#Found this watercolour brush and it's all I've been using now

[nostalgic-manatee]

Some watercolour veggies.

[dnangelic]

@primordyalsoul asked: ❝ . . .Niwa-san. ❞ Her tone is soft as she approaches him, quiet, even for her. Uncertainty coloured her usually dull, listless movements, now agitated navigating this unfamiliar territory. Within the brevity of her temporality, she had only ever been an observer to certain rites of life, having neither the will nor the reason to partake in what was never meant for her. And yet she found herself here, extending a neatly wrapped box to the other with an adverted gaze. Inside lay an assortment of paints; some acrylic, a shiny tin of new watercolours, along with some paintbrushes and a sketchbook. ❝ Happy birthday. ❞ She murmured, meeting his eye at last. ❝ I do not know much about art but. . .I hope these will be useful to you. ❞ (I HAD TO. FOR BDAY BOY.)

' ayanami-san ! ' it's a surprise to see her approach , and the wide eyes of daisuke's expression seems to confess as much --- though the shock isn't at all unpleasant , if the smile that fast forms on his face afterwards is any sort of assurance . for some reason , he had initially imagined that things like this might have annoyed the other . or maybe she was just unused to them ... ?

regardless , whether it was receiving or giving out gifts , the niwa understood the way that each could be overwhelming . but ayanami had been both steady and brave enough to offer such things up to him regardless , and he laughs , trying not to get too careless with the beat of his heart and the soaring bliss he was feeling .

' that's alright --- you know , i don't really think i know that much about art , either ... still , i've had others tell me that what matters most is that you like what you're doing . um , something like ... it doesn't matter the medium or the tools , a good artist can still make something out of anything , right ? ' the parcel is thus accepted . he could only wonder with an unspoken giddiness as to what exactly was inside . new paints ? brushes ? a frame or a canvas , or maybe some things like clay or wood-blocks ? he could only make his guesses , clutching the precious gift close and protectively to his chest .

' i'm sure they'll be useful ! definitely ! ' one way or another , he'd make sure of it , his bright glow both determined and intent . ' and --- if it's okay , ' maybe he's first to let his eyes shyly dart away , then return to hers . ' i ... um , i can show you what i make ... ! s-since you were willing to go so far as to bring me the material and everything , it's only right that you get to see what i do with it ... '

so the boy would have thought , at the very least .

' will you tell me your birthday , too ? when the day comes , ayanami-san , i'd like to be able to get you something too . i'll try to think of something really good ! '

--- anything to fully return this sense of happiness to her .

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Eight // Wanda Maximoff

chapter seven | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter nine

author’s note: Y/C/N = your cousin’s name, also this is later than I wanted today but i’ve been super busy so sorry for that! Also, I’ll be responding to comments from the last one as soon as I’m free. Enjoy 😊

"...okay, so now use the water to dilute the colour."

I did as Wanda said, dipping my brush in the glass of water and diluting the watercolour I was using, but I must have used too much because it made the paint run and then the paper started to get too damp to hold together.

Wanda facepalmed, sighing as I smiled sheepishly.

"My bad...?"

She glared playfully before ripping a page from her sketchbook. "Try again, milaya (darling). And use less water this time."

I squinted in the sun as I glanced at her. "Can't you just accept I'm not very good at painting? Or art in general?"

She shook her head, taking the torn page from my grasp and replacing it with a new one. "No way. You're not getting out of it that easily. It's not hard, I promise!"

I groaned lightheartedly. "You said that about drawing. And about using acrylics. And about using chalk."

"And I'm saying it about this, now c'mon, try again," she encouraged with an amused smile before returning to her own painting.

We were sat in my garden, hanging out and making the most of the lovely day we were having. The Spring breeze was getting warmer as we transitioned into Summer and it was a nice change of pace from the usual bad weather we had. So nice that Wanda wanted to do some painting and also teach me how to. But art was never my strong suit and I'm sure she knew that but still proceeded to try anyway.

Sketching out the tree before us for the third time today, I attempted to provide an outline that I could eventually fill in with green watercolours. Unlike Wanda though, it wasn't fun. My eyes veered over to her and I smiled to myself as I admired the look of concentration on her face – her 'art' look, I dubbed it. It was this very specific expression she got whenever she worked on a painting or drawing, and it always reminded me of that first time I saw it, after we met in the stationary store and when she took me back to her room. Absolutely wonderful.

"I don't hear a pencil moving," she said, not looking up but beginning to smile.

"That's because I'm looking for... what did you call it?" I racked my brain, thinking back to the day in the store when she talked about inspiration. "Vdokhoventi?"

A sharp exhale escaped her lips as she finally lifted her gaze to meet mine. Attempting not to laugh, she tilted her head adorably. "Vdokhnoveniye."

I quirked a brow. "Is that not what I said?"

She giggled, shaking her head. "Definitely not."

I grinned, shrugging. "Well, that's what I meant."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not it, so eyes on your page."

"Oh, how dearly mistaken you are, love," I said quietly, leaning close and giving her a knowing smile.

She looked up, expression softening with a smile. Her eyes were heavenly, pupils dilated as she squinted in the sun, and they flickered to my lips before she settled on nudging me in the shoulder slightly. I snickered, leaning my head on her shoulder since everybody thought we were as close as best friends, so it wouldn't look suspicious. She sighed contently, letting me watch as she moved her paintbrush, painting a flower that was peeking through the grass we were sat on.

I could have stayed there forever, in that moment, sitting with Wanda and watching her paint under the sun. But of course, all good things come to an end when you don't want them to.

"Y/N, dear," I heard my father call, and when I looked up, I saw him approaching Wanda and I from the direction of our house.

Straightening up, I watched as he attempted to sit on the grass, but his legs were too long and he struggled to cross them. With a hearty chuckle, he stretched them out, slightly bent, and leaned on his hands.

"I'm getting too old for this, ladies," he said humorously, making Wanda and I smile.

"What d'you need, dad?" I asked, raising my brows.

"I just wanted to check in and see if you were ready for tonight," he said casually, making me furrow my brows. He seemed to notice my confusion, prompting, "Tonight? Your cousin's birthday party?"

"My cousin's what-now?"

He sighed, massaging the point between his brows. "Y/C/N? They organised this months ago. We're all expected to be there." His glanced to Wanda. "You, too, dear."

Wanda hummed, pulling her gaze from her painting and looking to my dad. "Yes, I'm aware. Got my dress ready and everything."

My eyes snapped to Wanda's with surprise. "You knew about this?!"

"You should be more like her," my dad muttered, as Wanda smiled with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

I looked back to my father. "I was planning on helping Y/B/N with his manuscript tonight."

My dad waved his hand. "I've already talked to him. He's agreed to work on it before the party starts so you're both on time."

I groaned, already tired at the sound of yet another party. Did it ever end?

"Don't be late," he ordered, though his voice was anything but stern. Cue another groan. He smiled before looking to Wanda's painting. "Wow, that's great, dear. Apparently you've got Y/N here attempting to do the same?"

Wanda chuckled as she handed him my several failed attempts. "Key word being 'attempting'."

He accepted the pages and stifled a smile of amusement. "Wow... maybe you should stick to writing, Y/N."

I ripped the pages from his grasp. "Cheers, dad, really."

He laughed before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. "It's all in good faith, dear. Now remember. Don't be late tonight, okay?"

I sighed, which he took as my response, before pushing himself off the grass with a grumble. Dusting his trousers, he nodded to Wanda and I before leaving us be.

"You could've told me I had yet another party to attend tonight," I told Wanda with narrowed eyes.

She shrugged, smiling helplessly. "I thought you knew."

I laid back on the grass with a dramatic sigh. "I just don't understand why our life revolves around extravagant parties, balls and dinners."

"That's just how it is, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said with a warm smile.

I looked up at the sky, raising my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, though my heart fluttered at one of the many nicknames she called me in Russian. "I'd rather live in the middle of nowhere. Where nobody expects anything of me and there's no stupid parties to attend."

She rested a hand on my leg before laying beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder. I relaxed my head on hers, appreciating how well we fit together.

"Same here," she agreed, making me gasp playfully.

"What? Don't you love the glitz and glamour?"

She laughed quietly. "I do, but I like the peace and quiet more."

I breathed out, fingertips brushing hers. "Maybe I can be a little late tonight... accidentally run over time so I don't have to stay as long."

Her fingers tugged on mine between us as a warning. "No. I'll be left alone and I'll be bored. And when I'm bored, I drink."

It was my turn to laugh. "You won't be alone, Wanda. You'll have Pietro."

She shifted so she was no longer leaning on my shoulder but instead tilting her head to look my way. "I want you."

I turned my head and gave her a small, promising smile. "I'll try to be on time."

She quirked a brow. "Try? You will."

My eyes flittered away, ready to argue otherwise, but she sat up and grabbed her paintbrush. I sat up, too, ready to tell her I would try, but I flinched when she flicked water towards me from the tip of it.

"Are you serious?" I asked, wiping the water from my eyelids with tongue-in-cheek.

She chuckled and I grabbed my paintbrush and did the same, watching her squirm when it flicked on her face.

Suppressed smile on her face, she wiped away the water and glared with dazzling eyes. "You shouldn't start what you can't finish, milaya (darling)."

Smiling from ear to ear, I quirked a brow devilishly. "Oh?"

"You're so lucky we're in front of people," she said lowly, leaning close enough to be platonic, but her hand slipped under my dress and creeped up my leg, making me involuntarily shiver. "Or you would be in serious trouble."

I stopped her hand from going any higher, the rings on her fingers cold enough for me to not melt under her touch. "I highly doubt that, love."

She held my gaze, intoxicating and mesmerising all at once. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Don't test me then. You heard your father. Don't be late."

I exhaled, licking my lips. "Fine. I won't be."

—

Later that afternoon, I found myself sat in my brother's study as the two of us worked on his latest manuscript together. It was a love story, his (my) specialty, and I was helping him to sort out his sentence structure when he decided to question me.

"Will you entertain me for a moment?" he asked randomly, making me look up from the pages.

"I'll probably regret it, but go on," I said jokingly, before looking back down and adding some notes to the paper.

His chair creaked as he leaned back, eyes watching me thoughtfully. "Are you in a secret relationship?"

I almost choked on my spit as he asked this, heart dropping to my stomach with panic. He couldn't know about Wanda, right? We'd been so careful.

Thankfully, I played it off well as I merely glanced his way before distracting myself with note-taking.

"Why would you think that, Y/B/N?" I asked like he was insane.

He shrugged in my peripheral. "I don't know... I've been wondering for a while. You've just loosened up so much more. And you're not as uptight as you usually are."

"Cheers," I said sarcastically.

He leaned forward, head resting in his palm. "This all happened right about the time I met Wanda..."

I swallowed hard, quirking a brow at him to play down my panic.

"I saw you with Pietro the other week," he continued, and I could finally breathe when I realised what he was insinuating. "I'm happy if you're happy, Y/N, but I'm not a fan of you sleeping with my publisher."

At that thought, I shuddered and proceeded to shove Y/B/N on the arm. "Don't say that. And I would never."

Just your fiancé, I thought guiltily.

"Good," he said with relief, straightening up. "Because you're not supposed to do that until you get married."

I rolled my eyes dismissively in response, but wondered if that still applied in a world where one was not allowed to marry the person they loved.

Y/B/N gave me a reassuring glance. "Look, I'm okay with it, I guess. But I'd appreciate the heads up so I can give him a stern talking to."

Realising there was a hint of mirth in his voice, I looked up and gave him a warning look. "Don't you dare."

He laughed, patting me on the back, to which I shrugged off with annoyance.

"It's the Maximoff charm," he commented knowingly. "The twins have that effect on people, don't they? Wanda sure has it on me."

A short silence fell after he said that and I chewed on my lip curiously, unable to stop myself from speaking until it was too late.

"Is her love reciprocated?"

He looked down to me from his daydream, no doubt of Wanda. "Pardon?"

Knowing there was no backing down from the conversation now, I avoided his eyes. "The engagement between you both was arranged... you're clearly in love with her, but is it returned?"

His lips twitched into a frown. "I'd hope so."

I hummed, diverting my attention away from him and to the pen in my hand.

"Why? Did she say something?" he asked, voice laden with worry.

"Of course not," I reassured him.

"But you'd tell me if she did?" he asked eagerly.

I looked his way and saw him peering down at me, hanging onto my response. I nodded lamely, which seemed to put him at ease as he sank into his chair with relief.

We spent the next few hours working on the manuscript without a hitch, but I noticed the time and realised the party was already in full swing. Wanda's words came to mind and I hoped she wouldn't be too annoyed at my lateness.

"We're wrapping it up now, don't worry," Y/B/N said, noticing me check the clock. "Thanks for the help. I'm gonna get this to my editor tomorrow. Your amendments should help make the process go a lot smoothly."

I hummed in response, feeling a heaviness settle on my shoulders as he mentioned his editor. It was always the same routine – I helped him with his manuscript, he got it edited, got his book published and got all the credit. And I was stuck in the same position, wishing I could do the same.

"What is it?" he asked with a sigh, sensing my mood.

Playing with the corner of the manuscript, I met his gaze. "I help you with your writing, but I never get anything from it."

"You get to help me," he pointed out, not seeing the issue. "Isn't that enough?"

Pietro's offer came to mind as I said, "What if I wrote my own book? And got published with my name on the cover?"

He squinted as he studied me, trying to find the humour in my words. Letting out a laugh, he shook his head.

"Y/N, that's absurd."

I raised my eyebrows hopefully. "I mean, is it? Would that be so bad?"

He pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. Resting a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a condescending look.

"I'm saying this because I care," he said, making me feel like crap. "But yes."

As if I didn't already know the answer, I asked, "Why?"

He motioned with his hand like it was obvious. "Because. People would look at you differently. You'd be undesirable. You know men don't like smart women. I'm just looking out for you as your brother."

I looked away, the bitterness at his words stinging more than usual. "Well, I like smart women."

Thinking I was joking, he chuckled. "Don't go saying things like that. One might misinterpret."

My teeth pressed into my lower lip hard, trying to contain my frustration.

"You can do this every now and then," he said, referring to the manuscript, "but any more isn't possible. Besides, two authors in one family? That's insane."

I forced a smile, but I wondered if his last comment was the real reason he wouldn't let me at least try to get published.

"Anyway, never mind that," he said indifferently. "We should probably head out. Dad is not going to be pleased. Especially since I promised we wouldn't be late."

I nodded, sliding my chair out and wanting to be anywhere but here right now. "Yeah, come on."

He gave me a sneaky smile. "Can't wait to see Pietro?"

I slapped him on the arm before standing up, ignoring his laughter. Nothing to make an already-depressing night worse than going to a party you didn't care for.

—

Wanda Maximoff was a very difficult drunk to be around, I'd learnt that the hard way.

As soon as Y/B/N and I rolled up to my cousin's house, a third of the guests were drunk and the rest were tipsy. A typical Y/L/N get-together. Y/B/N was instantly dragged away by some family whilst I was quick to make myself scarce, attempting to find Wanda. But the place was bustling with people and there were way too many rooms to check.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

"If you're expecting a brand new fountain pen, you won't find it in there," I teased, making him jump.

He sighed when he looked my way, realising it was me. "I know that. But there's nothing better here to do, so I may as well know what freebies we'll be getting by the end of it."

I smirked. "Anything good?"

He shrugged, seeming disappointed. "Just some chocolate and perfume samples."

Holding back a smile, I said, "How tragic."

"If you're looking for my sister, she's over there," he said, nodding behind me. "You'll love this one."

"What do you mean?" I asked, brows knitted with confusion, before turning around and following his gaze.

Wanda was indeed stood on the other side of the dining room and I could just about make her out between idle guests. She was chatting to some woman, hands moving erratically and with expression, a grin on her lips.

"What is she doing?" I asked unsurely, tearing my eyes from her and looking to Pietro.

He was withholding laughter as he answered, "Sometimes, dear Y/N, my beloved twin sister gets drunk when she's–"

"Bored," I finished, remembering what she told me this morning. My face dropped as I mumbled, "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh indeed," Pietro said, grinning at his sister's dismay. "Drunk Wanda is a very truthful Wanda. So, any secrets of hers will most definitely be revealed tonight."

Pietro was too caught up in his own amusement to notice my eyes widening.

"One of our servants made me a platter a few years ago," Pietro explained, oblivious to my panic. "It was a delicious cheese platter, the cheese having been imported from France. Then, Wanda proceeded to eat it without telling me. When I asked if she did, she lied. And I only discovered she lied because she got drunk a few weeks later and bragged about how good the cheese was."

Continuing to ramble, though this time in Russian, Pietro complained about said incident, though I wasn't listening as I watched Wanda talk to the woman enthusiastically. I could only imagine what secrets she was sharing.

"Pietro!" I cut him off, earning his attention. "Shouldn't you do something? To stop Wanda?"

The cheese platter story long forgotten, his grin reappeared on his lips. "Nah, it's funny watching her make a fool of herself."

I gave him a look of disbelief before looking back to Wanda, who was laughing at something by herself. The woman she was speaking to seemed partially confused, but smiled to be polite. I gulped, before shaking my head.

"I'm not that mean," I said to Pietro before making a move to stop her.

Pietro booed me playfully, but I ignored him and approached the drunk brunette, managing to catch her conversation.

"–and they're usually such catty bitch–"

"Wanda!" I immediately cut her off, bumping into her side slightly to get her attention. "There you are!"

Green eyes widened with excitement as they met mine. "Y/N! You're here!"

Ignoring her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close before looking to the guest she was talking with.

"My apologies for her behaviour," I said with an awkward smile, hoping Wanda hadn't revealed anything suspicious.

"No need to apologise, dear," the woman said with an amused smile. "Wanda here was telling me all about how lovely of a sister-in-law you are. Or will be."

Wanda grinned, looking to me and leaning in so close that her nose brushed my cheek. "Yeah, she is," she continued to the woman, though her eyes were on mine. "She's sweet, not like other people make out their sister-in-laws to be."

My face was warm as I cleared my throat and smiled once more to the woman. "If you'll excuse Wanda and I."

The woman barely got out a nod before I dragged Wanda away, trying to keep her lips away from my neck (she was also an extremely clingy drunk). Tugging her into the bathroom down the hall, I closed the door behind us and released a breath of relief, grateful for the escape from guests.

"You look very sexy when you're worried," Wanda complimented, stepping forward and smiling dazedly.

"Wanda–"

She placed her hand on my jaw, moving closer so that her lips were grazing mine as she mumbled, "You came late, milaya (darling). But I still love you."

I'd like to say that I had the willpower to push her away and scold her for acting so obvious about us before, but my lips went numb as she captured them between hers. I could taste the alcohol on her lips as she moved them against mine, making me dizzy and forgetting what I was going to say. Her thumb caressed my jaw and I relaxed under her touch, hands resting on her chest. When she tried to part my lips with her tongue, I seemed to come to my senses.

"Wanda, you're drunk," I muttered, pushing her back gently.

She chased down my mouth again, sucking on my lip and tilting my head back so she could have better access. I tried not to let her win as I kissed her briefly before pulling away. Clouded hazel eyes met mine with a matching smirk.

"You're such a tease," she whispered, her accent thicker than usual and making my stomach flip uncontrollably. Her thumb traced my lips as she continued, "You shouldn't do that when I already know how you taste, moya lyubov' (my love)."

The way she was staring at me made me flustered in place, and she seemed to notice her effect on me as she winked my way.

Shaking my head and trying not to let her win, I said, "Look, Wanda. I'm sorry for being late. But did you really have to get drunk?"

She shrugged, leaning her weight on my shoulder with her hand. "If you hadn't kept me waiting, then I wouldn't have."

I sighed, looking to her apologetically. "I didn't realise the time."

A permanent troublesome smile was fixed on her lips as she watched me.

"Your brother told me how you can be when you get drunk," I said with mild concern, hoping she'd register my seriousness. "You need to be careful, Wanda. We can't have people finding out about us."

"It seems to me," she began agonisingly slowly, lacing her arms around my shoulders, "that you'll have to watch me all night to make sure I don't do anything out of line."

Determined not to play into her teasing, I maintained her gaze with a stern stare. "It seems I'll have to."

She bit her lip, eyes flickering between mine, before leaning further into my ear. In a whispered voice, she said, "That means you can't leave my side, printsessa (princess)."

I clenched my jaw, ready to agree, but a gasp escaped my lips as hers sucked on my earlobe, teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin. Stupid Wanda and her stupid flirting and stupid attractiveness.

"Wanda!" I scolded, though my cheeks were flushed as I pushed her away gently.

She laughed adorably, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "What?"

"You have to behave," I told her, swallowing hard and trying not to let her teasing smile get to me. "You can't do this out there. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed in a way that wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

I rolled my eyes before grabbing her hand and leading her back outside the bathroom, returning to the party. I wasn't planning on leaving her side for the rest of the evening, even if Y/B/N wanted to be with her. The last thing I wanted was for her cute drunken self to reveal something she couldn't take back.

To my relief, she kind of behaved after that. There were times when she would get a little too touchy to be platonic, but a quick stare set her straight. Y/B/N wasn't around much, as when he did join us, he was immediately pulled away by some family friends who wanted to discuss his books. For once, I was glad he was an author, afraid of what would happen if Wanda got too comfortable in his presence.

At one point though, he was able to join Wanda, Pietro and I at a standing table, relief flooding his expression when nobody called after him. His arm wrapped around Wanda's waist and he kissed the top of her head, making me look the other way with distaste. She scrunched her nose up at the action before distracting herself with a drink. I gave her a knowing look, having told her earlier to stop with the alcohol. She pretended not to see me.

"Sorry I've not been able to spend time with you tonight," he said to Wanda, oblivious to her tipsy state.

"It's almost like it's your birthday and not your cousin's," Pietro joked, smiling at him.

My brother chuckled. "I guess. They just all wanna talk about my manuscript."

"Ah, yes, the reason you were late, right?" Wanda asked, eyes falling to mine.

"I'm sorry," my brother apologised, assuming it was him she was speaking to.

"You were helping him, too, right?" Pietro asked, looking to me curiously. "Maybe I'll finally get a glance at your work."

I narrowed my eyes at him, having figured he'd put the subject to rest after last time. He merely grinned in response, finding joy in messing with me, just like his sister. Before I could say anything, my brother beat me to it.

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

So he was jealous. Wow.

"You don't need to hide your relationship, y'know," he continued when I didn't respond, looking to Pietro.

The silver-haired publisher choked on his drink as he looked to my brother, clearly very amused.

"I know you're together," Y/B/N said with agitation. "Everybody does. And don't get me wrong, Pietro, I respect you as a publisher."

I groaned quietly, closing my eyes with embarrassment. When I opened them, Pietro was watching my brother with an entertained smile, meanwhile, Wanda was looking between them with a twitching frown.

"But if you're going to date my sister, you should do it the right way," my brother continued stupidly. "It's not appropriate to have whatever this is." He motioned between us with his hands. "It's wrong."

I jumped when Wanda's hand slipped to my arse, squeezing it gently. Thankfully, our backs were to a wall so nobody would have noticed behind us, but I instantly glared at her and removed her hand. She gave me a cunning smile, not bothered by the consequences.

"...and if you're sleeping together like I suspect," Y/B/N was saying, making me flush with humiliation, "know that our friendship is at breaking point. I can't have that blatant disrespect in my life."

Wanda continued to attempt to grab my arse, making me slap her hand away several times, all whilst trying to manage whatever conversation was happening right now.

"I can't believe you just said that," I finally spoke up, managing to keep Wanda at bay long enough. "You're such an idiot, Y/B/N! I told you I wasn't with Pietro!"

Pietro tried not to laugh as he met my brother's intimidating stare. "I value our friendship, too, Y/B/N. Which is why I can promise you I have no... relations... with your sister. I don't like her like that, I can assure you."

Wanda snorted with amusement, before hiding behind a glass of wine when everyone looked her way.

Y/B/N seemed embarrassed as he cleared his throat. "Oh."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, oh!"

"I guess I should apologise," he said awkwardly, looking to Pietro. "I–"

"No apology necessary," Pietro cut him off, raising a hand. "I am thankful for the entertainment however."

"I'm gonna go literally anywhere else," I dismissed myself, unable to take the uncomfortable situation any longer.

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away. To my surprise, Wanda trailed after, falling into step with me.

I glanced at her unhappily, quirking a brow. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, don't be mad at me because your brother's an idiot," she said with a wag of her hand.

I gave her a suggestive look. "I told you to behave."

She pressed her lips together in a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry... Y/B/N was talking about you and Pietro and I– well, I don't like sharing, remember?"

The improper glint in her eye as she stopped before me, watching with amusement, made me feel warm all of a sudden. That day when she first told me that and we proceeded to make love flashed to mind, and she seemed to know as she had a mischievous look on her face.

Clearing my throat, I pointed a finger her way. "Behave."

I should have known by the devilish look in her eyes that she wouldn't.

[allforyoumylovely]

emma, hiii. you're taking requests, like that's the best thing ever hihi. idk why but I've had this image in my head of sander resting against robbe's chest as he robbe reads to him, while he runs a hand through sander's hair. maybe sander is coming out of a bad episode or maybe they're just relaxing on a sunday, but yeah.... maybe something like that hihi. much love to you emma <333

Cille, this was an absolute dream prompt for me, my gosh 💘 📖  I went off on a few tangents but hopefully that’s okay sfhjg. Walk, shower, read. It’s their little routine 🧡  Thank you for sending me this. Love you! Btw let me know if I should upload these on ao3 or if they should just be little tumblr exclusives?

Sander always knows when he’s fading away, when he’s turning into a shell of himself. But he never knows when he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. Until it’s too late, until he crashes. And that’s when he loses all sense of who he is, of what he enjoys or how he likes to dress or what his voice normally sounds like. Sometimes the only indication of time passing is his alarms that tell him to take his meds and eat at set times.

Although he doesn’t reach the point anymore where he wants to be physically erased – he knows that this seemingly perpetual state of sadness isn’t definitive no matter how much his brain tries to convince him otherwise – some days all he can drag himself out of bed for is a cup of coffee and a cigarette or a few slices of tangerine, the scent reminding him of his boy, his college boy. He’ll crack open a window in the living room and curl up against the cushions in the window-seat, the hood of his black hoodie over his head, and there he’ll try weaving his way through the weeds and the tangled neurons in his thunder-stained mind to anything resembling an actual thought with a pinch of substance.

For the days where he’s more clear-headed his mama puts up little post-its around the house with simple tasks for him to do to help him feel useful and necessary. And in the mornings whenever Robbe has spent the night, Sander finds little notes from him too; there’ll be an I love you on his pillow, an I’m so glad you exist placed on his desk and I’m bringing you flowers later <3 hanging on his door. The first time Sander doesn’t think Robbe actually means the one with the flowers, but when he buzzes him in later that afternoon, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of light pink lilies cradled in his arm against the autumn brown of his jacket, the hues so lovely and gentle, just like Robbe. It’s more than Sander’s frail mind can take, and Robbe wipes away the thin streams of warm tears with his sweater paws, and they laugh softly when it only makes it worse.

Since before Robbe, Sander has been figuring out what soothes him, what makes him feel more at ease, what helps him settle back into his body and bones when coming out of a bad episode, and he has slowly built up a list of things that assist in bringing the puzzle pieces of his mind back into place.

Walks

Sander’s aunt has a golden retriever, Bella, who goes on a little holiday at Sander’s when he’s down and spends most of his days at home. In the mornings she’ll pad over the hard-wood floor to his bed and nuzzle her nose against Sander’s face until he wakes up, waiting patiently for her walk. It’s easier for Sander to get out of bed knowing there’s someone relying on him for their needs and wellbeing. He’ll take her and himself on a walk in the fog-blue mornings when the morning traffic is yet to come, and then again in the early evening when it’s still light out but the streets are quieter, enough for him to give his brain some stimulation when it feels like it has slowed to a halt. The sound of his boots against the sidewalk reminds him that he’s still part of the world, that he hasn’t completely vanished after all.

Sometimes he goes by himself, just listening to and observing the city around him with pale eyes. Other times Robbe goes with him, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked in the mornings, relaxed and loose-limbed at night. He doesn’t curl his hand around Sander’s but lets it hang by his side with their pinkies brushing, open and inviting, for Sander to take if and when he feels like it. Sander will thread their fingers together always, but he loves Robbe for giving him a choice and never forcing anything on him.

Often, they find a bench somewhere, in a park or at the river, a place that isn’t too crowded but still has plenty of things for Sander to rest his eyes on. It’s only the middle of September but some leaves are already falling, lying yellow and limp on the ground, and Robbe notices Sander’s wondering expression.

“It’s probably because the weather has been so dry; they’re shedding their leaves to conserve water and energy,” he says.

And Sander instinctively inches closer, a small smile on his lips. “Clever you.”

Bella sits by Sander’s legs with her head propped on his knee, her deep brown eyes alternatively scanning the place and glancing up at him, sensing his sadness. She’s calm and curious and cuddly, reminding him of a certain someone. When Sander tells him, Robbe breathes out a little giggle, making Sander gaze at him more deeply than he has in days, at the silky curls around his ears and the blinking hoop and the crescent dimples curved into his cheeks, and he’ll quietly rest his head on the slope of Robbe’s shoulder, a few tiny clearings of blue sky starting to appear in his overcast mind.

Showers

Back at home, he and Robbe linger in the hallway for a bit, their hair messy, the scent of fresh air in their clothes. When Robbe says that his green, sparkly eyes are coming back, Sander curls a few fingers in the front of Robbe’s shirt, feeling the firm plane of his stomach against his knuckles as he mumbles, “Shower.”

Some nights Sander can’t stand the mere idea of catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; hates the way he looks with his violet circles and dull, greasy hair. So Robbe will light a couple of candles, and they’ll undress in the dim orange glow and quietly get under the shower spray. And there, with Sander’s forehead resting against his own, Robbe will wash Sander’s hair and tell him that he looks beautiful in this light, while his fingers work in small, bone-melting circles. The near orgasmic pressure on his scalp helps reconnecting Sander’s mind and body, making him press up tightly against Robbe, finally diving back into the swirling, velvety heat that licks into every cell of his being.

“Thank you for… For staying with me,” he says between hushed breaths and light kisses. It falls clumsy from his lips, sounding graver than he intends it to, but Robbe, the angel soul that he is, moulds his answer into five words of pure reassurance that protectively wrap themselves around Sander’s heart.

“I’m going to marry you.”

Sander doesn’t cry. But he’s very damn close.

Reading

This one begins one night maybe a year into their relationship. While Robbe brushes his teeth, Sander wanders Robbe’s room, taking in the familiarity of it, running a hand over the forest green sweatshirt draped over his chair, trailing the edge of his desk with a few fingertips. When he reaches his set of shelves, he sees it wedged in between a plant and some school supplies: a book of bedtime stories filled with beautiful watercolour illustrations, the cover a painting of a dark blue night sky with a full moon reading for her stars over a little sleeping village. The spine is threadbare, seemingly from the countless times of being opened and closed. As he flicks through the crinkled pages, soft lips press against the nape of his neck and the back of his shoulder.

“Are you snooping around my room?” Robbe mumbles.

“Mhm,” Sander hums. “What’s this book?”

Twining his arms around Sander’s stomach from behind Robbe says, “When I was little my mama used to read these stories aloud for me at night. She was looking through some stuff the other day and found it again.” He hooks his chin over Sander’s shoulder. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sander glances back at Robbe with a squeezing feeling in his chest. “Did it make you fall asleep?”

Robbe smiles. “Every time.”

Sander drops his gaze back to the book, asking quietly, “Will you read for me?”

And Robbe brushes a “Sure” and a kiss behind his ear, tugging him along to the bed.

It’s something they do now: Robbe reading aloud for Sander whenever he feels low and doesn’t have many words to offer. Sander then tucks his head under Robbe’s chin, and Robbe tangles his fingers in his freshly washed and citrussy-smelling hair, scraping over his scalp in endless, soothing motions. Safe and sound, Sander listens to stories about naughty star-children, wizards flying about in rolled up rugs, and a Goodnight-ship with live stuffed animals as passengers. They flow over him like dripping streams of honey, Robbe’s voice lovely and wonderful and a little sleepy, and Sander tries so desperately to make his foggy brain hold onto the words.

Sometimes when the night air is cooling Sander’s room and Robbe feels a little cold, he’ll wear a thick hoodie to bed. Sander loves the scent and the comfy feel of the well-worn fabric under his palm, but sometimes he gets a little frowny and frustrated at having to fumble for his small waist; so Robbe pulls it off despite the goosebumps rising on his skin, and Sander presses his ear to his heart and tightens his hold around him, sharing his body heat his only job while he listens to stories from when Robbe was little. And Sander feels little too; but it’s something he allows himself. A few years ago, he didn’t dare dream that he’d ever have this with someone; didn’t think he even had this level of softness in himself.

But here he is. Here they are.

He has never wanted to be someone’s more than he does Robbe’s; it’s so clear that he belongs to him. And it’s crazy, Sander thinks. Because no matter how feeble and numb around the edges his body and mind feel, his love for Robbe is always right there in a molten pond at the core of him, and Sander could cry at the fact that his brain always lets him have that.

In the days following, when he finds that he has enough energy to send Robbe little dorky, flirty texts throughout the day, such as Bella woke me up with wet, sloppy kisses. Wish it was you or when you’re in the mood for a snack but you’re not there💔  with an attached photo of himself pouting at the open fridge, he knows that the darkness in his chest and brain is releasing its hold and taking flight.