear doors leading to the balcony, one of the deciding factors in you settling for this building complex. The stars linger in the night like paint splattered on a dark canvas.

Back in his small shared rental, sitting out on his balcony at 3am smoking with his friends, he could count them on one hand.

The city is a graveyard of these stars, he has learned. Millions of wishes and dreams burdened onto the ones that make it past the blanket of smog just to be seen.

It takes him back to that small secluded beach in Busan, on a fleeting night amongst so many other insignificant ones. Two people, barely learning their place in the word, so utterly wrapped up in each other.

There, away from the glow of 10 million or so human lives, the stars were endless and shining in a way the city never lets them.

"It makes me feel like my life is really worth something," you continue, quieter, "If I’m here by accident, and I’m the product of so many billions of years of accidents. It makes me feel lucky. And it makes me grateful for the chance. To, you know, make something of that."

That night five years ago, maybe you both were different people, not at all the souls that remain in your body today. But if there's one secret of existence Mark had started to figure out, it would be that any version of him that came to be since you crossed paths, each one of them was utterly and irrevocably taken by the versions of you which followed.

And destiny may as well be a glorified lie crafted by people to make sense of this larger than life magnitude of adoration they can hold for another.

But Mark hopes, with everything he has, that destiny has led every variant of you and him across the universe into each others arms. Home.

©DALGOMII, 2024

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3

[chaoticbasicallyuselessbisexual]

Your Miracle brought you to me, but it is my Faith that'll make you stay

based on this post by @colorlessjay

fair warning guys: I haven't written anything in quite a while, English is not my first language and it's close to midnight where I live. so... you have been warned.

also not beta read and honestly, I will not take any responsibility for any grammatical mistakes

this will be in more parts, this being the first. I'll try to finish the others as quickly as possible

anyway, have fun

part 2

part 3

☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡.:*☆

Castiel was lonely. His father said it was because he was special, his brother Luci claimed it was because he was weird. Castiel preferred the word autistic.

He had trouble making friends and even more so keeping them. Social cues were a living nightmare, he could not make sense of them and he was at least 85% sure they were created as a form of torture.

None of this really mattered in the great scheme of things, because he was still painfully lonely. He's already contemplated getting a pet once or twice, but he always managed to talk himself out of it and disregarded the thought completely. It wasn't until his other brother, Gabriel, came to his little home (and for its size it felt awfully big - thank you once again loneliness) to smack him on the head and tell him to go get a dog.

('Or I swear to God, I'm gonna force you to go make human friends, Cas.')

So there he was, walking through his local pound, looking at different dogs, trying to decide which one to take home with him. He didn't need to look for long, because the moment he walked by this beautiful malamute, the dog started wagging its tail as if it were possessed and immediately started trying to get to him.

This scared Cas for a good second. But when the dog got its big head stuck between the bars of its cage, trying to get head pats, and looked at him as if he was the only one who could solve this problem and get it safe and unstuck again, he folded like a sheet of cheap paper.

So Faith (because as much as Gabriel laughed when he heard this, she did bring Castiel something that he was desperately missing from his life) was coming home with him.

The moment she set her soft little paw through his front door, the small house became her palace. She made bed on the couch and on his bed and on a pile of clothes he forgot to wash earlier. She left dog hair everywhere (it was in his food not even five minutes after they got home) and she begged for his food as if he didn't feed her before sitting down himself (he did). She was pure chaos and a fucking sunshine radiating happiness anywhere she went and Cas was smitten already.

His days now went like this:

Castiel got up (at an ungodly hour) and took Faith for a morning walk to watch the sunrise. Then they came home, and Faith ate her breakfast with Castiel following soon after. After breakfast Castiel got dressed for work contemplating how bad and/or difficult it'd be if he quit his job to be with his dog all day every day, inevitably ending up hating himself when he had to leave her alone at home to go to work (because Faith needed to eat and deserved good quality food, please don't look at me like that, my heart will actually break). After work, he'd rush back home, being just as happy as Faith was upon seeing each other again. Faith would get her food, and then they went out to the (tiny) backyard to play. Whenever it was cold outside, they'd stay in for the day and cuddle, Cas scratching her tummy and behind her ears, and oh dear lord, how is she so soft. He soon learned how to brush her fur so it wouldn't hurt her, what food she liked best, and where that special place that made her melt for scratches was (under her chin).

It was almost weird how quickly they fell into a comfortable routine of cuddles, walks and more cuddles. And Castiel was, maybe for the first time, excited and truly happy about something.

That was until one day, one just awful grim day, there was the loudest car Castiel has ever heard in his life parked in front of his little house.

Faith could just go crazy, barking, howling, scratching and jumping on the door - all because of the damned loud car.

Soon enough, there was a loud, quick, almost desperate knock on his front door. Looking through the peephole, Castiel saw who was so eager to get into his house. On his porch was standing a man, taller than himself, if Castiel could guess, rough looking, with his worn out shirt and a leather jacket that has seen better days, big boots and a light stubble. He was pacing around on Castiel's porch, clearly distressed. If Castiel wasn't so angry with him for annoying his Faith to the point of her going crazy, he'd maybe even think the guy was attractive. Unluckily for the mystery guy, and luckily for Castiel, he was pretty mad with the guy, and so he decided to give him a piece of his mind.

The moment Castiel opened the front door, he was fucked. Not (only) because the guy turned to him and looked at him with those beautiful moss green eyes that could turn Castiel's world on its axis, but mostly because Faith ran right through him to get to the mystery hot guy.

She really went for it, no thought, no hesitation, and so Castiel was sent falling on his ass, seeing as she barreled through right between his legs.

The moment Castiel was able to shake of the shock of the fall, he saw the hot mystery guy, also sitting on the floor with Faith between his legs, sobbing, while she was licking at his face, looking excited as ever when he hugged her close to himself.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing with my dog?"

And for the second time, their eyes met, and Castiel swore he would not let Faith go without a fight.

[weasleyreidstyles]

between the shelves

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!

prompt 1: "is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

pairing: theodore nott x reader (no house specified)

warning(s): none

~∞~ a short little drabble – i've never written anything for theo so i thought i'd give it a shot.

There are many beautiful mysteries within the castle walls. That includes Hogwarts' expansive library that holds every book one could think of, and more. It's earthy tones and the smell of ink on parchment paper permeates the air at all hours of the day and the rustle of books is the only sound, besides idle chit chat that fills the vast room.

Right now, you despise the library.

The table that you and your potions partner had chosen was small and crammed into a corner of two towering bookshelves and the heat that magically swept through the room seemed to be set to sweltering hot as you sat, clinging to the fabric sleeves of your cardigan, which you refused to remove. There are potions books strewn across the table, which you absolutely abhor to look at, especially as his deft finger trace featherlight patterns against the worn covers as he jots a note down onto a separate piece of parchment for the assignment the two of you have been tasked with completing.

It all seems physically impossible. The fact that you're totally abysmal at potions, paired with the way Theodore Nott made you so nervous. Sitting in the sweltering library with him, is the last place you want to be right now.

He was one of the most popular boys in your year. Star quidditch player; top of all his classes without even having to try; he had more friends than you had fingers and he was just so godsdamn attractive. Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him in some capacity. Sometimes when you looked at him, jealousy festered in your gut because how can he sit in lessons so nonchalantly, but still remain just below Hermione Granger in all of them? And how can someone be made to be that fucking attractive?

It was not fair.

But more often than not, when you catch yourself staring at him (it happens more frequently than you'd care to admit) you find yourself constantly picking out the little things about him that make your heart soar.

Like the way his nose twitches irritably when his slightly curled hair falls over his eyes, yet he refuses to get it cut shorter.

Or the way his mouth tilts into a devious smirk that has people swooning instantly.

When he's on the quidditch pitch, his agility could rival the professional. He was truely a real talent and he could have an amazing future career, you think.

But the most fascinating thing about him are his eyes. Theodore has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. They are a kaleidoscope of blues and greys that you find yourself wishing to get lost in.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo looks up from his note taking and watches as you stare off into space, the potions book in front of you long forgotten. His lips lift into that arrogant smirk that you seem to admire quite a lot as he abandons his own work in favour of staring you down.

You must be miles away in your own mind because you barely concentrate on the fact that he's looking so deeply at you, that he may as well have been staring right at the makings of your very soul.

"Have you got a staring problem, dolcezza?" he asks, his deep voice a mixture of smooth and raspy. It makes your heartbeat pick up in speed as you're jolted from your wandering thoughts.

"I'm bored." You mumble, moving your hands, which are resting on your lap, to lay upon the table so that you can lie your head down. "Potions is so draining and it's so bloody hot in here."

"Is that it, or is it because you're in love with me?"

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide and mouth threatening to gape like a fish out of water as he merely stares back at you with his brows slightly raised. His smirk is widening, almost to a full blown grin. Gods he's so pretty, is all you can think as you roll your eyes at him.

He lets out the lightest of snickers as you ignore him and open your abandoned book, in favour of evading his gaze. But he could already see the blush crawling further and further across your cheeks.

"You can admit it if you want to, darling." He says teasingly, his voice is arrogant and silky and it makes you blush even more. "I don't blame you. Everyone seems to be in love with me."

He smiles prettily at you as you glare at him from across the table.

"No one like an egotistical brat, Theodore." you retort, but there's no bite in your words – there never is when it comes to him. And as he stares you down, you swear you can see the reciprocation in his gaze, but it's gone almost instantly when he turns back to his own notes.

One day, you'd tell him how you felt.

Today was not that day.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @typicalopposite for this one (thank you my loves!). I have gotten quite a few things that I'm writing, and y'all had me motivated for new things with your asks, so thank you sooo much for that! ♥ But for this one I'm going with my priest!Tommy AU, so here's the first scene complete. If some stuff looks familiar it's bc I posted snippets a few days ago!

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern. 

“Father Kinard? I’m Captain Nash.” Bobby says, and the man nods sharply, his stance almost militarily. "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"He is exaggerating is what happened" The woman quips, her voice a little trembling, but her glare towards the priest is very firm. Father Kinard, however, doesn't seem intimidated. 

"Calling 911 after you passed out and hit your head is not exaggerating, Gloria, and you know that" He says gently, then puts a massive hand on her bony shoulder. "I'm your shepherd, I have to make sure my sheep are doing alright, don't I?" 

Buck smiles a little at that; it shouldn’t sound that endearing, but it does, and even the lady seems convinced, because she shakes her head resignedly, and doesn’t protest when Chim takes her arm and wraps the pressure cuff around it. 

“She fell unconscious during service and hit her head on the pew.” Father Kinard elaborates, still looking at Mrs. Bellini worriedly. “I figured the heat brought her blood pressure down, so I asked everyone to step outside and called 911 immediately. I applied pressure to the wound and it seems to have stopped the bleeding. I made sure to keep her awake and she’s not showing any signs of confusion or dizziness.”

He knows it’s not polite to stare, but Buck can’t help himself. It’s not common for someone to give them this level of information with so much calmness when they arrive on a call. Usually they try to gather what little snippets they can through tears, yelling and fainting over the sight of blood. But father Kinard is collected and eloquent in what he says, and Buck's astounded. 

“And you're right, her blood pressure is a little low. The wound looks fine, though.” Chimney says, gently removing the gauze to inspect the cut. “Wow, looks like your priest cleaned this up real well, didn't he, Gloria? My job is already done for me.”

“Father Kinard is great whenever anyone gets hurt.” Gloria gushes, and the priest blushes under the attention, shrugging sheepishly.

“I had first aid training in the army.” He says, and when they all turn to him with widened eyes, he gives them a wry smirk. “Which was obviously before I joined the seminary.”

“Well, you were trained well, father.” Hen says approvingly, inspecting the wound herself and dabbing at it with a cotton swab covered in anti-septic. Gloria flinches a little, but sits still as Hen gets it cleaned and then places a band-aid over it. “This won't need stitches, it's very superficial. How are you feeling, Mrs. Bellini?”

“Oh, I'm perfectly alright now.” She says distractedly, her eyes turning back to her priest. “But I am so ashamed you had to stop service because of me, father! I'm very sorry! And for such a small thing too.”

“We’re lucky it was small, but it could have been bad. I wouldn’t risk it.” Father Kinard says patiently. “And don't worry about the service, Gloria, it was after Communion; we'd already done the greatest bits anyway.” He winks at her, a blinding smile on his face. 

Buck doesn’t get the joke, but apparently it’s funny, because both Eddie and Bobby chuckle at it. Chim is removing the cuff from Gloria’s arm and patting it jovially. 

“Well, looks like you’re all set, Mrs. Bellini.” He tells her. “If you experience any dizziness or headache, you should look for a hospital, but otherwise, you’re fine.” 

“And thank God for that!” Father Kinard adds with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, squeezing Gloria’s shoulder with genuine affection. “And thank you, first responders, as well. Come, I’ll walk you out before giving Gloria a lift home.” He says, and then strides along them to the back of the church, the smile still lingering on his face.

Buck has a hard time reconciling this laughing priest to the buttoned-up, serious-faced ministers he knew in childhood, from the few times his parents made him attend church. This man is full of joy and confidence, Buck can tell right away, and he just thinks he’s so cool. 

“You quite literally have nothing to thank us for, Father.” Bobby adds warmly, smiling at Kinard. Buck knows his captain has a close relationship with church, and he seems completely comfortable striking up a conversation with the priest. “You had done half our job for us before we were here.”

He shrugs modestly once more, walking alongside Bobby, and Buck is irrationally envious of his boss for a second or two. They stop by the church’s entrance, and the man extends a hand to Bobby. 

“Thank you, captain…” He says, trailing off, and Bobby firmly shakes his hand, smiling warmly. 

“Nash. Captain Bobby Nash. Your blessing, father.” Bobby asks respectfully, and the priest makes a cross sign over his head. 

“God Bless you and your team, Captain Nash. May He keep you safe in your very necessary jobs.” He says warmly, and then turns to Hen. “And thank you, firefighter…”

Buck watches in increasing despair as her, Chim and Eddie introduce themselves to the priest, shaking his hand, and realizes that soon it’ll be his turn.

He thought the church was cooler than the outside, but all of a sudden he's feeling hot all over again. Should he ask for the man’s blessing? He didn’t offer it to the others, and they didn’t ask, but should he? Is he even allowed if he’s not a Catholic? Does he even want the man to touch his sweaty forehead? 

And then the priest looks at him with that crunchy smile, an inexplicable blush creeps up to his cheeks. Buck thanks God - yes, he’s fully aware of the irony, and he does not find it funny - that he can blame it on the heat and his heavy uniform (never mind that father Kinard's clothes also look heavy and he's still perfectly composed, but Buck definitely won't think about how he'd look all sweaty).

“Thank you, firefighter…” He says, trailing off and extending a hand, and it takes Buck a second to realize he's supposed to shake it and offer his name (not his phone number. Definitely not his phone number).

“Evan. Buckley. Buck!” He blurts out like a complete idiot, and wonders if it's wrong to wish for a five scale fire so they can rush out of there.

Father Kinard raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on his curved lips. That's when Buck notices he's still shaking hands with the man, and he lets go clumsily. 

“My, that's a mouthful” Kinard says, and Buck almost blurts out that he has something else that's a mouthful before his eyes clock the white collar around the man's neck. 

As it is, he just snickers awkwardly and mutters a goodbye, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Buck's at the truck before anyone else, mentally preparing himself for being teased all through the shift they just started. 

His only saving grace is that, as much as he made a complete fool of himself in front of father Kinard, it's not a problem. Buck'll never have to see the man again, will he? So it's not like it matters.

Naturally, the priest shows up at the station the next day.

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @laundryandtaxesworld @mmso-notlikethat and whoever else would like to do it!

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[icharchivist]

when you know the critisms often given to the DA franchise it's so obvious DA4 is reactionary to everything people complained about without a care as to why it was a complain and it makes me so mad dklfhdjlkfjd

Like there was this whole meta about how the Storm Coast having a paper saying "careful, rocks can fall!" but never delivering on it was encapsulating the way DAI tells you things will have consequences but you don't really feel it (whether you agree or not), and i could NOT stop thinking about it when Arlathan had whole sections where Rocks fall randomly on you at all time. Meanwhile DA4 doesn't make you feel the consequences of what you've done much better than DAI did, in fact it's worse because it gives you illusion of choices without actually showing diverting paths.

The total removal of talks about racism, slavery, or even the Vallaslin, is reactionary to people saying "careful you're playing too hard on racist tropes and you really need to handle it better". Instead of "handling it better", they removed it all together.

Likewise with complains about how the Elves are too much in focus, where they instead just decided to stop addressing the Elves.... without exactly focusing on any of the other groups of Thedas, and now they say "the time for the elves is over" without addressing at all that the elven are left in the worst situation possible after an apocalypse in the name of their gods. Likewise for people being tired to hear about Mage Rights.

There was complains about the omnipresence of the Chantry in DAI and discussion of Faith? Don't worry, now no one has Faith in anything and the Chantry, or any other religions for that matter, is never mentioned again. Similarly to critiscms about the way the Qun was handled translating to "no discussion of the Qun anymore, the enemies broke from it so don't worry about it."

They said there will be no fetch quest that are useless, instead every side mission is focalized on the factions you try to help, as a result you just feel like you're working for a selected few people instead of just helping the world heal even if it doesn't advantage you.

They made a huge deal about "you're not special now, you don't have a magic hand" as a reply to the concerns about thee Inquisitor being too chosen-one-ey (disagree but it was a complain) and instead made a MC who has no reason to be here... if not for a magic connection to Solas and the special weapon of Solas. But don't worry you're not that special. You don't even feel guilt for what you unleashed.

They tried so hard to capitalize on "everyone loves Purple!Hawke right?" without realizing that people love Hawke because of the small scale of da2, and love Purple Hawke because you still have different personalities available for Hawke and can play mix and match. My purple Hawke honestly used just as many diplomatic options and a few very angry options esp when Carver was in danger. Rook only has Purple. The others options are just Purple A Bit To The Left.

People complained about how you could do the game without doing the character quests and nothing of note would happen (unlike DA2 where if you ignore your companions they can turn against you in the end of the game, or DAO where eventually some of them will fight you for it), or how there's no stakes because unlike the previous games they can't leave or die, so now they keep telling you to play the companion quests else they will die in the final battle. Doesn't matter that the Companion quests are incorporated in an even worse way that feels disconnected to the main plot (which was NOT the case in DAI), or that there isn't exactly this much change depending on the branching path, the characters don't change. It's really just about whether or not they live in the final battle.

DA4 is inherently reactionary to the criticisms (fair or not) put onto DAI, but somehow missed the point of what those criticisms were about (ultimately: "DAI is a step down from the previous games in the way consequences manifest itself" and "careful you're threading into topics that can get very offensive") and hypercorrected into something worse (mainly: "no more consequences now outside of "if you don't play them you die"" and "we can't be offensive about those topics if we refuse to mention them")

the moment you know some criticism sent at the rest of the saga da4 becomes just this sort of feeble game that is terrified of its audience that it's trying to do whatever it wants without ever once questioning what those criticism were even about.

[leahsgirl]

dramatic much | ella toone x female reader

veryyy short ella blurb to get back out there. no warnings.

sorry for my disappearance - writers block got the complete best of me and i hate every draft i make.

—

ella busied herself in the kitchen, occasionally stopping stirring the sauce in the pan to re-read the recipe on her phone.

some may say she’s been a little too aspirational in opting to make a three course meal for herself and you, considering she can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong. but with her being away so much with with international duty and pre-season duties lately and little time for just the pair of you - she wanted to do something special.

in all fairness, everything was going to plan. she prepped the veg in advance, seasoned the chicken, and is yet to call alessia to come and save her (and the meal).

but nothing is ever easy in the world of ella toone, so as the brunette was jamming along to one of her notorious spotify playlist as well as peeling potatoes; she accidentally managed to slice her finger.

“fuckin’ el” she retracted her hand back in a jolt, watching in horror as blood pumped out of the small but painful cut.

she’s pretty sure this is the end, any minute now and she’s going to die from a haemorrhage which is why in a swift motion - like any self respecting adult would do - she whipped out her phone from her back pocket.

“hey babe.”

“how far away from home are you?”

“about five mins-ish, why?”

“i’m gonna die man! you need to hurry up.”

“what do you mean, what have you-“

but ella hung up and there you was; heart rate through the roof as you sat driving your car. it didn’t take long for you to get back though, probably breaking a few speed limits here and there.

“ella?” calling out as soon as you entered the premises.

“in the kitchen!”

you find the girl hunched over the counter-top, about thirty pieces (not an understatement) of kitchen roll wrapped around her hand. “what have you done?”

“bloody sliced my finger open.” you see the half peeled vegetables on the chopping board and piece two and two together, letting out an airy laugh “let me have a look.”

ella propped herself up onto the counter as you gently unravelled the tissue paper to reveal… a small cut. barely a nick, really, but enough to have your dramatic girlfriend convinced she was at death’s door. “oh my god you are such a hypochondriac.” 

“mate it was like a blood bath in here i nearly died.” the mancunian defended herself as you hummed along amused, searching for the first aid kit.

“it’s your fault too.” she vindicated.

“of course it is.” you said with a grin, playing along “what did i do?”

“if i wasn’t cutting potato’s for this meal i was making for you, then it wouldn’t of happened.” she huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“or maybe you and the kitchen just aren’t meant to be.” you opened a sachet of antiseptic wipes and motioned for her hand. “but i love the thought and effort.” you kissed her lips while slying cleaning the wound.

“shit shit shit!” the brunette pulled back and immediately went to wave her hand to stop the stinging “what you do that for?!”

“would your dramatic ass let me do it if i had told you? the answer is no.” you smiled sweetly at her and put a plaster over the cut. “there. all better.”

“wait you forgot something.” looking expectantly at you as you cleared away the rubbish. “what?”

“kiss it better?” you laughed at the childish behaviour but gave in, conceding a quick peck on her finger. “i’ve never known anyone as dramatic as you, ella toone.”

“good thing you love me isn’t it?” she hopped off the kitchen surface and smacked your butt.

“mhm. now go get changed so i can put that shirt in the wash.” pointing to the scattered red marks on the material.

“fine, but i’m stealing your hoodie.” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom.

_

well what was supposed to be ella’s culinary masterpiece ended up being your handiwork. after convincing the girl she’d done enough damage for one night, you took over in the kitchen, following the recipe she found. to your surprise, the meal turned out pretty tasty. ella hovered around you the entire time, watching your every move like an eager student, offering unhelpful advice and distracting you with cheeky kisses. not that you minded—it was nice to see her so invested, even if it meant she spent more time fussing over her finger than actually helping

with dinner over and dishes abandoned in the sink, the pair of you was settled on the sofa, scouring the tv for literally anything to watch. ella was cuddled into your side, messing with the remote as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“why don’t we see what’s on netflix? i think there’s some new shows out.”

“ugh there’s nothing good on netflix anymore.” the brunette moaned.

“you’re so hard to please sometimes y’know.” you teased as you took the remote off her and put on a movie both of you liked, one that you watched together more times than you can count “happy?”

ella nodded, “i’ll go grab some snacks.” she manoeuvred off you and the couch, bending down to steal a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the brief contact leaving you grinning. you watched her disappear into the kitchen, hearing the familiar clatter of cupboards opening and the rustle of packaging as she gathered your favorites.

she was back after a couple of minutes, hands now full with a bowl of popcorn, a bar of chocolate and two cans of pop. “here you go m’lady.” she said with a mock bow, gracefully placing the bowl on your lap and handing you one of the drinks. “thanks babe.”

she went to the other couch and picked up the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak and making her way back to her personal pillow (you).

“ah! shit shit shit!” the older girl was now hopping around holding her foot.

“literally what’s just happened?” you look on in disbelief because realistically how many accidents can this girl get herself into.

“stubbed my bastard toe.” ella hissed through gritted teeth “think i’ve broke it, swear I heard a crack”

“oh for fucks s-“

[unlabeledbylerfan55]

Byler dads headcanons cause they’re like, the best:

— They would have a daughter named Maeve Joyce Byers

— Yes, Mike got Will’s last name: Michael Byers hehe

— I kind of think Maeve would be one of those less girly girls, if y’all know what I mean, like, she’d like striped shirts and jean shorts and wouldn’t really like dresses (unless they’re comfortable or striped) our girl is obsessed with stripes lmao

— Maeve would be such an artist — she started drawing when she was four, starting with finger painting, then it progressed to charcoal drawing. Will taught her how to shade and what papers to use.

— Maeve’s favorite video game is Super Mario 64, since Mike plays it with her after school.

— Maeve is a ginger — curly hair, freckles, fair-skinned — and Will tells her she looks just like her Auntie Max. And she really does — even though she’s got hazel eyes, almost like Will’s.

— Mike is more of a morning person, so every morning he sits with Maeve and has breakfast with her. Maeve says random things like, “I had a dream I was ketchup, and you were mustard. Which is weird, cause usually you’re mayo”, or she talks about her classroom stories. Mike writes short stories based on these morning conversations they have.

— To contradict this, Will spends time with Maeve every night. This is when Maeve has those nightly motivation bursts and Will always spends the night — despite how tired he is — in the art room, teaching Maeve new tips and tricks with charcoal drawing. Maeve likes drawing animals, and what’s around her, and Will encourages it. One day, Maeve sees Will’s painting he had given Mike and asks about it. Will explains it like it was yesterday, but God, it makes him feel old.

The next day, Maeve draws a young Will and Mike on the swings, despite not usually drawing people. Will keeps it above the mantle of the fireplace.

— Maeve becomes super interested in music and Mike pulls out his Fender Mustang from when he was 14. He plays a few notes, and Maeve thinks he’s like, a pro. Mike chuckles to himself, and asks if she’d like to keep it. Maeve is like, hell yeah. She gets very good at guitar — being taught by Mike.

— When Maeve was a baby, Mike would sing Weezer (in pure desperation) to quiet her. She still finds Weezer comforting.

— Will gave Maeve his old flannels when they got too small for him.

— When Maeve was young, she always wanted a younger sibling. And, in school, when she asked her health teacher about how babies are made — this teacher not knowing she has two dads — the health teacher just explains that when someone is having a baby, they gain a bit of weight.

Few days later, Will and Mike have to explain to Maeve that Mike is NOT having a baby.

— Maeve calls Will “Papa” and she calls Mike “Daddy” when she’s young. When she gets older, she calls Will “Pops” and Mike “Dad”.

— Maeve had an emo phase when she was twelve and always introduced Mike and Will to the music she listens to, like Panic! At the Disco, etc etc.

— When Maeve was a baby, she was awfully clingy. Sometimes, she liked being held in Will’s arms and listening to his heartbeat, and sometimes, she liked being carried around in the carrier by Mike.

— Her favorite uncle is Lucas. He taught her how to throw a baseball. She would catch. Since Lucas coached baseball for a few years, Maeve joined the team and always boasted about Lucas being her uncle. Other kids were amazed.

— Maeve always showed Mike and Will the new movies that have come out, like Mean Girls and American Psycho. Mike liked Napoleon Dynamite and always makes the slight: “gimme your tots” reference even years after he watched it. Will found Mean Girls interesting.

[zoesmp4]

PHOTOGRAPH “we keep this love in a photograph.” carl grimes x fem!reader

tags: angst, death, use of y/n, 8x9, some fluff

a/n: first angst, i was bawling my eyes out while writing this 😓. based off photograph by ed sheeran, lyrics r in italics. i hope ygs enjoy!!

loving can hurt sometimes. you never really understood how much until now.

FLASHBACK. 

“we should do something.” carl says, fiddling with your promise ring which he got you. he saw it while on a run and thought it was pretty, “pretty items for a pretty girl.” he thought. you were sitting criss cross applesauce in front of him, him doing the same. both of his hands were interlinked with yours, giving light squeezes. “and what’s that?” you ask. “we should take a photo. you know for the future.” “for the future?” “like to show our kids.” you wanted to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe. did he really just say that? did he mean it? this boy would be the death of you. 

“wait okay so- i just do a random pose?” you say, looking at the camera carl held in his hand. “up to you baby.” he never failed to make you feel special. you were so in love, and you knew he was too. “m’ ready!” “sweet.” he angles the camera to fit you both into the frame before you press your lips onto his cheek. his lips curve up into a smile before you hear the click sound from the camera. 

carl held the photo of you both in his hand, examining every part of it. mostly examining you. the way your hair fell perfectly upon your face, the way your lips looked perfect on his skin. god, he just knew he was going to make you his wife one day. you giggled at the light kiss stain you left on his cheek. 

PRESENT TIME.

you held the necklace you got when you were fifteen, heavy tears flowing down your face at a rapid pace.

FLASHBACK.

“carl.. you didn’t.” you say, looking at the beautiful silver heart locket in the small black box carl handed to you. “you like it?” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “i love it. i- you didn’t have to.” you say, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “don’t cry pretty girl.” he says, putting his hand on your cheek. “i love you so much carl.” “i love you more.” 

PRESENT TIME.

holding him closer til’ our eyes meet. did it have to end like this?

FLASHBACK. 

“carl you can’t leave me like this. i wo- i won’t allow it. this isn’t fucking fair.” you say, hitting carl’s chest softly. you were so angry, and sad, you didn’t know how to feel. “y/n you’ll be fine. i know you will. you’re a strong girl. it’ll b-“ 

“what about- what about the plans we made? who am i supposed to talk to late at night when i have nightmares? w-who am i supposed to cry about stupid things to? carl i can’t do this without you.” you started to choke on your words, the realization hitting deeper and deeper that you would never get to see, to talk to, to hold, to kiss, to love carl grimes ever again. 

carl pulls you into his chest for one last hug. you embraced him tightly, trying to make the best of it while it lasted. he then cupped your face and pressed his forehead onto yours. “my girl, my y/n, i love you.” 

PRESENT TIME.

you kept his last words deep within your soul. your hands quivered as you slowly opened the piece of paper which carl left for you. your heart stopped when you saw his handwriting. all of his words written on the paper. you wished it could’ve lasted longer. you wished you had more time with him. 

“my dearest y/n. i remember when we first met. you looked so scared. you were always quiet, always alone. i felt so bad for you. i would always admire from afar, watching the wind blow through your hair. you were so pretty. i don’t know how i ended up having you as my girlfriend, but it’s the best thing i could’ve ever experienced. 

i know you’re sad. i know you’re angry. i’m frustrated too. i meant it when i said i wanted to show the photos to our kids. i meant it every single time i said i love you. because i am truly in love with you. every part of you. and nothing will ever change that. in another lifetime we will reunite once again. i will always be with you. don’t ever be scared. we keep this love in a photograph. we made all of these memories for ourselves.

so you can keep me, hidden in the pocket of your ripped jeans. you won’t ever be alone. wait for me to come home.” 

you look at the photo which fell to the floor while you were reading the letter. quiet laughs mixed with sobs come out of your mouth when you remember that day. forever you will have this memory. captured in a photograph. 

[oh-stars]

Recognition

Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1257 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

“What time will you be home?” Eddie asks, perched on the couch like a bird, elbows on his  knees and sitting on his heels, toes straining under his weight. He feels like a little gremlin, body needing a way to expel all the energy his boring day off built up while Steve’s been at work. 

Steve sighs and adjusts his tie in the mirror by the door. “If all goes well, eight?” 

Eddie groans and falls back, limbs flailing. “If they expect you to go to school after hours, they should at least pay you,” he says, face squished into the fabric. It’s miserable being on different schedules. He’s been working at the plant until the construction is done on his shop, which means weird hours and being completely off rhythm with Steve. He barely sees the man! 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve huffs as he smooths down his shirt, walking towards him. He carefully bends over to kiss Eddie’s pouting lips, laughing at him. God, Eddie’s so glad this man is his. He’s too precious to let go. “I’d stay if I could,” Steve says softly. “You know I hate going to these things.” 

Eddie sighs, giving him a small smile as he touches up the few strands of Steve’s hair that were betrayed by his hairspray. “I know,” he says. “I could always come with you.” 

Steve shakes his head, cheeks pink. “Thank you, but you, uh, really don’t want to go to a boring PTA meeting. All they’re going to do is fight over which classroom should get the crayons.” 

“I’d go for you, Steve,” Eddie says. He sighs again and pushes Steve away. “Go so you can get back.” 

“I love you,” Steve says, stealing another kiss before he finally stands up. 

“Love you too,” Eddie says, smashing his face back into the couch. “I’ll be here, rotting away until you return, my sweet knight.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs his wallet and keys off the coffee table. Then he’s gone, with the rumble of the Beemer and the faint sounds of David Bowie announcing his departure. 

Eddie lasts a whole three minutes before he’s shooting up off the couch and pacing around the living room as he thinks of something he could do to occupy his time. He’s done about as much housework as he could manage for the day, he doesn’t think he could practice anymore today or write at all with how depleted his creative juices feel, and he knows nothing good comes on TV on Tuesdays in early January. 

That’s how he ends up piddling about Steve’s desk. Steve keeps all his papers that need to be graded meticulously organized, with the ones that are fair game for anyone to grade (aka the ones with scoresheets) in the blue folder. On days where Eddie’s brain was too much, when he couldn’t even look at his guitar without feeling pain or pick up his pencil to be creative in any fashion, he needed something to do to get the excess brain energy out. Robin’s much the same way, so Steve started setting aside his pop quizzes and multiple choice tests in the blue folder for either of them to grade if they needed. Otherwise, he’d get to it eventually. It’s mindless enough to calm their brains, they feel good helping Steve, and it helps give Steve more time to focus on the essays and presentations that need more time to be graded. It’s a win win all the way around. 

The blue folder isn’t as full as normal, but there are a few worksheets Eddie can take care of for Steve. He reaches for the sticker book and the purple pen (Steve’s signature grading color) in the mug Wayne gave him that’s an apple with a little worm for a handle that he uses as a pencil cup. That’s when he sees the PTA flyer. It’s jam-packed with information and minutes from the last meeting, but in big, bold letters at the bottom of the flyer, Eddie reads:

Join us to honor this year’s Teacher of the Year, Mr. Steve Harrington, eighth grade English. 

Eddie puts down the blue folder, the pen, and the flyer. He’s still for exactly one minute before his body goes into flight or fight mode. Within ten minutes, he’s dressed in his nice date clothes and his hair is tamed back into a tight bun, threatening to snap the band. 

Time crunch or not, he drives like a bat out of hell. He has plenty of time to get to the school, they live close enough, but he needs to make a few stops first. All in all, he gets there right as the principal is starting the meeting. 

He tucks himself in a corner in the back, watching the whole thing patiently. The problem is, he can’t really see Steve. Eddie cranes his neck and bounces on his toes, trying to find a way to make it to one of the seats in the center of the auditorium, closer to the stage. 

His opening comes after the chorus does a performance, when the parents at the front scurry their students away before the meeting can continue. First off, rude, but it works in Eddie’s favor. Steve’s award is next and Eddie isn’t missing this. 

Eddie slips into the front row as the principal starts shifting gears, whispering to the vice principal as the crowd settles. 

She announces Steve to a polite applause, but that’s just not good enough for his Steve. 

His palms ache with how hard he’s clapping, just shy of letting out a loud ‘whoop’ – and he’d do it if it wasn’t for the pretty way Steve’s face and ears are pinkening up. Their eyes meet as Eddie beams. 

“Hi,” he mouths, trying so hard to not vibrate out of the seat. 

Steve’s smile softens as he gives a wave of appreciation to the crowd, eyes darting back to Eddie. As the principal sings Steve’s praise and when she hands over the microphone for Steve to say a few words, Steve’s eyes never leave Eddie’s. It isn’t until a few of his students get up to speak that Steve finally looks toward the speaker, his shy smile turning into one of pride. Eddie knows he could care less about the words themselves (it’ll be later tonight that Steve will have a crisis and finally let the kind words sink in, where he’ll cower into Eddie’s body and panic over how much these kids trust him), but rather seeing how brave his kids are for speaking to a crowd this big and doing it so well. 

The award is the last part of the meeting, so after another round of applause, everyone is dismissed. Eddie jumps up to meet Steve at the bottom of the stage. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Steve says as he jumps down. 

“I wanted to,” Eddie says. “I’m proud of you,” he adds as he bumps their shoulders together. 

“I’m just doing my job–”

“Stop,” Eddie says kindly, “you deserve this.” He grabs Steve’s hand and gently tugs him toward the exit. “C’mon, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate.”

“What about my car?” 

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow.”

Steve’s blush is even stronger up close, but he doesn’t fight Eddie. And it’s an absolute privilege to watch as Steve gets all shy again when Eddie presents him with flowers once they’re at the van, stammering his thanks as Eddie kisses his cheek swiftly. 

--

Ao3 Link

Thank you @lady-lostmind 💜

[anamazingangie]

i thought you ought to know | Rupert x Taggie

Rated M | 6.5k words | Complete! | by  AmazingAngie

Tags: fluff, all comfort no hurt, breeding kink, daddy kink, spanking, married life, older man/younger woman, making your husband a daddy in more ways than one

Summary:

"This is  my  wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.”  She would never tire of hearing that, especially when Rupert said it with so much pride.  It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!”  But Taggie never tired of that, either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert.  (Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.) . or; Rupert takes far better care of her than her actual father ever did, so it's no wonder that Taggie, on occasion, pretends Rupert is more than just her husband. 

Excerpt:

"You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.”  He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal.  “Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.”  Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile.  Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly.  But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away. 

the snow is snowing and the wind it is blowing

.

They had gotten married in spring, just a handful of weeks after her birthday. It was a small ceremony, in a meadow, with a few dozen guests they could trust not to leak details to the press.

There was no debauchery on that day worth reporting, really, but they wanted it to be private since it was a luxury rarely found in Rupert's life.

Though they had agreed that their love would be public — in part because of their mutual insecurity, but also because of Rupert’s possessiveness, and his inability to keep his hands to himself. 

(Which, to be fair, Taggie also struggled to do.)

.

but I can weather the storm

.

Taggie hadn’t expected a lot of support regarding their nuptials, because Taggie never expected much support for any decision she made. 

A stupid girl could hardly make smart decisions, after all. 

She had been told that often enough to question herself constantly, often looking to those around her for guidance, because her sister and brother were so clever, especially compared to her. 

Of course, their opinion was better and more trustworthy than her own. It had to be.

Or, at the very least, they were more confident in their opinions. 

(Then again, it didn’t take much confidence to be ' more confident' than Agatha O’Hara…at least until she met Rupert Campbell-Black.) 

.

what do I care how much it may storm

.

There were a thousand reasons she shouldn’t trust Rupert, at least on paper. 

Her sister had told her that when she found out about the engagement.

Taggie had laughed because it was probably true, but she simply responded, “Good thing that I can’t read them,” and hung up. 

She had never hung up on her sister before. Or anyone, even. 

She was always polite to a fault.

But for the first time in her life, she didn’t care what her sister thought, because she was confident her sister was wrong. 

Because the only thing Taggie had ever been confident about in her entire life was : 

She loved Rupert Campbell-Black. 

And the only time she hadn’t questioned what she was doing or saying was when he asked her to marry him. 

The answer had been so obvious, and she had been so certain, and so happy. 

(Of course, she said yes.) 

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

It didn’t matter that everyone else thought she was setting herself up for heartbreak. 

Maybe she was. Maybe he would grow bored and leave her. Maybe he would become cruel. 

Maybe. 

It was a risk she was willing to take because she had already lived the reality that was life without him and it was agonizing. If their marriage was just a brief reprieve from that, a plaster on her heart that beat only for him, then it was better than nothing. 

“You don’t understand,” she told her siblings, fiddling with the tea towel in her lap to hide her frustration, “He makes me feel like I can do anything. Because if a man like him loves me, then surely anything is possible.” 

She swallowed, looking down at her fingers, “He makes me feel safe. Not the way a security system does, it's more than that. It feels like...nothing can hurt me when I’m with him, not the world, not myself, nothing. When he looks at me, when he holds me, I know everything will be okay.” 

For someone with near-crippling anxiety, there was no sweeter feeling than a safe haven that made all those thoughts ebb away, and nothing had ever given her that sort of relief, except for Rupert.

“He can’t protect you from himself, Taggie. He could hurt you.” Patrick said softly. 

Caitlin was frowning, “Patrick is right, and you talk about him like he is your father, not your fiancé. It freaks me out.” 

Declan, who had been ignoring them from his seat at the table, snorted, snidely commenting that, “He is certainly old enough to be, imagine how I feel.”

Taggie grit her teeth, wanting to scream that this wasn’t about him, or anyone else. It was about her, and maybe he should think about how his sniping made her feel. 

The thought was selfish enough that in the past she might have cried and apologized just for it crossing her mind. 

But a single week of being with Rupert had changed her, and she could practically hear him whispering in her ear, asking ‘How does that feel, darling?’ while his fingers curled inside of her, ‘You’re such a good girl, Taggie, let me make you feel good.’ 

He was the only one who ever cared about how she felt, much less making her feel good about herself. Taggie didn’t associate those things with a father figure at all, she just associated them with Rupert. 

Maybe Caitlin was right and she did talk about Rupert like he was a parent in addition to a partner. But she would never talk about their parents like that. Neither of them had been much of a safe haven to her, in fact, they were often quite the opposite. 

So she just sighed, “Maybe I do.” 

(Maybe she needed a father figure as badly as she needed a husband.) 

.

.

.

“For fucks sake, you look more like her father than her groom,” Bas said with a laugh as he looked over the prints from their wedding. 

Rupert glared, “I’ve heard enough of that from Declan, my father-in-law, thanks.” 

“It isn’t your age that makes me say so,” Bas said, lifting a photo from the reception, in which Rupert’s eyes were narrowed at the cameraman, his hand on Taggie’s waist, while she was turned to speak with Ricky. 

“You look at her like she is an angel, and you look at everyone else as if they want to corrupt her. Or steal her, I suppose, and you have to be constantly on guard to protect her virtue.” 

Rupert snorted, he’d well and truly stripped Taggie of that, both before they married and after.  

He hadn’t even waited for the honeymoon to do it, either. 

He hadn’t even waited until the reception , he thought with a grin. 

Her rosy cheeks, glow of happiness, and ruddy lips had nothing to do with touching up her makeup, even if that was the excuse she gave to slip away after the ceremony. 

“She is an angel,” Rupert said, “And of course people want to steal her. Every man she speaks to falls in love.” 

Bas laughed but didn’t disagree, “Quite like you with women, no?” 

Rupert’s mouth opened, then closed, finally stumbling out the poor come back of, “Some men, too,” which made his friend chuckle. 

“What a match you make, inciting so much lust and love wherever you go that you constantly feel undeserving of each other,” Bas dropped the photo and took a seat across Rupert, “My point still stands, though.” 

He took a long sip of his drink and crossed his legs, “Is that not how a father feels for their daughter? That sort of adoration for a girl is so great that you assume everyone feels it too. The sort that makes you spoil them rotten and leaves you fearful that one day they will grow up and find someone they love more than you.” 

He frowned, thinking about it. His actual daughter, Tabitha, was the complete opposite of Taggie in nearly every way — their shared commonality being him and the fact they were both great beauties.

Though he supposed there were some parallels in how he categorized them in his mind. 

(Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible thing, he had been a much better father to her than he had been a husband to her mother.)

.

The words lingered in his mind the following day as he sat beside his wife in the stands, his arm protectively curled around her waist. 

He watched the way people watched his daughter as she rode through the course, in awe over her talents and good looks, despite being too young to be a prospect in any way. She would be a menace when she got older, though, and started looking back, and he dreaded that day.

But he loved her, too, and he would do anything to protect her. But he didn’t feel this… need to protect her the way he did with Taggie. 

Tabitha, having had him as her father, had no qualms about talking back and speaking up for herself, assuming that her opinion was always the right one, just as he so often did.

She had an awareness of her talents and beauty, and the fact these were perceived by others. She knew her worth and she would curse out anyone who treated her as anything less than what she perceived that worth to be.

But Taggie wasn’t like that. She was talented and beautiful, and completely unaware of it.

Maybe they were both lambs being circled by wolves, but where Tabitha would fight them off with her hooves, Taggie would probably apologize for being so unappetizing, her dying bleat saying how she hoped they found a better meal and didn’t go hungry that day. 

Taggie needed him in a way his actual daughter never had. 

Rupert was used to being wanted, but never needed. There was a stark difference. 

(Maybe he needed someone who needed him, too.) 

.

i cannot remember the worst December

.

The timeline was…suspicious in many people's minds, and rumors of teenage pregnancy and entrapment ran rampant through Rutshire. 

Even The Scorpion speculated as much as they legally could without setting themselves up for a lawsuit, which was something Rupert would have been happy to funnel his riches into. 

The whispers followed Taggie when she went shopping, the leading comments from the cashier asking if she had any, ‘unique cravings’ recently, while holding up the jar of pickled onions. 

Rupert’s response to this was buying her a wardrobe of summer dresses, ones with fitted bodices that showed off her tiny waist — and often a bit of cleavage, too, which he claimed hadn’t occurred to him at all. 

(Rupert would never admit it, but he wished the rumors were true. He would happily trap Taggie in such a way, if she hadn’t chosen to stay on her birth control.)

.

just watch those icicles form

.

“I just want them to know you married me for love,” she had told him and he could understand that even if he didn’t like that. 

To him, it was so obvious he loved her, and he had finally convinced her of that, he had no desire to waste time convincing others, too. 

But he had seen her parents’ disapproving looks and heard the skepticism around town. They didn’t have anything to prove, but it would make Taggie’s life easier if they did. 

“Until then,” Taggie said softly, “We should practice a lot.” 

(Taggie had never scored well on a test, but Rupert gave her high marks when it came to their sex life.)

.

.

.

When the tell-all article came out a month after they married, he was…god, he had never been so angry, so devastated, and so disappointed in himself. 

His dirty laundry had been spread across The Scorpion, spanning eight pages and linking him to dozens of women. It spoke at length about how he had fucked his way through just about every city he stayed in and every party he went to—including ‘the political party’ given that his leg up came from getting his leg over  a ‘woman of great influence’ so now people were speculating he fucked Margaret Thatcher. 

They outlined drug-fueled orgies, the fact he had sex before and after every competition with whatever groom took his fancy, that he celebrated his twenty-first birthday by sticking himself in twenty-one different women, among countless other sordid stories which padded out the pages.

They weren’t really stories, though, because it was all true.

He had proudly recounted the vast majority of it to Beatie Johnson, delighted to share his promiscuous past. 

That had been just a handful of months before he met Taggie, and god, so much had changed between then and now. 

Before the articles came out, he had been delighted by his monogamous future with her, but now he was haunted by his past inability to keep it in his pants. 

Taggie, the fucking angel she was, was surprisingly non-pulsed. 

“I knew you had a past,” she said softly, “It didn’t change the fact I loved you and wanted to marry you. Those actions…and women…they are part of the patchwork quilt of your life, not my favorite parts, but without them, you wouldn’t keep me nearly as warm at night.” 

She pressed kisses to his damp cheeks.

“I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect, Rupert. I love you because you’re you. There is no other man I could love the way I love you, and your past cannot change my feelings in the present.” 

Now it was his turn to kiss her. 

God, he loved her so much and he hoped like fucking hell that was true, and that this angel would stay no matter how devilishly he had behaved in the past. 

He almost wanted to say a prayer, but he chose to worship her instead. 

(There was a difference between being loved and being loved unconditionally. The first was expected from one’s spouse — the other was expected from one’s parents. But both Taggie and Rupert had been denied both …until they met each other.) 

.

what do I care if icicles form

.

His political career was over, though he found it hard to be sad about that, especially when Taggie sweetly reminded him it would give him more time with the horses. 

And, more time in bed with her, too. 

She was optimistic, and truly seemed unbothered by the revelations, not that she had read all of them. She insisted she was only concerned with the man he was now and how he treated her. 

She was the only one who seemed to feel that way, though. 

She sighed at the headline, Campbell Conquest says: ‘he took all my confidence when he left me’ and Rupert reached out to flip it around. 

Then, catching sight of the one below it, Rupert Campbell-Black insists he has moved on from a sordid past, and claims his teenage bride has ‘changed him.’

The wedding photo they used on the cover was sweet, at least. If you ignored the dig at Taggie’s age. She was nineteen for fucks sake. 

Barely nineteen, but still. 

“It’s fine,” she said, tangling her fingers with his when he reached for the magazine rack again, “You have changed,” Taggie said so genuinely he believed it. 

He did, truly, but given his track record and his friendships with men made similar statements while financing a half-dozen mistresses, left him painfully aware of how little the words meant. 

Your words don’t matter nearly as much as your actions , Taggie had told him a dozen times. 

She had taken to telling that to his daughter, too, like she was trying to make them all better.

(Tabitha had taken to responding with, “You would say that, you can’t read!”)

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

The pitying looks she got made him feel sick, eyes searching for cracks in the marriage that they were now, more than ever, certain was doomed for failure. 

They would prove them wrong. 

It made him cling to Taggie all the tighter, afraid the sympathy would guide her to a realization that ended with her leaving him . 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was quite the opposite. He thought so highly of her, that it seemed like just a matter of time until she came to her senses. It wasn’t like she would be lacking options, everyone loved her, truly. 

His possessiveness only worsened the rumors. People thought him controlling or even abusive.

(Only half those bruises were his fault, and Taggie had damn well enjoyed the act that led to them.)

.

so I will weather the storm

.

Taggie was forced to bear the worst of the gossip at the end-of-term recital that Marcus was performing in. Hiding in a bathroom stall during intermission she bit her lip and waited for the trio to leave. 

“Did you see them come in? It’s creepy how he never lets go of her.” 

Taggie loved how he never let go of her. 

She didn’t like parties or strangers and clung to his arm out of anxiety as much as desire. She found it comforting how he returned this grip several times over, fearing she would slip away. 

It made her feel confident he wanted her there as much as she wanted to be there.

And god, the pride in his voice when he introduced her to people. The little smile he saved just for her, almost gloating as he said, “This is my wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!” usually said in good humor. 

Taggie didn’t mind that either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert. 

(Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.)

.

what do I care how much it may storm

.

“He has always been so…dismissive with his partners, and then there is her, who he constantly babysits!” 

“Maybe he misses his children, it would explain the child bride.” 

“Fuck, you are so right. He must see her as a kid rather than a woman. That is why he is so loyal and protective, he probably isn’t even attracted to her.” 

“That makes more sense, I mean, really, she is so meek—I can’t fathom why else he would be with her.” 

“When his daddy era is over I’m going to try my hand again. I miss his cock.” 

Taggie winced, waiting until the women left before leaving the stall. 

She knew they were wrong, but it still hurt. 

She was used to people having doubts, but they were usually directed at Rupert’s past that had recently been dredged up, not her potential failings as a partner. 

She wasn’t a child, she told herself as she returned to her seat, playing with her wedding ring while she waited for Rupert to return.

He smelled like cigarettes and mint, not what she would classify as pleasant out of context, but the scent of him, no matter how smokey or sweaty, was so familiar and comforting that it felt like a warm blanket on a cold day. 

She took deep breaths, determined not to cry. It didn’t matter what Sarah said. It didn’t matter that Helen was glaring at her, along with just about every other woman in the audience. 

They saw her as an inconvenient barrier in the way of seducing the most attractive man in the room. 

God, she just wanted to crawl into his lap, to rest her head on his chest and breathe in the fading scent of cologne on his collar. 

Maybe she was a child.

She bit down on her lip, hard, grateful when the lights dimmed and her tears were hidden. She had forty minutes to compose herself now, she could do that much — even a child was capable of that. 

She was so focused on this task that she startled when Rupert’s fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, which was just a ploy to cup her neck and pull her closer to him. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was hardly appropriate, either. 

“How do they expect me to concentrate on anything but you?” Rupert muttered, “A whole fucking orchestra and it doesn’t sound half as pretty as your moans.” 

Her cheeks felt warm, growing hotter when someone loudly hushed them. 

Rupert sighed, letting go of her neck, and settling his hand on her thigh instead. 

Those women were just jealous, she reminded herself, attraction clearly wasn’t an issue in their marriage. 

(He was too fucking attracted to her, that was the issue in their marriage.)

.

off with my overcoat off with my gloves

.

Rupert laughed, “Fuck, she really said that?” 

Taggie nodded, feeling far more at ease after riding him in the backseat of the car, neither of them wanting to wait until they got home. 

Sometimes, she mused, a hard fuck was all one needed to see things clearly again.  

She hoped his driver hadn't seen much, though. God knows how she would ever look him in the eye again if he had.

“My daddy era,” he spat, “That feels like an insult.” 

“It probably was,” she agreed, “But I don’t see it like that — you’re a good dad, you’re good at taking care of me, there isn’t anything shameful about that.” 

Not to her at least, god, she hoped she wasn’t some freak for thinking so.

“It’s a bigger insult to me,” she said with a frown, “That I’m an incompetent little girl.” 

Rupert laughed, tugging on her hair until her head tipped back, “Mm, but there is nothing shameful about that, either. If what you said is true, you’re my little girl, and sometimes you need guidance, as all girls your age do.” 

She shivered, feeling butterflies in her belly along with the familiar arousal that always pooled there when Rupert was present. 

“You like that, don’t you?” He mused, sounding surprised. 

She shook her head a little too quickly, if that wasn’t a giveaway than the blood pooling in her cheeks surely was. 

(It was a good thing that he liked it, too.)

.

who needs an overcoat I'm burning with love

.

It had only been a few months, but Rupert liked to think he could read his wife well enough to know what she liked. 

Sometimes even before she realized what she liked. 

And he guided her towards it, as he supposed fathers did with their children, shepherding them towards their interests and a bright future.

With Taggie, those interests just happened to coincide with sex. 

And as often as they explored those interests, they had never taken on roles, never cried out a name other than what they were called by their typical acquaintances. 

This was different and he had to tread lightly. 

“Don’t lie, Taggie, I’d hate to have to punish my sweet girl.” 

She shivered, “I—I’m not…” 

Her eyes were closed now, unable to even meet his. 

“Are you sure? Or are you just lying again because you want to be punished?” 

She shook her head, but her breathing had changed, and her hips squirmed.

“Maybe you’d like being punished, too.” He mused, carding his fingers through her hair, “That is what fathers do, don’t they? When they care, they make sure there are consequences, so their daughters are well-behaved.” 

Taggie nodded and then, “I— myfatherdidn’t,” spilled out. 

“That’s because you’re so good, he didn’t think he needed to,” he paused, “And you had to be good, to be loved, didn’t you?” 

She nodded.

“You know I’ll love you no matter what, don’t you? Even if you’re bad. Even if you lie. And I love you enough to punish you, too.” 

(When her sister was worried Rupert would hurt her, she probably didn’t mean like this.) 

.

my heart's on fire and the flame grows higher

.

He had such nice hands, Taggie had noticed that on their second meeting, and hated herself because of it, still fancying herself in love with Ralphie. 

Rupert had nice everything, really, though she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that at the time, either. 

Now she could scarcely stop acknowledging it, even getting aroused on car trips simply from watching his fingers grip the wheel of his Aston Martin. 

His every action and gesture held so much confidence. He never stopped to question himself, and sometimes that was to his detriment, but she thrived in his company. He was such a force of nature that his attitude flowed over his surroundings, over her, and it made her feel brave and confident, too. 

And aroused. 

God, she had never thought herself a wanton person, but Rupert seemed to radiate sex in a way that made him irresistible. Somehow her inhibitions melted away under his touch, and her response was immediate and instinctual in a way that was entirely beyond her control. 

It was terrifying, having her desires be discovered by someone else and trying to process them while feeling so much pleasure. 

But it was refreshing, too, because her body reacted before her brain could, she wasn’t responsible for her reaction, and that made any humiliation ebb away — allowing her to enjoy things she would have been far too embarrassed to ever suggest. 

She never would have suggested this. No matter how nice his fingers were, she had never imagined them there, stroking her in a place that not even she had touched. 

She had certainly never imagined his palm coming down on her bare rear, making her gasp and arch against his grip while she stayed spread over his lap. 

She flinched when his fingers smoothed over the stinging cheek, expecting another slap, dreading it, yet almost disappointed when it didn’t come. 

“How about we do ten, and by the end, we’ll see if you’re willing to tell the truth.” 

Each one hurt more than the last, the ache building and building until her ass throbbed, but it was good, too, he is doing this because he cares. Because he wants me to be honest about my feelings. Because he wants me to be good. Good girls don’t lie. 

The thoughts were jumbled, not fully logical but making perfect sense in the hazy moment where pleasure and pain coincided. 

“Do you like the idea of being my little girl, Taggie? Do you like the idea of me being your daddy, taking care of you like this and as a husband?” 

The word came as easily as it did when he proposed, “ Yes,” she mumbled against the quilt that was still stretched atop the bed. 

“Does my little girl want to be fucked?” He asked, his hand stroking her inner thigh.

“Please,” she begged. 

“By who?” He sounded amused and perfectly composed, a sharp contrast to her desperate words laced with such obvious desire. 

“You — just — you, Rupert, Daddy, please.” 

It should have felt wrong, or cheesy, or embarrassing, but it didn’t. It sounded right, it felt right. 

“There is my good girl, asking so nicely, of course I’ll fuck you.” 

(It felt so good.) 

.

i thought you ought to know my heart's on fire

.

It wasn’t a kink of his — at least it wasn’t before Taggie. 

But he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have. 

She sounded so desperate, so pitiful, so overwhelmed as she writhed beneath him, her voice mere gasps of ‘please’ and ‘more’ so frustrated by him taking his time, showing a rare bit of patience and drawing out her agony and pleasure. 

And his agony and pleasure, too, because fuck knows his cock was so hard it hurt. 

But that would make the orgasm feel all the better. 

“You have to let me take care of you,” he admonished, making her whine. 

He loved her like this, so desperate, looking like that innocent girl he met a year ago, and so very young, yet begging for his cock and her orgasm like she would die if he didn’t give it to her. 

She was so fucking selfless in life, which made her greed for orgasms in bed all the more delightful. 

“Please,” she mumbled, “Need you inside of me.” 

He curled the fingers buried in her cunt and she wailed, “I am inside of you, darling.” 

“Noooo, I–I–need your c-cock, please, I’ll be good, please,” she sniffled, “Don’t be mean, be nice, Dad— please. You said you would!” 

“I did, didn’t I? But I didn’t say when,” he really was being mean, but she was so gorgeous like this. 

“Now,” she pleaded, “Need it now, Daddy, please,” the word came more frequently the further gone she got, like when she was stripped down to this raw state, it was what came to mind first—how she saw him before anything else, not that she had permission to vocalize it. 

He supposed she likely had seen him as such a figure before he became her lover and then husband. He had certainly tried to see her as a daughter for months before acting upon his feelings. 

He may have failed to see her as that — or to see her as only that, rather, because having her as just his daughter wasn’t enough, even if she played the part of one when with his children. 

And played it so well even the waitstaff got confused when they went out for meals. 

He didn’t dislike the idea, not anymore, not when he got to have her as his wife, too. 

(He got to have all of her, she was his .) 

.

the flames, they just leap higher

.

The word slipped out often. Too often. Especially when Tabitha was around. At least then, Taggie could claim it was for the children’s benefit. 

Thank god no one ever questioned her flushed cheeks when she stuttered out that excuse. 

Rupert always gave her a look, though, because he knew, and when the children weren’t looking, he’d pull her into her arms — tell her that she was his favorite, because she was so well-behaved. 

“Tabitha is a fucking nightmare, but you’re a dream, darling.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew he adored Tabitha too — and he loved Marcus, too, even if he did a very poor job of showing it — but they were exhausting at the best of times, and according to his words, she was perfect. 

“Best fucking thing that ever happened to me.” 

(She felt exactly the same way about him.)

.

.

.

He was so lucky to have met Taggie. 

He was so lucky to have married Taggie. 

He loved her long before he had any idea how she would be in bed, and he was pretty sure there was no sex bad enough to discourage him from being with her, because she was so good in every other way. 

But fuck, he was grateful she was good at this, too. 

As in, genuinely, the best fuck he’d ever had, and he had a lot of experience. 

Maybe it was because he loved her. 

Maybe it was because she was half his age. 

Maybe it was because she was so responsive. 

Maybe it was because she was so fucking tight. 

Maybe it was because she whimpered the word ‘Daddy’ like a prayer when she came. 

(Maybe it was all of those things and more.)

.

so I will weather the storm

.

He was grumpy the day he turned thirty-nine, feeling very old, all the more so by the nineteen-year-old in bed beside him. 

She had her whole life ahead of her, but he had been too selfish to let her live it without him. 

If there was a god, they would probably never forgive him. But that was alright, his life with Taggie was heavenly, whatever came after, no matter how hellish, didn’t matter. 

She tried to cheer him up, making him breakfast and insisting on delivering it to him while he was in bed — while she was wearing nothing but a cotton apron. 

The following fuck left them sticky, maple syrup being drizzled and licked off of ill-advised places, but the orgasm was worth it. 

“Was that my present?” He asked, and he would be perfectly content if it was. 

Taggie bit her lip and shook her head, “No–I couldn’t think of what to get you, when you have so much, so instead, I got rid of something instead.” 

Maybe his memory was going in his old age, but he didn’t quite understand, and the fact she looked nervous was not helping things. 

“What did you get rid of?” He asked, very slowly.

“My birth control,” she said plainly. 

He froze. 

“Do you mean it?” He asked, not wanting to sound too hopeful. 

She nodded, but looked more nervous now, “You want that, right? I can get them back out—they are just in the tras—” 

He rolled them,  “ Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, feeling his arousal flare again at the prospect of knocking her up. 

She knew he wanted that more than anything, and had been trying not to pressure her while vying for it since before they even married. 

If someone asked him a year or two ago if he wanted more children, he would have said no. 

But Taggie was such a natural-born caretaker, she would be such a good mother, and he wanted to make her one. 

And, a possessive part of him, wanted to see her pregnant. He wanted everyone to see her pregnant with his child, because she was his wife, and she was so much more than that too. 

“I fucking love you,” he muttered against her lips. 

(Since ‘actions speak louder than words,’ he made love to her, too.)

.

how do I care how much it storms

.

Their first Christmas together felt like a test — both the day of, and the parties that came before and after it. 

It had been six months since Beattie released the dreaded article, and even longer since they married. 

They had survived Rupert’s thirty-ninth birthday, and his…response to her ‘gift’ had given her confidence that he would like this one too. 

Because the truth was, she was already pregnant.

She hadn’t taken a pill in nearly three months but didn’t want to get his hopes up, knowing it could take a while for it to leave her system. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, when she saw the boxes under the tree. 

He scoffed, “Of course I did.” 

This was it.

“You didn’t, really, you already gave me the best present.” 

His brow rose, and she was impressed by the restraint he showed in not saying, ‘my cock?’ 

“You gave me a baby,” she said softly, hand moving to her stomach. 

He looked stunned. 

And then he smiled. 

“Going to make you a dad for real,” she said softly, then adding, “Again,” since she could never forget Tabitha and Marcus. 

“Can’t fucking wait for it,” he said, pulling her into his lap, “You’ll be the best mother, god, can’t believe my little girl is giving me a baby,” he purred. 

She squirmed, feeling the heat build in her pelvis. 

“I’ll still be your little girl, though, won’t I?” She asked, hating how insecure she sounded. 

The look he gave her was adoring as anything, “Of course you will be, Taggie.” 

And he’d still be her daddy . 

But—

“Will I still be your favorite?” She asked, feeling ashamed for asking but needing reassurance.

“Always,” he promised, “My favorite girl, my favorite wife, my favorite fuck, my favorite person on this fucking earth.” 

(It was not lost on Taggie that he said favorite person, she knew better than to ask where she placed amongst the hounds and horses.)

.

i've got my love

.

People knew right away. They couldn’t tell from how she looked — the red velvet clung to her waist that was tiny as ever, the little bump barely visible even when she was nude — but the way she refused drinks could only mean one thing. 

The congratulations were plentiful, if not particularly genuine. 

He heard the, ‘that poor girl,’ muttered, and got sympathetic, ‘sorry your young wife is going to get fat,’ slaps on the back from other men, both of which he found equally offensive. 

Taggie was glowing, though, she couldn’t stop smiling, even with the stressors of the party and holiday. 

“I got everything I wanted this year, you know,” she told him that night, “I have you and I’m having your baby.” 

(He had her, and he made her happy, and that was all he wanted, too.)

.

to keep me warm

.

“Fatherhood suits him,” Sarah said longingly, her bleary eyes focused on Rupert while she sipped her fifth drink of the evening.

Though Taggie usually appreciated her husband earning such compliments, because he deserved them, Sarah’s attempt to ‘nurse him’ while Taggie fed Matthew in one of the spare bedrooms was not something Taggie would forgive or forget any time soon, even if Rupert had turned her down quite emphatically and publicly. 

“It does,” Taggie agreed, “He is the best daddy,” she said, drawing the word out and leveling a glare in Sarah’s direction, because she hadn't forgotten her words from last year, either.

“He will always be that to me, so try your hand at something else. And keep your tits to yourself, too.” 

Rupert moved towards them, and baby Matthew reached for her, bouncing in his father’s arms while looking delighted to be reunited with his mother, “How is my favorite girl?” He asked, greeting her with a devastating grin and a lengthy kiss.

“Tired. Happy. Hopelessly in love. And horny, too," she told him, when her lips were freed from his. 

He laughed, “So the usual, then.” 

She nodded, “You’ve turned me into a monster.” 

He shook his head, “I think you mean mother, though some are one and the same.” He frowned in the direction of her mother, Maud, who was hanging off some stranger's arm, while Declan looked on with an expression of exasperation heavy on his face. 

“Not you, though,” he reassured her, “You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.” 

He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal. 

He had been especially whiny on his fortieth birthday, going on about how she was ‘wasting her life with an old man’ until Bas called him a, ‘fucking idiot wasting a day moping when he could be fucking his gorgeous wife who is half your fucking age’ which was a bit crass, but something Taggie very much agreed with. 

“Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.” 

Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile. 

Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly. 

But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away. 

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

[justmeinadaze]

Halloween Masquerade (Part of Pushing the Barrier AU) (Eddie X You)

A/N: And now that song from that scene will be in my head for days lol Enjoy <3.

Full Series Here!

Warnings: Stripper Eddie X Fem Reader, SMUT, quickie passionate bathroom smut :), FLUFF, They love each other <3, ANGST, readers mom isn't a fun of Mr. Munson here and feels like he broke up readers marriage, Eddie confronts her and meets the parents, he also has a run with her ex who I finally gave a name to!

Word Count: 3531

“So how are things with your new man going?”

You grin sassily towards your coworker as you take a bite of your food. It had been six months since you kicked out your husband and filed for divorce. You and Eddie both moved out of your old apartments into one together that you absolutely loved. The place you were at with your ex was so big and always felt so empty. With the metalhead’s things mingled with yours, it actually felt like you were home. 

Three months ago, your ex showed up to your classroom trying to win you back so after telling security to make sure to never let him in the building again, of course, the gossip quickly spread. When you casually mentioned Eddie everyone wanted to know more and after bringing him to a work function, they fell in love with him. 

“Y/N, he’s so sweet, oh my god! You were married for how long to that other guy and I don’t think I met him once. He’s really cute to. Look at that smile! You’re so lucky!”

When they asked what he did for work, you told them he was a musician which wasn’t an entire lie. Eddie still played with his band on the weekends and they did what they could to get noticed. You just left out the part about the cube and him taking off his clothes for money. To be fair, you two had many, MANY conversations about it and it was his idea that you keep it a secret.

“I don’t want it to cause trouble for you at work or anything.”

“I don’t think it will but I’m honestly not sure.”

“Baby, I come from a small town remember? Parents used to flip shit about teacher’s personal lives all the time. We had one teacher in middle school who ‘resigned’ because the parents found out she had a girlfriend. It was bullshit.” Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulders as your lean closer against him on the sofa. “I know this city is a bit more liberal but…it would kill me if you lost your job. You love those kids and you’re an amazing teacher.”

“It’s going pretty well. Now the divorce on the other hand…”, you roll your eyes.

“Nick causing problems?”

“With a capital P. I don’t get it. He was never home and asshole cheats on me but he doesn’t want to sign the divorce papers because he thinks we ‘still have a chance’.” 

***

You sighed as you entered your apartment and placed your things down on the floor by the front door.

“Hey baby. Long day?” You smile when you find Eddie sitting on the counter with a beer in his hand. It takes you moment to realize his eyes were clouded over with worry. “Yeah, it’s about to get longer.” Reaching over with his finger, he pushes a button on the voicemail box and you roll your eyes as your ex’s voices floats through. 

“Y/N, honey, please. I know we can fix this! Call me back so we can talk. That’s all I want to do is talk.”

“Seriously, babe, he’s not what you deserve. You deserve so much better! I can be the man you need.”

“Fuck! Y/N, you are smarter this. What kind of future can you expect to have with trash like him.”

You cross your arms as you growl at his insult of the man you love. 

“Oh, wait. It gets better.”, Eddie says with sarcasm. 

“Y/N, it’s your mother. Look, you can’t keep ignoring people that care about you. Nicholas is still your husband and you owe it to him to at least hear him out. Don’t be selfish! A marriage is about two people not just one.”

“Sweetheart, you made a commitment when you said I do. Whoever this boy is that you think is worth destroying your marriage over… I can’t. I’m so upset.”

You roll your eyes as the message closes out with her pretending to cry. Shuffling towards him, you place yourself between Eddie’s legs as you wrap your arms around him, pleasantly sighing when you feel his hand pet your head. 

“I’m sorry you had to listen to that. You’re not trash, baby, and you definitely didn’t destroy whatever I was in before because I know it wasn’t a marriage.”

“I know, sweetheart. I just hate feeling helpless.” Leaning back, you look at him with confusion. “I’d like to talk to your family.”

Shaking you head, you completely pull away from him as you head towards your bedroom with him hot on your heels. 

“Y/N, come on. I can handle them and I’m sick of you having to listen to them berate you because of me.”

“It’s NOT because of you. It’s because of Nick. He convinced them he’s a good guy and he convinced my mother that he’s the victim. Eddie…”, you exhale heavily. “Just ignore them. Please…so we can be happy.”

“Please, sweetheart, at least let me try.”

He softly smiles as he watches your head tilt to the side in thought.

“In our neighborhood where I grew up, for Halloween, they have this cheesy masquerade dance thing they do every year. Usually, Nick and I would go but this year I had planned to skip it… Eddie, are you sure about this?”

“Yes. I promise if I can’t sway them then I won’t bring it up again.”

#############

A heavy exhale leaves your lips as he parks his van outside of the building the party was being held at. 

“Hey.”, he coos to get your attention. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

Eddie’s mouth had fallen open when he saw you step out of the bedroom in your purple masquerade dress that you had bought quickly one day after work. It was short in the front but the lacy material flowed down behind your legs just above your ankles with sleeves that came down to your elbows. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail with the loose strands curled as they hung behind you. The purple mask rested on your face and brought out the color in your eyes that made the metalhead swoon. 

Tonight, he took your breath away in his sleek black tux and utterly sexy smelling cologne that almost had you jumping him before you even left your apartment. What he didn’t tell you was he had asked Mira to help him pick something out. 

“Eddie, everything’s going to be fine. I thought you didn’t care what people thought about you two.”

“I don’t but this is her family. I don’t actively want to make her life complicated. If I can smooth things over then I want to try.”

Smiling you lean over to give him a kiss before he jumps down and runs around to open your car door.

“After this, when we get home, we’ll celebrate Halloween right; spooky movies and greasy pizza till one of us throws up.” He beams down at you as you genuinely laugh and agree. “I’m right here with you, princess, ok? No matter what happens, you’re mine and I love you.”

***

As soon as you both entered the building, the stuffy air and aristocrat vibe hit you instantly. Keeping his hand tightly intertwined with yours, you yanked him towards the bar and hand him a glass of whatever was handed to you that you hastily knocked back. 

“How long has this dance thing been around?”

“God, um, for as long as I can remember. My parents were always going and then dragging us along when we became adults.”

“Is it an adult only thing?”

“Not technically but you have a room full of people who are probably already drunk and think they’re above it all so…” Eddie can’t help but chuckle at your disgusted tone. “Did they have things like this in Hawkins?”

“Not that I’m aware of. One of my closest friends, his family comes from money and they had parties but I don’t think they went all out like this. This reminds me of that scene in The Labyrinth.”

“But I'll be there for you-ou-ou As the world falls down…”

His grin grows as you sing and look up at him with wide, glistening eyes filled with nothing but love for him. 

“Care to dance with me, Ms. Y/L/N?”, he inquires as he playfully bows and extends his hand out for you to take. 

“I’d love to, Mr. Munson.”

Guiding you to the dance floor, he tries to mimic the people around him, placing his palm on your back and clasping the other to you own while holding it in the air to the side. You smile as your free hand rests on his shoulder and you two begin to sway.

“You really do look handsome in this.”, you compliment him.

“Me? I pale in comparison to you, princess.” Eddie’s hand slides a bit lower as he brings you closer to him. “I’m not going to lie. I feel like I’m in a storybook right now. Like I’m a commoner who just snuck into the king and queen’s palace to dance with their beautiful daughter.”

“Eddie, you aren’t a commoner.”

“After we dance, I’d climb up to your balcony Romeo and Juliet style, professing my love to you.” He smiles when you giggle and blush, dipping you dramatically before bringing you back to his chest as he softly sings.

“A love that will last Within your heart I'll place the moon Within your heart.”

Feeling eyes on you, you glance around the room till your gaze lands on your mother who is staring daggers at the man holding you. 

“I love you, Eddie.”

Hearing the shift in your tone, he takes a deep breath and wraps both arms around you. 

“I love you to, Y/N. We got this.”

***

“Mom. Dad. You guys look amazing.”

Your dad grins as he yanks you in for a hug. “We look amazing? Look at you! You look beautiful. Who’s your friend?”

Eddie lifts up his mask and offers his hand to your father who shakes it. 

“Hello, sir. I’m Edward Munson but you can call me Eddie.” As he moves to greet your mother, she glares at his palm as if it was dirty and he hesitantly pulls it back. “Ma’am.���

“This is my boyfriend.”

“Hm. Can’t have a boyfriend if you already have a husband.”, your mom spits.

“Hm. Someone should tell Nick that since he had a girlfriend through most of our marriage.”, you retort angrily. 

“How about we go somewhere quiet and get to know Eddie here?”, your father suggests trying to break the tension. 

Both of you follow them into an empty area where you and Eddie sit side by side on a couch while your parents take a seat in separate chairs across from each other. 

“So, how did you two meet?”

“She was out for a walk and it started to rain so she ran into the bar I work at. We got to talking and…” He gently smiled as you looped your arm through his and leaned on his shoulder. 

This was the story he came up with when you introduced him to people you knew. It always made you feel bad because you weren’t ashamed of what he did. You knew he only did it to survive and was working hard to become a musician. But Eddie insisted, trying to protect you from any more unwarranted stress. 

“You’re a bartender?”

“I’m a guitarist actually.”

“He and his band are fantastic.”, you boast making him blush as his fingers lightly squeeze your knee.

“I imagine that doesn’t pay all the bills. Not here in New York.”, your mother sasses. 

“Not yet, ma’am, but I do what I can to make ends meet.”

“Like seducing my daughter and breaking up a marriage?”

“He didn’t ‘break up’ my marriage. Nick did. You know what, that really pisses me off that you continue to defend him after what he did. I did everything to make my marriage work! You constantly make me feel like l didn’t try hard enough.”

“Obviously you didn’t because you and your husband aren’t together. Do you think your father and I get along all the time?”

“It was way more than ‘not getting along’!”

“Please. Look I’m just going to cut to the end of this conversation so we don’t waste any more time. I think you need to give Nicholas another chance and leave this negative distraction behind.” 

You huff as she gestures towards Eddie. 

“She did that already and he failed.”, the metalhead interjects. “We spent time away from each other and I respected her choice even though I didn’t agree with it. Y/N gave him a chance and he still went off to be with that girl.” He turns his head and meets your father’s eyes. “I love your daughter with every fiber of my being. Since the first time I heard her speak, I knew she was special. Nick had her for years and tossed her aside making her feel worthless. I know what that’s like and I would never do that to her or make her feel that way.”

“A marriage is sacred.”, your mother scoffs as she folds her arms. 

“I agree. That’s why I want to marry her as soon as I possibly can.” His eyes find your own. “If you’ll have me of course.”

“Of course, you idiot.” Your palms cup his cheeks as you bring his lips to your own. 

“You know, when we first met Nick, all he did was talk about himself.”, you dad smirked before extending his hand out to Eddie. “You’ve got my blessing, kid.”

As he enthusiastically shakes it, your mom starts scolding you three in the background. Ignoring her, you tug on his arm, and power walk down the hallway till you find an empty bathroom, pushing him in as you lock the door. 

His arms open wide and you practically fly into them as your lips feverishly dance with his. Eddie’s palms roam your body, searching for a zipper, button, or any kind of access underneath your dress. Helping him, you lift the front hem exposing your panties and he hastily pulls them down before grabbing your ass to lift you onto the counter by the sink. 

Heavy pants escape you as he sucks that sweet spot on your neck, grinding his groin between your legs as you fumble with his belt. His palm snakes to the back of your neck, placing his forehead on your own, and groans when he feels you free his cock from its confinement. Licking his lips, Eddie watches you with pure lust and anticipation as your tongue runs along your hand before stroking it along his length. 

You guided his tip to your entrance till his hips took over and he thrust himself into your cunt. Gripping his waist, you allowed him to take what was his as his lips tenderly kissed parts of your face till he found your lips again. 

“I love you, Eddie. I’m yours, baby.” The man’s jaw went slack as he pumped his hips at a faster pace as he listened to you murmur to him. “Look at me, baby, please.”

You subtly nodded as he did what you asked, flashing him a small smile. 

“I can’t wait to marry you. I’ll—mmm—I’ll do whatever I can to get my divorce through. I’m not going to make you wait again. I promise. I promise, Eddie. Fuck.”

Bringing your head to his shoulder, the metalhead circle his arms around you, and held you to him as he pounded into you till your eyes rolled. 

You trembled against him as the coil in your belly snapped and while your pussy clenched around him, he grunted in your ear before releasing his seed deep inside your body. 

No one moved as you continued to hold each other. 

When Eddie finally did pull back, he smirked and leaned forward to kiss your lips. 

“I’m still going to purpose to you at the perfect moment but at least I got your dad’s blessing.”

As he adjusts his pants, he grabs some tissue to clean you with and helps you on to your feet, kissing the skin along your legs as he pulls your panties back to their proper place. 

“No matter what, Eddie Munson, I’ll say yes.”

“I hope you know, baby, I’m not worried about you when it comes to your divorce. I know it’s him dragging his ass on everything.”

“Sometimes, I think about that fight we had in the cube…when you said I was the only girl in the world that you were ok with being my second choice.” Your fingers reach out to fix his jacket as you speak. “That killed me… I never want you to ever feel that way again, Eddie.”

Ringed fingers lift your chin to meet his eyes. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for that and your marriage. You’re here with me now and I’m going to give you the life you deserve.”

After one final kiss, you both leave the bathroom hand in hand as you tug him towards the parking lot with the intention of leaving. Of course, things can never just be that easy for you two. 

“Y/N?”

“Fucking hell.”, you growl in annoyance as you turn around. “Unless it’s about our divorce, Nick, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Y/N, you haven’t returned any of my calls! The least you could do is hear what I have to say!”

“You had 5 years to say what you needed to say! You chose to cheat on me instead!”

“Look, I—” As your ex stepped towards you, Eddie stepped between you. 

“Right there is good. You have no reason to be that close to her.”

“She’s my wife.”, Nick seethed as he eyed the metalhead with disgust.

“Not anymore. You had your chance, many of them, and you blew it. She doesn’t want to talk to you and with that being the case I’m not letting you near her.”

Your ex took a confident step forward and to his surprise Eddie did the same towering over him. 

“Go ahead, Nick. Give me a reason. Y/N wouldn’t let me confront you when you harassed her at work so this will make up for that.”

“Eddie. Come on, honey. Let it go.”, you coax him in a calm voice.

“I broke up with Sarah.”, he says as his eyes flick from Eddie’s to yours. “I haven’t seen her since you left.”

“Too bad you couldn’t do that when we were together. Come on, Ed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! Are you fucking kidding me?! I’m way better for you then this trailer trash asshole! How long are you going to keep punishing me?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nick. I forgot everything was about you! It’s always been about you! He’s way more of man than you ever were in every fucking way. Now, fuck off!”

“HEY! You don’t get to talk to me like that—”

As Nick stepped forward to scream at you, Eddie’s fist flew hitting him square in the nose as he fell to the floor. 

“I warned you to stay back. Sign the divorce papers, Nick, and let her go. Let her be happy for once.”

##############

“Ow!”

“What do you mean ‘ow’?! Your rings took the brunt of the impact, you badass.”, you tease as hold the ice pack on his hand. 

When you got home, you both had changed and were now comfortably lounging on the couch with you curled up by his side as you took care of him. 

“Geez. You’re so mean.” Eddie smiles as his eyes scan your face. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m ok. I’m sorry about my mom.”

Shaking his head, he tugs you into his lap and you lean your head onto his shoulder. 

“Don’t be, sweetheart. I don’t care what either of them says about me but I do care that it hurts you. I remember how lonely you were, Y/N. That sad sound of your voice when you first came in. The way you cried when you stumbled into my apartment telling me what Nick had done. I know you tried everything and I know you deserve better then that dick because I was there. I saw and heard everything. If she wants to keep belittling you, at least now she knows I’m not going to allow that and your dad knows I’m a good guy for you.”

“You are a good guy for me. My knight in shining armor or blood-stained rings I guess.”, you giggle. 

“Hey, I warned him—”

“I know. I know.”, you smile as you turn his head to kiss your lips. “Now I believe I was promised pizza and celebrating the holiday correctly.”

Eddie laughs as he places a final peck on your lips and playfully pushes you off his lap. As he gets up to call the pizza place, he lightly continues to sing David Bowie, and gives you a wink.

“Falling, falling, falling, falling in love…”

###########

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@Munsonsuccubus @samunson83 @tayhar811

@bibieddiesgf @maximus2354 @nevermore66 @ajkamins

@dollalicia @secretdryrose @staandupanndscream

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@blue-eyed-lion @zeroxbendylove-blog @munsonology

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(I pulled this from an old list so im sorry if any of these names are no longer what you go by. Just let me know and I can update it!)