#wishing you a lazy sunday morning with someone you love

[ala-baguette]

Sunlight Through the Curtains

She was well past ready to get up. She didn’t know how long she had been lying there awake, but it was long enough that the slant of bright sunlight slicing through the gap in the curtains had moved in an arc across the ceiling. From the angle of the light, she calculated it was likely at least half-past ten, but she couldn’t see the clock from here. Her bladder was fit to burst and there was a rumble in her stomach as she contemplated what to cook for breakfast and hell, but she could murder a cup of tea right now.  Still, she didn’t rise. Her head turned to look at the sleeping face on the pillow beside her. He’d fallen asleep with his hand on her breast. His breath moved in and out through his nose in long, soft snores. Harry always could sleep like the dead on a Sunday morning.  She looked back to the ceiling, feeling the weight of his hand holding her there as though, even in sleep, he feared losing her. It was sweet. But damn, she really had to pee. Slowly, so as to avoid waking him, she rolled to her side, intending to swing her feet over the edge of the bed. His hand slipped down to rest over her navel as she did. Reflexively, without waking, Harry let out a soft sigh, wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her backwards against him. Her body moulded against his snuggly, arse pressed firmly against his pelvis. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, feel each exhale tickling the hair at her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the resigned smile stretch across her lips. She groped blindly for her wand on her bedside table. When at last her fingers had managed to grasp it, she flicked it at the curtains. The gap snapped shut with a slight clatter of the rings, and the streak of sunshine flickered out.  Her bladder could wait a little longer.

(Also on AO3 here)

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. ��A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

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

The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

“So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over. 

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (15)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

Lazy Sunday morning

---

You were a go getter, a team player, one who knows what to do next all the time that you wished someone would just hold you down, to tell you to breathe. You jumped head first into the next big thing because that was how you survived in this hospitality business. That was how you survived in life in general. So the word lazy never existed in your world. You couldn’t understand the appeal.

Until today.

As you stretched under the covers watching sunlight filter through the blinds. Sunday morning gently coming alive and for the first time you were still in bed. Your usual routine was to head to the markets at five in the morning, to stock up the restaurant with fresh local produce. But instead, when you turned, you caught sight of him still asleep.

The details on his face were remarkable, that often times you only focus on his eyes when he was looking at you. He had that skill, to make you feel like the only girl to exist when his gaze was on you. But now, you caught the way his thick eyelashes curved up effortlessly. The subtle cupid’s bow and the scattered dark spots. The soft rhythm in which his chest rose and fell, his arm slung over you as his fingers twitched. He was dreaming, and just when you were going to question the subject of his dreams, he pulled you closer.

So it turns out, that even someone like you could do lazy mornings. You wrapped your arm around his torso and moved deeper into his hold. No one could take this away. This was all yours to enjoy.

He stirred next to you as he mumbled good morning, his voice husky and coarse. He placed his chin on the top of your head as he put his leg over yours, you couldn’t help but sigh with content.

“We have a lot of work to do today.”, you murmured into the skin of his chest with your eyes closed.

“What help do you need?”, he asked groggily.

“We have all these boxes to sort.”, you peeled away from where you had tucked your face into his neck.

“I haven’t been able to do it for awhile.”, you caught his eyes, contemplating if it was appropriate to tell him the reason behind it.

“Since Melissa’s passing?”, he asked gently, his hand rubbing your back as though he knew you needed comfort.

But all you could do was tilt your head to the side, bewildered how he knew about something you had never shared.

“I overhead bits and pieces about your story at school during lunch time. Teachers love to gossip.”, he gave you a lopsided grin.

“Ken Carson, you trust the rumor mill?”, you narrowed you eyes at him playfully.

“No but to be fair you were ignoring me then.”, he pouted and you couldn’t help but smile. You tucked your head under his chin and he very happily welcomed you into his embrace again.

“I know it’s been a while and I should have gotten over it. But I don’t know, she made me feel loved. Like I was a part of a family for a while.”, you said quietly. These secrets were never shared but confiding in him made the burden feel lighter.

“Grief takes time to heal.”, he said softly as he drew circles on your waist.

“When did you get this philosophical?”, you chuckled and he joined you but he sobered as though there was more to it.

“I knew this kid for a year. He was brilliant and kind but then stopped coming to school. When I found out he was getting treated for cancer, I didn’t know what it was. But I saw him, battle it out and lose against it. I didn’t cry then cause all these concepts that reality was bound by I had never experienced before. But one night as I sat to watch a show, I began to cry and continued to well into the night.”, he shared as he sighed.

“The toughest bit is when it catches you in the middle of a class or you see another kid play football that in turn makes you angry in how any of this is fair but that’s the stake of being here. It’s about every second and what you choose to do with it.”, he concluded to then softly place a kiss on your forehead.

“So if it catches you when we’re sorting the boxes, I’ll be there to hold you up.”, he said it with a confidence that it caused you to tear up.

“Thank you.”, you whispered as you held onto him.

“Now get up, lazy bones, I’ll make us a fresh batch of tea.”, he patted your back as you groaned when he began to slip away from you.

His skin a delight to look at in the morning light as he put on a Tshirt, his puffy sleep ridden eyes made him look all the more dreamier. You pushed away the blanket with a deep breath, the smell of fresh linen and fabric conditioner giving you the boost to get a move on. You had the world to save.

*

You walked into your place and knew the first thing you had to do. Walking up to the cookie jar, you popped open the lid and fetched one for him and yourself. His eyes lit up the moment he recognized it,

“I was supposed to give them to you yesterday but they were too hot to pack.”, you said as he took one from you.

He bit into it and you watched as his shoulder relaxed, his eyes closed and he groaned out of satisfaction.

“Brie, I had missed these.”, he mumbled with his mouth full as you lead him to the storage room, which had been Melissa’s room before.

Your hand hovered over the door knob and when you took a minute, his hand rested on your shoulder, to remind you that he was by your side. Taking a deep breath, you let your palm hold the cold metal and twist it.

The old residual smell of her perfume wafted over you and it brought back all the memories. You sitting by the vanity set as she gave you her antique jewelry set for the restaurant’s anniversary dinner. The side table that still held a half embroidered handkerchief. Pictures of you on one side of the wall, you grew nauseous. She had loved you like a mother even though you were no one’s daughter.

But Ken placed his palm on the small of your back, his lips touching the edge of your ear as he said, “You’re stronger than the past, Brie.”

It got you to stand still, to regain yourself. Because you were. You were stronger than all that had happened. So you turned to kiss his cheek as new found strength filled your system.

“Ok", you said as you inhaled deeply.

"Let’s start with this box here.”, you dusted your hands and got to work.

---

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[in-a-mountain-pool]

Supermassive Black Hole Ch4

Ettore x Reader

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: Explicit/18+

warnings: NSFW/minors DNI, smut, violence, dubious consent, toxic relationships, abuse

word count: ~5500

summary: The morning after. Y/N has to decide who she wants more, Monte or Ettore. Reader’s POV.

A/N: I’m so sorry for the delay on this one! Life got in the way, but after a whole bunch of procrastination, here she is! And the first chapter through the Reader’s POV... Huge thank you to the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs​​ and @bottlesandbarricades​​ for reading through this mess. Dedicating this one to you Ange <3 

As always likes, reblogs and comments are not a requirement, but lovely to come online to.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

It was night still on the prison ship when you finally stirred awake, the harsh artificial lighting low, casting a dark blue hue in the space around you. The room reeked of sex and musk, the sheets beneath you still damp and sweaty from the events of the night before. The muscles of your body ached in such a delicious manner that you’d almost come to forget, your limbs tight and spent in the best kind of way. A cool draft nips at the bare skin of your legs as they twist into the thin fabric of the covers, a lazy smile spreading onto your face as you remember exactly why, and exactly who was responsible. Tentatively your finger trails a path from your cheek to your lips, the hot sensation of him spilling into your mouth just a few hours before replaying in your mind, over and over. 

You could still hear him snoring softly from the bunk above you. The man who’d made your body sing without even touching you. 

Ettore.

From here you couldn’t see him, but oh how you wished you could. His tattooed arm was slung languidly over the side of the bunk, long fingers trembling every now and then like he was dreaming, reaching out for something, or maybe even someone. You couldn’t help but wonder whilst you gazed at those hands of his, did he have anyone to hold his hand? Has anyone ever laced their fingers with his? 

You couldn’t resist, as slowly you sat up on the bed to get a closer look. For a man so loud and confident, Ettore’s hands told a very different story. His hand was large and careworn, the nails bitten down and cuticles raw from nervous picking. Small thin white scars decorated his palms, catching the light and shining ever so slightly in a way that had you captivated. Perhaps he’d been a working man? A builder? Maybe even a carpenter, once upon a time? Before he’d done whatever it was that had landed him here with the rest of you.

But here, the past didn’t really matter anyhow. He was just a man. A man with hands you so desperately wanted to touch you.

Breathing in, like the slightest false movement might shatter the moment forever, you reach up to tenderly stroke the pads of your fingers down his palm. You find yourself following the lines there with such reverence, wondering if they could tell you something, anything about him. 

You’d spoken a few times now, even shared a meal, but you didn’t know the first thing about him. Ettore was always like that, making jokes, saying lewd things, but never really saying anything about himself. 

But he’d called you beautiful.

You’d never had any doubts about how he seemed to feel about you. 

You can’t help but chuckle softly as you trace the inside of his wrist, remembering the first time you’d noticed him on board, before you’d gotten close with Monte. 

It had been a lazy Sunday morning, the second week you’d been incarcerated on the ship. You’d watched Ettore saunter into the canteen bold as brass one morning, calling someone this, that and the other and frowning like a petulant little boy. When he’d finally sat down to breakfast (after quite a bit of bitching), you’d watched his face cycle through four different emotions whilst eating his porridge: Pain, he’d burnt his tongue (the greedy little shit), disgust when he’d finally tasted it, disappointment, and then surprise when the porridge had slipped off his spoon and splashed his front with milk. 

‘This was the Ettore everyone was so wary of?’ You thought to yourself. ‘The guy who had started fights with pretty much every man on the ship?’ 

The tattoos on his arms and neck may have fooled most, but underneath that, if you looked closely enough, Ettore was strangely delicate. Soft blonde hair dusted his chest, and the sweetest constellation of freckles decorated his torso in a way that was almost ethereal. He couldn’t be much older than 21. He was still a boy who hadn’t really grown into himself yet, limbs too long for him, and baby-blue eyes which would often betray the hard scowls on his face. If it wasn’t for the mouth on him, he’d be cute. 

You’d watched him every morning during exercise, trying to pretend you hadn't felt his burning stare on your body, or watched the way he’d lick his lips at you in the reflection of the windows of the lab. It was obvious that he’d been interested, his red ears had been the first give away, but he’d never said a single word to you then. He’d never so much as bumped into you during the morning roll call. It was almost as if he didn’t really know what to say, let alone do with you. 

At least, that was until you’d started to hang out with Monte. 

Until you’d caught Ettore in the act. 

Monte had been so sweet to you. The first person to even say hello to you on the ship, and with a smile like that, who could blame you? It was so easy to be with him, and the more time you’d spend together, the more you’d realised just how well you seemed to fit. 

The routine had been the same for the past two weeks, every morning he’d be there waiting for you outside of your cell, leaning against the wall with his hand out ready to take you to breakfast. Evenings had been spent just talking in his room, sharing stories of better times on Earth, with fleeting touches and stolen glances. He’d even given you the shirt off his back one night when you’d been cold, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. But that was the last time he’d really paid attention to you. 

Since then, since the kiss, Monte had acted like you didn’t even exist. Days had turned to into a week, and nothing. Maybe he’d regretted it? Or maybe he’d just thought you weren’t even worth the risk of being caught? 

The loneliness had been the worst part of it. The lack of human contact was excruciating in a way that had to be experienced to be believed. Every time you had tried to touch him he’d flinch like you’d burned him. Like it wasn’t him who’d reached out to you in the first place. 

But maybe you’d been looking for a connection in the wrong place, in the wrong person, you think to yourself, as your finger traces the prominent vein running down Ettore’s arm, soft hairs brushing against the pad of your finger. 

There was something about Ettore, something about the boyish look in his eyes, the way he always tried so hard to talk to you that made your chest tight. He wasn’t the sort to shoot the breeze or waste his words on just anyone, but for some reason, he had wanted to speak with you. To tease you. To know you.

Afterall, it had been Ettore who had reassured you when you had been frightened. Ettore who’d given you warmth without even touching you. 

And he wanted you. So badly he hadn’t been able to help himself around you, twice. 

As morning on the ship crept in, the lights in the ship slowly became brighter and warmer. Your hand pauses reluctantly, ceasing your fingers' tender path along the edge of his bruised knuckles. 

No more games, you think to yourself. 

I want to be the one to hold his hand. 

Your eyes flicker over his form, stealing a quick look at him dozing before you can slip out of the cell. His curved lips were parted, soft breaths blowing at the sparse blonde hairs on his chest. The thin sheet covering Ettore was low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination. Before you can chicken out, your fingers shake a little as you pull it over his shoulders to keep the cold of the morning at bay. A lazy smile graces his face in his sleep, a small one to mirror your very own. 

Like this, it was hard to imagine him ever being violent or aggressive at all. 

It was still so early that not a soul was awake as you walked through the winding corridors of the ship. You have to take the long way around to the labs, since they'd shut off half of the ship the night before. As you walk, it's hard to ignore how the fabric of your shorts brushes against your bare ass as you walk, or the slight breeze between your legs.

The cheeky bastard had kept your panties. 

Smirking to yourself you push open the double doors to the lab… and the picture that greets you makes you freeze on the spot.

Monte was stood at a lab bench with Dibs behind him, draping her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear. Her lips were so close that they traced the shell of his ear. 

"... I'm not saying you have to do anything. Just think about it, hmm? Think about me." 

Dib's long hair trails down her back, spider-like in her movements as she fondles at his shoulders. 

Monte? Monte… and Dibs?

Were they… involved? 

A sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it, your shoes squeaking on the floor as you move to hurry out of the door. Your feet carry you on autopilot down the corridor and to a quiet corner. Your back slides against the wall as you slump down to sit on the hard floor, completely stunned. It's not long before Monte appears in front of you, his eyes wide and panting hard.

"Y/N! It's… it's not what you think. We're not-." 

You cut him off before he can finish.

"So she's the reason you've been ignoring me? … Monte, what the fuck is going on?" The look on your face is incredulous, angry, and more than anything, tired.

Silence passes over you both for a few moments. The tendons in his neck twitch and his jaw grinds like he was trying to work out exactly what to say, before reluctantly he joins you, sinking to the ground beside you. 

"... Yeah. She is actually. But not because of what you’re thinking." Monte mumbles, fiddling with the aglet on his shoelace aimlessly, avoiding your gaze.

"You see, she… she's always had a thing for me. Always gone after the girls I've been friends with. In one way or another." 

The last part hangs over you heavily as he whispers it. You stare him down, your hand on his shoulder, begging him to look at you.

"... What do you mean by that? 'In one way or another?'"

"I was friends with Elektra… before she got pregnant." Monte whispers, casting a brief look at you to gauge your reaction.

"You got her pregnant!?" You gasp out. Was this why he had never really touched you? 

"No! No, no it wasn't like that. Not like it is between us… But Dibs thought it was. So she punished Elektra by choosing her as her… specimen." 

The word sends shivers down your spine. When you had arrived, the woman, Elektra, had only just had her baby, but you'd just assumed that maybe she'd been sent there pregnant, or maybe she'd even had a fling, or a lover on the ship. But you'd never have assumed something like this. He continues his story with a grave tone to his voice. 

"Dibs drugged her. And one night, she… injected it into her whilst she slept… And it was all my fault."

Monte suddenly grabs your hand that was resting on the floor, looking into your eyes intensely. His words tumble out in a panicked mess.

"She'll do the same to you if I don't stay away from you… I shouldn't have kissed you… I'm just so sorry."

Monte’s blue eyes search yours desperately, his grip on your hand getting tighter. You struggle to find the right words, to say something to make it better but you can't.

"So what? You're just not allowed to get close to anyone for fear of what she'll do? For the rest of your life?" You utter in sheer disbelief.

"You've seen Boyse. She's not just… away with the fairies, Y/N. Dibs, she keeps her that way. She makes her doses higher than everyone else's because Boyse fought back just one time. She questioned her methods, and now she's barely even in the room when you're speaking to her." Monte's voice is strained, his eyes bloodshot and piercing into yours.

All you can do is listen as he whispers to you frantically, begging you with his gaze.

"...So, that's why I'm ignoring you. I'm trying to keep you safe. I don't want her to do something like that to you," he gulps slightly, pursing his lips before he finishes his sentence, "so you and I are… it's done. We can't be close. Not anymore."

The whole situation makes your blood boil, and bile rises into your mouth. Monte looked so defeated, so pale and withdrawn. And Dibs would always win. It was hard to be angry with him after all was said and done. Even if he had fought for you, it would be a losing battle. And after everything with Ettore, you knew deep down you had no right. After a short moment, you break the heavy silence.

"... You know none of this is your fault? Please, tell me you know that?" Your lips tremble as you speak, your hand squeezing his back reassuringly. 

"What she's doing, it's not just unethical, it's… it's evil." And then the thought hits you, striking fear into your heart.

"She's not making you… do anything for her, is she?" As soon as you say this, Monte's eyes shoot up to yours, his thumb stroking your palm to comfort himself as much as you. 

"No. I wouldn't let her. She wants me to, but I'd sooner die before that." He murmurs, with a finality that makes your chest ache. 

"... I'll never be with anyone again. Ever. Not even you," Monte whispers, "I'd thought about it, wanted it in fact… but my mind's made up. I care about you too much to take the risk."

With a solemn nod, he stands up from the floor, dusting off his trousers and swaying awkwardly on his feet. 

"I'm sorry I pushed things… and wanted things you couldn't give me." You admit, your voice is just above a whisper.

Monte gazes down at you with an affection that's impossible to ignore, cracking an unexpected smile. He steps forward to breach the gap between you, his large hand cradling your jaw as he leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. 

"No… I'm sorry. Wanting these things, it just means you haven't lost your humanity in here… and Y/N, that's the most beautiful thing about you. Please don't lose it."  

Before he can part from you to return to the lab, he turns on his heel, his brow furrowed and his eyes dark. 

"Y/N. I know you think he's your friend, and I've seen the way you look at him, but be careful with Ettore." 

Your eyebrow quirks up at this, trying to not let your face betray you. 

“What do you mean by that?”

Monte grimaces and shakes his head at the ground. 

“Ettore isn’t a good person. It’s not just that he’s angry, it's that he’s… well, nothing has ever happened, and it’s none of my business but,” He mumbles, biting his lip like he was considering whether or not he was even going to tell you the next part, “... he’s got an unhealthy relationship with the girls on board.”

This peaks your interest. Ettore was strange and quiet, there was no denying that, and nobody here was a saint by any means, but what exactly had he done? 

Before you can stop yourself, you find you’re defending him, trying to convince yourself that he had to be wrong.

“He can be… forward. Yes. But he’s never laid a hand on me. I promise you. He’s different with me. He’s��� nice.” 

It was technically true. 

You try not to let the heat rise in your cheeks as your mind flashes to the way he’d looked at you before he spilled into your mouth the night before. The look in his eyes had been feral and needy in a way you had found utterly beautiful. The thought of never getting to see him like that again at this point was unbearable.

“Yeah well… he’s unpredictable. He snaps. And he likes to stare at the girls. Just watch yourself around him, alright? I’ll see you around.” Monte says, gently giving your hand a final squeeze before he walks away, and turns the corner back to the lab. And back to her.  

When you return to your cell, Ettore has already left for the day. The day’s lab duties and the morning exercises, which you had recently come to thoroughly enjoy, had been cancelled in light of the solar flares. Any staff on the ship had been diverted to maintaining the ship, meaning by all accounts the day was a free for all. But you needed quiet, you needed time to reflect, a moment to yourself to decide how you really wanted to play this.

On Earth, before you’d been sent to the back end of nowhere, you’d often found solace in running, no thoughts except simply placing one foot in front of the other. Towel in hand you make your way to the ship's gym. 

That evening, you run and run until your lungs sting and you can hardly breath. Your mind whorls with thoughts of Ettore, and Monte’s warnings. You just couldn’t marry the two, Your Ettore, and Monte’s. The way Ettore would look at you, his eyes searching yours so desperately only to dart away whenever he’d catch you staring right back at him. The shy smile that had warmed his face when you’d touched his hand for the first time. The way you swore you’d seen him blushing at you before you’d even taken off a scrap of clothing. The way he’d tasted… 

Ettore made you feel more alive than you’d ever felt with Monte. You wanted, no, needed,  to see him blush again and again, just like that. 

Sweat is dripping down your back by the time you finally stumble off the treadmill and into the showers. The changing rooms were lonely tonight, the sound of your bare feet echoing against the cold tiles as you strip down and make your way to a cubicle. The hot water hits your body in pleasant streams, undoing the tight knots in your muscles and washing away all of the sweat, the fear and regret if only just for a moment.

Monte made his choice and he’d have to live with it. But that didn’t mean that you had to be alone. 

You find yourself washing your body quickly, the thought of seeing Ettore again and truly letting yourself go with him etching a small smile on your face… 

Until you feel it. 

The presence of something behind you. 

Someone behind you. 

All of a sudden, a pair of forceful arms grab you from behind, sharply pressing against your neck to place you into a headlock. You try to scream, but the choking sounds leaving your throat are faint and pathetic, and the rush of the shower is so loud that you know in your heart that no one can hear you. 

No one can save you. 

The clothed body slams you hard against the tiled wall, grunting against your ear at your futile attempts to fight back. Your chest presses against the cold tiles, dragging as a hard knee pushes your thighs apart violently. Any attempts to overpower the Stranger grow weaker still as your brain screams out for oxygen, and your sight becomes blurred around the edges. Strong hands move to grip at your throat from behind, the other snaking down to push down their soaking trousers. 

“Please! Don’t- you don't have to do this!” You sob out, your cheek shoved harshly against the wall.

Nothing. 

“Please!? Who are you?! Please don’t!” You scream frantically, but you hear nothing from the person behind you but a deathly silence. 

Without warning, a rough calloused hand grips you under your knee to hoist you up against the tiles. A sudden white-hot burning sensation rips into your thigh as your skin catches on the scalding hot faucet protruding from the wall, making you wail out in pain like a dog who’d been kicked. 

Immediately the Stranger’s grip on your throat falters, dropping you to the floor of the shower and stepping away to leave you slumped over, with hot tears streaming down your face. 

Why? 

What was happening?

Why was this all happening? 

Blind panic grips you as you scramble to catch your breath, trying to turn around to meet your assailant, but the room is spinning uncontrollably. And then you hear a voice… you hear him. 

“... Y/N.” Ettore gravels out. You are barely able to hear him over the constant rush of the shower, but you’d know his voice anywhere. 

You clamber up on shaking legs, cornered and vulnerable as you turn to face him. Desperately you try to cover your bare chest, searching for a way out. You find yourself staring into his eyes, praying you’d see a flicker of the Ettore you’d come to know so well, only to find nothing behind them. 

Gone was the blonde-haired boy with the blushing smile.

“D-Don’t hurt me. We can talk about this. Please, just tell me what’s wrong?” You cry out, but no matter how hard you try, he just won’t look your way. Ettore’s eyes were fixed to the soft skin of your thigh, staring at the place he’d burnt you like a man crazed. Frightened whimpers escape your lips as he steps forward, watching with horror as he shakily reaches down to trace a circle around the raised skin on your thigh with a sudden look of distress and horror decorating his face. 

You know you should run, you should fight him, but you find you’re stuck there, frozen to the spot. 

His eyes flicker from the burn to your face frantically before he speaks once more.

“... Don’t you fucking dare hide yourself from me.” Ettore rumbles. 

With firm hands he pulls your arms away to reveal your breasts to him once more, and with a deep growl he pins them above your head on the wall. 

An uncontrollable desire seems to overcome him as his lips descend onto your neck, licking and biting at the soft sensitive skin underneath your ear. He takes your earlobe into his mouth, groaning wildly when he hears the soft involuntary mewling noises that tumble from your lips. 

This is wrong, so wrong, you think to yourself, yet something compels you to stay, to let him do it to you. To give yourself to him. He felt good, he felt warm, and more than anything, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

He’d never hurt you surely?

You strain your wrists against his hands to touch him back, astonished when you find his grip tenses before loosening around you, as if the whole thing was for show. Like he couldn’t bring himself to mar your skin. He’s still tasting your neck and collarbones when you thread your fingers into his soaking wet hair, scraping your nails against the soft nape of his neck in a way that has him shivering and purring under your touch. Ettore’s large hands begin to grope and squeeze blindly at your breasts and the curves of your body with an unmistakable urgency. You try to return the favour, desperate to touch and explore his body more, but all you can feel is the drenched coarse fabric of his uniform bristling against your body. 

Forever so close, yet so far away from you even now.

For a while you forget yourself, giving yourself over to him completely and letting Ettore paw and bite at your body under the heady spray of the shower. You find yourself moulding your soft body against his hard chest, pliant and submissive to him as your hands gripped his soaked sweater over his shoulders. His head darts down to capture your pert pink nipples between his lips and teeth, sucking and pulling each one with a smacking noise that makes your toes curl and your centre ache with desire. The sudden sensation of his thigh pushing in between your legs has you quivering, even more so when he grabs at your hips to grind your pussy over the hard muscle there. 

With panting breaths he leers at the way your lips part as you whine, blue eyes darting between your face and the sight of you needily humping his thigh. Your own legs shake as he brings you closer and closer to your release, your mind racing with conflicted feelings, your head lolling back onto the hard surface behind you. 

“Put your arms around my neck.” He grunts, hooking his hands under your bare ass to hoist you up against him and the wall. 

Ettore lifts you effortlessly, with one hand slipping down to release himself from his boxers. He gives himself a quick stroke before roughly slapping the head of his cock against your clit. You don’t have long to look at him, or even prepare yourself before he thrusts home inside of you, the stretch of his cock making you wince and cry out into his shoulder, drawing a high pitched whine from your mouth. He's thick and heavy just like you thought he'd be. You'd wondered as you'd watched him stroke himself to the sight of you the night before, if it might hurt to have him fuck you… and now you knew. 

Ettore doesn’t wait, doesn’t kiss or embrace you like you’d hoped he might. Hard angular hips pound into yours relentlessly, all the while he watches himself, mesmerised at the picture of his hard length disappearing into your heat over and over. It had been so long since you’d been with someone, so long since you’d been fucked like this that the sensation of him inside you makes your eyes water, the pain and pleasure mixing into something you couldn’t quite define. 

He doesn’t make a sound apart from the occasional groan. You desperately try to look at him, to catch his eyes with yours as you let him take you, but you find nothing. He just buries his face into your shoulder, thrusting into you and coaxing strangled moans and sobs from your throat. The way he’s jackhammering his hips into yours now you know he won’t last long, and you doubt you’ll find your own release before he does. Until with a shift of his hips, Ettore’s hard length bullies at that soft spot inside of you that makes you lose all control, your nails biting half-moons into the pale skin of his neck. Despite the pain, you’re soon clenching around him, tightly milking his cock as he fucks you into the wall, your breasts uncomfortably rubbing against the fabric of his soaked sweatshirt.

“Et- Ettore, please, I- I need you…” You keen, nose nuzzling into his hair as you paw your hands against his back needily. 

But still, nothing.

His hips pound upwards into you erratically now, and you can feel the muscles in his arms tremble as starts to chase his climax, his hard length pulsing against the soft walls inside you. You can feel his lips murmuring against your neck, silent patterns and vowels tracing against your skin, too quiet for you to make out no matter how hard you try. With a deep groan he hastily pulls out of you, awkwardly trying to hold you up whilst he violently pumps his flushed cock in his fist.��

“Fffuck…” Ettore growls, spilling hot ropes of his cum onto his hand and onto your cunt.

Your eyes snap closed, drunk with pleasure when you feel him rubbing the thick head of his cock against your clit, smearing the mixture of his cum and your slick in lazy circles until you’re soon unravelling. You almost forget where you are for a short blissful moment, Ettore’s arms enveloping you to cradle your moaning and quivering frame against his chest. For the first time his touch is tender, his nose rubbing against your temple and into your hair, breathing in your scent. 

It hits you then, just how small you were compared to him, just how vulnerable and delicate you are in the arms of a man everybody had told you to fear. It was obvious he could break you if he wanted. 

But he hadn’t. 

Ettore’s palm strokes gently down your side, tracing the rivets of your ribs and the swelling curve of your hips, until finally his fingers reach your pussy. He delves in between your swollen folds to gather the wetness there. His eyes are hooded, gazing down at you in awe as his fingers trace the edge of your parted lips, pushing past them and onto your tongue. Wordlessly you hollow your cheeks to taste his seed, your tongue curling deftly around the thick digits coated in your combined release. Ettore’s eyes flutter watching you, his cat-like lips pouting and twitching almost as if he wanted to kiss you. Slowly he drags them out of your mouth, never once breaking eye contact with you. With trembling arms he lowers you back to the floor of the shower, the echo of rushing water the only sound surrounding you both. 

This is it. You think to yourself. 

No more holding back. 

Ever so gently you reach up your hand to cup at his prominent jaw, pushing up onto your tiptoes. The moment seems to drag, as your eyes close and your lips purse in anticipation to kiss him… 

But the only sensation you feel is a sharp blinding pain as Ettore jerks away suddenly, shoving you back against the hard tiles of the shower, smacking your head against the wall. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He spits out, backing away like you’d burned him. His whole demeanour had shifted in the blink of an eye once more, his lips snarled and his eyes frantic, lunging forward to seize your chin with his fingers painfully.

“That’s not what this is,” he snaps, laughing cruelly, though the look on his face is anything but happy, “you’re just a warm place for me to put my fucking cock in, you understand? … Go back to your fucking boyfriend.” Ettore shoves you back down onto the hard floor of the shower, abandoning you there like you were nothing. You don’t make a sound, hot tears pouring down your face as you feel your chest tighten and your breaths quicken to an unnatural pace until you're hyperventilating.

And all that plays in your head, over and over, is Monte’s voice.

“Wanting these things, it just means you haven't lost your humanity in here… and Y/N, that's the most beautiful thing about you. Please don't lose it."  

Taglist: @qyburnsghost , @babyblue711 , @purpleskiesandroses , @sarahkimtae Please comment or DM if you’d like to be added to the taglist! :3

[parisdimi]

i hope that i learn to love someone more than i love you.

when wedding bells chime and wisteria flowers bloom, beneath a warm sky painted with strokes of vibrant cerulean blue, i pray that i don’t miss you.

it’s a silent wish, one whispered into the void, borne from the depths of my soul and whispered into the emptiest of nights.

i pray that when the day arrives, when i stand at the threshold of matrimony, i will not be haunted by the ghost of what once was.

not once will i think of you—i will not miss the intricacies of your being, nor will they slip through the cracks of memory. i will not think of the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile, the way your pearly whites show with each one. not the way hands feel beneath my own, the skin raised slightly around the tattoo on your ring finger.

i was meant to cover it with a band of my own.

not once will i wonder what our cabinets would look like, the shelves lined with carefully constructed containers—ones you were always so meticulous about. perhaps nestled among them would be a box of matcha tea, your favorite, waiting to be brewed into steaming cups of comfort on lazy sunday mornings. we’d have them with hotteok, the sweet pancakes you promised you’d make for me.

i hope that these feelings wash away with the waters of time. when the day comes where i can look at another without searching for your gaze in the depths of theirs,

i pray that i never once look back ; — yshro.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass.311 brb x oc

a/n: OH BOY, stuff will be answered in the coming chapters (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/267/268/269/270/271/272/273/274/275/276/277/278/279/280/281/282/283/284/285/286/287/288/289/290/291/292/293/294/295/296/297/298/299/300/301

/302/303/304/305/306/307/308/309/310

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

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-

The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm embrace over the room. Beatrice relished these moments of quiet solitude before the demands of the day unfolded. She sat up in bed, the oversized shirt enveloping her like a comforting cocoon,a cocoon that smelled like Rooster.

 A faint smile played on her lips as she surveyed the room, the remnants of Rooster's presence embedded in every corner: a framed photo captured a candid moment of them laughing on a lazy Sunday afternoon, one of the first pictures they took together after getting married.

A half-empty bottle of cologne stood proudly on top of the bathroom sink, its scent lingering in the air like a trace of his essence. Next to it was a small shaving cream and razor, she always made sure to check if it was standing still on the little stand.

Beatrice swung her legs off the bed, the cool floor meeting the warmth of her bare feet. She padded over to the bathroom, the door creaking softly as she pushed it open. The sight of Rooster's toothbrush next to hers brought a soft smile to her face. She reached for her toothpaste,  and looked back at the shower stall.

The shower curtain hung loosely, the scent of his preferred body wash lingering in the air even with him being gone for almost a month now. A single towel on the hook, his favorite, was there, clean, of course because…he could come back earlier. She spits the toothpaste off and rubs her eyes before going back to the bedroom.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees as she opened the curtains, the sky was that shade of pastel pink and baby lilac she adored so much.

As she stood by the window, a soft ping echoed through the room. Beatrice turned to see her phone lighting up with a message.  She knew it was a text from Rooster, a simple "Good morning, love" accompanied by a heart emoji was seen when she picked it up. She couldn't help but smile, typing back a response, “Good night to you,handsome.”

Roos (06:01)

Wish me luck? We’ll leave in a few hours to do the mission.

Beatrice's fingers danced over the phone's screen as she crafted her response.

Bea (06:03)

Luck is on your side, always, Roos. Come back to me safely.

She hit send, her eyes lingering on the screen as if the words could magically reach him faster. The anticipation of each mission never lessened, and the distance between them during these times seemed to stretch indefinitely. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of the routine she'd cultivated to manage the ache of his absence.

With a glance at the clock, she realized she had a few hours before her own mission started. Soon the kids would wake up and she’d have t– there was someone downstairs. She pauses, going immediately still as she hears something falling on the ground. Beatrice headed downstairs, with Jolene right behind her, why wasn’t Eleanor barking if there was an intruder???

Oh my god.

What if they hurt Eleanor??

She grabs an umbrella on the way down, the sudden ‘i must protect my cubs’ feeling came strong and Beatrice chewed on her lower lip. Beatrice felt a knot forming in her stomach. The soft padding of her footsteps on the hardwood floor seemed to echo in the otherwise silent house. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she hesitated for a moment, listening intently.

Another sound, a muffled clatter, reached her ears, and her instincts kicked in. She moved quietly, taking measured steps towards the kitchen. The familiar scent of coffee lingered in the air, but it was accompanied by an unfamiliar presence. Beatrice's mind raced through the possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

She hated being anxious.

Beatrice tightened her grip on the umbrella, her pulse quickening with each step. As she entered the kitchen, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Shells stood there, a sheepish grin on her face, holding a bag of spilled groceries.

"Shells! What the hell are you doing here?" Beatrice exclaimed, a mix of relief and irritation flooding her.

Shells looked up, eyes widening at the sight of Beatrice wielding an umbrella like a weapon. "Whoa, Bea, it's just me! Easy with the umbrella!"

Beatrice blinked, realizing the absurdity of her defensive stance. She lowered the umbrella,furrowing her brows  "Shells, you scared the life out of me! Why didn't you just ring the doorbell?"

Shells chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her head. "Uh, I didn't want to wake the kids. You know how they nap."

“Yeah! Because it's six in the morning Shells!”

Shells flashed an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Bea. I didn't think you'd go all ninja warrior on me. I was just trying to surprise you."

Beatrice took a deep breath, the adrenaline slowly subsiding. "Surprise me? At six in the morning with an uninvited entrance? What happened to 'hey, I'm coming over'?"

Shells shrugged, still grinning. "I thought it'd be more fun this way. Besides, I brought breakfast."

Beatrice looked at the spilled groceries and sighed. "Breakfast is on the floor, Shells."

"Yeah, about that..." Shells crouched down to collect the fallen items, her sheepish expression turning into a grin again. "I may have tripped on your welcome mat. It's more of a trip hazard than I thought."

Beatrice rolled her eyes, her initial fear giving way to annoyance. "Breakfast is not supposed to be a surprise attack, Shells. And since when do you bring groceries?"

Shells straightened up, holding the bag triumphantly. "Since today! I figured I'd treat you to a surprise breakfast. You know, to lighten the mood with Rooster away on a mission."

Beatrice sighed, her irritation softening into a smile. Shells, despite her unconventional entrance, meant well. "Well, thanks for the thought, but I hope you brought more than what's on the floor."

Shells grinned, pointing at the bag. "Fear not, babes. I've got eggs, bacon, and all the essentials for a breakfast feast. I'll even clean up the mess. Consider it an apology for the unintentional scare."

Beatrice couldn't help but laugh at Shells' antics. "You're lucky I didn't hit you with the umbrella.” she says, nodding at the closed accessory, “Also,since when do you cook?"

Shells feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart. "Bea, I'm wounded! I'll have you know that I've been watching cooking shows lately. I'm practically a culinary genius now."

"Cooking shows make you a genius? Well, if you say so. Just don't burn down my kitchen."

Shells mock saluted. "No promises, but I'll do my best, Captain."

As they set about salvaging the groceries and preparing breakfast, the tension that had gripped Beatrice began to ease. The early morning scare morphed into a lighthearted exchange, and Shells' infectious energy had a way of melting away anxieties.

"So, spill it, Shells. What's the real reason for this surprise breakfast?" Beatrice asked, sitting on her chair with her eyes noticing Eleanor chewing on a nice treat outside, “Also,did you give Eleanor a treat so she didn’t bark?”

“Yep."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well, that’s fine–”

Shells nodded, her expression turning serious. "I also lost sleep and couldn’t really call aunt Penny so.”

“Oh."

“Yeah…”

“...You..never complained about nightmares.”

Shells sighed, her gaze dropping to the pan as she cooked. "It's just... I had a rough night. Couldn't shake them off, you know?"

“Care to share, or is it classified information?"

Shells chuckled, but it held a touch of vulnerability. "Maybe a bit classified, but you know how it is. The usual stuff."

Beatrice nodded, sympathy etched across her features. "Yeah, I get it. Is it…does it have to do with your m-."

“Nah I never dream about her.”Shells glanced up,lips pursed “She’s dead so, what do I care? No this one was…I guess it’s the overall stress, you know? With the bar and all.”

"I'm sorry you had a rough night. Stress does crazy things to our minds, especially when you're dealing with a lot."

"Yeah," Shells replied, the sizzle of bacon filling the air as she focused on the cooking. "I just needed a change of scenery, you know? And what better way to change things up than surprising you with breakfast?"

Beatrice smiled, appreciating Shells' attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, I appreciate the effort. And for the record, you're not allowed to lose sleep over nightmares without telling me. We're in this together, remember?"

Shells grinned, flipping the bacon with practiced ease. "Got it, babes. No more solo missions into the realm of bad dreams. I'll inform you in advance next time."

As the aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen, Shells set the table with a mismatched collection of plates and utensils. Beatrice couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for her friend's spontaneous gesture. In the midst of the chaos surrounding Rooster's mission and the uncertainties with Mark and Miranda, Shells' presence brought a much-needed moment of peace.

They sat down to eat, the bacon crispy, the eggs perfectly scrambled, and the toast buttered to perfection. Shells raised her fork in a mock salute. "To surprise breakfasts and conquering the nightmares."

Beatrice clinked her fork against Shells', a smile playing on her lips. "To unexpected rescues and facing the unknown together."

-

Was he surprised the mission was a success?

No.

Was he surprised that Mark was acting weird?

Also no.

The adrenaline that had fueled their dogfight began to ebb away, leaving them with the tangible weight of fatigue. Rooster, standing by his jet, surveyed the tarmac as ground crews worked efficiently to refuel and inspect the fighter planes.

Mark lingered nearby, his posture tense and shoulders squared. Rooster observed him discreetly, noting the way other pilots seemed to avoid direct interaction with him. It was as if an invisible barrier surrounded Mark, isolating him from the everyone else.

Rooster decided to approach, his steps deliberate and his expression neutral. As he neared, Mark glanced up, meeting Rooster's gaze with a guarded look.

"Good work out there, Mark," Rooster acknowledged, his tone even. "The mission was a success."

Mark's response was a curt nod, his eyes flitting away. "Just doing my part."

Rooster furrowed his brow.  "Is there something on your mind, Mark?"

Mark hesitated, his jaw tight. "Nothing, sir. Just focused on the mission, that's all."

Rooster regarded him for a moment, weighing the words. "Mark, we're a team. If there's anything you need to talk about—"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Rooster, but I've got it under control," Mark interjected, his tone firm. "No need to worry."

Rooster's gaze lingered, a sense of unease settling in. He decided to press further, despite Mark's resistance. "I've noticed some tension among the recruits. Is everything okay on your end?" 

Mark's eyes narrowed, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. "Recruits come and go. It's the nature of the job."

Oh.

Rooster’s eyes darkened immediately.

“...How so,Mark?”

Mark's jaw tightened, and a hint of frustration flashed in his eyes. "They're inexperienced. They slow us down. We have to pick up the slack, cover for their mistakes. It's like babysitting sometimes."

Rooster's expression remained steady, though the tension in the air thickened. "Well Mark, they're part of the squadron. We work as a team, and that means supporting each other, especially when someone is still learning the ropes."

Mark scoffed, a bitter edge to his voice. "Supporting them doesn't mean coddling them, Rooster. We have a standard to uphold, and if they can't meet it, they shouldn't be here."

"Training and mentoring are part of leadership, Mark. It's not about lowering standards but helping others rise to meet them. That's how we become a stronger, more cohesive unit."

Mark's gaze hardened, the resentment beneath the surface becoming more apparent. "Maybe some of us don't have the luxury of time for mentorship, Rooster. Maybe some of us have more pressing matters to attend to."

Rooster's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you getting at, Mark?"

Mark hesitated, as if contemplating whether to reveal more. “I-I…”  Roosted flicked his eyebrow and the other pilot gulped, all the bravado disappearing, “Just…the breach and all,we are all…o-on edge.”

Rooster regarded Mark with a scrutinizing gaze. The mention of the breach seemed to hang heavily between them, an unspoken understanding that there might be more beneath the surface. 

Rooster decided to tread carefully, not wanting to escalate the tension further.

"The breach has everyone on edge, Mark. I get that," Rooster replied, his voice measured. "But we don’t go letting your anger out on the recruits." he knew it wasn’t that, he knew what McAllister told him was true.

Mark's shoulders tensed, and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more. However, he bit back the words, his expression hardening once again. "Okay,uh, thank you, Rooster."

“Mhm.”

“A-Are you going to talk to Vice-Admiral Simpson?”

“I might.” Rooster whispered, “He has to know about the mission,right?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably, a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "I suppose. But I'm sure he's already aware of everything. We did accomplish the mission, after all."

"Accomplishing the mission is part of the job, Mark. But I'm also concerned about the internal dynamics within the squadron. We need trust and cohesion to operate effectively."

Mark's jaw clenched, the frustration evident. "I'm doing my job, Rooster. Don't question my dedication."

"I'm not questioning your dedication, Mark. I'm questioning your approach. We need unity, especially now with the breach. If there's something you're not telling me, I need to know."

Mark's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and reluctance. "I told you, Rooster. I've got it under control."

Rooster's expression remained steadfast. "I'll take that as a temporary answer. But if whatever you're dealing with starts affecting the squadron, it becomes my concern."

With that, Rooster turned away, leaving Mark standing with a storm of emotions brewing within him.

He had to figure this shit out.

Now.

[pastelwitchling]

Hey, I don't know if you have already done this but just wondering if you could write a story about Alex & Michael living their life as a married couple, I know that you would do it justice. It's the one thing I wish we had seen on the show.

***

                Alex was warm. He was so much warmer than he had been when he and Michael had dated, not that Michael ever minded how cool he was. If anything, he loved that he could be that comfort for Alex, that Alex could curl into him whenever he was cold and revel in his boyfriend’s warmth, that he could offer Alex something no one else could.

                And he still did. Alex still curled into Michael like he was his favorite blanket. But he didn’t seem to realize just how cozy and safe he’d turned himself. Maybe it was the effects of marriage, Michael thought, but he preferred Alex to his blankets, he preferred his chest to any pillow, no fireplace gave off enough heat without Alex lying there at his side with his arms around Michael, keeping him close.

                Maybe it wasn’t that Alex was warm at all. Maybe he just made everything feel so much better. He told his husband that one morning over breakfast. Michael was seated at the counter, coffee cup in front of him as Alex made pancakes, his back to him and giving Michael ideas too dirty for so early in the morning.

                “That’s so sweet,” Alex chuckled, setting the plate down in front of Michael and kissing his temple. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

                Michael caught his wrist and pulled him in until Alex was standing between his legs. “Am I making you swoon yet?”

                Alex smiled wide and shook his head, looking at Michael like he was simultaneously the cutest and dumbest person he’d ever known. “Guerin, you’ve always made me swoon.”

                Michael couldn’t help the goofy smile that split his lips then, and Alex, amused, kissed his forehead and went to grab the ice cream and syrup.

                Neither Michael nor Alex had much time for lunch with their jobs, not that either of them particularly noticed or cared. Michael never considered himself someone who had to eat with someone else to be able to enjoy his meal—on the contrary, he’d always preferred solitude, a sandwich in one hand as he tweaked an engine with the other—but ever since he and Alex had gotten married, since once in a while habits slowly turned to daily habits which slowly turned into their own little traditions, Michael didn’t care to have lunch not because he didn’t want anything or because he couldn’t find the time, but because he simply didn’t care to sit down for a meal without Alex at his side, trying and failing not to moan at every bite he took.

                He loved Alex’s secret excitement for food, and he loved that no one else knew about it. He loved how, when they finally sat for dinner at the end of the day together, Michael handling the dishes on the nights Alex wanted to try a new recipe (“I did manage to feed myself for over a decade, Guerin,” he’d said when Michael had first expressed his surprise at Alex’s amazing cooking skills), he got to watch Alex’s eyes sparkle at the many plates, the soups, the roasts, the chicken wings and rice and noodles. He loved knowing parts of Alex nobody else knew existed.

                “Did you ever eat in front of Long?”

                Alex looked up from the pot where he was stirring the almost finished French onion soup. “Forrest? Uh, no, I don’t think so? Just never happened to, why?”

                Michael looked back down at the bread he was cutting up, grinning. “No reason.”

                Late Sunday afternoons usually found Alex and Michael on the couch, a lazy lunch of something greasy and cheesy from the Crashdown menu laid out before them as they lounged against one another watching cartoons.

                This time, Alex was laid back on Michael, his head on his chest as his eyes fluttered sleepily. Michael’s arms wrapped loosely around Alex’s shoulders and Alex’s cheek was squished against the crook of his elbow. Michael couldn’t stop watching him. His messy hair, his rosy cheeks, his wedding band glinting in the dim afternoon light that poured in through the windows as his fingers played with the hair on Michael’s arms.

                He must’ve sensed Michael’s eyes on him because he looked up to meet his husband’s gaze, and smiled. “What?”

                His voice was so soft, so relaxed, so at peace that Michael’s hold on him turned a little tighter and the truth left his lips before he could bother or even want to keep it.

                “I love you so much it hurts.”

                Alex hummed, turning in Michael’s arms to hug his waist and nuzzle his chest. “Sorry.”

                And into Alex’s hair, Michael confessed, “I hope it never stops hurting.”

                They rarely went to bed alone anymore. Mostly because Alex had a tendency to stay awake all night until coaxed into resting and Michael found he slept better with Alex in his arms.

                Sometimes, like tonight, Michael woke in the middle of the night to find himself alone. He looked around for Alex, then his head fell back onto the pillows with a soft sigh.

                His baby . . .

                He pushed himself up and found Alex, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen, working with an already half-empty cup of coffee at his side. Instead of asking Alex if he was okay or if he wanted to talk, because he already knew the answer, Michael pulled up a stool to sit as close to him as possible, a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders.

                He kissed Alex’s arm and rested his head on his shoulder. After a moment, Alex murmured, “You should go back to bed, it’s cold here.”

                Michael didn’t bother shaking his head, and only hugged Alex’s arm as he settled in for the next few hours until dawn. “You’re plenty warm enough for me, Private.”

***

I'm quite proud of how this one turned out actually.

[sloanerisette]

You Need A Promotion, I Want A Shake Up, So Let's Get Married! Chapter 2

Hey everyone! We are BACK with chapter 2! This chapter was already done by the time I posted the first chapter but to be honest I wanted to beef it up a bit so I took a while editing it, especially after dealing with some real life stuff, but it is finally here!

Chapter Summary: It's Mimi's big thirtieth birthday celebration, and she can't WAIT to spend it with her favorite people!

Jou has to go to his big work fundraiser tonight, and even the thought of it has him wishing he could be at a hectic birthday party with people he doesn't know.

It's a big night for both, but will it be a good one?

Big thanks as always to camp digimonth and everyone there for all the support and excitement, it means a lot to me! There will be a short blurb under the read more, but if you want to check the chapter out, you can do so at AO3, HERE!

Thirty, flirty, and thriving.

That’s what Miyako said to Mimi that morning when she called to wish her a happy birthday.

Thirty, yes.

Thriving, definitely.

Flirty? Not if Yukimura-san had anything to say about that.

The thought lingered on her mind as she sat out on her balcony, watching the bay as she sipped her tea. She knew her manager was looking out for her, but she was thirty! She should have been able to have a relationship if she wanted, or at least some light, fun flirting with someone!

Mimi didn’t exactly want a relationship at the moment, but she at least wanted an opportunity to have a relationship. She was thirty! She wanted to get married and start a family someday! She wanted to do all that and still maintain her career, too!

A long, low sigh fled her lips. She took another long sip of tea after.

At least her birthday party was tonight, and there was nothing that could ruin that. A fancy hotel, dinner at the fantastic Italian restaurant there with an open bar for them all to partake in. Her old friends would be there, as well as so many model friends she made over the past almost 15 years. It was going to be incredible.

She had no shoots today, no appearances or interviews, nothing. Just her and a few hours of some much needed relaxation before the day kicked into gear. Nothing could be better.

She checked her phone again and looked through all the RSVPs. Everyone would be able to make it, though there was still a question mark by Jou’s name. He said he’d probably make it, but given how busy he was— he was a doctor, after all— he would probably be late.

As long as he showed up, though!

It was her birthday and she wanted to see all the people that mattered to her. Even if she hadn’t seen some of her friends in years, they still meant the world to her— they always would.

She’d have a video call with her parents in a few hours before they’d call it a night on their side of the globe, and then she’d have to get ready to head to the hotel and make sure everything was set up just right.

“Mmm…” she hummed quietly, holding up her mug in a toast, “Happy birthday, Mimi-chan.”

She looked over at the empty chair next to her. It was easier to just get a little balcony set with two chairs, though it did leave her wondering who she would share this with one day. Who would be sitting there with her on lazy Sunday mornings, sipping tea, talking about anything that crossed their minds, and sharing life and love together?

She sat there for another few minutes to finish her tea, then stood up, stretched her arms over her head, leaned to one side, and then the other. Once she was done, she picked up her mug and headed back inside.

She looked at her clock, glad to see she still had some time to lounge around before needing to get ready.

Soon enough she’d be running around, so for another hour or so she just wanted to lay on her couch and not have a care in the world.

[uefb]

Charms and Bluebells and Summer 1912 (link)

Summary: Leta doesn't want to go home for the summer, but she doesn't want to talk about it either. Newt makes her a flower crown and writes his mum. Some love is so obvious it doesn't need to be spoken.

did I write this in my notes app in a haze this morning? Yes. Do I care? No. I’m doing anything I can to not fall back into shutdown mode at this point so *shoves fic at you and runs away* (I’ve included the whole text under the cut in addition to the link to AO3 because it’s only 1.5k words. I hope you enjoy. <3) PS - LETA DESERVED BETTER

Exams were three weeks away. 

Newt and Leta had spent all of the day before studying in their cupboard—(though, admittedly, they’d spent an hour of that knocking each other about with shields and jinxes, because Leta was convinced Newt was going to get himself killed in the forest if he didn’t brush up on his defensive magic)—and, after a boring morning quizzing each other on 15th century history, they’d thoroughly given up by lunch, changing out of their uniforms and fleeing to the grounds for a lazy Sunday afternoon instead.

The sun was bright and the air was warm and Newt felt like he could finally breathe. 

They sat together on the hill and stared out on the lake and the forest for several long minutes, and Newt was vaguely aware of the globule of water Leta levitated beside them: she didn’t particularly like charms, so she’d of course made it her personal prerogative to practice them as much as she could.

He’d just picked a blade of grass and begun to wonder how deep in the forest he’d have to go before the centaurs would actually turn him around (he’d only ever felt them watching him before), when Leta suddenly spoke up:

“I can’t go home. In June. I don’t want to talk about it, but…”

She let the water fall like a tiny burst of rain before them, and Newt twirled the piece of grass between his fingers and waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he swallowed hard and leaned slightly forward, elbows on his knees.

“Your dad?”

She sent him a cutting glance— “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right.” He went back to spinning the grass, watched her trace the hem of her deep blue dress with slender fingers as he thought. And then: “So what about — what about cousins, Leta? Could you stay with someone else for a while? Like a - like a ruse.”

“Honestly, Newt — you think I want to stay with my cousins instead of my father? Have you met Perseus Black? Or our headmaster? That family gives me nightmares.”

“Ah yes, yeah, I suppose they would…”

“And everyone else is in France, and they hate me as much as my father does.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually—”

“Newt,” she cut him off, and he looked up immediately at the tone of her voice, the look on her face half-exasperated and half-pitying. “He does. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not — Well - And your family sounds…”

“Different,” Newt finished quietly. He plucked another piece of grass and began to tie it in knots.

“You’re lucky.”

“I know.”

The clouds moved to cover the sun and Leta threw herself back onto the grass with a huff. After a minute, Newt laid beside her, too, extending his wand to practice a shading charm he’d learned the week before. It took just as the sun peeked back out from behind the clouds.

“I wish you were pureblood,” she said suddenly, and Newt heard the rustle of the grass as she turned to look at him, so he turned to look at her, too.

“Sorry ‘bout that, then,” he murmured, and she gave a quiet laugh. 

He blinked hard in response, watched the wind pick up one of her curls: watched the shadow of a bird flitter across them both, darker even than his shade charm.

“Your mum is, though, right?”

“Oh, um — no, actually.” He went back to watching the sky. “My grandmother—my mum’s mum—is a Prewett, though. And then her father’s father was — Wait, this is confusing...” He squinted at a heavy spring cloud on the edges of his vision. “Um, my mum’s grandfather was a Longbottom, I think, whose dad had married an - an exiled Rookwood.”

Leta hummed thoughtfully. Newt picked up his wand again to cut and then summon a bunch of bluebells growing closer to the lake. He sat up and began weaving them together (painstakingly slow, careful not to bruise the blooms).

They were quiet for another minute, the only sound about them the twittering of spring birds, the distant hooting and hollering of a group of sixth-years playing a rather daring game of quidditch over the forest’s edge.

“Do you think, Newt,” she said, “that your mum would write my dad?” (Her voice forcibly even.) “To ask if I could go with your family on holiday?” 

Newt’s fingers fumbled, and he took a quick breath. When he looked up, she was assessing him coolly, but he knew that look well by now, so he only lobbed rejected bits of flower at her until she smiled.

“We don’t ‘go on holiday’,” he finally murmured, eyes back on his project.

“Well, she can lie then. You’re always so literal.” 

He shrugged.

“I just think if your mum wrote, and she used her mum’s address, or Prewett letterhead, he might —”

“Yeah, of course.” He braided a few more flowers into what had unintentionally worked itself into a crown. “We can try. I’ll send her an owl, tonight.”

She sat up abruptly and scooted a half-inch closer to him, eyes cast out purposefully on the rich darkness of the lake, the sunlight beating down on it, silvering it brilliant beyond the confines of their shading charm.

Newt finished the crown of bluebells and held it in his hands. Someone whooped, and the sound of a bludger hitting a bat echoed across the water.

Leta spoke suddenly: “I don’t mind that you’re halfblood, you know.”

“Well - yes, I - I know that, Leta,” he stammered, turning the crown in his hands.

“Or that you don’t go on holiday.”

“Okay.”

She plowed on insistently, and Newt felt her fingers tug gently at the sleeve of his loose linen shirt until he looked up, let her catch his eyes for half a moment—

“I’d be perfectly satisfied following your mum around all summer at the hippogriff barn, even if it meant having to — I don’t know — learn hippogriff insemination practices or something.”

Newt balked for a moment, blinked, and then snorted with laughter. “We don’t — Our hippogriffs are — Leta , they don’t have that problem.” 

She smiled softly just as he glanced up. “Well, then, we could just have the summer to ourselves.”

He hmmed. 

“Here.” 

And handed her the crown of bluebells. She rolled her eyes before reluctantly putting it on. Newt thought she looked like a Muggle drawing of a fairy. He looked away.

“So there’s this fellow,” he said, “a few villages over from us, who I’ve been writing with since winter break— He deals in - well —” he trailed off. “I’ve had to be careful because I don’t want to do anything that - that supports hurting creatures, and also because of Dad and Theseus’ work but — ”

She was looking at him with interest and he smiled.

“I’m only saying that — I think we’d have plenty of things to do, if your dad lets you come. I’ve already scheduled to pick up an Ashwinder egg, the week I’m back from term. And I’ve, er… negotiated access to a few maps, so we could do some exploring ourselves.”

“I’d like that, Newt.”

“I’d like that, too,” he heard himself reply.

Leta rustled about in her bag and pulled out a stack of cards. She cast a silencing charm on them before dealing them out, and they played Exploding Snap until the bell rang for dinner. 

(She didn’t take off her crown as they crossed the threshold into the Entrance Hall, and Newt pretended not to notice.)

    On paper, Leta Lestrange spent the summer between her Fourth and Fifth Year at the ‘Prewett family estate in Scarborough,’ while she and Newt, instead, rambled through forests; talked their way into (and out) of trouble; and fell asleep in the evenings—more often than not—waiting for the stars to dot the heavens, sprawled on the roof of Rowan Scamander’s hippogriff barn in the humble countryside.

It was a summer of magic and awakening and brightness that Leta would treasure until the day she died (cold and dark in her family’s tomb, watching Newt wrestle his brother away from her as her world went up in blue), even in those years she and Newt fell apart.

And it was a summer Newt would very briefly try to forget (desperately), but then hold onto—(chase, grasp after, treasure)—for the rest of his life.

  Eventually, he’d braid crowns of bluebells for his children, tuck his own unruly curls behind their ears, tell them a story of a girl who was alone and was hurting in a world not built to love her, but how she was, nevertheless, taken from it far too soon. 

His wife would look on with tears in her eyes (her own childhood heart haunted by a different kind of loss) — and their children would know their family was different; 

but they would know they were lucky and — (by god, by Merlin: above all else) — 

they would know that they were loved.

[attapullman]

robert "bob" floyd | top gun: maverick

NEIGHBOR!BOB

STATS!BOB

BUNGALOW!BOB

HOLLYWOOD!BOB

SERIES

whodunit? / 80’s Bob & Fanboy hometown sleuths one night only / A commitmentphobe and serial dater meet in a bar...

ONESHOTS

someone will hear / When everyone else retires to bed after Friendsgiving, Bob has other plans for you. [smut 18+ only] domesticated / On a lazy Sunday morning with Robert Floyd and your twin girls, you’re reminded exactly how well he takes care of your family. And you. [smut 18+ only] step into christmas / It’s the first Christmas with your husband Bob in your new (to you) home. He pulls out all the stops to make it special. handsome cowboy / An innocent trip for bread turns into meeting your boyfriend’s doppelganger you can’t get over. [mini fic] that’s mine / Bob likes Rooster. He does. So why does he suddenly hate him when his childhood best friend agrees to go on a date with the pilot? [smut 18+ only] the perfect pink / While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement’s Valentine’s Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins. pretend / You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was. [smut 18+ only]

DRABBLES/THOTS/ETC. [* indicates 18+]

caught kissing

saw this and thought of you

you have an admirer

working from home

i love you*

sex shop*

[belladonna-wright]

A Sentimental Mood

As Time Goes By - Chapter 14

London, May 1935.

Warnings: Discussions of religion and sexuality

Dust danced in the ray of pale golden light which fell between the curtains. Jessie watched as it swirled, in lazy spirals round and round despite the stillness of the room. Her fingers rested on the corners of her book, as she rested against the headboard, but the words were all but forgotten. 

Crisp white sheets tangled around her legs, and she pushed an errant strand of hair back out of her face. 

Warmth seeped gently from the other side of the bed where, tangled in the covers, lay the sleeping form. Dark hair pooled on the pillow, and Ellen’s sleeping back rose and fell as she buried her face against the fabric. Jessie’s eyes drifted to her, as they were wont to do. These moments felt precious, stolen, in the grey half-light where all the world was still except for the steady sound of Ellen’s breathing. 

She had grown used to these moments, over the months. Something as precious and rare as all the jewels in the world. She was tempted to reach out, to gently brush a finger across her shoulders, but resisted. 

The moments never lasted, of course. The rest of the world was still out there, and would come and stake its claim on them soon. Then Ellen would have to rush off, hurried and apologetic because she had places to be, and could not linger here. It always felt like there were so many things ready to pull them apart, work and otherwise. Jessie was selfish, she wished she could keep Ellen near at all times and not have to surrender her to the rest of the world. 

There were times when she questioned it; how had she come to be here? To stay, rather than fleeing to safety somewhere else. It would be kinder, perhaps, to leave and to let Ellen have her life. She could find someone better, who was kinder and more gentle, someone who would grow old with her and who would be able to stay. Jessie could not stay. Not really. There was always going to come a day when she could not stay.

In the distance, Jessie heard a church bell ringing. She counted down the moments until -

There it came, the cruel reality of it all which came crashing into the peace and quiet of the blissful morning. The alarm clock rang out cold and harsh. She hated that stupid thing. 

Ellen groaned and switched it off, her head lifting from the pillow. 

“Good morning,” Jessie smiled, pretending to turn her attention towards Ellen, as if she had actually been reading her book. 

There was something that resembled a greeting in response. 

As Jessie predicted, soon the whole room was alive with a whirlwind of motion as Ellen began to get herself out of bed and to find her clothes and wash before she could get dressed. Jessie listened to the sound of water running, and set the book aside. She might return to it when the sun was properly risen and she had little else to do. What was there for a vampire to do on a Sunday morning when all the rest of the world was busy? 

After a few minutes, Ellen returned, her face flushed from the cold water. She reached above her neck as she fastened the clasp of her cross. Jessie watched it. 

Ellen followed her gaze, looking down to her chest and then back up. Her gaze softened. 

“What is it, my love?” 

Jessie tilted her head slightly. She had thought of the question before, many times, but never wanted to ask it. Why cause yourself trouble, after all? But somehow here in the quiet of a Sunday morning she felt she had to speak. 

“How can you do it?” Ellen looked at her blankly. 

“How can you lie here, with me, and then get up and go to Church as if nothing was wrong?”

In the faith Jessie had known there had been no room for forgiveness, even the smallest of sins was enough to see a person shunned from society and cast out (at least until someone gave them something new to gossip about). How could Ellen, earnestly, spend her stolen nights with a vampire, a woman, and then go to worship her god as a good member of the flock? Wasn’t she supposed to despise Jessie’s very being? To be disgusted by her existence and run in horror?

Ellen pulled her blouse on in silence, buttoning it while it lay heavily in the air between them. 

“Do you think something’s wrong?” 

The reply was a challenge. An open question to try to pry open that door that Jessie so usually kept closed. The response was an exasperated look. 

“Jessie,” Ellen breathed out between her nose, searching for words. “I truly do not…” She paused. Jessie felt as if she were holding her breath in the pause. 

“My God, is a God who believes that love is a beautiful thing. And that everyone deserves it.”

“Everyone,” she repeated softly, as she sat on the edge of the bed, and reached for Jessie’s hands. 

“Everyone?” Jessie shot back at her. There was no version she could believe in, in which she could be forgiven. She was an abomination, in seemingly every respect. A crime against nature. No amount of preaching forgiveness and tolerance had ever been intended to be extended to the likes of her. 

“I look at you and I don’t see a monster,” Ellen promised her. 

“You should-” Jessie tried to argue. It was the truth, after all, wasn’t it? She was so many things… a killer, a criminal, an outlaw, a thief, a liar … her very existence was supposed to be an insult to God to some people. The fact that she could be sitting here and pretending otherwise felt like a lie. 

“Well, I don’t,” Ellen cut her off. 

“I see you. Jessie. Who is kind, and trying her best. That’s the woman I see.”

Jessie closed her eyes. It felt so cruel, to let Ellen believe that Jessie could be that person. Ellen had only ever seen her at her weakest moments, reaching out for something to hold and battling with grief… or trying to impress her to feel that slight lift in her heart that had for so long remained frozen. 

“Ellen, you’re a nurse. I’m a killer.”

“You are trying.” Ellen reminded her. 

It had been a long time since she had killed. She had become careful, in her old age. But Jessie felt equally guilty. How much of that was really because she could not bring herself to kill, or because she treasured the life of the anonymous strangers she might feed from? It was pure selfishness, the desire to not bring trouble down upon her head if someone noticed that a vampire was feeding in the area and began to look for one… It did not assuage her guilt. 

“This is what I am, Ellen. It’s what I always will be.”

Ellen turned away, and continued getting dressed. It wasn’t fair, perhaps, but she would have to be sure she made it back to the nurses home. She had to pretend she was returning from a night shift, get ready for church, and try to find room for her breakfast. Because she was not so naive as to not know what the rest of the world would think. How else could she understand Jessie’s fear? 

“And I am telling you, Jessica Wright, that I know.” Ellen began trying to tame her hair. She gave up, and crossed back to the bed. Warm hands cupped Jessie’s face, and tilted it to look at her. 

Jessie searched her face, and brown eyes met blue-grey. 

“I know,” Ellen repeated. “But I trust you. And I trust that you are trying to be better than whatever you once were. Whatever it is that you don’t think you can tell me? I don’t need to know it. I love the woman you are.”

Jessie could almost pretend she felt the heart ticking in her chest, the way it seemed to stop and then swell. 

Ellen leant down to capture her lips in a soft kiss. 

“There is room in my heart for you, and for my God.” Ellen promised her, close enough to her face that Jessie could feel the warmth of her breath. 

Perhaps if she was a better person, Jessie would tell her that it was unwise; that Ellen would only find herself being hurt that way, and that she was sure to disappoint her in the end. But she was not. She was selfish and greedy, and could pretend that she really believed for a moment. 

“I have to go,” Ellen rested her forehead against Jessie’s. “We’ll talk more about it soon. I promise,” she murmured. 

Jessie closed her eyes and cursed her greedy heart. She squeezed Ellen’s hand, before she let go. 

She picked up her book, as the other woman busied herself in making sure she was ready and had everything, in making sure her hair was neat but slightly frazzled, as if she had been at work through the night. It was a carefully choreographed routine, their whole existence together, but that was how it had to be. 

Jessie pretended to read the same sentence twenty times, but her eyes flickered towards Ellen time and time again. Somewhere deep in her heart, she struggled to believe it; that she could ever truly and deeply forgive Jessie for all that she was. She was too good. Jessie would know that, had it engraved into her heart. In many ways, the sooner that Ellen realised that, the better it would be for both of them.

[ohimesama]

2.12.23 Sunday

6:32 am

Good Morning Angels....Still have this windblow trap cult of Manaloz?!!!

"Karma begets karma" " Do good things and people will remember you"

I wrote it at the back of diary of Mommy Adnil... And there is also a saying about happiness, the thought is do job that makes you happy...

8:15 am

I remember someone an old friend and I hope he can still remember me...After 30 years... I still wanna leave the hometown and thinking of money...

I hope he kept my letters and everything... Now,I'm better...

How, I wish to see Mitch and only if I can turn back the time...

But you Daniel, I hope we can meet up soon even as good friends or group now that I needed your hands...

9:57 am

Done,watching... Loving Pamela... I think she is a homecoming queen but spotted...

10:58 am

My moment ... This is my moment...

Wow! Yummy... My moment... Simple but elegant ;)

My yummy patah ;)

12:27 noon

My final white fish & veggies...

1:43 pm

I feel bitter and I still feel ugly and fat and I'm thinking of money angels... I feel really ugly and I'm not fixing at all...

I wanna leave the hometown... I wanna buy starbucks everyday... I feel so ugly here in Cavite, I can't find my old bf's and some group stole my bf's and I can't meet new upper bf's who are willing to help me fly...

Later, will attend the party of my niece Cassie, I think she is my 2nd favorite after Phem2x...

Will be wearing something like a kiddoe outfit the disadvantage of being poorish..

3:05 pm

Weird feeling...I feel lazy but I will attend the party of my niece Cassie in Mc Donulds....Weird... Coz it is nearly summer...

4:09 pm

Someone stole my key room again... It feels like unlucky day...

4:11 pm

I saw it on the floor....

4:46 pm

My brother

My sister in law and my sister at the back..

With mother of Janna, Tita Joanna...

7:24 pm

The party is over.... It was kinda weird for a 7 year old celebrant, to have a 7 roses, 7 lollipops, 7 candles...

I was really shocked when I heard my name that I was one of her godmother... I just wished her a good fate, be a good girl, have a good heart, be religious and be pretty like me...

7:34 pm

My personal case:

I still have this self-pity and still wanna leave the hometown...

I feel fat and super ugly... I hate seeing skinny women... I don't feel the gang of George anymore, I was just decent there... His youngest daughter is skinnier than me, I don't like her... I sensed a demonic group on George.... I sensed a cult on George.... They are successful and I can't go up...

They need to eat skinny people... I'm still thinking of money and I'm thinking of better chances in life....

9:12 pm

I still have the windblow trap... I feel self-pity... I can't see my old bf's, I need a lift these days... I can't see JP, I need a lift for old time sake... I can't meet new upper men's friends, I need a lift...

To be continued....

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

029 of 2023

What do you have pierced?

My left ear three times, my right ear two times, my lower lip two times, and my left eyebrow.

How do you spend your summer nights?

Travelling and chilling out, also depends on who I am with.

If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

Finland. I’ve always wanted to visit.

Would you take anyone with you?

Yeah, my husband and my dad.

What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen)

Black pen, blue is a colour to me.

Favourite month and why?

June because the longest days of the year.

What brand logo is closest to you currently?

Acer, on my laptop.

Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them.

My husband, in person.

What’s the best job you’ve ever had?

The one I’ve been having for years and counting, my current one as an electrician.

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?

Cleaning the toilets in a library, but I was a student then and I needed money. Thankfully I got my current job shortly after I graduated.

What email service do you use?

Gmail and Hotmail, and one from my uni, hopefully still active.

Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in?

Yeah, a big picture and a calendar.

What did you have for dinner yesterday?

Chicken wings to share.

Have you had other blogs on Tumblr?

I have a main (personal) blog. This one is a side blog.

Do you have any other blogs currently?

Just as I said.

What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of?

None, I’ve never been into such things.

Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick)

No, I don’t.

What things annoy you more than anything else.

Fries are not French okay?

What kind of position are you in at the moment?

Sitting on the couch.

Do you wear much jewellery?

No. Only my wedding ring and occasionally a chain necklace.

How many times have you moved house?

Four or five, something like that.

How many devices do you own which can access the internet?

My phone, my tablet and my laptop, so three.

Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy?

Yeah, my cats. And travels.

What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing?

I’m wearing grey sweatpants because lazy Sunday.

When was the last time you drank water?

20 years ago?

Have you ever tried the cinnamon challenge?

Never heard of it.

Are you listening to music right now?

Not at the moment, but there’s a song in my head.

Do you like maxi dresses?

Not on myself, obviously.

Was the last person you talked to in person related to you?

Not blood-related, but he’s my love.

Will you keep your last name when you get married?

I’m married already and here no one takes anyone’s last name while getting married.

Would you rather have orange juice or milk with your breakfast?

I like both, but milk from the morning would certainly result in adventures.

What are your plans for your next birthday?

Just buy a piece of cake and stick a candle in it.

Have you ever been called a tease?

More than once.

Are you a dark-haired, dark-eyed person?

I am indeed, except that my eyes are not brown, they are dark grey.

Are you so flexible that you can put your feet behind your head?

Yeah, I am.

Would you rather watch basketball or play basketball?

Play, definitely. I love basketball.

Do you like fish or chicken more?

Chicken, if ever, but I like certain types of fish as well.

What color are your eyes?

Dark grey. I sometimes wish they were brighter.

What scares you more: snakes or spiders?

Snakes, I don’t trust them. I like spiders, though.

Has anyone told you they missed you lately?

Yeah, some of my workmates. They’re happy that I’m back to work.

What’s your middle name?

Stijn.

Do you have any siblings?

Yeah, a younger sister.

What are you doing right now?

This survey, I guess. There’s TV in the background, playing from my tablet because my husband is using our TV as a monitor for his PS5.

Have you ever liked someone but were afraid to tell them?

OMG YES. Two guys last year. I just wanted to be friends and nothing more, but well. Things ended and they still don’t know how I felt, I guess.

Are your lips chapped at the moment?

Yeah, a little bit. As always.

When was the last time you were in a car with someone besides family?

Does my husband count as family? If so, then last year with this driver who took me to the hospital and it was 7th December and I haven’t seen him since then.

What are you wearing on your feet?

Grey socks with snowlake pattern. Very winter-ish, except that it’s 10°C outside.

Think back to August, were you in a relationship?

I was, with the same guy as now.

What kind of shoes did you wear today?

None because, for a change, I didn’t leave the house.

Do you currently have a hickey?

I do, on my neck. It’s a week old, though.

What color is your hair naturally?

Dark brown.

Does anyone ever spell your name wrong?

Well, there are some ways to spell my first name and mine is the most common in Dutch-speaking areas, so the Dutch-speaking people usually assume it correctly. There are some alternative spellings of my last name as well, so I typically have to spell it letter by letter, because my last name is much more common in the Netherlands than in Belgium. My middle name is pretty plain and nearly i,possible to misspell by the Dutch-sopeaking people. The rest of the world that is unfamiliar with Dutch language tends to be confused.

Do you think that texting on a date is rude?

Yeah, if you go on a date with someone, just pay attention to them.

How old do you look?

Apparently anything from 17 to 25, but I’m gonna be 33 this year.

Look in your inbox, who’s your last message from?

My phone provider. “Enjoy your stay in France” XD

What are you doing tomorrow?

I’m going to the sea, I guess. I want to go out.

What’s the weather like?

It’s dark outside, but it was raining recently.

Do you have any fun plans for tomorrow?

Just answered this.

What was the highlight of your week?

Going to work. I enjoyed every minute of it.

[thoughts-feelings-musings]

7.1.23

Don’t you love having a minor panic attack at work? I didn’t!

A messaged me today about the course I’m looking into. I was honest about my motivation- both an exciting move towards the future and a “quick! Get your life sorted” move for when dad dies. I’m acutely aware that I’ll have no one to fall back on when he does. No mother or father to run home to if things go to shit, which they will at some point in time.

She told me she and N will be there for me no matter what- as long as I need/want them to be. Acknowledged they won’t be replacing dad, but they’re with me. I cried in a cafe.

I’m waiting until the cleaner leaves, the panic attack yesterday threw me off my game and I didn’t finish everything I should. So I’m waiting to go in and finish it. I’m embarrassed so I’m trying to do it secretly.

My dad has a song I never listened to until today. The plan was to leave it until he dies but I couldn’t help it. It’s a good song. Apt. It will help me when he goes, but it will sting.

I so desperately want him to survive this. To sing with him again. To watch him enjoy life. I’m bitter about the life he’s lived. I’d trade mine if he could re-do the last 20 years and change it to be good.

My perfectionism and laziness will stop me doing the BSc(Hons). But I need to make more money. I can’t wait until I’ve graduated which will likely be 2026, if there are no hold ups. I need to make more money now. I’m scared.

I wish I hadn’t come into adulthood during this time. Estranged from my mother, my dad is dying, I know his family but not fully. Not deeply.

A+N+I+A feel more like family than my own. In Christmases to come where will I go? I’ll have to build my own family.

If I envision my future now, I see my flat. It’s green and lime wash in the front room. The storage is ripped out and there are chairs in one corner- and a new purpose built cabinet in the other. The kitchen table is still in the bay window. It’s painted gold. Black accents. People sit round it. A rag tag team. It’s Sunday night. My flat bustles with energy and people and the kittens are there too. G+L are there too. Someone helps me out things into the attic. The windows are open, people are on the balcony, in the garden. My windows are clear. The sunset sets the room ablaze. Laughter, music, noise on the one day we can make it. There’s a picture of my dad on the wall. His guitar is here. I’ll go to work with BM in the morning. Life is beautiful. I’ve come through the pain. I’m drinking in this picture. I’ve found myself. Fully this time. Committed to knowing this version of me. My hair is red. My nails long. My posture relaxed. People will sleep over if they want. I message RO with a picture of the frivolity. I’m a healthy weight. We’re eating food we’ve made together. My kitchen is a mess but we’ll clean it up later. My body feels different to be in. Much like it does now, but easier. Gentler. Softer. More flexible. Stronger. Capable. Loved.

Maybe we’ll get there one day. I think that’s what life is. Hoping for the best, expecting the worst, creating better.

[yelenaslyubov]

a/n: haha… hey everyone. so it’s been a minute and i apologize. i’ve had a horrible writers block for the past few months and i still kinda do but i’m also trying to work through it. so i bring you a small blurb from my follower celebration. i figured it was fitting since the anniversary of black widow was a few days ago. i hope you enjoy and i will try my best to have more writing out soon. i’m hoping i can have a piece out about a certain character i haven’t written before from the most recent mcu film👀👀👀i love and miss you all and i hope you enjoy🫶

requested by @yelenabelovasbxtch

pairing: yelena belova x female reader

prompt #33: “make me”

warnings: implied smut, language, fluff

description: you and yelena spent a lazy sunday together before things get heated and someone interrupts your fun

translations: detka- baby

word count: 469

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

Lazy Sunday

⋆┈┈｡ﾟ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ﾟ｡┈┈⋆

Every Sunday morning rolled around the same as the last. You and Yelena shared lazy snuggles until one of the two of you dragged the other out of bed.

This particular morning, you sensed a cold bed beside you. When you raised your arm to wrap it around your lover, just as you suspected, she was nowhere to be found.

Once you woke up a bit and could process your surroundings, you could hear the shower echoing from the bathroom. Luckily the door was wide open where you could see just enough to satisfy you. You didn’t know how long Yelena had been in there so you figured you would rest until she came back to you.

As it appeared, you must’ve fallen back to sleep because you awoke as Yelena slipped back in bed freshly showered and as toned as ever. Her comforting grasp never failed to make you feel at home.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, my love.” The rasp in her morning voice was like rich honey and warmness in your soul.

“It’s okay. I haven’t been asleep for long,” you responded. “Why are you up early and getting ready?”

Yelena groaned and sat up in bed. “You forgot again didn’t you?” You laid there with a puzzled expression. “Natasha? Coming over this morning?”

“Shit, I forgot.”

“Ahhh really?” Yelena faked her surprise. “So that means you need to get up, sleepy head.”

“Nooo,” you whined.

“Yesss. You need to get dressed.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said, no.”

“Get up.”

“Make me.”

Yelena raised her eyebrow and smirked. All in a quick motion she hovered over you with your arms pinned down to the bed right above your head. She pressed her thigh firmly between your legs, making you whimper from the pressure.

“I can make you do a lot of things, detka. Maybe you’d like to see just how good you can be for me.”

You looked into her eyes and saw nothing but dominant pure lust. She leaned in for a kiss slowly but stopped right before she met your lips.

“Yelena!” You both heard Nat yell through the apartment.

Yelena hastily climbed off you and off the bed while you were left unfulfilled. She turned around before exiting your room and looked you up and down.

“Why so upset?” she asked with a smug look. “Maybe next time you won’t have such an attitude and you’ll get what you want. For now, put some clothes on and meet us out here in five. I love you, byeee.” She said the last part as she opened and closed the door to leave you alone in the bedroom.

You threw your head back and groaned before getting up and doing as she wished, throwing some clothes on and greeting Nat with open arms.

//

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[cognacdelights]

the first father’s day

the domestic pleasure of indie routledge series masterlist

the later years of indie routledge series masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

summary: it’s jj’s first father’s day and indie is determined to make it a day worth both celebrating and remembering. it’s a special day as they enjoy a wholesome family day out on the mainland. 

warnings: swearing. mentions of abuse. 

author’s note: i am well aware that this is a week late but better late than never, right? i was gonna post but then life happened! anyways, i hope you enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff (and a little bit of spice). please feel free to leave a reblog or a comment with your thoughts! or come talk to me in my ask box, i love hearing everything you have to say!

Father’s Day had never really been much more than just another day to JJ Maybank. As someone whose father was very much someone who wasn’t worth celebrating — and had spent the majority of his teenage years taking drunken punches and clearing up the catastrophic aftermath of a blackout binge, it definitely wasn’t a day that he had marked out on his calendar. Even now, going on eight years after removing himself from that traumatic environment and with his own daughter, he didn’t pay much attention to the celebratory day; it was an occasion which he had pushed to the very back of his mind, not necessarily wishing to participate in. After all, it was just another day in the year to him; it didn’t hold much — if any — meaning at all to the teal-eyed blonde.

However, as always and in her typical Indie-esque fashion, Indie had different plans for the day. Having had a somewhat decent father, of whom she shared a very loving relationship and a close bond, Father’s Day was a particularly important day to her for more reason than just one. She loved and missed her late father more than words could ever describe, and a fraction of her heart still ached at her loss; she would give almost anything to spend one, final day with him — to tell him how much she loved him, and appreciated all of the sacrifices he had made for both her and John B. It had been a very sore day for her since his disappearance, one wound that never healed yet simply numbed that little bit more with every year that passed. Then, there was still that ever so noticeable flicker of insecurity in JJ and his ability to be a good father to their sweet, little girl. He needed that subtle nudge of a reminder every now and again that he wasn’t his abusive, drunkard of a father, and that this was his opportunity to replace those dark and tumultuous memories with something more positive.

He awoke somewhat early that summer, Sunday morning to the gentle nudges of his soon-to-be wife to his side and the soft tone of her voice.

“Say—” her dulcet voice filled the otherwise quietness of their bedroom, “—wake up, Daddy.” A bright-eyed Tilly rested against her chest, her tiny fingers grasping tightly onto the thin, mustard fabric of her sundress and bunching it up into a ball. She let out a melody of animated gurgles as Indie gently bounced her up and down, before continuing to speak in a coo, “tell him that he needs to get his lazy butt out of bed because we have plans today, and we need to get a move on if we don’t want to be late.”

JJ grumbled lowly into his flattened pillow — still very much half asleep, “we have plans?” His head rose from the comfort of his pillow, and he was immediately hit with the bright sunlight pouring in from the opened curtains. He peered upwards at both his fiancé and his daughter, his tired eyes squinting heavily and questioned with his gruff, morning tone, “since when did we have plans?”

“Since me and Tilly made plans,” Indie responded with a nonchalance, shrugging her dainty shoulders. Her gaze travelled downwards to her happy, smiling baby and an instantaneous smile quirked the corners of her rosy lips upwards as she persisted in her animated cooing, “didn’t we, baby? We decided that we’re going to have a really, really fun day out with Daddy today, didn’t we?” Then, her tone switched up into a more casual voice as her eyes landed back on the tousle-haired blonde. “And, besides, it’s Father’s Day. Of course, we have plans.”

“Oh—” his tanned features wrinkled together as he scrunched his face up, “—we’re doing that? I didn’t even realise—”

She blinked, slightly exaggeratedly several times before letting out a singular laugh of disbelief. “Uh— yeah. We’re doing Father’s Day, J.” Then, still supporting their daughter with one hand placed beneath her bottom, Indie placed several, small gift bags and two navy blue envelopes onto the crumpled covers one by one. Another, perfectly timed gurgle from Tilly saw the brunette virago letting out another, soft laugh. “That’s Tilly saying ‘Duh, Daddy. You’re the best Daddy in the world and I love you lots and lots’.”

His lazy gaze leisurely travelled down to the pile of presents and cards before narrowing even further. His now confused, sapphire eyes shot back up towards Indie — an intrigued frown creasing his forehead and furrowing his brow. “Why’s there two envelopes?”

“Just open them,” she rolled her dark, mahogany eyes light-heartedly.

With a deep grunt, he pushed himself into an upright position — his bare, muscular shoulders resting comfortably against the padded velvet of the headboard. The soft, memory foam mattress dipped down beside him as she perched herself on the empty side of the bed, observing with a slight smile on her face as he reached for one of the envelopes. His thumb slipped beneath the paper and slid across effortlessly, opening up the envelope. He then swiftly pulled out the cartoon card and skim-read the front. Eagerly, he opened it up, and read the inside, “to Daddy, Happy Father’s Day to the bestest daddy in the entire world. Thank you for everything that you do for me and Mama. Lots and lots and lots of love, cuddles and kisses, your little princess, Tilly Adelaide.”

As the heartfelt words rolled off his tongue, a content smile upturned the corners of his lips. Of course, anything that involved his daughter tugged violently on his heart strings and the Father’s Day card — despite very obviously being written by Indie, with the heart-dotted I’s and cursive font — sent a warm, fuzzy sensation throughout his chest. “Come here, you,” he reached his tattooed arms outwards to his daughter, carefully taking her from indie and allowing her to lay comfortably against the toned muscles of his chest. He peppered soft, appreciative kisses into her thick, dark hair as he cuddled her tightly. “I love you, my sweet, sweet, baby girl,” he murmured softly, placing yet another loving peck against her forehead. God, he had never known a love like it.

“Now—” his eyes flickered upwards once more, his voice laced with suspicion, “—who’s this from?” He retrieved the second, smaller envelope and repeated his previous actions — slipping his ring-cladded thumb beneath the paper and ripping it open. He pulled the card out quickly, evidently eager to read the inside, and opened it up. “To Dad, Happy Father’s Day. Thanks for always throwing my ball. Love, your best friend, Axel.” A low chuckle rattled through his burly chest as he peered over at his sun-kissed fiancé once again, shaking his head in amusement and slight relief. “You got me a Father’s Day card from the dog?”

She responded with a honey-like giggle and glimmering eyes, “why? Who did you think it was from?”

“Part of me thought it was going to be a ‘Surprise, here’s baby number two!’ moment, I’m not gonna lie, Ind. Especially after the conversation we had at the wedding fayre last week about us having more kids one day. I really thought you were gonna pull the same thing you did to John B on me — you know, baby scan in the card trick.”

“Nah—” her melodious voice filled their bedroom, “—you’re in the clear, for now. I meant what I said. We’re not even thinking about any more babies until we’re married. Little Miss is all we need right now, and by that, I mean she’s a handful as it is on her own.”

Turning his attention downwards, JJ cooed playfully to his daughter, “have you been driving Mama crazy again?”

“Someone decided they don’t like bottles anymore, and will only take milk from the boob, haven’t they, Tilly Adelaide?” her thick eyebrows raised upwards in a light-hearted accusatory manner, “—and don’t even get me started on how they turned into a massive wriggle-butt when getting dressed this morning. And somehow managing to wriggle her little socks off every time I put them on.”

A swift glance downwards sent an entertained grin stretching across the width of this chiselled features as he noticed Tilly’s bare toes. A soft chuckled slipped from between his thin lips as he lightly bounced her delicate frame up and down against his chest, placing another affectionate kiss into her luscious hair. “You’re a menace sometimes, baby—” he laughed, lightly pinching at her tiny toes, “—stop taking your sockies off and your little toes won’t get cold.”

Indie remained silent for a pro-longed moment, watching how loving and gentle her soon-to-be husband’s interactions were with their daughter. She let them have their moment before eventually speaking up, “you gonna open your presents? We gotta get going soon.”

“Where are we going?” he queried, reaching for one of the small gift bags, “what’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought we could do something as a family. Tilly loves all the animal cartoons so I thought it would be fun to take her to the zoo and see them in real life. But we gotta get to the mainland so it’s a bit of a drive.” A small, pleased-with-herself small curled the very corners of her lips upwards as she reached out to gently graze her finger over Tilly’s reddened cheek. “And then I booked for us to stay overnight at that really nice-looking, inn that we always pass on the way back. Just thought it would be nice for us to get away for the night.”

“Mhmm,” JJ hummed in response, “that sounds good to me.”

With his cheerful daughter still snuggled into his chest — one tattooed hand carefully supporting her meagre weight beneath her curled legs, he reached for one of the gift bags. His curious eyes quickly gazed over the gift tag to see Indie’s cursive writing very clearly stating that the gift was from Tilly, before peering inside. Of course, it was the age-old staple of aftershave, and it appeared to be a very expensive Hugo Boss one at that. JJ couldn’t remember the last time he had actually picked out and bought himself aftershave, having regularly received it as a birthday or Christmas gift from Indie. He wasn’t complaining, though; if it was up to him, he would be more than happy with a cheap, five-dollar bottle from the drugstore. “Thank you, baby—” he playfully addressed his daughter, whilst sneakily side-eying his fiancé, “—this is mama’s favourite.”

He then proceeded to open the remaining two gifts, unwrapping a small keychain with two photographs inside. One was a polaroid-style photograph of the sneaky picture Indie had taken the day in which Tilly had been born — her tiny, fragile body curled into a tight ball atop his bare best with his hand laid gently against her back, rubbing loving circles against the thin cotton of her baby grow. One the other side, the second photograph was a sweet family picture that John B had taken of the three of them whilst sat in his back yard; he was sat in the hanging egg chair, Indie perched in his lap and his tattooed arm wrapped lovingly around her wait as she cradled Tilly in her arms. Both of them had wide, glimmering smiles as they peered upwards at the camera — their daughter showcasing her beautiful, chestnut eyes as she sucked contentedly on her favourite pacifier. Then, beside the keyring was a pink, baby on board sign that read, ‘Daddy’s Little Princess on Board’.

The final present was thin and flat, wrapped pristinely with brown paper and blue, glittering ribbons. A perplexed expression contorted his rugged features as his thumb carefully slid beneath the folded over wrapping paper, ripping it open. Shaking off the remainder of the wrapping paper, he turned the rectangular piece of metal over to reveal a personalised license plate that read, ‘JM4YB4NK’.

“For your truck,” Indie spoke softly, her tone dulcet as she cocked her head to the side.

“I love it,” JJ smiled. He leaned over — avoiding disturbing his sleeping angel — and placed several, affectionate kisses against her lips. The subtle taste of her cherry-flavoured lip gloss teased his tongue and coated his own, stubble-lined lips in the faintest of deep, vermillion tints.

“Good—” she reconnected their lips, the very tips of her pearly teeth tugging ever so lightly on his lips before scrunching her features together and speaking with a guilty pace, “—because you’ve been driving around all week with the wrong plates on your truck, and I didn’t want to tell you because it would ruin the surprise.”

Shaking his head, a low chuckle rumbled through his toned, bare chest, “I could kill you sometimes, you know that?”

“No, you couldn’t—” her signature, sultry and playful smirk crept across her sunkissed complexion, “—you wouldn’t get to marry me then.”

“What if I had been pulled?” His tongue ran along his front teeth in a bid to suppress the very evident smile from creeping its way across his face.

“I’d bring Tilly up to Kildare County every week to visit you.”

“Oh—” he laughed huskily, rolling his cerulean eyes with a playfully dismissive attitude, “—real classy, babe. Sell me out and don’t even offer up a conjugal visit.”

“Now—” she spoke with a silky tone, “—I never said that.”

“I didn’t hear any mentions when you sold me out to—”

“Oh, there is one more thing.” She observed with her bright, amber eyes as his eyebrows raised out of inquisitiveness — his forehead creasing with wrinkles. “So, I also spoke to Nick—”

“My tattoo artist?” JJ queried.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, “you said you’d been thinking of getting something for Tilly, so I spoke to him. I told him everything you said about what you were thinking of getting and the designs that you’d been looking at. He’s going to draw up some designs and send them over for you to see. He said he’s got Friday afternoon free for you, so if you drop in any time after one.”

He stared back at his gorgeous, umber-eyed fiancé for a brief moment with nothing but awe and pure, unadulterated love for her. The way in which she always listened to him; the way in which she took every little detail about him and that he uttered in and absorbed it, ready to surprise him with something personalised or specific. He was just so astounded by how lucky he was to have such a loving and attentive woman in his life — and such a caring mother to his daughter.

With a sharp inhale, he blinked swiftly in a bid to hide the stray tears that glazed over his teal eyes. The warm palm of his hand found Tilly’s back once more, gently rubbing affectionate back and forth strokes for a brief moment, before passing her back to Indie. Her tiny fingers gripped like vices around his silver chain — hanging on for dear life, as he delicately pried his cross necklace from her grasp. “Go on—” he urged, “—get madam a diaper change and some socks whilst I get ready.”

Indie stared back at him — their daughter now enveloped in the warmth of her chest as her fingers curled around the thick straps of her denim dungarees dress. “Just for future reference, you wouldn’t get away with this if it wasn’t Father’s Day.”

“This is me pulling the letting me drive around with the wrong plates card, squirt.”

“You said you’d retire squirt now that we have Tils,” she pouted, her thick eyebrows pulled together with a disapproving frown.

“Never.” JJ sent her a devilish wink before pulling himself from the comfort of their bed.

It was a wholesome day out for the Maybank-Routledge household on the mainland. The sun was blazing down over the mainland from the clear, azure skies above and an ever so occasional breeze drifted through the air — making it an overall pleasant day.

The country-fresh air was filled with the distinct aroma of pine and the persistent backing track of tweeting birds and the humming engines of passing cars; it was only a stone’s throw from their ocean-side sanctuary of the Outer Banks, but the more urbanised landscapes of the mainland were a completely different environment altogether. It made Indie grateful for where she grew up, and where she was raising her daughter; whilst it was always fun to escape to the mainland for a few days of adventure, there was nothing like home. Nothing quite came close to the miles upon miles of ivory, sand beaches, the rolling, turquoise tides that disappeared into the distant horizon, and the community that had been forged on their island.

Of course, a young Indie had once dreamt of pastures far and beyond their, little reef-like island on the Atlantic. Her younger, more naive self had yearned for the eclectic buzz of city life. She had daydreamed of a running a Cayote-Ugly-like bar in the very heart of Raleigh — tearing up the starry night with her fierce, unrelenting attitude and sultry dance moves as she poured dirty shots out on command. As the morning songbirds harmonised, she’d retire to the comfort of her apartment with whom she shared with several roommates — none of which she cared to get to know and all of which she saw for no more than five minutes a day in passing. She’d find herself falling in with a crowd of rough and ready bikers who frequented her bar, take regular rides out with them, and eventually take the plunge to purchase one of her own.

Then, there was always New York because — well, why not? It’s New York. Everybody loves New York and the fresh bagels, the giant slices of pizza, the strong coffee, and the award-winning, Italian bakeries. She’d get a job as a waitress in one of the small, family-run restaurants in Little Italy; maybe even work her way up to head waitress or specialise in the imported wines. Then, on her days off she would ride the subway — wander through Central Park with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a doughnut and take in the sights, spend an afternoon down by the pebble beaches of the Hudson River — memorising the wine lists, or spend her night partying until the rise of the morning sun in a grungy, underground club. She’d walk the streets back to her cramped, over-priced apartment with her shoes in one hand and a street cart breakfast gyro in the other after a meaningless game of cat and mouse with the city’s bankers and hedge fund analysts; her make up would be smudged across her flushed complexion, and her cheeks would be stained with the remnants of UV paint as a faded glowstick wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet.

Perhaps she would venture to the vast expanse of Nevada and settle in the infamous Sin City. She’d heard all about the bright lights and promise of riches from her Uncle Teddy, and it would be fair to say that she was intrigued by the allure. She would earn her living as a cocktail waitress in one of the original casinos along The Strip — raking in the big tips from the drunken gamblers with her long, sun-kissed legs and exposed cleavage. She’d find herself a generous high roller who would treat her like the princess that she was, and exactly as she thought she deserved. She would shamelessly be showered with expensive gifts, exotic trips to the far corners of the Earth, and fancy dinners at Michelin star restaurants. Then, when the alcohol and cigarettes eventually caught up to him, he’d leave his lavish fortune to her — spending the rest of her days living an exuberant life of luxury, never wanting for, or needing, again.

Although, as she matured — expanding her horizons by travelling, there was one, little sentiment that she discovered; no matter where she went, or what life that she lived, it would never feel like home. Home was the small, barrier island of Kildare just off the coast of North Carolina; home was where her family was, no matter how unorthodox and untraditional it was; home was the sand-dusted streets that she grew up in — that she roamed so freely until the early hours of the morning with a cigarette in one hand and an off-brand bottle of cider in the other, and the calm waters of the marsh which she spent her childhood catching drum fish with her father and brother, and the ivory sands of the boneyard where she danced around the flickering bonfire to the tinny echoes of the music and played truth or dare, and the black, leather chairs of the salon in which she earned herself a living beside the woman who had taken her in as her own, and the messy, grease-covered workshop that her similarly grease-covered fiancé owned. The same places that she thought she would one day escape were the very same places that bound her to island. Not because she was trapped by the limits of a small town, but because there was a tiny fragment of her happiness in each and every one of those places.

A woman nudged into her shoulder, pushing her way through the gathering crowd as she followed her excited toddler towards the wooden fences of the giraffe pen — bringing Indie back into the realms of reality. Instinctively, her fingers gripped onto the brown, leather handle of the stroller with a vice-like grip as her gaze immediately dropped to the spacious carrycot; it was empty — filled with nothing but a crumpled up, powder pink blanket, Tilly’s favourite pacifier, and the infamous, grey teddy that JJ had bought for her.

For a split second, a shot of panic surged throughout her body. Then, in the same sharply inhaled breath, she was consoled with the soothing serotonin of relief as her mocha eyes peered upwards. Directly in front of her stood JJ — an elated grin etched into his stubble-lined features as their lively, smiling daughter laid against his muscular shoulder. His body was angled in such a way that Tilly could peer over at the tall, majestic animals and watch them as they gracefully paced around their dirt paddock. “Look, baby—” he pointed towards the herd, “—jaffies.”

Indie cocked her head to the side ever so slightly and just watched them — soaking in the sweet moment between JJ and his daughter. Tilly was loving it. Her wide, chestnut eyes were bright with the glimmers of excitement as a toothless grin extended across her face. Her gaze fixated on one of the taller giraffes as incoherent gurgles spilled from her mouth, punctuated with the occasional squeal of happiness. Her tiny fingers, once again, clasped onto his flannel — the thick, mustard material bunching up in her hands.

Their bond was such a beautiful thing to watch unfold and grow, especially known just how terrified JJ once was of having a daughter. Both he and Indie knew that he was never going to be like his own father, but JJ didn’t have as much faith in himself as his soon-to-be wife did; he didn’t know how to raise a daughter — he didn’t know what she needed, he didn’t know how to interact with her, he didn’t know how to bond with her. However, watching them now from the midst of the crowd of people, she knew just how much Tilly adored her dad. It was in the way in which her big, doe eyes lit up at the sound of his voice, and the way in which she nuzzled her little face into his chest and fell asleep to the soothing thuds of his heartbeat, and the way she smiled so brightly and contentedly up at him. All of his fears were for nothing.

“What?” JJ’s husky tone questioned with a chuckle. He was confused as to why Indie was staring at him, as he slowly made his way back through the now thinned-out crowd. His daughter was still clutched against his burly chest — tucked beneath the light material of is flannel jacket as the subtle winds trickled through the surrounding trees.

“Nothing,” she responded with a soft smile.

“We seem to have lost a sock somewhere between the elephants and here,” he admitted, now walking at a leisurely pace beside her, “haven’t we, princess?” The pair of them walked along the painted, paw print trail towards the next enclosure — Indie pushing the cream Silver Cross stroller and JJ carrying Tilly in his arms.

“Tilly—” she complained, punctuating her drawn-out words with a shake of her head and a disapproving roll of her eyes. Although, she was abruptly cut off from her impending rantings as she caught sight of her daughter’s wide, innocent eyes; they were big, and bold, and sparkled under the rays of the sultry, North Carolina sun as she continued to smile upwards. In that very moment, Indie recognised herself in her daughter; the innocent, butter wouldn’t melt look was definitely one that she had mastered at a very early age. “It’s a good job we’ve got thousands of them at home.”

A deep, rasping laughing rippled through his chest as a complacent smirk quirked the very corners of his mouth upwards, “that — my pretty mama — is the sweet, sweet taste of your own medicine.”

“What do you mean by that?” Indie shot back swiftly.

“I have spent years getting that look from you, all the damn time. Whenever you did something you know is going to give me a heart attack, or whenever you want something — you give me that look because you know I’m gonna fold. You want to order pizza when I want Thai food? Big eyes and flutter lashes. When you rear-ended that Aston Martin? The big, brown eyes came out. The two thousand dollar, limited edition stroller that we had to have imported from England?—"

“Okay—” she halted their brisk walk abruptly, turning on the heels of her dirty converse to stare up at him — a subtle, sulking pout pulling on her gloss-glazed lips, “first of all, you love pizza. Second, the Aston Martin wasn’t my fault! They break checked me in a 55. They were looking for a claim! And the stroller is for Tilly. Their safety standards are higher, plus it came with the carrycot, a car seat and all the accessories. And it’s cute as fuck. And she loves it.”

Another chuckle vibrated through the very depths of the back of his throat, “why so defensive?”

“Because I don’t pull that face to get what I want.”

“Yes, you do—” a beaming, supercilious grin plastered itself across his tanned features, “—and you’re gonna do it right now so that I agree with you. Face it, Ind, you birthed a literal mini you and now you’re getting a taste of what we’ve all had for years.”

With a frustrated huff, she gave the empty stroller a forceful shove forwards — continuing their stroll towards the next enclosure with a brisk pace, “you’re not getting laid tonight.” As she pulled ahead of him, she could feel the heated gaze of his indigo eyes on her body — taking in her new-found curves and settling on the frayed, short hem of her denim dungarees skirt, that fit her rounded ass perfectly. Her lips twitched upwards into a knowing smirk as she tugged ever so slightly on the waistband of her dungarees, sending the hemline just that little bit further up her thighs.

He knew that she knew he was watching; he always did. “Now that’s just mean,” he protested with a light-hearted tone, following behind her.

“Life’s a bitch, JJ.”

“—and then you marry one,” he added, the flirtatious undertones oozing out from his teasing words.

Indie sent a taunting warning back in reply, her words devoid of any threat, “I ain’t walked down that aisle yet.”

“You will.” His long strides caught up to her in just a matter of seconds — a satisfied, half-smirk half-grin occupying his stubble-lined complexion proudly as he walked beside her. With an admirable amount of confidence, he tested the waters — casually snaking his arm around her waist. He remained there for a brief moment before allowing his audacious hand to wander; it dropped just several inches lower, resting comfortably against her voluptuous ass. Then, he gave it a salacious squeeze.

It was later that same day. The deep, sapphire skies were littered with the apricot streaks of an encroaching sunset as a cooler breeze flitted through the surrounding trees and foliage. The wholesome, family-run inn was set back from the winding highway, meaning that it was peacefully serene and undisturbed. Nestled between the tall pine trees and the never-ending meadows of overgrown scutch grass, it almost disappeared into the landscape; even the small, shack-like stables at the very end of the nearest field of horses seemed as though it just belonged. It truly was a remarkable sight.

JJ sat comfortably, slumped into the cushions of the wicker porch swing as Indie cuddled into his welcoming side. His ring-cladded fingers were wrapped around the neck of a freshly cracked and condensation-laced beer as he gazed lazily outwards onto the beautiful scenery of the North Carolina country. The length of his jean-clad legs extended outwards — one foot resting atop the wheel of the expensive stroller and gently guiding it back and forth is slow, soothing motions. His burly arm rested against the top of the soft back cushion, his thumb rubbing lovingly against her dainty shoulder, as he indulged himself in the calm and the quiet.

She sipped on her glass of white wine — the aromatic, passionfruit and lemon fusion blend refreshingly cold against her tongue — as she scrolled through the collection of photos she had taken throughout the day. “She’s getting so big—” her voice echoed an air of sadness, a slight pout tugging on her full lips, “—I want her to stay our tiny, little baby forever.”

“I know. Me too,” a soft chuckle of disbelief rattled through his robust chest. Turning his attention to his soon-to-be wife, he nonchalantly leaned over to get a clearer look at the photographs. A soft smile played upon his thin lips as his cerulean eyes landed on a photograph of himself and his daughter; the photo was taken from an angle — Tilly propped comfortably against his brawny shoulder as she stared out at the pink flamingos, an excited smile consuming her small features and her mahogany eyes wide and glistening under the sun. He, himself, was pointing towards the animals as a similarly animated grin had plastered itself across his tanned complexion.

“You’re a good dad, you know?” she spoke with such a delicate tone as she ceased her scrolling to peer over at the tousle-haired man. Her own, mahogany eyes met with his and held his gaze — a meaningful, serious note hidden within the amber speckles.

“Hmm?” he hummed gingerly in response. JJ was entirely sure how to respond to that statement so opted for the neutrality of a simple noise. It was such a conflicting feeling for him; of course, he wanted to be the best father to his little girl that he possibly could be, yet there was always that seed of doubt from his childhood that clouded his opinion on his own parenting.

“Yeah,” she re-confirmed — knowing that sometimes he needed the confidence boost of the reassurance, “you are everything that I need and more. You’re everything that she needs and more. Come on, she adores you. If there ever was a Daddy’s Little Princess, it’s Tils. Her eyes light up at the sound of your voice, she’s always giving you the puppy dog eyes for snuggles, and she holds your hand— well, your fingers — to go to sleep. You’ve got the sweetest bond with her.”

He pressed his stubble-lined lips together to suppress the overwhelming smile that threatened to consume his whole face as he listened carefully. “She does like a good snuggle, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah—” Indie agreed, letting out a honey-like giggle, “—she’s like a koala bear. Sticks to you.”

“Another thing she gets from you,” he reminded, taking a generous swig of his beer.

“I’m not even gonna fight that one. I love being cuddled. I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing, give me a cuddle.” With a deep, satisfied exhale, she laid her head backwards — resting it atop his outstretched arm. Her thick lashes fluttered closed for a moment before slowly re-opening, her lackadaisical eyes meeting with his once more. “She gets stuff from you too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he questioned with an intrigued quirk of his eyebrow and a lopsided half-smile, “what does she get from me?”

“Her love of my boobs, for a start.”

JJ chuckled huskily once more before placing an attentive kiss against her forehead, “I do love your boobs.”

“I know.” Her petite shoulders rose up and down as she giggled whistly. “You say that she looks exactly like me, but I think she’s got your nose. And she’s definitely got your appetite. And your cheeky grin whenever she’s being a pain in the ass.”

“I’m contesting that one on the grounds that I’m not a pain in the ass. I think that wine is going to your head.”

“Overruled—” Indie teased, “—judgement still stands. You’re nothing but.”

“You’re lucky that I love you.”

“I am,” she grinned up at him wide and cheesy, “I’m the luckiest girl on Earth.”

JJ placed a soft and appreciative kiss against her lips. It was gentle and passionate as the sweet, fruity taste of her white wine lingered against his tongue — and the pad of this ring-cladded thumb continued to trace affectionate patterns against her shoulder.