#all of them pain me i such different ways

[rafesangelita]

♡ when you’re so wet that rafe keeps slipping out..

warnings: making out, heavy petting, dry humping (not really, it’s pretty messy), finger sucking, cockwarming (?), unprotected sex, praise, teasing, rafe being super pussy drunk, belly bulge, size kink, biting, slight dacryphilia

“fuck, look at those hips..” rafe pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva still connecting you two as he dragged you up and down his lap, his large palms enveloping the soft globes of your ass. with shaky hands, you held onto his shoulders as you rocked on top of him, your panties drenched with your arousal. “need’ you, ray..” you whimpered, “please.” rafe pressed a trail of sloppy kisses across your collarbone, his tongue licking a stripe up the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut.

he navigated your body like it was the back of his hand, his skillful touch turning you into putty. rafe could feel your heat through his boxers, the soaked fabric making him groan as his hardened cock strained against the material. “i’ll give it you, baby, don’t worry,” he landed a harsh smack to your ass, ripping a yelp from your lips, “wet those fingers for me.” rafe could only imagine how slippery your cunt would feel swallowing him whole, your slick alone already making you glide easily on top of the layers separating you two from full penetration.

giggling softly, rafe watched as your hand disappeared underneath the waistband of your panties, his breath hitching once you held up your fingers, a pool of your sticky succulence glistening underneath the dim light. knowing that he was the one to make you like this made him twitch with need, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he brought your digits to his mouth. with a baited breath, you gasped softly when he took your juices on his tongue, the man in front of you moaning at the taste.

no matter how many times rafe found his head between your thighs, he could never get used to how intoxicating you were, all of his senses and primal instincts honing in on fucking you stupid. without wasting another second, rafe was quick to take himself out of his boxers, a hiss leaving his lips as his length smacked against your tummy. peeling back the lace material of your underwear, he slid them down your legs until he caught sight of the absolute mess between your thighs.

laying you down on your back, rafe brought your knees up to your chest, using one hand to press on your lower abdomen and the other to guide himself between your folds. he was so hard, he had to use his thumb to keep the tip of his cock down so he could enter your needy cunt. he marveled at the size difference, the head of his length stopping just below your belly button. “fuck, i’m gonna wreck you..” he trailed off, toying with your clit before slipping inside, filling you up inch by inch until you were crying out in both pleasure and pain.

with the hand that he had on your stomach, he guided your own over the budge in your tummy, your eyes widening slightly as he started thrusting into you at a steady pace. “you feel that? ‘feel the way my cock fills you up to the fucking brim?” your eyes rolled back at the same time you whined out a ‘f-fuck, yes!’ into your palm. your walls stretched deliciously around the the welcomed intrusion that was his length, your pussy clenching around him for all that he had. the sounds falling from your lips were nothing short of pornographic, the moans and choked sobs only pushing rafe closer to the edge.

he sped up until his skin was slapping against your own, your back arching off of the bed when he slipped out and stroked your clit with the underside of his cock. you shrieked at the sensation, your legs trembling in sensitivity. “too much..” you shook your head, bringing your legs down to wrap around his waist instead. rafe groaned, your slick dripping down his length as he tapped your glossy folds. “you’re so fucking wet, i’m slipping right out,” he grunted, “this is what i do to you, ‘pretty girl?” he leaned down, nipping the sensitive part of your neck.

he kept himself nestled inside of you for a few moments, letting you revel in being so utterly full. you gave him an approving hum, your nails digging into his skin as he bit you softly across your collarbone. starting up his thrusts again, he slipped out as soon as he picked up the pace, the action making him curse under his breath. your eyes watered in frustration, your bottom lip pulled tightly between your teeth. rafe saw your tears, the sight shooting straight to his cock. he loved seeing how delirious he made you, his chest filling up with pride as you looked up at him with that fucked-out gaze.

soon after he continued, your high was hitting you in intense waves, the coil in the pit of your stomach snapping in two as rafe watched your eyebrows knit together, the added mess between your thighs only making his hips stutter with his own climax painting your walls. “rafe!” you screamed in his ear, his thumb slipping between your lips for you to bite down on while he twitched and convulsed inside of you. a shiver ran down his back as he caged you tightly between his arms, his seed spilling out of you as you both went through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

once you were okay, rafe pressed a kiss to your lips, stroking the side of your face before rolling over to your side. “what’s your ring size?” he sighed, pulling you against his chest. you laughed softly, slightly confused at the words that left his mouth. “why?” rafe’s chest was rising and falling as he glanced down at you, meeting your eyes. “are you kidding me? i need to lock this pussy down. like tonight.”

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[jasper-ontheoffbeat]

I’M UP HATING POP PSYCHOLOGY. MEMEME

to be more serious: i have empathy for the urge to compartmentalize like this. genuinely, i do— for some, processing trauma feels easier when there are ready-made labels for the things/people that hurt them. i so deeply understand the urge to file away overwhelming chaos; to make sense of the cruel and senseless; to be comforted by pop psych “gotcha” moments and cling to categorizations. i know what it feels like to try to neatly reorganize broken self-concepts and horrifying histories. i’ve dealt with this exact issue myself.

that being said… unfortunately, it just. doesn’t. work.

automatically slapping warning labels on ASPD, NPD, BPD, etc is simply not fair nor accurate. the nuances shouldn’t be ignored: does the concept that mental health matters come with conditions? does furthering the stigma really empower victims, or does it drive offenders away from self-awareness and recovery? does it really help to boil human behavior down to lists and labels, or does it just skew our perceptions of ourselves and others even further? is it productive to focus on condensing things, or should we ultimately focus on understanding the complexities that make generalization ultimately impossible?

this is NOT to say that ANYONE has to entertain or forgive abusive people. not at ALL. i’m also not saying those who don’t care to improve should be forgiven and/or granted the opportunity to keep treating others poorly. there is a stark a difference between acknowledging nuance and normalizing/excusing abuse— you can express pain without making harmful blanket statements. in fact, it’s straight up ignorant to disregard those who are working their asses off in recovery. these disorders can be uniquely challenging to live with, and stigma makes everything 10x worse, especially when trauma, defensiveness, and self-hatred are inseparable from disordered beliefs/behaviors. you have EVERY right to cut off shitty individuals and despise them and feel rage and do whatever you need to do to heal— at the same time, people who present in malignant ways won’t get any better if they’re universally met with hostility. after all, 99% of the time, recovery seems like a far better outcome than total shunning. wouldn’t it be so much better if these people had safe spaces in which they could to learn to never abuse other humans again, and to develop healthier self-concepts?

(i say this as someone who’s been abused horribly countless times by people who present like this, developed BPD as a result, and gone through wild amounts of intensive therapy. i no longer meet the criteria for BPD.)

(of course, there are some acts that are UNFORGIVABLE. those require a… unique approach. i don’t feel qualified to go into that territory because personal experiences have left me way too biased; just know that i don’t mean to erase that line.)

also, re: MBTI/love language/brain development/brain gendering/dark empathy/blah blah blah: the same principle applies. individuals’ psychological makeups and backgrounds are too complex to accurately box in. that is the nature of the human condition, and even though it gets overwhelming, at the end of the day, it’s beautiful! there is no linear pathway for anything, and that is a GOOD thing! at best, all of those words can provide useful loose blueprints for furthering introspection; at worst, they create interpersonal divides that are either based on faulty assumptions or entirely non-existent.

we don’t have to fit into boxes to find community. it’s fine to use things like MBTI and love languages as cute, unweighted bonding tools, BUT in order to truly understand each other’s wants, needs, traits, and issues, we simply need to COMMUNICATE. no matter how isolated we feel in our struggles, WE ARE NOT ALONE. we are all mosaics of the experiences that have shaped us, and we each deserve to be understood as works of art, not as sums of our most basic parts.

tl;dr pop psychology egregiously simplifies human behavior and it is Not helpful as it seems

who up hating pop psychology

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

virgin loser bff!nanami had been your closest friend ever since the time in preschool when your doll’s head broke, and he came over with his toy truck, offering to play together instead.

the fact that you had such different personalities never got in the way of your friendship. you were always the most popular and social person at school, while nanami didn’t even have any friends other than you. whenever you called him over to join you, and your friends asked, “how are you even friends with this guy?” he thought it might bother you. but when you’d respond, “ken is the most important person in my life. if you have a problem with him, you can fuck off,” it made him realize just how much you truly cared about him.

to nanami, you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. even if he knew he didn’t deserve you, he would do anything for your affection.

it didn’t take long during high school for him to realize his feelings for you had shifted from simple friendship to what he could only describe as “real love.” the way his dick would get hard whenever you hugged him, the way he’d sweat with excitement, and the constant desire to kiss you — these were definitely not things a friend would want.

the more time he spent with you, the harder it became to suppress these feelings. he thought about confessing to you, just to get it off his chest, but he knew you’d reject him. someone like you would never look at a loser like him. besides, it would mean the end of your friendship, and he couldn’t risk that. so instead, he chose to endure it silently, watching you hang out with other guys and resigning himself to a life filled with pain and self-loathing.

until tonight.

he had no idea how it happened. maybe someone had slipped something into his coffee because there was no other explanation for why he was inside you right now. you were supposed to be out with that handsome guy from the university club, but apparently, you could only stand the date for an hour before coming home.

“you’re such an idiot, ken. how can you not see that i love you? every guy i meet, every guy i date—i’m looking for you in them, but none of them are you,” you yelled at him through your tears, and all he could do was stare at you in shock.

had you wanted him all along?

“i don’t understand…” he muttered.

you cupped his cheek with your hand, your tearful eyes locking onto his. the heat in his face was unbearable as he felt your fingers gently stroke his skin. you’d never touched him like this before.

“why don’t you see me as a woman, ken? i want you to touch me. i want to touch you.”

he wanted to—more than anything.

“you’re only doing this because your date didn’t go well. otherwise—”

“otherwise what, ken? you think i’m lying?” you snapped angrily.

nanami sighed deeply, his voice breaking as he said, “how could someone like you love someone like me? i’m just a loser.”

you never saw him as a loser. to you, he was the funniest, kindest, and most handsome man in the world. who wouldn’t fall for someone like him? you knew people didn’t want to get to know him because he was shy and quiet, but the real nanami was so much more than that.

you said with longing, “ken, kiss me.”

he tried to ignore how painfully hard he was as he stammered, “i can’t…”

“shut up and kiss me.” standing on your tiptoes, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned in closer. whispering again, you said, “kiss me…”

when nanami finally pressed his lips to yours, he closed his eyes. it was his first kiss, and he had no idea what to do. thankfully, you guided him, moving your lips against his, teaching him. he followed your lead, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, making you moan into his mouth as the kiss grew messy and heated.

“let’s go to your room,” you managed to whisper when your lips finally parted.

that’s when nanami started to panic. he had just had his first kiss—how was he supposed to satisfy you in bed? if something happened and you regretted it, he’d never forgive himself.

“i-i’ve never done this before,” he admitted, embarrassed.

you smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “it doesn’t matter. i just want you, ken. just kissing you is enough to make me cum. but if you don’t want to—”

before you could finish, nanami scooped you into his arms, silencing you. as he carried you to his room, he said, “of course i want to. i’ve always wanted to, angel.”

he loved calling you angel.

and that’s how it happened. now, here he was, fucking into you with uneven thrusts, his cock buried deep inside the tight heat of your pussy — something he’d dreamed about for years.

you couldn’t understand how this man hadn’t had sex before. when he was preparing you, he was like a professional. sure, his excitement made his movements a bit clumsy now, but his mouth had worshipped every inch of your pussy, giving you exactly what you needed.

“ken… you feel so good,” you moaned, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as the thickest and biggest cock you'd ever seen stretched your tight walls with audible intensity, his face buried in your neck.

“angel, this is so—so…” nanami pressed kisses to your neck, pumping into you with desperate, erratic movements.

“k-ken, i love you,” you whispered.

if this was a dream, nanami never wanted to wake up. having you like this, feeling you so deeply while you told him you loved him, it couldn’t end.

lifting his head from your neck, he straightened up, moving your legs to rest on his shoulders. gripping your thighs for support, he began thrusting faster, his hips slamming into you with a rhythm he didn’t even know he had.

“oh my god, ken—this is too much—ugh…” you could feel him in your stomach, his cock reaching places no one ever had.

“i saw this position in a porno… i always imagined fucking you like this—shit,” he confessed, his voice full of raw emotion.

“ken…” his words made you blush even harder because, for years, you’d wanted this too.

you had always wanted his thick, 8-inch cock to pound into the deepest corners of your pussy with a merciless rhythm, his sweat dripping onto your body as he claimed you completely.

“i-if i’m doing something wrong, tell me,” he said, throwing his head back with a groan. the muscles in his neck were taut, making him look unbelievably sexy. “teach me, angel, please…”

if anyone needed to be taught, it wasn’t nanami—it was you. despite his inexperience, he was giving you the best sex of your life.

“ken, if you insult yourself again—ahhh—i swear…” you gasped as he kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, your back arching off the bed. your fingers moved to your nipples, trapping them between your fingers and playing with them as you kept grinding against nanami’s cock.

“angel, i—i can’t last much longer.” your pussy was gripping him so tightly he could barely hold himself together.

still pinching your nipples, you gasped, “cum, ken.”

“fuck, i’m sorry…” he muttered.

after pumping his thick, sticky cock into your delicious pussy a few more times with quick and uneven thrusts, his grip on your thighs tightened, and he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his warm seed.

breathing heavily, he slowly lowered your legs from his shoulders to the bed and gently pulled out of you. his lips left a trail of kisses from your waist to your neck and finally to your lips. as he nuzzled his nose against yours, you closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of his woody cologne.

“you didn’t cum, did you?” he asked, regret evident in his voice.

opening your eyes, you kissed him and pulled back slightly. “you made me cum twice with your fingers and mouth, ken. trust me, i got everything i wanted.”

his cheeks flushed red. “i’m sorry, angel.”

“don’t apologize, idiot. even though you’ve never done this before, you gave me the best sex of my life. and this won’t be the last time—you’ll have plenty of chances to make me cum again.”

“do you really love me?” he asked, still unable to believe it.

“ken, if you ask me that one more time—”

“okay, okay” he said quickly, pressing a kiss to your neck before whispering, "i love you."

you looked into his bright, honey-colored eyes, placed your hands on his cheeks, and pulled him closer for a kiss. “those rumors from high school were true.”

nanami furrowed his brows. “what rumors?”

“the girls used to call you the big-dicked loser,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

nanami looked at you, utterly defeated “big-dicked loser?”

“uh-huh.”

“they talked about me?”

“ken, no matter what you wore, there was no hiding that massive thing, but thanks for giving us the view,” you said, finally unable to hold back your laughter.

“you’re welcome?” his confused response only made you laugh harder.

“i love you, big-dicked loser,” you said between laughs.

nanami didn’t respond. instead, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you under his weight.

“we’ll see who the loser is. get ready, angel, because this time, i’m gonna make your pussy squirt.”

you didn’t protest as he slid his still-hard cock back inside you, burying your face in the pillow and screaming from the sheer pleasure.

tag: @aishi-toru

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

dividers by @aquazero

[willowisdead345]

post about l4x4tive safety!!

Disclaimer: this is an educational post meant to encourage people to atleast be safe if they decide to use this type of meds, like many with 3ds do. I’m not encouraging the use of l4x4tives, but if someone will use them regardless, I’d rather educate them about safety.

L4x4tives will NOT MAKE YOU LOSE WEIGHT. They won’t. They don’t remove calories of fat or anything like that. They might make you lose weight due to the fact that you have less feces inside you, but they will not remove fat or calories or anything except waste and water. They won’t make you lose weight, so do NOT take them for that purpose. 

This is looong but necessary if this applies to you

Don’t use l4x4tives, but if you will anyways, use l4x4tives responsibly! Don’t abuse them, be safe. There are 2 main types of l4x4tives, this post will handle them separately. They are “bulk-forming” and “stimulating” and function differently

Why use them then? A diet deficient in fiber might make you constipated, that’s just the truth. And a highly restricted diet is often deficient in fiber. 3ds and constipation go hand in hand often, so using medicine to help you yk pass waste after weeks of stomach pain from not doing so is sometimes a good idea.

Natural alternatives include either dried plums/plum puree, or making sure you get enough fiber in your diet. And maybe you are lucky and manage to keep regular without anything, then definitely DON'T experiment with pharmaceuticals.

DO NOT USE ALL TYPES OF L4X4TIVES though, please read this post and try to use bulk forming l4x4tives, they are safer. They “bulk up” what is inside you and makes it easier for stuff to come out, because well… there is more to push. They are less bad for your body in the way that they don’t stimulate the muscles of your bowel, and just naturally make you use the bathroom. They don’t have the same risk of your bowel relying on them like stimulating l4x4tives (where the bowel might stop working naturally due to overreliance on stimulating l4x4tives). Google any l4x to see which “type” it is, and try to stay away from stimulating ones if you truly feel like you need to use them. 

Stimulating l4x4tives are the other category, they are things that work by stimulating the muscles of your intestines and force stuff to come out by doing that. They carry the risk of causing dependance, since they might make it impossible to pass anything without using them if your bowel gets too accustomed to them. They are recommended to be used for severe constipation, once and not eaten continuously. They are more “powerful” and often work faster, but they are also more dangerous.

Safety tips for stimulating l4x4ives:

FOLLOW DOSAGE RECOMMENDATIONS. Do NOT fcking 0d on them. The dosing recommendations are found online or in the packet. Don’t go over them. Just do not, the recommendations are there for a reason.

NOT EVERY DAY!! Every 3 days is still considered a healthy interval for bowel movements, so aim for that, and if possible without too much discomfort, maybe once a week is fine (for me personally, I aim for once a week since it’s not too uncomfortable to wait)

DON’T OVER RELY ON THEM!! Try to use bulk-forming l4x4tives, try to use natural alternatives like eating more fiber, try anything else. Stimulating l4x are not good to rely on blindly, because at some point you’ll need them and your bowel just won’t function without them.

I could link some sources but they are all in Finnish, but if there are any questions, anything at all, feel free to ask, I’ll be glad to answer! Or try doing your own research, I’d recommend making sure you know the risks of the specific one.

[kaira-diaries]

Affection

Warnings: (Fluff-shared bath) (Mentions of wound)

Pairing: (reader! x In-ho)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: In-ho finally opens up to you about his feelings.

A/N: The bathtub idea came to me and I just had to jump on it OPE enjoy WOO.

Masterlist <-

————————

Affection was a rare currency when it came to In-ho, doled out sparingly and always on his terms.

It wasn't something you demanded or even dared to request. You simply accepted the scraps he chose to offer, hoarding those fleeting moments of tenderness as though they were precious jewels. Of course, you longed for more—achingly so—but you understood: In-ho was a man of intricate layers, a fortress of complexities that guarded his emotions tightly.

Tonight was different—you felt it the moment he walked through the door. Something had happened. His usually guarded eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, emotions swimming in their depths that he hadn't yet spoken aloud. He crossed the space between you in an instant, his arms wrapping tightly around you as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was warm against your ear as he murmured soft promises, each word laced with a quiet desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

Now, the two of you were submerged in the marble bathtub, the water lapping gently against your skin as steam rose into the air, curling like whispers of smoke. He sat behind you, his broad chest a solid wall of warmth pressed against your back. The firm, reassuring weight of his arms circled your waist, holding you so close it was as though he feared even the water might come between you.

His lips brushed against your shoulder in slow, deliberate kisses, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The tenderness in his touch was almost reverent, his fingers splayed across your stomach as though grounding himself in your presence. The rhythmic sound of water dripping from the edge of the tub was the only interruption to the heavy silence, one that felt less like emptiness and more like the quiet aftermath of a storm.

You drew in a steadying breath, tilting your head slightly until your nose brushed against his. The intimate gesture made his lashes lower, his eyes mere shadows in the dim light. "What happened?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the gentle slosh of the water.

His response came not in words at first, but in the press of his lips against yours—brief, soft, and almost evasive. "I don't know what you're talking about," he murmured, his voice low and even, though his intense gaze betrayed him. Those dark eyes of his, so full of depth and unspoken emotion, always had a way of undoing you. You felt your resolve waver as warmth spread low in your belly, a heat that wasn't from the water. Your eyes darted away, breaking the spell, and you exhaled slowly, your chest rising and falling as you reached for the soap sitting just beyond your shoulder. "Your turn," you murmured, your tone lighter as you wrestled his arms away from your waist. His grip was firm, reluctant to release you, but you managed to turn in his lap until you were facing him, your knees brushing against his in the shallow water.

Lathering the soap in your palms, you pressed them to his chest, the heat of his skin seeping into your fingers. The scent of the soap, fresh and clean with a hint of sandalwood, mingled with the faint trace of him that always lingered. Your hands glided over the firm lines of his chest, following the curve of his collarbone and the definition of his muscles. When your fingers brushed the raised, jagged line of a scar—a gunshot wound from a year ago—you froze for a moment, your lips pressing into a thin line. Your thumb traced the rough edges instinctively, the memory of that night flashing vividly in your mind. The panic, the blood, the fear that had gripped you like a vice—it was all as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

You grunted softly, a sound that was half frustration, half pain. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, but you shook your head and continued to rub the soap into his skin. If he noticed the way your hands trembled for a split second, he didn't say anything. Instead, he let you work, his gaze steady on you, grounding you in the present even as your mind lingered in the past.

A steady hand came to rest on your cheek, the warmth of his touch anchoring you in the moment. Your movements stilled as your eyes lifted to meet his, searching his face for clues to the turmoil you sensed brewing beneath the surface. His expression was a strange mix of relief and something darker—something you couldn't quite place.

"The players rebelled," he said at last, his voice low and weighted.

Your heart lurched in your chest, skipping a beat as the words sank in. "What?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

Before you could say more, he pulled you forward, enveloping you in his arms as though shielding you from an invisible threat. Your cheek pressed against the firm plane of his chest, his heartbeat steady but faster than usual, betraying the tension he carried. One of his hands slid up to tangle gently in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as though grounding himself in your presence.

"I took care of it," he murmured, his lips brushing against the crown of your head as he spoke. "But… they were just a corridor away from our quarters. From you."

Your stomach twisted at the thought, a chill running down your spine despite the heat of the bathwater. The idea of danger coming so close, of him having to stand between you and whatever chaos had erupted, made your breath snag.

His grip on you tightened, "I know I've never said it outright, and maybe I've been too stubborn to show it—but you mean more to me than anything else. More than I ever thought someone could."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with sincerity, and your chest tightened at the rawness of his admission. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound the gentle ripple of water around you.

Slowly, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the sharp planes of his cheekbones. His eyes, usually so guarded, were open now, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

"You don't have to say anything else," you murmured softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I already know. I've always known."

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but you weren't done. You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just a breath away from his as you whispered, "And for what it's worth…I feel the same. I'd follow you anywhere, through anything. You've always been it for me."

His lips parted as if to respond, but you didn't let him. Closing the small distance, you kissed him, slow and deep, your fingers sliding into his hair as his arms tightened around you. It wasn't just a kiss—it was a promise, a shared understanding that needed no more words.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours, he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. "You make everything worth it," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"And you," you replied with a tender smile, brushing your thumb along his cheek, "are my home."

[minaharkerdailymirror]

Mina did not feel better when she woke. Instead what she felt was exhaustion followed by different waves of resentment and then nothing. She didn't go out of her way to comfort Daniel like she normally did. She didn't really talk to him at all other than let thim cuddle up to her or making small talk.

She was grateful the last leg of the cruise when Lestat came on board. She handed him the key to her room, took his from him and went back to the bar to drink.

Louis was there, "hi." Jesus Christ.

"Get Armand here and it's a vampire jamboree," she muttered.

He gave her an amused look and put his card down, 'Get the lady what she wants."

"I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity," he said, "I'm worried about you."

Mina nearly bit his head off but she was too tired, and really he had always been far more pleasant to her than she'd been to him. She just could never forgive him for all those men he'd killed in San Francisco.

"Get me whiskey," she said.

He watched her, "You're angry."

"I'm always angry."

"This is different."

She wanted to change the subject, "Daniel and Lestat are in the cabin, I can give you the number if you want."

"I'm not here for Daniel, I'm here for you."

"Oh, a double team is it?" she asked. Lestat gets one, Louis looks after the other.

He seemed amused, "Something like that."

"You two are nowhere near ready enough to be marriage councilors."

He broke into a grin and then laughed, "That is true, but when Daniel's in his spiral, you tend to get ignored. Sometimes thats your own doing, other times it isn't. We've been doing this dance for years now and yet you're the one holding off on being as close as you could be to the rest of us."

Mina was quiet, looked away a bit. What the hell, it was Louis. It wasn't like she was talking to someone outside their family. And it CERTAINLY wasn't like he was looking for anything intimate with her in exchange for talking, "My pain becomes his pain and I have to stifle it because it's suddenly his pain. I had a breakdown working through these memoirs I'm writing just for me and I had to comfort HIM because I was worried what HE would do. I tell him I need to get away, I need him with me. He's suddenly worried about Lestat. Perhaps i'm not a person to him, perhaps I'm just an addiction he has enough of so he focuses on the drug he doesn't have in front of him.'

"You know that's not true, You know he loves you."

Mina knew he was right. She knew Daniel was a complicated person. Very flawed, but she couldn't help but be angry and hurt by his behavior, "HE will give me the big wet eyes, say he's a piece of shit. And then where does my anger go then? It just sits there. I cannot talk to him like I want."

"Then talk to me," Louis said.

MIna hesitated....just for a moment...and then she just pushed herself through and talked to him. Working out her feelings in the past, how she felt about processing them now and the conflicting confusing feelings she had in the present as she dealt with everything around her.

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER EIGHT

08 : PASTRIES

CHPT. SUM. : Alpahard comes for a visit and you help the Belbys run their shop while Damocles focuses on the wolfsbane potion. Everything appears to be going as planned.

LENGTH : 9.7k

TAGS : OG Walburga is a scheming bitch ; Orion is an absent and neglectful father ; Alphard is a good uncle who loves his nephews ; Reader just girl bossing it ; Ruth and Damocles are couple goals ; Reggie finally being happy and very baby

CONTENT WARNING : talks of divorce

A/N : I'm posting this now to give it a week before I post the 9th chapter on February 1st -- you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little late on that update though because I'm currently out of commission from the most horrible cold/flu I've ever had (╥﹏╥) -- please send your thoughts and prayers because I haven't had a peaceful night's sleep the last two days and I swear this impromptu post is also a part of the delirium I'm experiencing

← PREV. 07 : INVESTIGATIONS | SERIES M.LIST

14th September 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

Walburga throws a fit, trapped in the abyss of your mind. She’s furious, seething from your menacing intrusions upon her life and secrets. It was frustrating and annoying beyond belief! The intricate web she had just begun to create was unravelling before her very eyes, and she could do nothing but watch! She had meant to secure a different future with her forming web; impervious to the imminent cycle of life she had witnessed that fateful day months ago. She had made one fatal mistake in all of her meticulous planning and preparation, labouring over an ancient ritual that would guarantee full obedience from her two boys. And, rather than force her mind and ideals over the thoughts and actions of her two sons before their fates began to set permanently, she was being made to fall under the thoughts and actions of another individual, you.

Being forced to watch you take over her shoes has been Walburga’s own personal hell. It’s far more painful knowing that she has no say over what you do. She’s limited to only watching, watching and agonising over her perfect plans being torn to shreds. The love and kindness you were showing her sons was unbecoming, going completely against her values on the way a mother should parent. It’s clear that you know nothing about how to raise two young boys born into the most ancient and noble house.

Walburga’s resentment grows and grows by the day. As a prisoner forced to share her identity and existence with someone who goes against her beliefs, it is unbelievably torturous. She screams ‘NO!’ and ‘STOP!’ at every offending action you take, all of which seem to be the exact opposite of her true self. Openly showing affection? Her sons will only grow clingy and burdensome. Being open to conversations? Growing boys should only speak when spoken to and not dare question the things being told to them for their own good. Cooking without magic? (Cooking at all!) There’s a house elf to fulfil that role. Thinking about your foreign behaviour has anger quickly bubbling up from her stomach. You’re so foolish!

But there was hope…

After every major fainting spell Walburga has induced, your unconscious body has left your thoughts and mind completely silent and open to her reclaim. Dwelling in the dark depths when all is silent, Walburga can feel a ticklish sensation from afar. And it only grows ever palpable after every major blackout. A wicked smirk touches her lips as she reaches forward and feels the wisps of connection between the floating space she was suspended in and the tangibility of the physical world.

One powerful, familiar thought moves her fingers a centimetre. It was small but a big step forward. The solid material she registers at the edges of her nerves -–the feeling of bedsheets atop a solid mattress— was alien in its distance and bizarre for its unfamiliar yet known sensation. It was like returning to something and your brain had yet to recognise the perception as one that was formally commonplace.

However, just as Walburga was wrapping her mind around that singular, grounding feeling, it was suddenly ripped away. Once again, she was surrounded by an empty coldness, suspended in an unfeeling space. Despite the frustration that quickly mounted inside her, it was accompanied by a resolve that plastered itself solidly in her chest, a determination to bide her time and remain patient. She will wreck terror and havoc when times are right and after she’s deteriorated your hold, she’ll regain full control once more.

It will only be a matter of time…

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You wake up to a familiar scene and sigh sadly. The ringing in your head is a powerful one, an annoyance that makes the sun rays falling through the gaps of the curtains feel like a knife to your eyes. Reaching for your wand, a silent swish fills the gaps, shutting away the sun and reducing the sting in your eyes to something you can easily blink away. The curtains act like a filter for the light outside, partially bringing a soft, green radiance into the room.

At the sight of your youngest curled up against you once again, you lean down and affectionately kiss his crown, “I’m sorry, little love,” although you kept your voice to a quiet whisper, it’s enough to raise Regulus from the warm abyss of slumber. Your little prince sits up and rubs his eyes as you admire his adorable image.

“Good morning, my darling,” you comb his hair back from his tired eyes and lean close with a lowered, soft voice; an intimate moment between mother and son, “did I worry you again?” Regulus nods silently and launches himself into your arms as you apologise over and over.

The night before, Kreacher had been open about another blackout you’d experienced. And, although Regulus was grateful, he was anxious all night long. It never fails to make his heart jump to his throat. He remembers your still—far too still—body laying in bed, in a room entirely separate from his father’s. You look at peace but it wasn’t a comfort; you didn’t appear to simply be asleep, rather, you looked more deathly… he dreads to even think back on such thoughts. He’s only comforted by the sound of your steady heartbeat and soft breaths so he wastes no time in reaching for his blanket and sleeping beside you, close enough to hear the rhythm of your heart and the melody of your breathing.

“A-are you feeling sick?” that wasn’t the real question he wanted to ask, you can see the truth in his pleading, sweet eyes. Are you afflicted by some sort of incurable disease that cannot be stopped?

Regulus closes his eyes to savour the kiss you press into his forehead, “I’m perfectly healthy, my little love. Please don’t worry too much,” you pull away to cup his face tenderly in your hands and thumb over the softness of his cheeks.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” you nuzzle his nose with your own and the tense, fretful atmosphere is washed away by your shared giggles.

Kreacher soon appears with a tray of breakfast and another phial of magenta liquid. You eye the offending potion for a hard second but before you can groan, Kreacher is already lecturing you.

“Mistress must drink! Must must must!” he insists with beseeching eyes, urging the phial into your hands.

“Let me, at least, have some breakfast first, Kreacher,” you try to set aside the phial and reach for the breakfast tray instead while Regulus suppresses a laugh at the scene. He couldn’t believe his mother felt the same way about healing potions as wizarding children and newly appointed witches and wizards did. It was amusing to see a reflection of childishness in his mother, who had always been so cold and unfeeling.

“No!” Kreacher pulls the breakfast tray away from you, insistent on having you drink the potion before any food, “Potion first, Mistress!”

“FILTHY ELF! DISOBEYING COMMANDS! I TAUGHT HIM BETTER THAN THIS– LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY SERVANT!” Walburga’s shriek makes you wince, and Kreacher takes it as the sign to draw back and apologise for his loudness while Regulus balances comforting you and the spiralling house elf.

“Kreacher is deeply sorry, Mistress…” Kreacher suppresses his guilty thoughts in favour of his mistress’ well-being. Going into another one of his many anxious episodes won’t be helpful to you. “Please drink,” he cups his hands around your own to fold over the phial once more. His large, watery eyes, silently plead for you and lift in relief when you finally agree and down its disgusting contents.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” you smile at the elf who finally sets the breakfast tray on your lap above the covers.

“Mistress is w-w-welcome…” he stretches out the syllables of the unfamiliar word, appearing unsure over its usage but his tense shoulders immediately sag in relief as soon as he sees yours and Regulus’ kind smiles. You had been urging him to use the word for quite some time and are happy to see that he was finally confident enough to begin trying it. Hopefully, after this first try, he’ll be more confident in using it in the future. Sending you a thankful smile, Kreacher handles the empty phial and disappears after wishing you and his young master Regulus a good morning.

“Kreacher looks happy,” Regulus comments absentmindedly before taking a bite of toast. Once again, the two of you are sharing breakfast in bed and you lovingly wipe away stray crumbs from the corners of his smiling lips, “I like him even more when he’s like this!”

Melting from his sweet words and the brightness in his eyes, you nod in agreement, “Me too,”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Finally out of bed and roaming the house, you notice Orion’s missing jacket from the hallway coat rack and call for Kreacher.

“Master Orion asked for his healing potion, Mistress,” Kreacher shuffles his feet and wrings the hem of his shabby clothing between his hands. It appears that he too is uncomfortable with Orion’s reappearance, although, you suppose your husband had suffered long enough. Calculating the time in your head, you resist the urge to sigh sadly. Three days. The poor fool. You hoped he would have lasted longer than that but you suppose it was fun to see him suffer while it lasted. It was karma working its best under the hand of a spiteful wife.

“I see…” you patiently search for the house elf’s eyes before asking the important question, ”Did he say ‘please’?”

After a pause, Kreacher finally nods, “Eventually, yes, Mistress,” Kreacher looks unsure, probably remembering the tense exchange he had with the patriarch, however, it’s soon swept away by your smile and gentle pat against his bald and wrinkled head.

“Well done, Kreacher,” the house elf’s ears wiggle in glee and you see a shy smile creeping up from under his long nose.

18th September 1971 | Muggle London

“You’re excited,” you giggle at the sight of your youngest practically skipping along beside you.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Uncle Alphard. Sirius and I always love it when he comes over,” you smile at his response, happy to know that there was an adult figure he and Sirius felt safe around; Walburga and Orion were definitely not a safe place for themdespite being their parents. “I’m happy you two aren’t fighting anymore,” although Regulus beams up at you, you couldn’t muster an equally bright smile in return. What did that mean? You were positive that Alphard only got into a serious fight with Walburga when he supported Sirius running away at 16. Perhaps this was a lead-up to that?

“Me too, dear…” For the moment, you keep your questions to yourself. The books and movies kept the relationship between the Black family rather vague so you’ll pick up the clues along the way. For now, it’s better to focus on your darling son and the precious memories you’ll make despite the modest outing to the French bakery. “What do you think we should have for afternoon tea with your uncle? Hm? I’m thinking of English breakfast,”

“That sounds great, mother!”

“And for snacks? What would you like to have on the menu?”

“Butter scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam,”

“Of course, a classic. Anything else?”

“Chouquettes, Macarons, Eclairs, Madeleines, Mille Feuille, Profiteroles!” all French baked goods.

“Goodness,” you exaggerate your reaction and smile at the light giggles it draws from Regulus, “All of our teeth will be falling out by the end. How about we include some finger sandwiches too? We can buy fresh bread and assemble them at home,”

“No crusts?” Regulus asks without hesitation and your heart warms; you love knowing he feels safe and secure enough with you to speak freely.

“It’s the only time crusts are not allowed,” you wink and silently awe at how his beaming smile seems to get even wider. Many depictions of Regulus made him a stoic and cold character but seeing his bright disposition and childish mannerisms was a delight. You prefer him like this. And you want to keep him this way forever, such a motherly sentiment. All you have to do is make sure he doesn't feel forced to abide by the toxic pureblood family rules and beliefs. Instead, you will gently nurture his interests, gently guide him whenever he feels lost and make sure he always feels supported. And you will do the same for Sirius.

Happy and content, the two of you walk into a lovely French bakery with high spirits. The warm atmosphere and welcoming fragrance of freshly baked goods leave you both enraptured and salivating at the mouth – it was hard to resist not getting a bit of everything. Together, you pick out the best-looking pastries to box up before selecting a loaf to be pre-cut and packaged for your convenience. The bakery staff were very helpful and were more than happy to oblige with every request. They also lovingly cooed over Regulus, who partially hid behind your long skirt, though this only seemed to make them all the more awed by him. His softly spoken gratitude was what had pushed them over the edge, and you could only laugh as they offered an extra macaron for him. Regulus was a very sweet boy and looked very much like a prince, so you didn’t blame them for their swooning.

“They liked me, Mother,” Regulus shyly addresses as you make your way home. He holds the wrapped-up, pre-cut loaf under one arm as his other holds onto your spare. As a gentleman, he insisted on carrying both the boxed pastries and loaf but you argued against it, insisting on wanting to hold his hand; the equally shared burden was your compromise. You think it was the best option, really — the best of both worlds.

“As they should, my baby has all the irresistible charms,” your open praise makes him shy into the folds of your skirt once more and you suppress an adoring coo.

“You really think so, Mother?”

“I know so, little love. I’m confident in this for your brother too,” you fake an exasperated sigh, “I’m going to have my hands full in the future. You two are going to be such heartbreakers, I’ll have girls constantly knocking on my door with tears in their eyes,”

Regulus giggles as he looks up from your waist, eyes sparkling from your playful antics, “I won’t do that to you Mother, I promise,”

“But it’s not about intention, you see,” you eye him with a kind smile, “when someone falls in love, they fall in love, there’s no saying ‘no’ to it. And with two very handsome, exceptional sons, well…” you let his thoughts silently complete the rest of your sentence and resist reacting to the adorable pout that forms on his lips.

“I’m very sorry, in advance, Mother,” his sincerity draws out a laugh but you’re filled with pride, regardless. Honesty is a great trait to have.

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you, darling,”

In anticipation of Alphard’s arrival, you and Regulus help Kreacher make finger sandwiches and brew the tea. The closer the time ticks to two in the afternoon, you ask Regulus to help you prep the tiered dish rack while Kreacher dresses the teapot with a tea cosy. By the time Alphard arrives via floo network, the reception room is already well prepared, clean and proudly displaying a delicious tea spread.

“Uncle Alphard!” Regulus cheers and launches himself at the square-jawed man who steps out of the green blaze, exiting your fireplace. He is smartly dressed in a black three-piece suit and polished oxford shoes. His hair is gelled back in a flattering style of frame for his handsome face — straight nose, shapely lips, piercing eyes and level brows. It makes you wonder if he was dressed in his work attire or not. Tea should be a comfortable occasion, especially when hosted by family, for family. What did he even work as?... You hardly know anything about the man, so you have to keep yourself alert to any potential hiccups you may accidentally let slip. You’re supposed to be his elder sister, after all, you should know more about him than his name.

“Good afternoon, Regulus,” Alphard grins at his nephew after visibly shaking off his shock. Never before had he seen his youngest nephew so high-spirited. Their greetings were also usually much more formal than this, distant and dispassionate. This type of behaviour was strongly discouraged by his sister, so the sudden change was rather suspicious. Alphard, however, wanted to believe in Regulus’ sincerity for the sake of such a sweet boy. He instinctively looks around for Sirius but remembers all too quickly that the eleven-year-old was in Hogwarts for his first year, hence the primary topic of his arrival.

“Welcome, younger brother,” you smile warmly at him, ignoring the look of surprise that he doesn’t attempt to cover up. At least he manages to dip his head in a hesitant nod of acknowledgement, “Let's head to the reception then shall we? Orion won’t be joining us, I’m afraid,” you don’t see it but Alphard releases a muted sigh of relief, easily veiling his real emotions by smiling warmly at Regulus, who walks close beside him.

All furniture that occupies the reception room stylistically matches one another. They’re all made of dark walnut wood, embellished with elegant silver accents and dark green leather. The central table has a dark leather sofa on one side and two grandfather chairs with swirling arms on the other. There’s a decorative fireplace on one side of the room with a drab oil painting hanging above the mantle and the only light source is from the open window, occupying the far right wall upon entering.

“Can I sit next to Uncle, Mother?” Regulus politely asks, not wanting to separate from his uncle but also not wanting to make you feel excluded.

“You can sit wherever you wish, little love,” you smile softly, sitting in an armchair and watching as Regulus eagerly pulls Alphard to sit on the sofa with him. Your youngest is already chatting his uncle’s ear off about the snacks featured on the tiered dish rack. This then led him to talk about your morning visit to the bakery, where he had charmed the staff to offer an extra macaron.

They ‘really liked him’ and now his ‘mother is very worried’, why? Because he’ll ‘become a heartbreaker one day’. Alphard listened intently, still shocked but eager to listen to his nephew who he had never seen so bright and secure. Every few seconds, however, Alphard would look towards you for signs of any rising anger or frustration, compounding into an explosive outburst. He was familiar with that. He was familiar with your disapproval. However, there wasn’t a single trace of any negative emotion on your countenance. Rather, your eyes were full of affection and warmth, directed at Regulus while sipping your tea, silently listening to their exchange. Never before had he seen his eldest sister look so… content.

Pausing for breath, Regulus finally remembers the occasion and flushes adorably. His face is much rounder, healthier looking, Alphard notices and is shocked when you allow him to have a small plate to pile on his share of the delicious selection of goodies on the tiered dish. The majority of which were rather sweet to taste. He didn’t know his sister to be one who encouraged the regular consumption of sugar because you would only allow it for special occasions such as Yule and birthdays. Not wanting to startle his nephew, however, Alphard bites his tongue and distracts his racing thoughts by pouring his tea.

“Milk and sugar?” Alphard asks, bewildered at the options freely offered on the coffee table. You had long forbidden milk and sugar to be part of afternoon tea after finding how his tastes had affected your two sons’ preferences.

“Of course,” you voice as if he had been crazy to question you, “everyone is free to make their tea however they wish,”

Alphard follows Regulus’ lead and freely makes his tea… just the way he likes it. With lots of sugar and lots of milk. If you were going to test him, he was going to test you right back and readily anticipate your outward, shrieking protests. However, there were no shrill screeches or ear-splitting lectures over how muted, milky and sugary he liked to have his tea. Rather, Alphard, heard you giggle. His older sister. Giggling? The world must be coming to a terrifying end! Slack-jawed he looks up and stares wide-eyed at your cheerful smile.

“I see you and Regulus have similar preferences in tea,” Alphard shares a sheepish look with his nephew, “How refreshing. It makes me wonder how good it must taste for the both of you to enjoy tea the way you do,” another giggle.

Regulus happily offers his cup, “You can try some of mine if you want, Mother,” Smiling at his nephew’s kindness, Alphard is even more awed by your drastic change in behaviour.

“That’s very sweet of you, little love, thank you. But, how’s about I finish my cup first and I’ll see about having a sip of yours if you have any left?”

“Alright!”

The happy atmosphere wasn’t something Alphard was used to, especially not from his older sister. However, he was grateful for his nephew’s happy disposition. His sister’s strict education and harsh manner of child-rearing left plenty of room for worry but, no matter what seems to have changed, provided that his nephews stay happy and safe, Alphard would happily keep his many questions to himself. Perhaps this was maternal instincts finally taking over. He dare not interrupt by drawing attention to it.

When there’s a lull in the conversation and everyone takes a sip of their tea or a bite of their selected treat, you begin to investigate the relationship between the original Walburga and Alphard. You weren’t impervious to Alphard’s shocked expressions in your periphery; admittedly, it was admirable of him not to make a scene out of his staggering surprise at your ‘odd’ behaviour. It’s fair for him to believe you’re still his original, bigoted sister. You can only speculate that he wasn’t drawing attention for Regulus’ sake and you admire him for that.

“Alphard,” he hums in acknowledgement, setting down his cup and reaching for a madeleine, “how is your work?” your question makes him visibly freeze up but the moment he realises Regulus is watching, he smoothly eases back into normal, less robotic motions.

“It’s been well,” you can tell he wants to leave it at that, satisfied to leave the topic there. However, you were not and kept silent, quietly pushing him into answering further, “...the office has been operating normally. My client is dealing with a relatively common case of discrimination based on pregnancy at the workplace,” he’s a solicitor then. And practising mostly in employment law, it seems. “And before you say anything about women needing to better plan their pregnancies and how a woman needs to be at home with her husband rather than working, I want to remind you of the company,” his voice is firm and he’s plainly referring to Regulus being present, therefore dubbing the subject matter sensitive. However, his insinuations on the original Walburga’s dogmatist beliefs make you visibly disgusted and it pulls on his interest. Never had he seen his sister look so abhorrent to the views he knew she supported.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. I appreciate that you’re doing good work for the people who need it—”

“Even for a half Veela?”

“Everyone deserves to be fairly represented in a court of law, dear brother. And please don’t interrupt me again, Regulus should find quality, male influence in his uncle, please demonstrate the appropriate, good manners for him,” Alphard is surprised by your sharp eyes and firm demand. You had always been demanding but never to this degree, never to such a reasonable degree, and never without raising your voice. Yet, your voice has remained level, only adjusting for firmness.

How odd… Alphard doesn’t know whether to laugh mockingly at your hypocrisy or dare to feel hope for the positive change he’s beginning to see in his sister.

“...I apologise,” Alphard nods to you before turning to Regulus, “I didn’t set a good example Reg, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay Uncle,” Regulus beams up at him, happy to be referred to by the affectionate nickname his uncle hadn’t been able to call him in many months.

“Why not ‘Reggie’?”

“I’m sorry?” Alphard looks genuinely perplexed by the change in behaviour. You had always strongly reprimanded him for daring to call your sons by any affectionate nicknames as you wanted your boys to stay faithful to their full birth name — it was a source of pride, after all. To be named after the stars and be in the most ancient and noble house, their names were sacred and it was a mockery to shorten despite it being done with affection. But now you were supporting it?

“‘Reggie’ is a cuter nickname,”

“Reg is good— cute enough, it’s short and sweet,”

“But Reggie is cuter than Reg,”

“Both are cute,”

“...Reggie is cuter, though,”

“Let’s agree to disagree. I will keep calling him Reg and you call him Reggie,” the boy in question was a healthy shade of red now. For a lighthearted argument to centre around him like this wasn’t what he anticipated happening but he was happy to see his mother and uncle getting along harmoniously. Not once have they raised their voices or forced the other to leave the room in a huff. This was nice… Sirius would have really liked this. Maybe Regulus should send another letter, even if his brother has yet to reply to his previous one.

“What nickname do you call Sirius?” you ask, voice soft and eager to continue the topic of your sons. This was another new side Alphard was seeing to you, his usually cold and unfeeling sister had never been one to perpetuate gossip surrounding her sons, and yet, now you were so eager to— and on a topic that is so innocuous and unproductive. But it was a good change, one that he’s sure will be a good influence on his beloved nephews.

“Siri,”

“That’s perfect,” you smile into the lip of your teacup and sip, “we can agree on that front,” Alphard actually manages to chuckle and nod along. He had prepared himself for a harsh and loud argument, not this but he dare not complain; this was a very pleasant surprise. He even dares to feel confident in re-addressing a long taboo topic.

“...You feel I do good work as an employment lawyer?” he begins, hesitant, his hands beginning to shake. The suddenly nervous man opts to set his cup down and wipe the sweat from his hands along his trouser-covered thighs.

“Of course,” you wonder where the conversation is going.

“And what of my extracurriculars too?” he avoids your eyes and your mind flashes with a memory of a young Alphard nervously standing before his elder sister, his small hands curled into fists on his knee-length shorts. This man is your younger brother now. However, you can’t help but think that Walburga cared deeply for him despite their strained relationship, judging from the fond memory that had flashed behind your blinking eyelids. In the depths of your mind, you imagine she still likens him to his much younger, toddler self, an endearing but common trait in an older sister.

“Extracurriculars?”

“My voluntary work with the less fortunate, typically with other magical beings,”

You frown when you finally realise what had caused the strain between brother and sister. Walburga had belittled and strongly protested against a man who only did good. A man of justice. This was the man who favoured Sirius in the original timeline because they shared the same sense of justice and the need to rebel against their bigoted family.

“I’m sorry Alphard,” you look into his eyes with such sincerity that Alphard feels as though he could cry. He had grown up admiring his sister but the instant he had begun to think for himself and see the unfairness of her skewed views, he swears he had felt his first ever heartbreak. His sister, who he had loved and admired so much, who he thought of as an amazing person was not who he thought she was and the revelation was earth-shattering. It broke his heart all the more when he saw his younger brother Cygnus follow in her footsteps. “I’m sorry for all the past unsavoury comments I said to you about your profession, and on what you have chosen to do with your life and beliefs. I was wrong, the way I thought of the world was wrong. I’m truly sorry for who I was before. And I want to assure you that I am no longer that person. I think what you’re doing is truly wonderful and this world needs more people like you in it. My boys need a good uncle like you to help raise them with good values and sense for the world,”

Alphard looks at Regulus, eyes wide with shock, his mind reeling and needing something to ground him, to confirm that the shock he was feeling was reasonable, but to hope for the best and to trust in his sister’s words again was feeling too much at that moment. All he needed was Regulus’ reassuring smile, and that was exactly what his young nephew faced him with, as if to say ‘It’s alright uncle, you can rest assured now,’.

“Why….” Alphard slowly turns his attention back to you, “why did you change your mind?”

You smile to yourself, “For my sons, of course. They deserve the world, the least I can do is be a good mother to them,

“You’re the best mother in the world!” Regulus protests as your eyes humbly close.

“Let’s not lie to ourselves and completely forget what has happened. I have hurt many people with the way I used to act, for believing in the things I used to believe. What’s worse is that I have hurt those most dear to me and those who I should have taken better care of… I’m very sorry Alphard, I don’t think I’ll be able to express how truly apologetic I am. It wasn’t right of me to hurt you that way,”

Blinking back tears, Alphard musters a crooked smile, his voice slightly shaky but his heart light and chest warm, “Apology accepted, dear sister,”

“You said you wanted to talk about something important, little brother?” you wanted to move on from the topic, but Alphard no longer knew if he had the right to express his worry. After witnessing your change in demeanour first-hand, the weight on his shoulders was finally lifted, and his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“...after the sorting ceremony, I was worried about Sirius and Regulus – they are my nephews, after all. I wasn’t confident in their safe treatment at home,” Regulus looks to his uncle with an appreciative smile, earning an affectionate ruffle of his hair.

Smiling softly, you take his implicit criticism with grace. It wasn’t even your doing but you move forward with it anyway, “thank you for worrying about them but, as I said, I am a changed woman,”

Alphard smiles into his teacup and hums in contentment, “I can see that… I’m glad – you’re also no longer against my profession and my extracurriculars. The moment you accepted my request to come over for tea, I was somewhat relieved but getting to see your change myself was even more of a relief,”

“I’m sorry again, for the past. I don’t know what on earth was the matter with me,” your slight jab at the original Walburga has the witch throwing a muted tantrum in the back of your mind. It’s quite hard to resist smiling wickedly at how easy it is to rile her up.

“No matter…the past is in the past,” Regulus nods and readily agrees.

“I’m really happy Sirius got into Gryffindor. In his letters, he says how happy and at home he feels there,” Regulus’ eyes shine with such pride, it was easy to smile with him. Alphard is comforted by the thought of his eldest nephew having a good start away from home and, atop that, being supported by his mother and brother. He holds no hope for Orion however, many of those in the family have heard of his inappropriate behaviour at Hogwarts. It was unbecoming from the patriarch of the most ancient and noble house. That was why many assumed why he had not made any public appearances at the Wizengamot for a few days, using sickness as an excuse in his letters to the office.

“Which Hogwarts house would you like to join, Reg?” Alphard asks, curious. Judging from your displays of changed temperament and child-rearing, he assumes and hopes his youngest nephew no longer admires the idea of going to Slytherin as he’s known his sister and Orion to have ceaselessly enforced onto the two.

Growing shy, Regulus looks to his lap and picks at his fingernails nervously, “I don’t know… as long as I’m happy and feel at home, that’s all that matters, right, Mother?” Regulus looks to you for assurance and smiles when you nod with fondness in your eyes. A slight tension leaves Regulus’ small shoulders immediately and he settles back into the sofa with a silent sigh of repose, Alphard following closely behind his nephew. What a relief.

The interactions and conversations with you have been quite a shock but in the most pleasant sense. Alphard no longer felt his fingers tensing at the thought of writing a letter to his eldest nephew. They had already exchanged some letters and Alphard was concerned that the assurance within Sirius’ written words was nothing but something to cover up the tensions at home from his sorting ceremony. What a relief to know that it was all true. Sirius did feel happy, he did feel supported and he did miss home. If Alphard’s own mother acted the way you did, with soft affection, fond eyes and a warm touch, he would miss home too.

Light conversation and the peaceful atmosphere continued until Regulus had to do his scheduled piano practice. Regulus politely excused himself while Alphard stared in wide-eyed confusion and awe as another miracle played out before him: you showing open affection for your son by kissing his forehead in front of company before he promptly left for his piano. A silence draws out as you wait for the distant sounds of piano playing to continue your conversation. This time, however, you aim to finally put your central plan into action, one that you were finally seeing the answers to when Alphard revealed his profession.

“What do you specialise in as a solicitor again?” you begin.

“Employment law, sometimes corporate and civil law too,” Alphard states nonchalantly, closely examining your face, his heart beating faster at the implications of your lack of a strong reaction. He supported the change in you but you can tell that he has yet to fully believe in the dream world that was playing out before him.

At the sudden look of worry on your features, Alphard leans forward with concern, “What’s wrong?"

Sighing heavily, you set down your teacup and lean back, "Do you know anyone working in Family law?”

“Naturally…” he answers, his silence carrying a question as he stares at you with a raised brow.

“I want a marital separation from Orion… and I want to take the kids – it’s not safe for them here with him around,”

Alphard nods and immediately begins to hatch a plan. It was a natural mode of work he had refined throughout his years as a solicitor, “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave…and I think I may know of someone who you can talk to. They’re a half-blood specialising in family law, who actively pushes for similar laws being passed for muggles to be transitioned into the wizarding world,”

That sounded like the perfect lawyer for you, “I would really appreciate that Al, thank you,” you say the nickname without thinking and are ready to rush out an apology but stop in surprise when you see the warm smile on Alphard’s face.

“You haven’t called me Al in years… you must really want to leave your husband,” he teases, trying to distract from his choked-up voice and tear-filled eyes. You laugh airily and nod as he joins, the happy atmosphere contagious between you. This was the type of relationship Alphard had always wanted with his sister. It was a shame that it only came about now when you’re actively experiencing rough times at home with Orion.

Before leaving, Alphard goes to Regulus, momentarily interrupting his piano practice to say goodbye. His youngest nephew insists on escorting him to the fireplace with you to properly wave him off and he doesn’t protest. That was the first time Regulus had ever seen his mother and uncle wave goodbye happily, sharing a warm smile and promising to see each other again soon.

This would definitely be worth writing another letter to Sirius.

6th October 1971 | Belby’s Potions and Ingredients

“Thank you again for helping out my husband and me,” Ruth smiles softly at you, setting aside her embroidery momentarily, not wanting to draw too much attention to her weak, shaking hands.

“It’s not a problem at all,” you look over to where Regulus’ legs were sticking out from where he sat examining some bottled potions, unable to help your smile as you and Ruth sat behind the counter together, “I’m only sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I’m afraid I can’t trust Regulus to be home alone even with his tutor Peony as a deterrent,” Ruth’s brows furrow at the implication of your words and reaches for your hand as a silent comfort. It isn’t the right time to pry into your home life, Regulus was such a happy child and she knows it’s all because of you; you’re doing your best to protect him as a mother should and that was good enough to you it seemed. In the meantime, she’s satisfied with offering a quiet consolation.

“You’re doing more than enough,” the two of you share a small, knowing smile and you thank the gods for Ruth’s kind and gentle disposition. It’s been rather lonely despite you having the best sons to look after. You’ve often found yourself aching for a friendship and you’re confident you’ve found one in Ruth.

“Thank you, Ruth,”The shop bell rings as a customer strolls in and greets you at the counter, “Good afternoon, do you happen to have any dried nettles?” you greet the man kindly and readily offer your help.

“You can find them in the second aisle down and can have your pick between whole leaves or the powdered sort,” you helpfully offer your guidance while Ruth returns to her embroidery.

The man thinks to himself for a moment, “Which would be more effective for umm…curing boils?” he looks rather bashful at the confession but you provide no judgment. Thinking for a moment and giving Damocles’ simplified shop notes a look through, you finally give the anxious man his answer.

“Both are equally effective. Only the crushed nettles mean for a quicker brewing time as they will turn the potion green much quicker,” the man nods along to your suggestions, eyes slightly shifty, probably eager to brew his boil curing potion at home, “Or you can purchase the potion itself, and save yourself the trouble,” a relieved laugh escapes the man.

“I’ll go for that then!”

“You’ll find the potion on the back wall, it should be blue,” he nods eagerly and thanks you before rushing to the back wall of the shop.

“Goodness, you’re a natural potions shopkeeper,” Ruth giggles beside you, her eyes tired but full of life.

“Why thank you, madam,” you bow at the waist exaggeratedly and grin, “I’ve actually been reading up on some potion books so that I can be of some help for Damocles,” Ruth tucks her chin in and bashfully avoids your eyes.

“It’s so very kind of you to help someone like me,”

“None of that,” you tut and hold her hand in the same comforting way she had held yours mere moments ago, “You are not allowed to refer to yourself in such a way, you hear?” Ruth is hesitant but nods anyway. You guess it’s her attempt at not causing a fuss but you’ll accept it.

The man returns with the boil curing potion at hand and the purchase is done smoothly. You have to hand it to the glamour you placed on yourself; without it, you’re sure many customers would leave without so much as taking more than two steps in the door — you wouldn’t have been any help to the Belbys at all. Wanting to protect Regulus’ identity as well, you’ve also fixed him with a glamour too and ensured you still look like mother and son.

“I see that you’re looking rather well despite it being only one day after the full moon,” you comment, brightening Ruth’s expression with a smile.

“Damocles is incredible!” her eyes sparkle as she talks proudly of her husband’s achievements, “The recent changes he’s made to the potion have made it so that I don’t feel as anxious during my time under so I don’t feel as mentally exhausted atop being physically drained. I think he said something about a stone. A wishing stone?”

You hum and nod in understanding, “the moonstone then,” she confirms with a soft gasp of remembrance, “That’s wonderful news, Damocles must be really happy,”

“Yes, but he is not yet satisfied…” she huffs and scowls, however, her delicate features don’t make the emotion appear quite as menacing on her face; she makes it look rather sweet actually, “I swear that man adores being sleep deprived and overworked. It’s worrying…”

“Maybe that’s his real aim,” you wink at her perplexed appearance, “I’m sure it’s healing to the soul for a man to experience his beautiful wife’s sincere worries for his well being,”

Ruth blushes a deep red and looks away, but you still manage to see the smile playing on her lips, “oh you!” The two of you giggle together as Regulus comes bounding over with a grin on his face, holding up a small sprig of dried lavender that’s tied together at the stems with a rough string.

“Mother, this smells lovely, you should smell it too,” he holds up the lavender and watches eagerly as you lean on the counter to smell it.

“You’re right, it smells very soothing,”

“I want our house to smell like it,”

“Oh? That’s easily done,” you turn to Ruth with a smile, “would it be okay to purchase your entire stock?”

Ruth’s jaw drops, “You want our entire stock? B-But that’s so costly!” if Ruth’s jaw could have dropped any lower, it would have dropped to the floor when you merely shrugged your shoulders. As if buying an entire stock of one ingredient didn’t put a dent on your finances.

“We have a rather big house and Reggie wants our whole house to smell like lavender, so we need everything you have,”

Regulus smiles as you both turn to him, “It really is a very nice smell,” Ruth can’t say no to you both and smiles gratefully. She knows your hidden motive. You were already helping the couple so much but you couldn’t just stop there, you also had to purchase from them too.

“May I, at least, offer a family friend discount?” Ruth barters and watches as you turn to Regulus to ask for his opinion.

“Should we accept, Reggie?” you tilt your head thoughtfully, “Should we accept paying less for this hard-working couple’s labour?” Regulus shakes his head ‘no’.

“That wouldn’t be fair Mother, nor polite,”

“Spoken like a true gentleman,” Regulus beams up at you and Ruth awes at the young boy’s innocence, “How is my son so well mannered?” it was supposed to be a teasing remark but Regulus, accustomed to your teasing now, is quick to reciprocate with his own.

“It's because I have you, Mother!”

“Oh!” you heat up at the cheeks, “I think I’ve taught you some bad habits, Reggie,” Regulus doesn’t deny the statement and laughs with Ruth at your flustered expression.

Once Damocles finally decides to take a break from brewing in the back room and analysing his previous notes, he sits beside Ruth and leans his head against her shoulder. But not before softly kissing her cheek. It was a timely break as no customers came to purchase anything and there was a quiet lull in the shop’s activities. Wanting to give the couple some privacy, you take the time to go on a small mission with Regulus, similar to the bakery run you did for his uncle Alphard. This time, however, those baked goodies will be for Ruth and Damocles. They both deserve some good tea and snacks. You try not to take too long and opt for only a small collection of pastries, some sweet and some savoury as you don’t know their preferences.

“I hear you’re purchasing our entire stock of lavender without our prestigious family-friend discount,” Damocles presses as soon as you and Regulus return, avoiding the temptation of the pastries you had brought back.

“The lavender smells really nice,” Regulus explains, “and I thought it would be good for the house to smell like it,”

“Precisely, Damocles,” you grin when you see the potioneer’s eyes soften at your youngest’s beaming smile. “I only want to fulfil my Reggie’s wishes. And I also agree that the lavender smells lovely,”

“A-at least let us offer the discounted price,“ he’s almost pleading.

“Nonsense,” you huff and cross your arms with slightly narrowed eyes, though not too threatening, “are you saying I can’t afford to pay full price?”

“O-of course not, Lady—”

“Then I’m paying full price and that's final.”

Damocles falls back into the chair you had once occupied as Ruth comfortingly rubs his shoulder, “I told you it was no use arguing, dear,”

“I suppose not…” Damocles looks at you with searching eyes before huffing a laugh and shaking his head. “Alright then, since you’re so insistent,”

“Wonderful! Now, you two need to eat, I’ll brew some tea in the back. Do you like French Earl Grey?” you ask, moving to the backdoor as Damocles lifts Regulus onto the counter.

“We don’t have french earl grey?”

“I bought you some while I was out,” the couple shake their heads in disbelief once more before Regulus pulls away their attention by running through the collection of goodies you’d both purchased. The French early grey you had brewed was a new taste to the couple, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“Is that rose?” Ruth asks with wondrous eyes as Damocles smiles beside her, lovingly admiring her sweet expression.

“Yes, french early grey adds rose petals to the blend. Do you like it?”

“Very much,” Ruth beams and takes another long, savouring sip while Damocles leans over and whispers that it’s one of her favourite essences to have in anything palatable.

“And she loves Turkish delight,”

You can tell that Damocles didn’t want to take a break for too long, his eyes often drifting to his backroom door and his fingers twitching uneasily on his lap. If it weren’t for Ruth, you don’t think he would have allowed himself to finish his tea or his pastry. But thanks to his loving wife, he was willing to reach for a second and third pastry. The entire time, Damocles was drawn all the more to her, often checking her likeness for the pastries she wanted to try in the small spread, even offering her several bites of his own. He also worried often for her health and well being, always being the first to jump in making her feel more comfortable, either by fetching a blanket to keep her fragile frame warm or pillows to keep her posture upright. They’re truly a match made in heaven, you’ve never seen a more compatible pair. And you’re happy Regulus was a witness to it all. Seeing their close bond and equally loving dynamic would help enforce in his mind what healthy relationships look like.

“When you finish your break and before you return to brewing, may I have a word in private with you, Damocles?” you ask, partway through your pleasant tea break.

“Of course,”

As you step aside with Damocles, he’s already launching into an oration of gratitude. There’s clear appreciation in his eyes and stance as well as his words. “I’ve been able to get a hold of ingredients I couldn’t even dream of working with. I can’t even begin to express how life-changing your help is to both me and Ruth, thank you. I actually have some hope that I can manage to pull this off,” he laughs to himself humbly, in disbelief of his own words.

“I have full faith in you, Damocles. I know you can do it, the boundless love you have for your wife will ensure that you succeed,” he blushes slightly at your words but doesn’t deny anything.

“I haven’t been able to send you the updated reports yet, would you like to take the duplicate notes from my lab?”

“I’d appreciate that but I have something I want to talk to you about first,” Damocles nods, reminded of your earlier request and the reasoning behind it, “I just wanted to ask what you plan on doing after you’re successful with the potion,”

His voice goes quiet but his smile is beaming, “You really have that much faith in me?”

“Yes, I do,” your voice is stern as the potioneer’s eyes grow slightly distant, looking over your shoulder where Ruth is happily chatting with Regulus, who remains seated atop the counter still in his glamours, “You’re the only other person who’s believed in me so strongly other than my wife– not even my own family…”

You pat his shoulder comfortingly, “You’re an incredible potioneer and you adore your wife, I know you’ll go through the ends of the earth for her alone, you can make this potion work for her,”

Damocles nods with a grateful smile and finally answers your earlier question, “In all honesty, I haven’t given it much thought… the natural direction I’d go with the potion would be to present my findings to the ministry so that it may be mass-produced and given to werewolves in need of it,”

You’re shaking your head in disagreement before he could even finish his thoughts, “I strongly argue against that,” your words strike confusion in the potioneer. He’s sure his findings would prove helpful to many werewolves and you can see the belief in his eyes but do your best to convince him otherwise. It’s important that he knows where you stand in all this so that you bring him to the same level and see eye to eye on the matter.

“Do you know about the werewolf code of conduct?”

“Yes, of course,”

“It requires registering as a werewolf to the ministry and vowing to never bite any innocents and locking yourself away during every transformation,” you begin to explain, gauging where his knowledge stands.

“I know that,”

“And do you know anyone who happily registered as a werewolf to the ministry?” Damocles can’t answer confidently, rather, he stays silent. “Did Ruth register? Would you like her to?”

“…N-no…” Damocles hated that he couldn’t trust in the ministry but they‘ve proven nothing when it comes to the protection and fair treatment of other magical creatures, especially werewolves.

“I know the plan I want to carry out will only further perpetuate the stigma against werewolves and lycanthropy but the ministry has already proven that they cannot be trusted or relied upon in the matters of lycanthropes. I am, at least, confident in providing some help, do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” his voice doesn’t waver and you smile.

“You’ll be sacrificing a great reward, I’m afraid,”

“How so?”

“Surely discovering a treatment for lycanthropy will grant you an Order of Merlin as a reward…”

“I don’t care, so long as my wife is safe and happy and as long as we can actually help people like her, I’m willing to follow your plan,” as before, his voice doesn’t waver and you’re confident in his words. He’s a good man.

“Then it shall be!” you share a firm handshake. If only Harry had met an adult as capable and reliable as Damocles… you’re sure he wouldn’t require such dependence in the future, however, not in the future you’ll be creating, at least. And you’ll make sure of the same for his parents and all their friends —- all characters you love and wish only the best for. And it’ll all start with your two beautiful sons.

9th October 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

Tucked away in your home office, you look over the notes you’ve made on your current plans, avoiding the pages you’ve filled with notes on the secret parlour only for the Black family ladies’ use. You know it’s something you’ll need to confront very soon, in the meantime, however, you were perfectly occupied by current projects you were hard at work on.

Damocles sent you the report he duplicated from his most recent findings and Ruth’s improved condition following the full moon. Not only was he a loving and dedicated man with a passion for potion making, but he was also brilliant in his report writing. He kept his notes concise and easy to read by providing clear categories of the specific things he wanted to track. From your side of the research, reading up on potions from the Black family library, you had written him a letter back with suggestions on how to make the potion more potent. One such suggestion was his use of the Mandragora, Mandrakes. Rather than mandrake leaves, you encouraged him to use the body of a mandrake instead. It’s a little pricier than just the leaves, but it was nothing you couldn’t afford. The dragon blood was something you were having trouble with, however. It wasn’t cheap, and, having to look ahead at the wolfsbane potion’s mass production, dragon’s blood would be an annoying ingredient to include financially. So you promised to look for alternatives that might be able to give the same effect. You were even willing to look into ‘muggle’ books for a potential alternative.

After securing Damocles’ opinion following the future success of his wolfsbane potion and having some back and forth with Alphard on the family lawyer, he had been easing into setting up a meeting with you; you’ve started looking at properties all over the UK. You have a good idea of what you want to look for. However, the primary, most important criteria for these properties to have were that they don’t belong to the Black family. And so, you neglect the wizarding properties completely and look into muggle properties instead. The price wouldn’t matter, although you wanted to secure a separate line of income first so that Orion remains unsuspecting of your efforts to escape him; you don’t want any additional tensions happening at home, especially with Regulus still here. As soon as Regulus begins to attend Hogwarts, however, you’ll finally put things into action. Until then, you have a little under a year, which you hope will be good enough.

A squeaky pop shifts the air to your right, and Kreacher appears with a tray of tea and biscuits, “Mistress’ tea is ready,” he presents with a smile, wordlessly making the arrangement float up and make a home for itself atop an unoccupied portion of your desk. Smiling at the house elf, you nod in thanks and express your gratitude. Wanting to appease you further, he gestures to his big ears and informs you of an owl that sounds to be arriving very soon. With a nod and a soft word of gratitude, you walk to your window and open it up in anticipation of the delivery.

Sirius’ owl was the first to arrive and you figure it’s a response to one of Regulus’ many letters. Seeing your eldest son’s familiar handwriting addressing the letter to his little brother makes you smile, and urges you to write him one soon as well. Thanking the sweet barn owl, you offer her a perch and kindly ask Kreacher to fetch it some feed as a reward. The second owl that arrives is much smaller and carries a package as well as a letter. The parcel is only small and its wrappings are a buff brown, held together with some twine. The letter is addressed to you and you have a pretty good idea of what it may be.

You give the letter a quick read-through and smile with a nod before opening the small package to reveal a golden band. Its inner face is engraved with runes, and it easily fits onto your pointer finger. Before returning to your desk, you give the small owl a bowl of feed as a reward, too. Seated back at your desk, you pour yourself some tea and take a generous drink with the ring still on your pointer finger.

“Mmmm~” you hum in satisfaction, “tastes like strawberries,” It’s been a few weeks and those two have already made such amazing progress. You expect nothing less from the same two people who were able to enchant Sirius’ protection pin. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to rope in the goblins to craft this ring. It’s only a simple design because it’s the prototype but you plan on making a more decorative line of these to sell. For now, you have yet to test it against an actual potion but you dread to think about waiting for another blackout to do so. With a thoughtful hum, you return to your office and place the letter at the centre of your desk, planning to write a response later on. For now, you’ll deliver Sirius’ letter to Regulus —you’re sure he and Peony won’t mind the interruption and that he’ll be happy to receive Sirius’ response.

NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 09 : ... →

A/N : I'm so sorry, my darlings, for taking so long to update this series (ó﹏ò。) I know I promised monthly updates but with Christmas and then New Year straight after, I was pretty occupied (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) Nevertheless, I hope you lovelies enjoyed this chapter!ヾ(。✪ω✪。)ｼ I promise there will be more of Sirius in the next chapter since we hardly had any of our baby in this one 

[mindless-existence1]

Jjk men headcannons- Sfw and Nsfw

Includes: Geto, Gojo, Toji, and Nanami

Authors note: This is probobly the last thing I'm going to be able to make before my broken arm gets put in a sling so enjoy it chat!

Sfw

Ive said this before but Gojo spoils tf out of his partner. He has money what is he using it for besides you? Really likes sweets so sometimes he buys candy for you just so he has an excuse to by some for himself. Same other snacks, he'll say they're for you but he's the one eating over half the bag.

Geto has some crazy Insomnia and the only way for him to sleep is if he's cuddling you. It makes him fall asleep so fast. Spooning turns off his brain like a lightswitch. Something about physical contact with his loved one makes him feel content.

Nanami is the definition of a gentleman. We know this already, but it's the little things. He pulls out your chairs, he opens your car door (going as far as pushing you back into the car so he can open it for you if you already did). He also will hold your waist so your close to him in crowded places.

Toji, tho he hates electronics, would answer you no matter what. In the middle of a mission? He's answering with a "Hey there doll" (he'd call you doll I've said it once I'll say it again). He'd never text or call you first during a mission but if you contact him he's picking up the phone and you wouldn't even be able to tell he was on call.

Gojo likes seeing yiu wear his glasses. He'll let you have them on when he's wearing his blindfold and he goes crazy. He'll say something like "they look better on me" but in reality he's using six eyes to get a veiw of you from other angels.

Geto is kinda like this but it's with shirts. He's a baggy shirt wearer trust so seeing you in one makes him border line feral. It's like your covered in him and that's qhat he wants. He likes the thought that when you wear them when he's not there it's kinda like he is.

Nanami is a listener so if you're yapper he's the one for you. He'll listen to anything and everything. He has some tough days at his job and hearing you randomly call him after a hard meeting just to tell him about the dog you saw on your walk today brightens his day.

Toji doesn't like seeing you work. And not in like any sort of sexist or "I'm better than you" way. Just a "I'm right her I should do it not my god/goddess of a partner". He just doesn't want to let you lift a finger when he's right there and able. You have pick up the table, he's got it. You spilled some water, pet him wipe it up. Anything.

Nsfw

Gojo is a FREAK he will try basically anything at least once. If you're into it or want to try it almost 100% of the time he's down. Especially if in involves you being dominated because despite what he says he's a switch that likes bottoming more.

Geto likes when you pull at his hair. I'm talking yanking it, his scalp is sensitive and it makes his head go all fuzzy. When he's giving you head/eating you out he gets off on you pulling his hair alone. He'd rut his hips intoanuthung he could when yiu tug a particularly sensitive spot.

Nanami lives to serve. Although most times he's on top he's doing what you tell him to do. Kinda vanilla but not in a bad way. He'd try stuff out if you asked but nothing too freaky. Likes missionary so he can see you perfectly.

Toji is a pain lover. Both giving and receiving. It's the way the pain mixes with pleasure that gets him going. But seeing you wither and shake from the intense mix of pleasure and pain makes him get dizzy with lust. This sight is so pretty and he can't help but tease you more at the veiw.

Gojo would use 6 eyes to see the two of you while you're fucking. Your ontop of him and he can't lift his head from the pleasure to see you so he uses the last of his strength to activate 6 eyes and get all the different angles.( I heard someone say his eyes glow bright blue when he's using his technique so imagine you look up at him and he barley opens his eyes and you just see the bright blue gleaming down at you.)

Geto is a bit of a risk taker. Nothing crazy but he'd be open for some different places to be added on the lists of places to get freaky. Maybe it's am old Jujustu Tech classroom. Maybe he fucks you there while people are still taking classes and he has to put a hand over your mother to keep you quiet.

Nanami would whisper sweet nothings in yiur ear. You can't even hear what he's saying over the intense shocks of pleasure but none the less his voice goes to your cloudy head and all you can do is moan in response to the praise.

Toji would fuck you infront of a mirror. He just loves doggy and want you to see how pretty you look. He'd also want to see you so it'd very self indulgent. He just really enjoys watching in live time how your face reacts to the intense pleasure.

[lucygraysboy]

hearing the songstress’ sweet voice, basking in the feel of her gentle thumbs on his rough skin, the smell of her hair so sweet that it’s almost overwhelming as dark curls smack his cheeks every now and then, billy can’t help but show lucy gray his most sensitive side. “i’m so happy to have found you,” he whispers, squeezing her sides. “thank you for showin’ me that special place by the lake. i ain’t ever seen nothin’ so beautiful. and for savin’ me when you first found me.” her laugh is like music to him, and it makes everything they’ve been through earlier seem less painful. stress of nearly losing her evaporating. “hope you know now there ain’t nothin’ intimidatin’ ‘bout ‘im. just takes a little trust, is all,” he softly reassures as sundance continues to trot, the rhythm steady but enough to feel the power beneath them. the ride a little more bumpy now. “right, i quite like my chin, wouldn’t want it bruised.” or her shoulder for that matter. a laugh sounds from him when she pushes him away. “don’t lose confidence now, doll. you doin’ real good. and horses got a way of knowin’ how sure you are, just like people do. ain’t much different.” he doesn’t want her to think she’s incapable of handling sundance just because he’s no longer walking slowly. if she ever needs to get away from here, she can’t be afraid of going faster. “ain’t everyday an outlaw like me shows up teachin’ fancy spanish, alright? must of been some kind of fate.” maybe his ma arranged it from up above or hers, if she’s up there, too.

“that sure means a lot to me, thank you darlin’.” thumbs rub against his real quick for a display of affection, he’s just full of sweet things to say. she feels mighty grateful to have such a kind person dropped into her life and the air in her lungs she’s taking extra deep breaths in for, that was terrifying earlier…sinking to her demise. so soaking up every breath she’s given, has made her realize to never take it for granted either. not that she did before, but it’s been a good reminder. “no, not that you seemed unfriendly. just a lot bigger than me. intimidatin’.” the brunette answers, shyly smiling towards the back of sundance’s head. “well be careful, if you’re gonna make him go… he won’t be so friendly to your chin hittin’ against my shoulder.” amusingly smiling, gently pushing his face away to make him not hit his chin. “no, you do it, i might do it too much.” backing back away from controlling sundance again, she sheepishly laughs and then hangs on tighter when he begins to trot. it’s exhilarating and fascinating how fast he can change speeds so easily— just one word and he’s an entirely different horse. “this is a weird thing for sure… an outlaw who wandered up just to teach me spanish.” amusingly smiling, wondering how’s that. “she’d definitely approve of that, too.”

[prime-adeptus]

The Hand That Feeds

“If being with me only brings you pain, then just put up with this for three more days.” Or, the stages you go through during those three days.

PAIRING.���Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | spoilers for Caleb's story | angst, brief manipulation, drugging is briefly mentioned, implied toxic behaviour (per canon), medical issues (source: i made it up), mental instability, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of suicide and self-sabotage, splitting (reader has BPD), unreliable narrator. | ~6,8k words

A/N.⠀sooooooooo I've been playing Love and Deepspace..... the brainrot got so bad I've written over five thousand words in two days. this is a bit more of an exploration on the emotional/psychological end, so I'm sorry about the lack of romance!

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

1. DENIAL

Caleb never breaks his promises.

It’s been that way since you were little kids. In thunderstorms, he promised to keep you safe, and he did. On gloomy days, he promised to be your light, and he did. In the rain, he promised to shield you, and he did. He never lies. He always picks up the phone. He never misses any important dates. He always catches you and never lets you fall. That was the Caleb you knew years ago.

Now, he’s much more different than the scrappy young boy with missing teeth and plasters on his skin that he used to be. This Caleb is tall, imposing, domineering. His uniform puts emphasis on his coldness. He is the embodiment of power, but just like he promised you when you were ten, he’d use his power to protect you. You’d trust him with your life, because deep down, you know that he won’t make you regret it.

You’re more than capable of protecting yourself. Years of training at the academy and another handful of years as a hunter has shaped you to be your own defence. Calluses and scars litter your skin, painting them with texture and molding you into a unique sculpture. With each year that passes, you grow out of the same scared little girl you used to be, but you can never get rid of fear completely. Loud noises still send you jumping out of your skin. You still fear death no matter how familiar it’s become. You worry about growing old and fading out of existence, leaving behind vulnerable people who’ll lose you for good.

The past years have not been kind. Fate has put you in all sorts of situations to test your might and willpower, forcing you to be the fearless woman you were meant to be. You’ve passed turbulent times, cried alone as your mind tells you you’re going insane. You’ve stayed at home for days, hiding away from the rest of the world as you contemplate your self-worth and utility. It drains you, bleeds you dry, but for you, there is no time to rest. Life goes on. You must always keep moving no matter how wounded you become.

With Caleb, it doesn’t feel like it has to be that way.

He’s always taken care of you very well, making sure you get enough rest and remember to eat no matter how stressed you become, but things aren’t the same. You’ve grown and so has he. And yet, he’s still the very same boy you grew up with—one who cares for you, one who loves you for you, and one who’ll always have your back. You’re not familiar with giving yourself a break, having been living in a routine of discipline for over a decade of your life, but you find that it’s a nice change. It’s the instrumental break of a song, it’s the beach on a sunny day. It’s gentle breezes caressing your skin and it’s layers of padlocks broken, letting you out of the cage you’ve built for yourself.

For once, you can let yourself relax and be taken care of the way you’ve always been. But as the storm rages on, it all comes crashing down, and you find yourself falling apart.

The anxiety that had come with your initial arrival at Skyhaven never left. It simmers at the pit of your stomach, creeps into your veins and wraps its tendrils around you, dragging you into a cold abyss of apprehension and fear. Being away from Linkon City isn’t doing you any favours. You don’t know anyone here aside from Caleb. There isn’t a place to go or people to talk to. The likelihood of you being in danger is low, but it’s not impossible, and the storm outside does nothing to help your current state. The power has gone out, leaving you in a wide, dark and empty complex where the only illumination comes from the lights on the skyline. 

The recent events are still heavy on your mind, too. Of him tending to the gash on your leg, of him restraining you with his Evol. You don’t think you’ve been that scared since that day in the interrogation room. You remember it vividly: the dimness of that room, the collar he’d placed upon your neck, or the tension in the air while you struggled to get yourself back to reality. It felt like you were in a dream. But then the lights came on and he spoke, and he was no longer the Farspace Fleet Colonel—he was your Caleb.

Your nails have become brittle from how much you’ve been biting on them. You’ve been pacing around the place, trying to call him time and time again only to get no response. With a frustrated sob, you toss your phone onto the sofa and collapse to your knees, tears streaming down your face in rivulets. As much as you’d like to believe that you aren’t afraid of thunder anymore, tonight proves it all wrong.

All you can hear is the downpour outside. It muffles the sound of the clock ticking, yet it doesn’t tune out the worried voices in your head. It’s nearing midnight—way past your bedtime—but you can’t sleep, not even with the potential ambience of the rain. Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Though Caleb usually comes home while you’re asleep, being wide awake now also means you’re too aware—aware that he isn’t home, aware that he’s in danger, aware that he might not ever come home at all. Your phone is nearly dead and the candles have long since gone out. You’re trembling both from fear and frost, his sweater loosely hanging on your frame.

The words ‘lockdown’ and ‘cleanup’ grow more and more distant as the irrational thoughts strengthen in numbers. They say he’s doing this on purpose, that he’s abandoning you for good because of you, that he’s keeping so many things hidden from you because he wants you out of his life. You want to believe they aren’t true, you really do, but your fragility makes you waver in every decision. The urge for violence grows but you do your best to keep yourself grounded, rocking yourself back and forth as your body is wracked by sobs. It’s easier said than done. You don’t know how you can stay afloat when you feel so alone.

Cruel. He’s cruel for leaving you alone for this long. He’s cruel for not responding to you. If he truly cared for you, he wouldn’t make you feel this way. Fear blends into anger as your hands twitch and quiver while you heavily breathe in and out as an attempt to calm down. He promised you this morning that he’ll come home. You just need to trust him. But you’re so scared of everything, feeling like the world is caving in around you as you fall deeper and deeper into the void. The dark makes you feel isolated, suffocated. Briefly, you think of how no one will hear you if you scream in this weather. Not even he can save you. Maybe that’ll be the first and last time he breaks his promise.

You shake your head. You know better than to trust your emotions when the sky gets dark. This will pass, it always does, and Caleb would want you to be strong. With newfound determination, you harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hand and get up. Your legs slightly wobble from the ache in your knees, but you keep upright. As if sensing your predicament, the rain outside slows down and becomes quieter with each second. The thunder has stopped roaring and the downpour slows to a light shower, its droplets hitting the clear glass of the window panes.

Then, the front door opens. A scream threatens to escape your throat. The emergency lights in the hallway outside show a male silhouette at the door, and when you realise who it is, the grave weight on your shoulders is lifted. Relieved, you run into him, making him stumble for a moment before supporting you more steadily. You wrap your arms around his neck and cry, quiet whines leaving you. He pulls you close and rubs soothing circles on your back before murmuring a quiet I’m home into your ear.

How could you doubt him like that? Caleb is kind. He’s the best thing to ever happen to you. He never breaks his promises. Whatever anger you harboured for him earlier dissipates into the air just like fog. Still shaken from the blackout and his radio silence, you grab him tightly, the fabric of his coat bunching up in your unrelenting grip. You don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight. You were doing perfectly fine before the storm. You’re mentally berating yourself for letting him see you in such a pathetic state, but you’re too drained and it’s too late to try to hide.

(You’ve never been able to do that with him.)

“I thought you left me,” you whimper, “I—I don’t feel good. I don’t know. I was scared.”

You cling to him like a child. You feel like one, with how weak and emotional and volatile you feel. The sobs slow down into sniffles as he carries you over to your bedroom before taking a seat on the bed and placing you on his lap. His gloved hands comfortingly caress you wherever they can. Guilt sinks into his bones, pulling him deeper than his gravity ever could. The explosion had been out of his control, so had his death, but he can’t ever forgive himself for making you feel like you’d been left behind.

An ugly emotion rears its head, holds him in its jaws. He wraps his arms around you possessively, allowing you to calm down at your pace. You let out a heavy sigh and fall into him, feeling boneless after the meltdown you were in earlier. There are many things you want to say, but none ever slip your tongue. Instead, you let him hold you, let him press soft kisses to your hair, enveloping you in the warmth you had been craving.

“I told you I’d always be by your side,” he finally speaks up after a moment of silence, squeezing your flesh warmly. “I promised you that, remember?”

You don’t make a sound. You shift closer to him, desperate to be closer, close enough to feel like you’ve fused into one. He doesn’t force you to speak. You look up at him, tear-stained cheeks glimmering under the moonlight, helpless and afraid yet so loving and elated. He shushes you softly, lulling you into a relaxed state as he wipes away your tears with his thumbs before cupping the side of your face affectionately. 

I’ll always be by your side.

How silly and humiliating of you to have been vulnerable like that. Caleb would never lie to you. He’s right, he always is, and you need to learn to fully trust him again. He never breaks his promises. He won’t start now.

2. ANGER

It started with an excruciating pain in your heart.

Then, it continued with pins and needles striking your limbs, making them feel boneless. Your view blurred and darkened at the sides as static took over your vision, showing you mirrors and streaks of light. Your throat closed up and you clutched at it helplessly, jaw dropping open as you tried to breathe. The world spun and suddenly you collapsed on the ground, motionless and afraid. Waves of panic crashed into you, drenching you in trepidation while your thoughts ran rampant, stacking on top of each other like voices in a crowd.

You hardly registered the muffled shouts and your body being moved as you fell limp. Your head was spinning and you felt like you were falling into coldness—into death—but when you woke up, you found yourself in the medical bay of the Fleet’s aircraft. 

The pain in your heart had subsided enough. It still ached and burned, but clarity had returned to your eyes and your limbs no longer felt numb. Your eyelids fluttered open, revealing the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and it was only then that you heard muted conversations, presumably from those who were taking care of you. You tried to push yourself up, only to be pulled back by something. When you looked down, you found all sorts of cables attached to you and an EKG monitor on your side. Your heart rate was fast and your blood pressure was high. Caleb had come into the medical bay not long after that.

After dismissing the nurses, he’d taken you to his home and decided he’d take care of you himself. Though you weren’t keen on essentially being on house arrest, there was no point in arguing with him. Even if you doubted him sometimes, you knew in your heart that he would never lead you astray. But the way he’s been treating you like a child irks and suffocates you, making you feel like you’re locked in a cramped room.

He talks to you softly and treats you like you’re fragile. You’re several years into your career as a hunter. You’re well in your twenties and more than capable of taking care of yourself or tending to your wounds. As much as you appreciate his concern, it’s starting to feel suffocating. Maybe years of depending on him have made him think you’re useless. He won’t trust you, but he still holds many secrets of his own.

The only conclusion you come to is that he’s hiding something from you, or he’s hiding you.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. How can someone so familiar feel so distant at the same time? You can’t understand his logic or tell what he’s thinking. He always has an explanation for everything, and yet, they never satisfy you at all. The weariness in your system coupled with days of being under quarantine is taking a toll on you. He’d insisted persistently that you stay put while he takes care of everything. It’s not as if it’s his fault, either. No matter how much you want to get back to work—thinking about the backlog you’re going to have to catch up to puts insurmountable anxiety upon your shoulders—you can’t, because your body isn’t cooperating.

It’s not a fever. It’s not a cold. But somehow, you always feel so out of it. It doesn’t even feel like you’re piloting yourself anymore. Suspicion rises in the back of your mind as you think of the medication you’ve been taking every morning. He never told you what they are. What if he’s—

No. He wouldn’t. Caleb isn’t like that.

But what if? You don’t understand him. You don’t know him anymore. Why is he hellbent on keeping you locked up here when you’re already capable of handling things on your own? Burying your face in your hands, you let out a scream of exasperation, feeling as though you’re losing your mind. Why won’t he listen to you? Do you mean anything to him at all?

The door knob twists. You swiftly relax your furrowed brows and turn to him with a small smile as he enters your room. The sun is barely rising, but he already looks wide awake. You can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously at the small cup of pills that he’s holding.

The question slips past your tongue before you realise it. “What have you been giving me?”

Caleb stops in his tracks, brows raised in surprise. Something flickers in his eyes, but the calm expression remains on his features. He moves closer and places what he’s holding on the table, only to pause in his movements again.

“You didn’t finish dinner?”

“Caleb. What have you been giving me?” you ask again, your hands beginning to tremble. Your thoughts are running rapidly, alarms of urgency ringing in your head and adding on to your anxiety. You need answers. You need to know everything.

He takes a seat on the stool next to your bed with a sigh. “I’m hurt you don’t trust me, pipsqueak.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?” You clench your fists, knuckles turning white from the pressure you’re exerting. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“You had a protocore-induced heart attack. Your body is still recovering,” he replies easily. You can’t tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. “And Skyhaven’s still under lockdown. It’s not safe for you to be out.”

“Do you think of me that lowly?” Aggravation drips off of your tone as your voice starts to waver, a familiar sting spreading behind your nose and tears springing up to your eyes. “Do you think I’m still a little kid?”

“It’s not that. I’m just worried about you.”

Your voice rises in volume. It’s getting harder to keep your anger in control. 

“If Skyhaven’s so dangerous, why won’t you let me go back?”

“Because you can’t. No one goes in or goes out during this lockdown. I’m sorry,” he says. It’s quick and meant to shoot you down. You want to scream, to break something, anything, but you can’t. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m protecting you.”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, irritated at his responses. There’s no point in arguing with him, you realise. Caleb’s stubbornness knows no bounds at times. You take your hand back and look away with an indignant huff. You know you’re acting like a child. Grandma would be disappointed if she saw your state now. But you’re frustrated, you’re anxious, you’re alone and you just want to go home—

“Leave. I don’t wanna see you,” you spit, stubbornly staring at the window. Then, an unknown fear seeps into your veins, causing you to soften just the slightest. “I don’t want us to fight, Caleb.”

“We’re not fighting.” He crouches down in front of you and takes your hand into his before giving it a warm squeeze. “But you have to try and understand me.”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to see his face, don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want anything to do with him. Ignoring him, you get up the chair and return to your room, closing the door behind you with a loud slam. The sound makes you flinch. Unwanted memories slowly fade into the reel of your mind. Aggravated, you lock the door and sit down, pulling your knees close to your chest as your jaw clenches.

You don’t know what you want. A part of you wants him to come in and apologise, to let you do what you want. Another part of you wants him to just leave you alone. But when there’s only silence, you find yourself breaking into sobs again, feeling like you’ve been abandoned. He’s mad at you. He’s going to make you leave and say that he’s just giving you what you wanted. Guilt creeps into your heart as the realisation that you’re doubting him dawns on you. He’s been so kind to you since the little stunt you pulled to get yourself here. He’s letting you walk freely. He’s letting you stay in his home. 

But he’s not listening to you, he’s ignoring you, and it makes you feel as though you’re just a speck of dust in his eyes. Your emotions rage as a tempest in your mind that destroys everything in its wake. A scream of exasperation leaves your lips as you hold your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath. 

I’ll always be by your side.

What a liar. 

3. BARGAINING

It feels as though the sands of time are allowing the particles to fall one at a time into the bottom of the hourglass.

Time is moving slowly, almost as if it’s stuck in place, and hearing the sound of the clock ticking every time you’re ‘home’ is starting to drive you mad. It’s hard not to zero in on Caleb when he is all you have here. You’ve contemplated sending Tara and Zayne some messages to let them know that you’re fine, just staying with a friend. For some odd reason, the messages never get delivered. Assuming your phone’s just broken, you haven’t picked it up since. As a result, there’s not much to do in your free time outside of chores or breaking down, and it’s tearing you apart.

Maybe he’ll rethink his choices if you get hurt on purpose, you think with a bitter grimace. It’s hard to believe that his consideration for you, something you used to adore, now felt like chains holding you down. He might as well have left the collar on your neck. Anger, betrayal, guilt, and shame. Your mind has become a tempest of despondence and pessimism destroying every rational thought in its path. You want to scream and punch the wall. You want to hurt something. You need to destroy something. Your self-control is hanging by a thread and the stubbornness is beginning to feel childish, silly. 

Regrettably, Caleb is right. The Farspace Fleet is still working on cleanup amid this lockdown, not allowing anyone to go in or out. Leaving Skyhaven isn’t an option anymore. You don’t know what you feel anymore, either. You’re stuck here with a curfew whether you like it or not, and your unfamiliarity with the place leaves you at a severe disadvantage. Though you’re not exactly a drinker, your mind wanders to how you’d feel if you were too drunk to think of anything. You don’t care. You don’t know what you want anymore.

Some days, you feel angry at him and think he’s the devil. Some days, you appreciate him and think he’s a gift sent by the heavens. The lack of a middle ground constantly leaves you teetering on the verge of falling on either end. But now—now you feel nothing at all. You’re numb, indifferent, and it perplexes you because you still feel so bad. You think you’re a walking contradiction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Caleb has dealt with you for years without a single word of complaint. You’re taking him for granted, says the voice in your head. You need to keep him.

You harshly slap yourself on the face to snap out of it, bringing yourself back to the present.

The skyline glimmers in the distance. Red and white lights speed by on the road and the billboards are as lively as ever. Nightlife enjoyers are undoubtedly in good spirits as they travel from bar to bar. Tara must still be awake watching her favourite show, and Zayne is surely still working late at the hospital. You want to hear their voices and be in their presence even if it’s just for a few minutes. There’s a weight pulling at your heart as your mind wanders to Linkon City. To your real home.

The walls of what you thought was a gorgeous home is starting to remind you of the interrogation room you were in. It feels drab, lifeless. There isn’t much evidence within the home itself that there are people living here in the first place. The little OTTO robot he built for you stays in the corner, lifeless as well. You absentmindedly tap your fingers against the surface of the couch as you stare into the glow of the television. Even the commercials that are meant to be fun and exciting feel fake. The programme continues, returning to the scheduled film of the night. 

It’s late at night and you can’t sleep. You’re up later than you’d usually be. Caleb isn’t home yet, rendering you beyond aware of the fact that you’re home alone, and anxiety lurks around you at every corner. Your pistols rest on the spot beside you as a precaution. With what has been transpiring since you stepped foot in Skyhaven, anything is possible. It’s strange how paranoid you’ve become over the past couple of days. You should feel safe here, you should feel safe with him being the Colonel himself, but you don’t.

“—concerned about you. He said he thinks you might try to kill yourself.”

Your gaze drifts over to the pistols. An image of your blood pooling beneath your head as you lie limp on the ground flashes before your eyes. You imagine how he’d react to your death. Will he care? Will it devastate him? Will he regret how he’s been treating you? Strangely enough, the gruesome thought doesn’t bother you as much as it used to when you were younger. Violence comes with your job as a hunter, even if it’s not inflicted upon humans. Death is no stranger. It’s more familiar than you’d like it to be. You’ve been lured by it a couple of times in your childhood, seen mangled bodies and frozen corpses in your lifetime. 

You’ve gone from craving death to being afraid of it, and yet here you are, contemplating it just like you did when you were fifteen.

Tara used to tell you not to believe your thoughts when it’s dark. You desperately want to, but it feels as though your brain won’t allow it. You’re tired and lonely. You miss home. You grieve for a man that is still alive. A long time has passed—people are constantly changing. He’s not the same man you were eating dinner with at Gran’s house. This is a man who has been through death himself, weighed down by his never-ending burdens and responsibilities, and you sink deeper into your guilt as you realise how unreasonable you’ve been.

You try to separate every thought again. Caleb is protective of you because he’s known you for most of his life and you’re the closest person to him. He put you under strict supervision because he’s worried you’ll be in danger without him to protect you. He treated you like a child, making you feel as though he doesn’t trust you. Your outburst halted everything and is slowly destroying your relationship inside and out. It all feels so monumental, so much bigger than you can handle, and you can’t help but feel defeated.

You have two options: continue this game of who can make the silent treatment last longer, or apologise to him and gain his forgiveness. It eats away at you either way. With apologising, you don’t even know where to begin; he’s never been mad at you nor has he ever raised his voice at you. He always tells you that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

It’ll pass, is what he would say to you. And I’ll be here with you.

But when you have already destroyed everything with your bare hands, who will be there to rebuild it with you?

You haven’t prayed to a god in years. Prayers and rituals don’t work on you, you think, and so it’s not worth the time or effort. But as your eyes slowly close, you pray to whatever celestial being listens to you—give him back. You’ll never do it again.

4. DEPRESSION

Another day of silence passes and plunges you further into the pool of fear and helplessness.

Caleb hasn’t spoken a word to you. Not once. He still prepares your meals, leaves you notes, but he doesn’t utter a single word. You grow more restless by the minute. He’s angry with you. He’s just too nice to tell you upfront. Anxiety makes you avoid him, afraid of what he’ll do or how he’ll react. He doesn’t stop you from going out anymore, either. You’ve been spending your time outside his home, distracting yourself with whatever activity you can find on the streets. For the first few hours, the newfound freedom made you feel on top of the world, but it didn’t last.

Him stepping back should make you feel happy and relieved. Instead, the claws of despair pull you in closer and closer to its maw. You return home after a day out to complete silence. The floorboards would creak beneath your feet, waiting for someone to break the stillness, only for there to be nothing. When you wake up in the morning, Caleb leaves behind nothing but the remnants of his cologne in the air, small proof that he was home. The smell used to comfort you. Now, it makes you feel lonelier, because it’s not enough.

It feels like you’re losing him in real time. You’ve retreated so far into the corner that you’re fading into the background as the world continues on without you. You see him walking farther and farther away from you, disappearing into the crowd as he leaves you standing in the midst of it all. The thought of him leaving your life gnaws at you, puts you into a spiral of loneliness. You wanted this, didn’t you? For him to leave you alone?

Then why do you feel like you’ve been abandoned?

The stark reminder of his absence claws at your heart. You barely see him at home and it feels like you’re lost at sea, drifting away from the shore with each wave that the ocean carries. Getting out of bed feels like a monumental task. Your limbs feel heavy as if you’re being held back by a ball and chain. And you’re exhausted, even with the hours upon hours of sleeping and locking yourself away in your room, too tired to live. A part of you tells you you’re overreacting. You don’t even remember what had upset you in the first place, but you know one thing—

You don’t want him to go.

Being an adult comes with doing things you don’t want to do or are too afraid to do. This is just one of them. You’ll apologise to him with low expectations so you don’t break your heart, but you’ll fall into euphoria if he forgives you. He’s looking out for you. It’s not his fault. 

It’s yours.

You remember times in your childhood when he’d come get you after school with your favourite popsicle split in half, one for you and one for him. He’d ask about your day and his eyes twinkled with genuine interest as he listened to you go on and on about every detail that happened. The walk back home was always filled with joy. He feels like a distant memory, an echo of the past, and you wonder if he’s the one who changed or if it’s you.

Whoever it is, what was an unbreakable bond had shattered to pieces, and it was all by your own hand.

Self-hatred burns through you. You wish you were different. You wish you weren’t the way you are, so flawed and broken beyond repair. You wish you were like other women, those who are always on top of their game and strong no matter what life throws at them. Without realising it, you’ve already given up on yourself. You’re no longer loved by him; you’re an enemy, a monster, and the thought plagues your being.

The feeling of unworthiness lingers in your chest, a constant ache that wears down the edges of every thought. You remember the person you used to be with him before the explosion. Optimistic, hard-working, hopeful. She feels like a stranger now, like someone you used to know who left your life without saying anything. The weight of it all—the distance, the guilt, the silence—is becoming unbearable. He is slipping out of your grasp, ready to leave you as a memory of the past, and you’re falling further back. He is swimming to the surface while you are sinking deeper into vast nothingness, surrounded by the unknown. 

You wonder what he feels when he looks back at you. Is it pity, or is it resentment?

Or does he hardly feel anything at all?

The door opens, stopping your train of thought. You stagger up to your feet, quietly making your way to the entrance with your hands folded in front of you. Caleb’s eyes meet yours and you falter for a moment, every word you’ve rehearsed in your head going forgotten as time seems to be at a standstill. You muster up a smile, doing a little wave at him.

“Welcome home,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He returns with a smile of his own. “Thanks.”

You want to say something, anything, but no words come out; you don’t know where to begin with them. Instead, you stand there and smile awkwardly, completely lost and insecure. Your smile feels fake. You know he knows it is. It’s a façade you’re using to hide the turbulence within you. Caleb’s smile is polite and you want to run into his arms and tell him everything you’ve been feeling. Your heart drops when he looks away from you, ready to leave to attend to his own affairs.

“I’ll just, um, go,” you chuckle nervously. “Sorry, you must be busy. I’ll see you around.” 

Reluctantly, you withdraw and return to your room, shutting the door with a quiet click. Drained, you fall to the ground and bury your face in your hands, frustration oozing off of you in waves. Was that a good sign? Or was he faking his friendliness just to get you off his back? He doesn’t seem angry, but you’ve also never seen him angry. Anxiety harrows you as you stare at the ground, mind racing with what feels like thousands of possibilities. You wish he was easier to read. How can you know someone for so long but know nothing about them at all?

You ball your hands into fists and tremble, tears streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You’re falling behind. He’s already on the path to moving on but you’re still stuck in your spot, hopelessly wishing he’d turn back and ask if you want to try again. This fight—the one with him, the one with yourself—feels daunting. You’re but a frail little thing facing off with something grand and monumental. It towers over you, cloaks you in its shadow, emphasising the fact that you are nothing compared to it.

The world is quiet, and as you sit gazing upon your opponent, you start to wonder if this fight was even yours to win at all.

5. ACCEPTANCE

Before you know it, it’s the night before the promised third day.

You were lucky enough to be able to have breakfast with Caleb this morning. It felt tense and awkward, but he still maintained the conversation so effortlessly as if your outburst never happened at all. He left for work with a simple kind smile and told you to stay safe if you do go out. Even while you’re being unreasonable, he still has your best interests at heart, and the fact that your tantrum is lasting this long humiliates you to no end.

You spent the day out at the shopping district. The city was vibrant with the hustle and bustle in its streets and pedestrians. You heard laughter and chatter, joy that was spreading among people and their friends, and you’d never felt more alone. Even in a place swimming with people, you still felt so isolated like you were just a speck of dust. Eventually, your surroundings became white noise, and time went by like a blur. It felt as if someone else was taking control over your body. You numbly went through each stall searching for souvenirs to bring back to your loved ones back in Linkon City, spending away without hesitation. 

When the sun began its descent, you made your way back with several bags of new items in hand. You’d gone over budget, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For a moment, you were completely fine, free from the crushing weight of the world on your shoulders. Returning to Caleb’s place took away the momentary lightheartedness and replaced it with something devastatingly hollow. You moved on autopilot, stepping into the shower and taking off your makeup, changing into more comfortable clothes. 

When you were done, you sat in the living room and watched whatever was playing on the television, its audio turning into background noise as you drifted away with your musings. Before you knew it, it was dark outside, and Caleb was back home. You parted your lips to say welcome back, but he had entered his room before you could call for him. Awkwardly, you returned to the television and fidgeted with your hands, nervousness entering your system the longer he was gone.

It seems to be a peaceful time for Skyhaven tonight. The media representative of the Farspace Fleet had come out to answer whatever rapid fire question the journalists had. Reassuring every citizen, he had said that the cleanup they’ve been doing is gradually wrapping up, and that the lockdown would be lifted soon. With nothing else to worry about for the time being, officers were allowed to return home early, including the Colonel himself. 

Caleb reappears in his loungewear and stops to look at you, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “I’ll make dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say. It doesn’t take long before he returns to the living room again, heading for the other end of the couch. Not wanting to disturb him, you leave him to his devices and stare ahead into the television, holding yourself back from looking at him repeatedly. It’s unusual for him to be home early, so you’re equally lost, completely clueless on how to function.

You sneak a glance at him. He’s reading a book, his brows furrowed in concentration as he immerses himself in creativity. He looks peaceful, so undisturbed, and you’re still not sure what to do. Even when you’ve been a brat, he still has your best interests at heart, and the fact that your tantrum has lasted for days humiliates you to no end. His consideration of you nearly brings tears to your eyes but you keep yourself together, not wanting to worry him.

You part your lips to speak only to close them again, frantically trying to come up with a coherent sentence in your head. He looks relaxed, so the chances of him reacting aggressively are low. You know he’d never raise his voice at you, but the paranoia hasn’t left you yet; everything you do needs a safety plan. Biting down on your bottom lip, you stare down at your hands before standing up, nervously wringing your hands behind your back.

Mustering up all the courage you have, you speak up, meekly, “I’m sorry.”

He looks up from his book, brows raised as he watches you in what appears to be confusion. You want to run away and hide, but he deserves this. It’s the least you can do.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry for lashing out. For acting up. It’s just… I’m just…”

He smiles softly, getting up from the couch and walking towards you. Bringing you close for a hug, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and squeezes your frame reassuringly. You melt into his touch, a burning sensation spreading in the centre of your face as your bottom lip quivers. You whine and hide your face in his sweater, desperately holding on to him as if he could disappear at any moment. You’ve already lost him once. You won’t lose him again.

You can’t.

“Please don’t leave me.” Your voice trembles as you speak and sniffle in between words. You grab onto the fabric of his sweater tightly, trying to keep yourself grounded. “I didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again—”

He sighs, content, and pulls you closer to him, letting you cry in his arms. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he hums a comforting tune, the same one he used to when you had nightmares as a kid.

“Silly girl,” he says, rocking you side to side. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

No one else will ever do it like him. He’s kind. He cares for you. He stays with you even with your volatility and your flaws. The resentment you’d been harbouring towards him douses you in guilt as you latch on to him, basking in his comfort. He’s only doing this because he cares. The disaster in your mind slowly unwinds and the grating voices that had been plaguing you the past week quiets down. 

He gently pulls away and brings his hands up to your cheeks before brushing away your tears with his thumbs, lulling you into a calmer state.

“It’s okay,” he coos. “I promise.”

Finally, you trust him, because he never makes promises he can’t keep.

[itsnesss]

heyyy so could i request something about like thanos maybe leaving the reader pregnant and then leaving her so they run into each other after the first game and she's in like gi huns like "group" and after seeing her he gets worried about her and wants to protect her but shes really hurt and they don't really want them together again but it's just kind of fluffy of him trying to protect her

𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, tension, pregnant!reader, trauma, breakup, no happy ending

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The first game is over, but the weight of what happened still hurts, like a constant pressure on your chest. Everyone tries to find some normalcy amid the madness, but you know there’s no easy way out. You’re trapped here, just like everyone else.

Your thoughts keep returning to the same question: how did you end up here? The debt, the desperation, the uncertain future. You had done whatever it took to get money, to settle the bills that dragged you into this hell. Now, it all feels like a nightmare that won’t end. But there’s something else tormenting you, something you’ve kept hidden for years: him.

Thanos. The boy who left without a word, the boy with whom you shared the closest thing to a life you once dreamed of. The boy who left when you needed him the most. The boy who didn’t know you were going to be a mother.

The irony is that in this place where death seems to be the only thing that matters, what hurts the most isn’t the constant threat of the games. What hurts the most is that you’re here, surrounded by death, unable to let go of the past.

You’re in a group of players with Gi-Hun, speaking in hushed tones. You try to keep the conversation light, although you know no one can truly forget what happened in the first game. Gi-Hun wears a tired smile, one that doesn’t quite cover the distrust everyone now feels. But still, his presence gives you some comfort. For a moment, you can forget the nightmare and feel that, maybe, there’s still some humanity in this place.

“Seriously, I can’t believe we’re still alive,” says one of the players, his tone laced with bitter irony.

You nod, a bit more relaxed. “Yeah, it feels like we’re trapped in some kind of nightmare. Like this is just a bad dream.”

You don’t expect what happens next. A familiar voice, deep and grave, interrupts your conversation. The sound is like a punch to the stomach. You turn, recognizing it instantly.

“What... what are you doing here?” The voice escapes your lips almost without meaning to. You can’t believe it. There he is, standing in front of you, after all these years. Thanos.

He watches you, his eyes locked on you, as if time hadn’t passed. His presence freezes you, and your heart pounds in your chest. The shock is overwhelming. You don’t know if it’s fear or confusion that makes you hesitate, but the pain rises in your throat. Everything you’ve kept hidden, everything you’ve repressed, comes rushing back.

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds grave, concerned, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you feel uncomfortable, like he’s trying to understand something about you. “Are you okay?”

Gi-Hun, who had been watching curiously, looks surprised. “Do you know him?” he asks, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Yes,” you murmur, unable to look away from Thanos. You don’t know what else to say. The truth is, you don’t want to say anything. You don’t want him here.

Thanos takes a step forward, approaching slowly. You feel the space between you growing denser with each inch he closes. His gaze is still intense, but there’s something different about him. Something you don’t remember, something that makes you feel vulnerable. It hurts that he still looks at you like this, as if you still matter to him.

“I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have lost contact. Are you okay?” His voice is filled with regret, and for a moment, you wonder if he truly regrets it. But the doubt doesn’t last long. The truth is right there, floating between the two of you. He wasn’t there when you needed him the most, and now there’s nothing he can do to change that.

Your breathing becomes irregular. “No, I’m not okay,” you reply, though your voice sounds more broken than you expected. “And I won’t be. Not now.”

You can’t allow yourself to fall. You can’t allow yourself to be weak in front of him. You know what that would mean. The tears threaten to come, but you suppress them. You won’t show weakness.

Taking a step back, you try to keep your distance. You don’t want him to come closer. You can’t let him drag you back into that dark place from the past where the pain wouldn’t let you breathe.

Thanos stands still, as if unsure what to do with his hands. His eyes remain fixed on you, but it seems like all you can see on his face is confusion and regret.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, as if that’s the only thing he can say. His tone is soft, but his gaze is filled with a sadness that makes you want to run away. “I never knew... I never knew that...”

“Because you left,” you answer harshly, the words cutting through the air like knives. “Because you abandoned me. You didn’t give me a choice. And then, you didn’t look for me. You forgot about me, and you forgot about everything.”

Thanos hesitates for a moment, as if processing your words. “I... I didn’t know that...,” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“You didn’t have to know,” you say, your voice becoming firmer with the anger rising. “But now it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what happened, it doesn’t matter what it was. What I want now is something different.”

The silence between you both becomes heavy. The words you haven’t said, everything you’ve been holding inside, burn. You know this is the moment, the moment when things have to change.

Thanos steps toward you, his expression uncertain. The sadness on his face is obvious, but there’s something else: fear. Fear of losing you forever.

“I don’t want you to protect me just because of this,” you suddenly say, pointing to your belly, where his child still grows, though he doesn’t even know it’s his. “I want you to protect me because, after all this, I want you by my side for me, not for what I’m carrying inside.”

The honesty in your voice shakes him. Thanos falters, as if unsure how to respond. The sadness in his eyes deepens, but you also see him trying to understand what you just said.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally, his voice rough, as if every word costs him more than he expected. “I failed you. I didn’t know how to act, and... I’m so sorry.”

The words you just said have closed that door that was once open. There’s no place for him in your life anymore.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, almost without strength. “What hurts the most is that it doesn’t matter anymore. What hurts the most is that, even though you’re still here, I can’t be with you anymore.”

Those words are enough to break whatever little hope remained in your chest. Thanos can’t hide his pain, his sorrow is evident. But there’s nothing you can do. There’s no turning back now.

“If you don’t need me... I understand,” he says softly, almost defeated. “I failed you. And I never wanted it to be like this.”

Those words are enough to shatter what little was left of hope in your heart. You don’t look at him anymore. You can’t. The distance between you grows with every second that passes. You feel the emptiness that forms, the echo of what once was.

“Goodbye, Thanos,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s for the best for both of us.”

You turn away and start walking, feeling how everything you once wanted from him vanishes into the air. You know you’ve made the right decision, even though it feels like your heart is breaking. And as you walk, you know that, although the pain remains, the only way to move forward is to do it without him.

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

Viago de Riva; forgotten son with a found family of assassins (a brief but angsty dive)

Born one royal bastard of many to King Fulgeno II of Antiva, Viago was born without a lot of choices, but one very large one;

Exile or the Antivan Crows.

VIago was the only one of all Fulgeno's bastards that chose the Crows, a choice that put him on a path of shadows and blood. Turning his back on the only home he has ever known for the ruthless world of the Crows, Viago had to forge his own house and find his own family, turning his back on a royal lineage that never wanted or acknowledged him.

Viago has walked in both worlds, where betrayal can come from any direction and alliances are often temporary - in either world, his survival has hinged time and time again on his vigilance and natural mistrust of others. More than once, the only thing that has kept him alive was the way he builds tolerance to poisons and insists on testing everything he eats. I have to wonder if Viago has ever truly rested, he's always alert, always keeping one step ahead of all the threats on every side - always in danger, both as a bastard who could be seen as a threat to the legitimate line and as a Crow Talon surrounded by ambitious assassins.

And then there's his relationship with Teia 💜

I love the humanity of Viago's struggle to love and be loved. As a royal bastard, he would have been inherently unwanted and constantly reminded of his illegitimacy - daily reminders to ingrain a perpetual sense of unworthiness and isolation into him. I love the honesty of how he struggles to open up and be vulnerable, even with someone like Teia from within the world of the Crows.

The two of them live in a dangerous world, where personal relationships can become weapons in the wrong hands. Viago has every reason to shy away from Teia (and sometimes does), yet that inherent need for perception and connection drags him out of safety and back into her arms, time and time again.

All of that to say loooooooooooook at this fourth draft of a letter Teia is helping Viago write to send to his dad about the situation in Treviso with the Butcher.

King's Draft: Action on Behalf of Antiva

As Seventh Talon, I give notice that the Antivan Crows have drawn a contract against the enemies of Treviso, the Antaam. (Teia)

Teia, the Seventh Talon, is writing to inform of the situation, rather than Viago (Fifth Talon). We don't know if she's stepping up to protect Viago from his asshole father or if Viago doesn't speak to the king often on principle (he does in prior Dragon Age content), or if this is simply how it is done - maybe there's an existing agreement among the Crows to avoid political complications by keeping the king and his son seperate. Any way the cookie crumbled, I like these crumbs.

It is not the Antaam. (Viago)

We aren't required to give His Majesty a point-by-point, but he's your blood, Viago. It is a courtesy to let him know we are going to war. (Teia)

"He's your blood, Viago." I don't know if this is a reminder of his unique ability to bridge two vastly different worlds or if it is just a reminder of political significance, but either way it struck me as significant. Despite his royal blood being a source of personal pain, it provides Viago leverage in ways that other Crow Talons could never wield, not even Caterina.

The occupying Antaam are strong, driven, fanatical. They cannot be reasoned with because reason is just a weapon to be resisted. They can be killed, of course, but removing a leader does not remove their desire to be led. They are a force we must contend with, but they are NOT Treviso's true enemy. (Viago)

A name, Viago. Contracts require a stabber and a stabbee. (Teia)

Teia (child street thief turned Crow) is the pragmatic and operational, focusing on fulfilling the requirements as a formality, while our baby boi Viago the Strategic is firmly honed in on reality and understanding the details. Teia wants to take the next step to move forward, Viago wants to understand the problem before making the next move. They are so different and I love the way their differences lend their relationship strength, rather than pulling it apart.

Teia, you know my doubts. The Butcher took the city too easily, and there is dealing with the gods there that I dread to know. But I fear that the true enemy of Treviso is not known because they ARE known, merely unrevealed. (Viago)

"The Hand That Leashed Treviso." Is that nebulous enough? (Teia)

I like this. Sarcastic, yet she's showing that she's listening to Viago's concerns and hearing them.

Yes, that is a series of someones we can eventually kill. But not something we can send my father. (Viago)

And he acknowledges being heard, but points out the impracticality of presenting such a target to his father. Again, I think it's fucking significant that he refers to Fulgeno as his father and not as the king. Whether he's tying himself verbally to his unique position, subconsciously reacting to his abandonment by the royal family or just responsing to Teia's "he's your blood" earlier, it feels powerful. Like the kick in the gonads I'd like to five Fulgemo.

On to draft five, then. Neri, begin again. (Teia)

It says a lot to me that they're having this entire conversation in front of their scribe. Doubtless someone sworn to secrecy already, it just strikes me as wholesome that they're comfortable having these disagreements in front of Neri. They may not agree yet, but they're committed to it. And their disagreement has no weight on their opinions of each other.

Viago de Riva, Fifth Talon Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talo Transcribed: Neri de Acutis

[loverangels]

Can you do a Luke Castllan x Daughter of Apollo Reader where she convinces him to rejoin the gods/ Camp Side after sneaking into the Princess Andromeda? More fluffy stuff is always good for this side of Tumblr ☺️

the light you carry

pairings: luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader

a/n: love this request hope you like it lovie!

The Princess Andromeda rocked gently with the waves, the ship’s eerie silence broken only by the faint creak of wood and distant footsteps from unseen creatures. Every step you took felt heavier, the cool air pricking your skin as you crept through the dim corridors. You weren’t afraid—not of the monsters or the ship’s looming shadows. The only thing that scared you now was the thought of losing Luke completely.

When you reached the door to the captain’s quarters, you hesitated, your fingers brushing the cold metal. You didn’t know what you’d find on the other side. Luke wasn’t the same boy who’d made campfires feel like home and turned even the dullest moments at Camp Half-Blood into memories you cherished. The Luke you remembered had been kind, brave, warm. The Luke who stood with Kronos was angry, closed-off, and drowning in his own pain.

But you still loved him.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of waves crashing outside. The light of a lantern flickered on a cluttered desk, illuminating the figure hunched over it. Luke.

He looked so different now—his shoulders rigid, his once-bright golden hair a little duller, a shadow of exhaustion darkening his eyes. But despite everything, he was still Luke. And just seeing him again made your chest ache.

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. “Luke,” you whispered.

He froze, his pen dropping from his hand and clattering onto the desk. Slowly, he turned, his eyes wide as they locked on you. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, almost to himself. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s me, Luke.”

He flinched like your words had struck him. “No,” he said, his voice wavering. He took a step back, shaking his head. “You can’t be here. You’re not… You’re not real.”

“I’m real,” you said softly, taking another step toward him. “I came to find you.”

His gaze flickered across your face, searching for something—proof, maybe, that this wasn’t some cruel trick. “Why?” he asked, his tone almost desperate. “Why would you do that? Why would you come here?”

You hesitated for a moment, your chest tightening. Then, closing the distance between you, you reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he froze. His breath hitched, his eyes wide with something like shock. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, his expression open and raw in a way that made your heart ache.

“It’s really you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You nodded, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cheeks. “It’s me.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His hands hovered at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you, if he was even allowed to. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just looked at you, his blue eyes filled with so many emotions you couldn’t name them all.

Finally, you smiled, your voice soft and full of warmth. “You’re still my Luke, you know.”

That broke him. His breath shuddered, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You shook your head, leaning in just enough for your foreheads to touch. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be perfect, Luke. You just have to come back with me.”

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. “You really think I can?” he asked, his voice fragile.

“I know you can,” you said firmly. “We’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension hanging in the air like a held breath. Then, slowly, his hands came up to rest on your wrists, his touch gentle and hesitant, like he was afraid you might disappear.

“Together?” he asked softly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Together,” you promised.

And then, before either of you could think twice, he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. But when you didn’t pull away, when you kissed him back just as softly, his hands moved to your waist, holding you close.

The kiss was slow and tender, full of unspoken words and quiet promises. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled—a real, genuine smile.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered, his voice teasing but full of affection.

“And you’re stuck with me,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, and pulled you into his arms. As you buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you knew that things wouldn’t be easy. But with Luke beside you, you felt the light in your heart burn a little brighter.

And maybe, just maybe, his light was starting to return, too.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 60

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,660ish

Summary: Life continues to move along, as does Logan's feelings.

Notes: Things are moving along! Please share reactions! 

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“So, where are you thinking of applying?” You asked Laura as the two of you got ready to bed.

“Columbia and NYU,” Laura admitted, though you could hear her hesitation.

“Those aren’t far.”

“Well, I’m not willing to go far.”

“Laura—“

“No, mom. I want to go to college so I will, but I will not be going too far from you.”

Your heart swelled with pride. Yes, you hated that you felt like you were holding Laura back, but you were so proud of the woman she was becoming.

“I’m also thinking of getting a job,” Laura continued. “I don’t want all of my tuition to be on you.”

“I don’t mind, kiddo,” you told her. “You’re my daughter and I’m here to help. If you want me to be able to let you help me, you have to do the same.”

“Okay.”

You pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, mom… I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

You kissed her temple as you pulled away. “Wanna have a slumber party tonight? Whip out a movie?”

“I’d love to. I’ll get the popcorn started.”

“And I’ll get the bed together.”

~~~

Logan had never been this nervous before, but for some reason he kept checking to make sure he looked presentable as he headed for your work. It was Logan’s turn to walk you home and he hadn’t gotten a chance to since he had started feeling different or enhanced emotions towards you. He didn’t know what these feelings meant or how to even handle them. He’d never felt emotions like these before, even with his original you.

With his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, Logan made his way down the street with a long stride. He wanted to get to the bar before it closed to help you clean up. You had been taking better care of yourself as well as letting others help you, no matter how hard it was for you. But Logan could still see the pain shining behind your eyes and he would do what he could to help.

When he entered the bar, Logan’s eyes immediately found you standing behind the counter. Though you were worn out from a long night of work, Logan felt like his breath was taken away at the sight of you. That had been happening more and more lately, how he found you gorgeous in every situation. Logan finally got his feet moving again, heading straight for you.

“Hey, doll,” he greeted, slipping into a stool in front of you.

“Logan,” you smiled at him. “You’re early.”

“Wanted to give you a hand in closing.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to. I can do it.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

Your chest tightened at the idea that Logan just wanted to help you. It wasn’t something new. He had done that basically since the day you met, but you would never get used to it. Especially after the years you had spent talking care of everyone else. Not that you minded taking care of others, it was just different to remember how to let others help you.

“What can I help you with?” He asked.

“Uh, I guess, uh, can you grab a rag and wipe down the empty tables?”

“Of course.”

“They’re back here and there’s cleaner with them.”

“Okay.” 

Logan slipped off the stool and quickly got to work. You finished up helping the last few customers, closing out their tabs, and then locking the door and turning off the open sign. 

“Do the chairs and stools need to be stacked?” Logan asked, wiping them down as well as he moved from table to table.

“Yeah, on the tables and bar,” you replied.

Logan nodded and began putting the stools and chairs up. You focused on closing out the register and doing the dishes while Logan finished wiping everything down, sweeping, and mopping. Your closing duties were done in half the time, which you were grateful for.

“Thank you for helping me,” you told Logan as the two of you headed back to the apartments.

“Anytime, doll,” he answered.

You bit your bottom lip at the term of endearment and focused your attention on the path ahead. “How was work today?”

“Fine,” he shrugged.

“Yeah? Make any friends yet?”

“Don’t need to. Just workin’ on cars.”

“We’ve had this discussion, Logan. Friends are good for you.”

“I have friends, just not at work.”

“Who?”

“Wade.”

You laughed. “I can’t believe that you’re admitting that.”

“Better not find out that you told him.”

“Yeah?” You looked over at him with a hint of mischief. “And what would happen if I told him?”

“I don’t think you want to know, darlin’.”

You hummed. “Well, maybe I’ll just have to tell Wade and see what happens.”

“Try it.”

“Okay.” 

Suddenly, you were running down the street. It took a second for Logan’s mind to catch up with what you were doing. 

“Hey! Wait!” He shouted after you. “Y/N!”

You laughed. “Gotta catch me before I tell Deadpool that Wolverine thinks they’re friends!”

Logan was able to catch up with you quickly, hooking his arms around you and pulling you back into him. Both of you were laughing in front of the apartment building as Logan held you close to him.

“Got you,” he chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear.

The close proximity had you catching your breath. Your laughter slowly faded as you tried to recall the last time you laughed and felt relaxed the way you just did. It had been far too long.

“You alright?” Logan noticed the shift and reluctantly let you go.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I’m fine.”

His brows pinched together as his concern grew. “I don’t believe it, darlin’. Talk to me.”

You sighed, keeping your eyes down. “It’s just… thank you.”

Those were not the words that Logan was expecting to hear. “For what?”

“For taking care of me and Laura. For making me smile and laugh. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed… like I’m not surviving, but… living. You’ve been a big part in that. And I just need to thank you.”

Logan thought he could melt right there. Everything he had ever done for you was always worth it, but now he felt like it was worth it times a million now. He was actually helping, making a positive difference, and it was for you.

“You’re, uh, welcome,” he mumbled, nervously. “But it’s all really no big deal.”

“It is to me,” you responded.

The two of you stood there, a thick awkward silence falling between you. Neither of you knew what to do or say next. Logan suddenly broke the tension by clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck.

“We should, uh, get home,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” you nodded. You took a step forward and winced.

Logan was quickly at your side, a hand to the small of your back. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Are you hurt?”

“I guess that I shouldn’t have ran like I did. Haven’t done that in a while.”

“So you’re in pain?”

“It’s not bad, Logan. I can— ah!” Logan swept you up into his arms and headed into the apartment complex. “I can walk.”

“Not until we get some medicine in you, darlin’.”

You sighed, allowing yourself to relax against him. It wasn’t worth arguing with him. Logan carried you to your apartment.

“I need you to put me down now, Logan,” you said. “I need to unlock the door and I don’t want to worry Laura.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

Logan set you down but kept a hand on your back. He leaned over and pushed the door open as soon as you unlocked it. Laura was working on the laptop at the kitchen table when the to of you walked in. She had taken to staying up, waiting for you, too. 

“Hey, mom,” she greeted. “Logan. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

“No problem, kid,” he responded with a nod.

“I’m not a child, you know,” you commented, rolling your eyes. “But I am tired.” You turned and set your hand on Logan’s arm, rubbing your thumb against his jacket. “Thanks again, Lo.” You turned and walked to Laura, kissing her head. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

The two watched as you disappeared down the hall and into your bedroom. 

“Do you need anything, kid, before I head out?” Logan wondered.

“I heard the two of you,” she stated quietly.

“What?”

“The window was open. I heard the two of you laughing.” Logan nodded, opting to remain silent to let Laura continue. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before like that… But… be careful. Don’t hurt her.”

“I’d never do that.”

“That’s what my father said, yet he still did.”

“What do you mean?”

Laura sighed. “Please don’t tell her I said anything… He left her and took Charles when he had his first seizure… Mom told me that he promised that she’d never be homeless like she was before everything. She ended up homeless and alone until she found him again… All I’m asking is for you to not make promises that you can’t keep. Don’t make promises and then walk away. She won’t be able to survive it again.”

Logan was taken by surprise. He clearly didn’t know your whole story, which was fine, but he had put your husband—the other him—on this pedestal. Though it was clear that he had even let you down at one point or another. He wasn’t going to let himself to the same thing.

~~~

“Alright! I’ve got the popcorn!” Wade exclaimed as he plopped down in the chair beside the couch. 

You were already sitting down, curled up with a blanket with Laura on one side of you. Logan walked into the room and noticed that there was an empty spot on the other side of you. He wanted to sit by you but he didn’t know if he should.

“Peanut!” Wade shouted as he reached over and patted the open seat next to you. “Saved you a spot.”

Logan’s eyes flickered your way to see you already looking at him with a soft smile. Tension eased from his shoulders as he walked over and sat beside you. He squished himself into the arm, trying not to overcrowd you.

“I’ve chosen the best movie for tonight!” Wade continued. “It’s a love story. There’s a bit of time travel. And a handsome hunk of a man.”

“What’s the movie?” You giggled at Wade.

“Kate and Leopold.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s probably trash,” Laura commented. “Wade never picks good movies.”

Wade gasped dramatically, hand falling over his heart. “You wound me, Little Wolf! I only choose masterpieces! And you will see that this is no exception.” 

Wade quickly clicked the movie on and flipped the lights off. You glanced over at Logan, noticing that he seemed to be awkwardly pushing himself into the corner. You leaned over.

“I don’t bite,” you whispered.

“What?” Logan’s head snapped to look at you.

“You’re sitting so far away. Relax. I’m not scared of a little touch. Here.” You tugged at his arm and he moved closer to you. Then you untucked the large blanket that was laying on top of you and Laura and laid it on Logan’s lap. “There. All better.”

“Thanks,” Logan muttered.

The four of you fell silent as your focuses fell to the movie. You were enjoying the movie, but you couldn’t help but think that the actor playing Leopold—Hugh Jackman—was cute.

“Hey!” Wade suddenly interrupted. “Don’t you think that that Hugh Jackman guy looks like our Peanut here?”

“Oh my gosh,” you mumbled, eyes widening.

“What?” Logan questioned, confused. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, okay, he has less hair in this and is definitely skinnier, but the two of you could be twins!” Wade continued.

“I’m sorry, Lo,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid Wade is right.”

“See!”

“Whatever,” Logan scoffed. “Just watch the movie.”

The movie continued with Wade’s comments here and there. Your eyes began to grow tired and your bead began to bob. Logan noticed. His arm slipped onto the back of the couch as he leaned close to your ear.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he whispered. “Just relax and fall asleep.”

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, words slurring.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “Bullshit. Just lean back and fall asleep.”

After a moment, you nodded and allowed yourself to lean against Logan. It didn’t take long before you were sound asleep against him. Logan kept his arm along the back of the couch until your body began slipping and he quickly wrapped his arm around you to keep you still. You needed your sleep, Logan knew that, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to get in your way.

You slept through the rest of the movie, snuggled into Logan’s side. When the movie ended, Laura got up and moved to stand in front of you.

“I can take her,” Laura offered quietly.

“I got it,” Logan responded. He carefully maneuvered you into his arms and stood up. Laura led the way as Logan carried you to bed. He tucked you in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, doll.” 

Logan walked out, wishing Laura goodnight, and headed for the roof. He lit a cigar and let it sit between his lips. It was beginning to dawn on him that the emotions he was feeling and the thoughts he was having meant that his feelings for you were growing more romantically. Logan didn’t want to push you into something, especially as it was clear that you were still dealing with the love and loss of your husband. Your wedding ring never left your finger and the dog tags rarely left your neck. He also hated the idea of losing your friendship. The two of you were finding something new in your friendship and Logan was enjoying it. 

Despite whatever may come of Logan’s emotions, he knew one thing for sure. Logan wasn’t going to walk away from what he found here with you, Laura, and Wade.

~~~

Logan was tired as he trudged into the apartment after work the next day. When he opened the apartment, Logan found Wade preparing his weapons as he stood in the center of the room with his Deadpool suit on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I have a possible lead on something that could help our Little Flame,” Wade stated, focusing on his task to prepare his weapons.

“What? And you were just gonna leave?”

“Awe, so glad to know that you’d miss me, Peanut. But I did leave a wonderful note on your pillow with a few pictures of me just in case.”

“Wilson. What did you find?”

“Nope, my lips are sealed.” He pretended to zip up his lips and throw away the key. 

“Well then just wait and I’ll go with you.”

“No can do, Peanut. You need to stay with Little Wolf and Buttercup. They need to be watched over in my absence and you, though you are not that qualified, are the only one I trust.”

“Fine. Can you at least tell me what you’re chasing after?”

“You can’t get their hopes up. But I’ve been doing some digging and I’m going back to the TVA. There are more Y/N’s out there and at least one of them has to have dealt with a similar issue. I’m gong to do my research and see what can be done.”

“Wow… that plan’s not terrible.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Peanut.”

“Keep me in the loop.”

“I will try. And don’t let our Mama and Daughter Duo get into too much trouble. I won’t be long.”

“Good luck, Wade.”

next chapter >

[ninadove]

And because I now have fancy new tags to put to good use…

Thoughts on Miraculous S6 E2: The Illustrhater 🎨

Please note that this is a salt-free space. I do not want to see even a grain of salt in my notes. You will be blocked on sight. Cool? Cool. (And even if it’s not cool with you… well… blocked on sight… so…)

First things first: the new animation style is actually really cute and works really well in context! Chat in particular looks great, contrary to what that first promotional poster made us fear. Adrien as a civilian might be the one who suffered most, probably because of the hairstyle change… It will need some getting used to, but overall, I like what I’ve seen so far. So much love and care was put into the smallest details, like the sparkles on Mari’s tights!

Special mention:

SHE HAS SPIKES????? LITTLE HAIR SPIKES????? IN HER HAIR????? AND DRAGON SCALES????? AND SLIT PUPILS????? AND HER SUIT LAYS EVEN MORE INTO THE ASYMETRIC VIBE, HIGHLIGHTING HOW MUCH INDEPENDENCE SHE GAINED AND HOW COMFORTABLE SHE IS WITHOUT THE PRESSURE OF BEING PERFECT ALL THE TIME????? AND SHE LOOKS SO HAPPY????? LIKE SHE’S HAVING SO MUCH FUN????? LIKE SOMEONE IN HER LIFE HAS BEEN A GOOD INFLUENCE MAYBE????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

… Apologies, I seem to have lost the plot for a minute. Where was I?

Oh, yeah. If one thing is clear from this first look at S6, it’s that Marinette’s secrets will catch up to her at some point. The writers lay it on thick in both Alyanette scenes and with the “Even as superheroes, they share everything” DJWiFi/Love Square contrast! It’s not exactly a surprise, but with how many people claimed we would never hear a single word about the Agreste plotline again, I feel somewhat… vindicated.

Marinette not knowing how to act around Adrien actually makes a lot of sense to me? She’s had to be his rock through his grieving process, meaning she has functionally not left Ladybug Mode since the end of S5. Of course when she gets a chance to chill and actually do regular couple things, she gets terribly scared! Seeing her trying to imitate other couples was so funny and cute… Did you know I love her… And Adrien was such a wet cold lost kitten through it all… Did you know I love him…

That being said, this felt like an Alyanette episode first and an OT4 episode second. I loved seeing these four work as a group again! Nino was simply too precious and I loved Adrinette “““covering up””” for Renapace. Rena grabbed Ladybug’s hand for their little manoeuvre like it was second nature to her, which is very reminiscent of Bumbleby from RWBY, aka the Sapphic Battle Couple!

(And that Chekov’s gun… I’m sure we’ve all seen Chekov’s gun…… We shall not mention it yet……… It’s there and we know where it’s headed…………)

But of course. Of course. The character who shone the brightest in this episode? Was Lila.

It’s clear from the get-go how different she is from Monarch!!! Smarter, more manipulative, but perhaps also… more compassionate, in a twisted way…? She gives her victims the illusion of choice (“Only if you agree, of course” // “And what shall I call you?”), making herself small when she first approaches them only to reveal her full size when the magic takes over.

AND YET it seems to me she must know pain intimately to leverage it so well… Really makes you ponder the Manon theory, especially when comparing Illustrhater and Puppeteer’s costumes…

Another key difference with Gabriel is that she is on the field, constantly observing and taking notes, which is extremely scary but also exposes her to more risks. I’m very curious to learn more about this chameleon magic of hers and what she means by “you’ll know nothing about me, about us, bout them”… She seems to think of herself as the center of a web, a spider rather than a butterfly, if you will!

(Also, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the Diabolo menthe reference was intentional!)