#but if no one else is going to make this found family trope happen then I Will

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (three)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist | < two

⟢a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic, add yourself to this form: taglist

ᯓ⟢

When you get back to your on-campus apartment, you went straight into your room to take down the photos you had up of you and Zach, pulling a random old shipping box out from your recycled area to shove things into. 

The drive back to campus was pretty smooth. You blasted Gracie Abrams and Maisie Peters on repeat, and your mind went into autopilot. 

So, Zoey Miller was his girlfriend. That was pretty rich, considering you didn’t even realize when you stopped being his girlfriend. Didn’t even realize a guy as soft as Zach MacLaren had a mean bone in his body to be able to do something like this to you. You went to his house that morning half ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe something came up, maybe he lost his phone, maybe last minute his parents decided for it to be a family-only trip and took his phone from him in the name of “reconnecting with nature” and so he was never given the chance to inform you.

But then his mother said those words, she said that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend.

You had pulled most of his sweaters that you’d had from your closet, throwing them into the box, by the time there was obnoxiously loud knocking at your front door. You had no plans, no one who was supposed to be coming over, so you paused for a moment to see if maybe your roommate, Bree, was home or not. When you didn’t hear any movement from her side of the apartment and the knocking persisted, you let out a frustrated sigh, walking over to the peephole.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of him. What, he felt bad that he got caught and drove himself all the way back to school to finally have that talk with you in person. Between the few moments it took for you to open the door, your mind raced with all the different cliche breakup lines he could give you.

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t feeling the spark between us anymore.”

“Let me explain…”

“I didn’t mean for this to be how you found out.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” Yeah, as if his mother confirming that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly what it looked like.

And more and more, until you finally wrapped your hand around the doorknob, unlocking the top latch, and swinging it open to look at him. He towered over you, guilt etched into his face and a small cut on his lip where you could only imagine he had bit over and over as he contemplated how to let you down softly on his ride over.

You peered out into the hallway, half expecting Zoey Miller to be outside, looking at you with those same eyes of remorse, but you only saw Zach’s luggage by your door and redness under his blue eyes.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out in a hushed, annoyed whisper, holding the door open just enough so that he can see you.

“Let me explain,” he pleaded, his voice raspy. So, we were going with the scripted breakup line number 2. 

He paused for a second, but when he saw that you weren’t going to step back to let him inside of your apartment, he locked eyes with you. One thing about Zach MacLaren? He was very good at making intense eye contact. He licked his lips and sighed, as if searching for what else to say with his excuse.

As you waited for his lips to continue moving, you thought of what he could say next.

“...it just sort of happened.”

“...I didn’t mean to fall for her.”

“...can we stay friends?”

But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “I got hit by a car.”

Your annoyed facial expressions dropped into a confused one, squinting at him in reaction to his words. Your chin moved closer to your neck as your head moved backwards in confusion. Your lips curled upwards, not in a smile, but in a bewildered grimace.

“I’m sorry, you got what by a what?” you asked, baffled.

He was staring back at you, so so so serious. He pulled a folded up paper out of his pocket, holding it out in your direction.

“My after visit summary from the emergency room on Friday,” he mumbled.

He got hit by a car on Friday? you thought to yourself, wondering how he was going to use his, “I got hit by a car” as reasoning for taking another girl as his girlfriend to a family ski trip that he had invited you on, first.

“Patient Zachary MacLaren is a 21 year old male who was brought in after a collision of a moving car with his bicycle occurred. At onset, he did lose consciousness for a few minutes, before regaining consciousness before the paramedics arrived. No sprains or broken limbs or joints have been sustained in the incident. Patient has some swelling to the left side of his skull. Tests and examinations are concurrent with a diagnosis of a concussion and anterograde amnesia.”

Anterograde amnesia, you learned that in one of her psychology courses last semester. Short term memory loss.

“Are you telling me you have amnesia?” you asked him, holding the paper up after you’re done reading it.

“Yes—No, had. I had amnesia,” he stuttered out while nodding his head.

“So you don’t have amnesia right now?” you asked to clarify.

He shook his head and rounded his lips in a pucker and put his hands behind his back, swaying a little. “No amnesia right now.”

You blink a few times, still lost on what and how this was connecting to him bringing a different girlfriend on his family ski trip.

“And did this amnesia make you lose your goddamn mind and bring some random girl with you to a ski trip?” you asked, trying to find the connection here.

Though, you do feel really bad he got hit by a freaking car, and then he got amnesia, that sucks. You wished you had been there to help him with that.

“No, no, see, what had happened,” he started to explain, putting his hands out to grab onto your upper arms and crouch a little down to your level so he could stare you in the eyes again. “I thought she was you.”

“Excuse me?” 

He licked his lips, turning his head to the side as if to say, “I know.” He sighed and continued with his story, “After I got hit with the car, she was there.”

“Zoey was there with you when you got hit by this car? Why was Zoey with you?” you questioned.

“She works at the bookstore.”

“The bookstore,” you repeat after him with a nod, trying to keep track of all the different ways this story was branching out. “The one with the book on Battletoads.”

“Well, no,” he shook his head. “I had to get her to order me a book on Battletoads for Idiots because they didn’t have any in stock.” Then, he shook his head again when he realized you two were getting off track. He let go over her, using his hands to motion around and talk. “Point is, I left my credit card.” He points to his side to emphasize leaving his credit card. “She came outside to give it to me, I turned around to look at her,” and he mimicked how he looked at her, peering over his shoulder. “And a car didn’t see me, I didn’t see the car,” he pointed to himself and then down, before making a hitting motion with his palm, “and bam! I go flying onto the pavement.”

You’re just nodding along with his entire story, waiting for him to finally give you that missing puzzle piece that could make it all make sense.

“And then when I woke up, she was there crouching in front of me. My brain was all mushy,” he made circular motions around his head. “And I knew her name was Zoey, and I somehow could remember that I called you Zoey a few times… and I… uh…” he looked more sheepish as he got to this part of the story. “In my moment of anterograde amnesia—that means short term memory loss by the way—”

“I know,” you said, and if this was any other time, you may have laughed at the way he over pronounced “anterograde amnesia” and looked so proud of himself for knowing the term, a small smile on his face.

“—I may have thought she was.. you,” he trailed off as he said this part, looking guilty. “I just… I don’t know how,” he put his hands up and them down in exasperation, practically breathing out his words. “I don’t know how I thought she was you, baby, I don’t. But then you came to my parents’ house, and I saw you drive away, and it all… I knew she wasn’t you.”

You just nod as you process the information. This sounded like some cheaply made romance plot, that one look at you and his amnesia would wear off. There was a lot of information processing that was happening at this point.

You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps, seeing a group of girls walking through the hallway, some of your various neighbors. They looked over at you and Zach, and you knew how this looked. The serious look on your face, the luggage, the pleading one on his. They probably thought they were watching a breakup between a tutor girl and the college’s soccer star. 

You opened the door wider, not wanting anyone to somehow overhear the conversation. You stepped aside for him. “Come in.”

He smiled, hopeful, and rolled his luggage and walked himself into your apartment.

You two went straight for the kitchen, him just following you as you said nothing back to his explanation. You went straight to the coffee machine, and as you brewed yourself some espresso, Zach went to your fridge, pulling out the creamer he knew was yours and not your roommates, you know, since he didn’t have amnesia anymore.

You stood there in silence for a little while, leaning against the kitchen counter as you sipped your latte, having made one for him after yours.

“So… you thought she was me…” you finally talk, and he’s standing across from you with a guilty nod. “Do we really look alike?”

“No! No! You’re like… a superstar, and she’s… not you,” he said with a nervous laugh, unable to insult Zoey Miller just to bring you up.

And that was fine with you. You didn’t need or want him insulting her. Just wanted to know if you two looked similar enough that he could mix you guys up in an amnesia concussion haze.

“So it was just because her first name is also my middle name?” you questioned.

“I know, it sounds stupid, I don’t… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

You nodded your lips forming a line.

“So… she just… pretended to be me?” you questioned, thinking about how insane that sounded. “For what? Revenge for hitting her in the end with that soccer ball?”

He laughed at your questions, the way you sounded so irritated at not being able to understand Zoey Miller.

You continued with your little rant, “I mean, I heard that girl is anti-romantic, so what? Did she have some secret crush on you or something? Had to strike while I wasn’t around, and you didn’t know any better?”

“She had a crush on Miles, actually,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Kissed him in the pool while I was sleeping and everything.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an unbelievable laugh.

“And Miles just… let her? Thinking she was you girlfriend? And wait, what about Emily?” you asked, putting the cup down on the counter. Loving Zach was knowing about all of the people he loved, too, which meant knowing his cousin Miles was dating a nice girl named Emily. “Sorry, but your cousin’s an asshole! Cheating on her with the girl he thought was cheating on you while she was pretending to be me!”

Your voice kept raising as you got riled up on his behalf, and he couldn’t help but let a small smile stay on his face because of it.

The more information you got, the more insane this whole story sounded. But he smiled at your reaction, the way your facial features were showing less and less that you were mad at him. He really hoped you weren’t mad at him.

“Apparently, they’re poly.”

“Doesn’t mean you are,” you retort back, walking to where he was to stand next to him.

You let out a deep exhale, leaning your head against his arm as you two stood against the kitchen island. 

“It felt wrong, the entire time,” he said softly, squatting down a little bit so he could lean his head on top of yours as well. “Like I knew deep down she didn’t really like me. Like she didn’t even know me, and that I didn’t really know her. She said she was a computer science major and that made no sense to me, since we met because you were my English tutor. She had all these hobbies I don’t remember you ever liking. Wouldn’t let me hold her hand, spent most of her time with Miles instead of me since they could go out on the slopes and I couldn’t because, ya know, mushy brains,” he sighed. “And then, she found out about Emily and got mad at him. Then, she finally spent the day with me.”

Despite being upset that some other girl went on the MacLaren ski trip instead of you, you couldn’t help but feel bad that Zach spent the entire weekend with an inkling feeling that his girlfriend—or who he thought was his girlfriend—didn’t even like him.

He keeps talking, just expressing how the weekend felt and how things had gone.

“And it was sad coming back, you know?” he sighed. “I mean, I spent all of yesterday thinking I was having so much fun re-getting to know her, feeling like we were finally having a connection, feeling really good about it… just for it all to be a lie.”

You frowned and took your head off of his arm, making him move straight as well.

“You felt like you and Zoey had a connection?” you asked softly.

His face contorted in concern at his misstep.

“Wha—No. No, baby, no,” he moved to turn in front of you, his arms going to hold yours. “It wasn’t real. It’s not real.”

“But a part of you really liked getting to spend time with her,” you point out softly, looking away. “So much so that it was disappointing when you came home and it was… me that’s your girlfriend, and not her.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Zach said softly, shaking his head, trying to lead down closer to you to get you to look at him. “I’m not disappointed that I came home and there was you.”

“But you were disappointed that your weekend with Zoey was built on a fake premise,” you said back. “And not entirely because she lied to you, but because you felt a connection to her.”

“No!”

“Zach.”

“Okay, fine, yes. I admit that I was… feeling something towards her on this trip, but baby, I thought she was my girlfriend.”

“So, you’d date her?” you hated yourself for somehow twisting it the way you were, but a part of you was just hurt that this happened, hurt to know he spent the weekend falling for someone else, regardless of why and how. “In a different world where I don’t exist to you, you’d fall for her. Because you did. This weekend.”

A permanent frown etched into his face at your words.

“But you do exist in this world,” he whispered, pleading. 

“Did you kiss her?”

It’s not fair, you know it’s not fair to be jealous or upset. Zoey practically catfished and scammed and lied and pretended to be someone she wasn’t. But she didn’t pretend to be you in the sense of your personality. Zach said it himself, she sounded so unlike you, with a different major, different personality, different hobbies. And despite that, he liked her. 

“I thought she was you,” he reiterated, saying “yes” to your question without the word itself.

“You thought she was your girlfriend, not that she was me,” you denied, shaking your head and moving from your spot trapped between Zach and the kitchen island. 

The pleading in his eyes could haunt you.

“You didn’t think she was me personally. You just thought you were with her. And you liked being with her, for her personality and her hobbies and just her,” you said softly.

Every part of you was screaming at you to take your words back, to stop yourself from talking. You knew it was irrational to be upset at him for something he had no control over. He had amnesia for crying out loud. But there was no rationalizing this situation. 

There was no rulebook telling you how to react and respond to finding out some girl pretended to be your amnesia patient of a boyfriend’s girlfriend. There was no guide on how to take in and process him openly admitting that while she was so drastically different from you, he was starting to really like her.

“I’m sorry this happened, Zach,” you said softly, your bottom lip wobbling. “It’s not fair, and it really really sucks.”

He just stared at you, tears forming in his eyes as if he knew what you were about to say. His chin wobbled, and it pushed you over the edge, too. A string of tears fell from your own eyes.

“But I’m really hurt right now, and I don’t mean to be upset with you because I know… I know it’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” you admit, wiping your tears on the back of your wrists. 

He steps forward to try and comfort you. You step back.

“But I need time to…” you suck in a breathe and lick your lips as you try to figure out what it was that you needed from him. “I need time to process this all… process that you were starting to fall for someone else.”

“Baby…” he begged you not to do this with one single word.

“Please,” you pleaded back. “Just… please.”

And how could he deny you, the one he loved so much, the one thing you were asking of him right now?

“Okay,” he whispered and nodded, a singular tear falling down his face as he forced himself to listen to you. 

And that look on his face really felt like it could haunt you.

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four >

a/n: so i realized i have messed up the movie’s timeline, remembering that it started on valentine’s day, not december LOL, but soccer season for college is august-november for actual competitions and spring time for non-competition training and games… and I’m also from California so while I knew some schools have like “ski week” breaks in february (we always just called it president’s week break), it absolutely skipped my mind that that is a thing LOL. in this story it is a few weeks before holiday break lol.

taglist: @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx

[anaconamor]

we’re pretending? - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: no date to an upcoming wedding, you use your best friend as last resort. what happens when your best friend isn’t playing pretend anymore and you’re left conflicted with these unusual feelings…

wc: 4.6 k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: i used my og ‘glory box’ fic to get some inspo while writing this fic ngl!! 😣 this was so fun to write not only by the trope but the DRAMAAAA!! like always, hope you enjoy! 🤍

“yes mom, i know. i picked my dress up yesterday, and my flight is booked as well,” you sighed and rolled your eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to see you through the phone. she knew how important this wedding was but she kept putting the pressure on you. it was the last thing you needed especially after you told her you’d bring someone along.

that someone was now you’re ex-boyfriend. you had less than 48 hours to come up with an excuse or show up alone.

"are you still bringing your plus one?" she asked, the line going silent for a few seconds before she spoke up again. "y/n? are you there?" you should've just lied or said the truth, all you could think of was how happy and super excited she was when you told her you'd met someone and began dating.

"yes mom... we both will be there," you closed your eyes, disappointment in yourself filling the void in your head. you could hear her squeal in the background, telling a voice there with her about the good news. you chewed on your lip anxiously, wanting to cut the call or else you'd break down.

"listen mom, i have t-to go okay? ill call you tomorrow. try not to stress so much," you smiled weakly hearing an "i love you", ending the call after gifting your goodbye. there was no avoiding the mistake you had committed. you wanted to slap some common sense into yourself, because where the hell were you about to find someone?

you clearly remembered the day telling your mom you'd met someone at uni. she was over the moon and wanted to tell everyone but you dismissed the idea, not wanting to rush since you had recently met. you would call her and tell her about him, and she listened so attentively, just like in the movies.

you couldn't bring yourself to tell her when you and max had broken up. your whole life has always been surrounded by being told you needed to be more like your older sister, the pressure of being a golden child laid on you. for once you had something, but that had to get ruined as well.

the scolding, the perfect grades, friends, hell even family. you had to be so careful and live up to their expectations. you loved them, you did, but at times you just felt like moving away was the best idea. and you did just that, the first to move out to a new country, breaking records at uni, and even finding a suitable job.

your boss loved you, and coworkers admired you for the passion and dedication you carried. so why did it have to go all wrong with max? you had an image of him in your head that he was madly in love with you, though you'd later be proven wrong when you found out he was sleeping with his boss. finding them in the act on your 6th month anniversary.

you still can recall the feeling of being unable to breathe, their screams and his pleading going quiet as you could just stare into the room, not once being able to see his eyes. disgust, and rage, but mostly sadness, a heavy heart, and the lump in your throat. he hurt you terribly and you would forever resent that.

after the call, you sat quietly on the couch, hands in your hair as you thought about everything. looking around seeing your bags packed, the blue dress hanging by your room, pictures everywhere. you hated to admit but you were living in a hell, life messy and a disaster. your buzz ringed, seeing through the tiny camera your best friend jude in the frame.

you allowed him in, walking over to the large mirror and wiping away the dry tears, making yourself look more presentable. you looked worn out, eyes droopy and low, lips slightly chapped, and to make matters worse a zit on your chin. you exhaled a breath, keys jiggling as jude came in.

he set his training bag down, took his shoes off, and walked to you, giving you a small hug. "you look terrible," you gave him a warning look, "but lucky you, i brought us food," he spoke cheerfully, the mood inside you going from gloomy to content. "it's raining like crazy, i almost fell coming up. also i brought some packages and your mail," jude continued.

"thank you, i haven't had the time to go down and pick them up! i've been so busy packing and planning last-minute stuff," you groaned, going to the kitchen and washing your hands. "watch, in the next few minutes i'm going to get a call," you theorized. jude pulled out the food and served it into your plates as you grabbed a water for him and a soda for yourself.

"how was training?"

jude shrugged unimpressed, "same old. didn't really have to go in, but they needed me for a small campaign shoot, so i had no choice. also cama and tchou send their hello's."

you and jude spoke amongst yourself. just about each other's days and catching up from the last time you guys were together. you teased him about losing a bet with his little brother, jude whining about how he cheated. new music that came out, and a pop up store that opened lower in downtown.

"so what's got your head in a twist?" jude sipped on his last few ounces of water, leaning his head on his propped-up arm and hand. you awkwardly scratch the back of your neck, pick up the dirty dishes, and walk to the sink. "okay don't make fun of me-"

"you're basically asking me too... also no promises since you just made fun of me for losing against jobe," jude chuckled.

"jude."

"oh it's serious then... what did you do?" he saw the serious look on your face, a small worry constructing in his chest because he rarely saw you like this. you close your eyes, feeling the anxiety build in you once again, "i told my mom i was still bringing max..."

jude scoffed in denial, or trying to cope with the confusion, "y/n, you what?"

"i know! i know! i should've just confessed and coughed up the truth but i- i couldn't! she was so excited jude! i feel terrible for lying believe me i do, but after telling her about him and filling her with hope to break her heart, i just c-c-couldn't," you ramble, dishes clattering as you freaked out.

in your head it didn't seem as bad, but fully saying it out loud to jude, seemed even worse. jude grimaced, knowing you had messed up bad especially since the wedding was right around the corner. "i'm just embarrassed... i know they will start something and just talk down on me if i showed up alone."

jude knew how heavy-handed your family could be, often wanting to resent them because he cared for you so much. he saw how physically and mentally they could rain you even with the smallest sentence. they seemed so worried with their lives instead of the ones they should most value and care for.

jude gave you a concerned face, "what?" chuckling nervously when you gasped out, almost being able to see the lit-up light bulb on top of your head. "jude, I'm a genius!"

"well i beg to differ-"

"shut up," you pat your finger against your chin, a mischievous smile on your lip taunting jude's concern even more. "i don't know why i didn't think of this sooner! why don't you pretend to be my boyfriend? just for the wedding that's it!"

jude shook his head, hands coming up to back out of the idea. it was one thing you lying, but now asking you to play pretend was something totally different. "that's not a good idea y/n..." jude clenched his teeth forcing a smile. "oh cmon why not?"

"well, first of all, that's an even bigger lie to your mom. second, pretending would seem impossible. third, i don't want the first time meeting your parents to be a lie because of what happened," jude defended and stated his case.

"it's a huge favor but you'd save my life jude! one weekend and that's it! you have plenty of suits, you're also off this weekend, and they would never suspect a thing! please jude! i wouldn't be asking if i wasn't so desperate," you begged, seeing the hesitation in his eyes.

"it seems like a bad idea... you don't know what you're asking for y/n... were pretending to be a couple when were not! we have to make it believable even under the pressure of the wedding. a theatrical play, a stunt!" jude exclaimed standing up from his chair.

"jude please, please, please! it might feel weird but it's for the night only! after that, we go back to the good old y/n and jude," you followed him as he paced in your living room thinking of his answer. would it be back to normal even if he continued to feel the same for you? the unknown loving feeling he had for you?

the pretending would be hard when all he could hardly think of was you. how he felt recently and how nervous he got around you. he would do anything for you in a heartbeat, but this would break jude further than now. he couldn't fake pretend holding your hand, or kissing your cheek when he meant and wanted to do that with you currently.

as bad as the idea was, here he was hugging you as you cheerfully yelped when he agreed. time moved slowly for him, the sensation of regret and curiosity as what was yet to come from both of you. all he cared for was to make sure you were happy, and if faking being your boyfriend would help you, he was willing to do it, no matter the consequences.

as jude was fixing his hair, you finished setting your makeup with some powder and setting spray. nerves bubbling in you after the first test you encountered last night after your arrival. you let out a laugh at the tiny bed you had to share with jude. seeing his uneasy face even after he offered to sleep on the couch.

"we're running on schedule," you spoke, finishing clasping your jewelry around your hands and rings. jude came behind you, his shirt unbuttoned and abs in full view, as he finished zipping his pants. best friend or not, there was no denying how incredibly sexy jude was. the name should speak for itself, but with the looks and personality he had, it was too good to be true.

"need some help?" he asked seeing you nod slowly and looking down at your feet. he took the necklace, your skin on fire as his fingertips grazed your skin accidentally, almost jumping on the spot, goosebumps grazing your body. he clasped the necklace, grabbing the pendent and fixing it so it laid in the middle. "perfect," he cockliy smirked.

"thank you."

"are you almost ready?" he looked at you as he buttoned up his shirt, you almost stuttered but regained consciousness, "yes, just need to put my dress and shoes on," you turned back quickly furrowing your brows, wanting to slap yourself for allowing yourself to get carried away, or maybe at the uneasy desire in you when seeing jude.

you went to the bathroom, grabbing the lacy undergarments and the blue dress. the color was to die for, the perfect length even with your heels on, the opened back with the front just showing the perfect amount of cleavage, and the whole dress just accentuating your body even more.

you felt the need to throw some water in your face though you couldn't or else it would ruin your makeup. you settled with fanning yourself with your hand, the tense in your chest getting to you as it was becoming real now. you were just pretending with jude. nothing more right?

you looked in the huge light-up mirror, and suddenly the confidence you had dripped away as you thought of jude in the next room over. why did all of a sudden everything feel like it wasn't before? as in, things changed drastically since the night at your apartment? you've never felt this clumsy or as edgy around him.

when you woke up this morning, with jude on top of you laying peacefully, you couldn't help but feel overjoyed, as if it was a natural state and you've done it before. in your own world where the only thing that mattered was him and you. since then you were slightly freaked out, butterflies in your chest when he left or walk into the room.

jude double taked a look as you walked into the room again. the tiny room that felt like a joke to him after walking in hand to hand last night. his eyes roamed you, lips slightly separated as he admired your beauty, heart hammering in his chest. he watched as you grabbed your cheeks, immediately offering to help.

he leaned down, gently grabbing your foot and placing the white jeweled heel on you. your hands were clamped around the small bench cushions, jude looking up then and there to make sure they felt comfortable. once again, his touch felt like fire, playing with your head even more.

when he finished clasping the heel, he extended his hand helping you up. "you look absolutely gorgeous y/n... this dress was made for you," jude croaked, hearing you laugh shakily. "thank you jude. likewise," jude smiled at your reaction, "i mean as in you look super handsome with the suit, not a dress!" you explained.

"i think i got what you meant..." he joked, his eyes roaming uo and down again at you. "good. good. shall we head out?" you swallowed heavily, grabbing your purse, phone, and other stuff you needed for the night. you were in a rush, wanting to get some fresh air or you would explode in the room with jude inside. "lead the way y/n."

jude helped you in an out of the cab, his hand on your bare back as he guided you to the double doors leading into the reception. "how are you feeling? any nerves?" you spoke quietly to him, looking around as people were taking their seats or had their own conversations.

"some but not too many. like you said, it's just for today," he whispered along your ear, gently giving your shoulder a kiss as his hands went to your hips and walked you forward. your mom and aunt gasped, grabbing their dresses and walking towards you, almost sprinting. "here goes nothing," you say.

"oh my god! so you are real!" your mom yelped, making you give her a glare and eyes pleading not to make a scene. "i was starting to think my sweet y/n was lying to me about this boyfriend she had," you almost choked on your saliva, clearing your throat at her words. "i am y/n's mom, what is your name?"

"i'm jude. it's a pleasure to finally meet you ma'am," jude shook her hand and leaned down to kiss her cheeks in a greeting manner, the same with your aunt. jude's hand interlocked with yours, the happiness in your mother's eyes never leaving, almost tearing up at the sight of you with your "boyfriend."

"i can't believe it! it's a miracle, my daughter finally has her first boyfriend," she clapped her hands making you wretched at her choice of wording. you did everything to have her at least praise you once in life, and all it took was to have a boyfriend? you brushed away the glum feeling, jude kissing your hand, distracting you from the small burn in your eyes.

"oh my! look at them! they make such a beautiful pair," your aunt gleamed. "we do, don't we?" jude teased them, "took her a while to say yes to me, but i'm very fortunate to be here," jude resumed. "we're very pleased to have you here, anything you need don't hesitate to ask."

after saying hello to other family friends and cousins, you sat for the ceremony. jude wiped a small tear away after your old school friend finished her vows, slapping his shoulder when he made a small joke about your mascara running. "its not funny! the vows were so beautiful," you said.

"it's like we are watching me before you again," he said making you gasp. "jude what are talking about? you literally cried with me?" you recalled laughing, jude looking around scared if someone was hearing you. "please don't remind me... in my defense, i didn't see that ending at all."

after the ceremony, you and jude greeted other families, and most importantly congratulated the bride and groom. their faces ushered with happiness, overall content with how their day was turning out. you had to excuse yourself from jude at one point, your mom dragging you away for your help. jude was left behind with your dad.

"since she was little, she always hated getting thrown or dragged around," your father spoke, taking a sip of his whiskey. "seems like nothing had changed?" jude asked carefully with a playful smile. "oh not even close! it's my wife doing," he winked.

"jude right?"

"yes sir," jude nodded, presenting the dad talk coming up. "I'm gonna save the unnecessary talk and get straight to the point. it's so weird to see my baby girl all grown up, with the lusting and loving eyes she gives you. you love her very much and i can see that which is why i'm not worried about you hurting or losing her trust."

hell if jude didn't feel guilty before, he did now. he gripped the glass harder, nodding to your dad who looked upset. "she may have told you some stuff about us, but at the end of the day, she's my daughter and i love her the way she is... please just take good care of her for me... she been through enough as it is..."

"i only have good intentions and i promise you i won't ever break her heart," jude promised to your dad, but also himself. he would never be able to forgive himself if he ever did break your heart or make you lose the trust you had. max did it once and jude would never do it. even if it meant keeping away these long feelings for you.

when you returned you saw them laughing and chatting away, your heart full of emotions at them getting along. jude was so mature for his age, and it didn't come to a surprise when he got along with your dad so fast. his hand would naturally lay on your back or on your hip.

the next few hours were filled with more people dancing or chatting away. jude insisting you sat on his lap for a picture when the photographer passed, smiling wide, looking like a happy couple. it seemed so natural to you, being this close and intimate you were getting scared at how fast everything was being thrown at you.

"i had to see it for myself! y/n bagging a footballer? never saw that coming," your cousin approached you giving you a high as he dabbed up jude. "jude meet my cousin adrian, he's a huge fan of you, and just successfully signed with a small club," you introduced them to each other, with a huge grin on your face.

jude’s hand snuck around your waist, his thumb drawing shapes as his full attention was with your cousin who spoke about sports. you listened then and there, but your feet began to ache, switching your weight back and forth uncomfortably.

jude was quick to notice, leaving down to your level and asking if you were okay. “i’m fine i promise, these shoes are killing me that’s all,” you reassured with a smile, jude nodding before cutting the conversation after a few minutes. “i’m going to get her a chair and drinks for us,” you froze when he kissed your temple, “i’ll see you around later,” jude said his goodbyes dragging you along slowly.

like before, your chest beat faster, if he stared, smiled, even touched or got near you, you’d get nervous immediately. the familiar string of falling for someone filling the empty space left behind inside you. he was super good at pretending and it didn’t feel like that anymore.

it felt real. was he just pretending? or was he actually taking this fake relationship seriously and real?

all you could do was stare at his face, mostly his gorgeous brown eyes as he helped you get seated and served you some water, making sure you were fully okay. he sat next to you, his hand interlocking with his, and placing it on his lap as he paid attention to his surroundings. you become quiet, so into your head and questioning his every move now.

“jude?” you spoke softly, a confused smile on your face as he immediately turned to you with a soften gaze. you inhaled a breath, unable to look away from him, his ínstese state causing you to feel intimidated. “is everything okay?” he asked, leaning slightly over to you, pushing a small string of hair back. “is it supposed to feel like this?”

“what is?” jude shook his head not understanding.

“us? why am i getting the idea we’re no longer pretending…”

jude tore his gaze from yours, the panic growing more intense when he wouldn't reply back. "jude please... don't push me away. are we just pretending or has something changed?" you persisted, your hand gliding against his back to get his attention. jude debated, afraid of losing you right here and now, or having the possibility to maybe hear you feel the same way.

"come with me," jude demanded, helping your and dragging you to the dance floor where no one could really see you besides the other happy couples. his hands circled your waist, as yours went to his shoulders, unable to look away from him. "tell me i'm not the only one who feels it..."

"tell me what you feel y/n... what your head is begging to scream out..."

"i can't, i don't know jude. i'm afraid yet so confused? since we got here yesterday things feel different between us. it happened again when we had breakfast, when you put my necklace on, my heels! all of this is giving me mixed signals jude... i haven't felt this in so long.." you confess, a shaky breath escaping your lips when he pulls you closer and kisses your head.

"like now. i can't if you just did that out of pretending or because it came naturally to you. i've never had to worry about what you think till recently... it feels strange... yet ican't help but get hope that it means real," you rest your forehead on his shoulder blinking away the tears that slowly begin to let out.

jude could see how this was affecting you, holding your lower body with one hand and the other smoothing down your spine, feeling how you immediately let loose and relaxed by his praise and touch. jude could also feel the heavy weight beginning to feel heavier if he kept his true hidden feelings away. it was a sign, and there was no going back.

jude's hand cradled your chin, forcing you to look up at his, his brown eyes gazing over your teary face. he was truly amazed and so in love with you it made his head feel cloudy, almost dizzy, at how perfect and pure you were. his tummy fluttering at his gorgeous girl who was confused at how she felt... but in this moment jude knew you were in deep as well.

"tell me something, when you see me, does it make your heart race, like i'm the only person standing there?" you nod, "does your head tell you one thing but your gut tells you another when you see me?" you nod again, this time blowing the air out of jude's lungs. "my head tells me i shouldn't, but my gut tells me i waited so long that maybe it's now to late for us..."

"why would it be too late y/n...?" you shrug your shoulders. "because i don't you feel the same way i'm feeling." jude smiled weakly, his thumb brushing along your jaw, hearing your hum in delight, "how can you know when you haven't asked me?"

your eyes search his for any sign but you don't find any, "what are you feel in this moment jude?"

"that i'm the luckiest man to be here with you tonight," he says proudly, "that i don't think we've wasted any time, rather i feel we're barely getting started on this new branch of our lives... i can't pretend when i'm with you... because pretending to hide how i feel has been so hard, when all i want is you. all of you y/n..."

"i had to see you go through that idiot max, how he hurt you? when you were hurt i was even more devastated because i couldn't protect you. i'd do anything to make you happy or laugh because it's what i want to do. i want to be the only one who gets to do that. i promised your dad but myself also, ask me what the promise is..." jude insisted.

"what's your promise jude?"

"that i'd never break your heart or give you a reason to doubt me. that from this day forward, i completely will give you my all to care and relish our love once and for all. i'm tired of waiting and holding back of what should've existed and started when i first met you."

"jude-"

"i want to give you my all, to be devoted and in love with you forever. you have no idea what you make me feel, think! i wake up longing for you, at work, at my own home. you're the only girl i want and need in my life y/n," jude confessed, the weight finally lifted of his shoulders, now being able to feel like a free man.

you closed your eyes, breathing out a happy chuckle in relief. you sniffled, "you've ruined me jude, completely ruined me with your words, your confession! look at me, i'm worse than when we finished watching the vow!" you joked, hand nestling on the nape of his next, stroking his soft skin.

"you love me jude?"

"more than what you think."

"i need you to know i'm giving you my all as well. I've always sensed how different what we had was, and come to find out, i was just scared and felt the need to push away because you didn't feel the same way. what i feel for you never happened with who shall not be named..." jude chuckles, closing his eyes and swallowing a heavy gulp like you.

"i'm so hopelessly in love with you jude bellingham... so in love, i want to grow old with you, make every promise we said out loud come true. i knew i loved you as soon as we laid eyes, and you stumbled over your words," jude squinted his eyes, shaking his head embarrassed. "kiss me jude."

jude kissed you exactly how he dreamed. your lips soft and sweet as he imagined, even better. cradling your chin to tilt and pulling the kiss deeper. it felt so right, so amazing, so passionate. he was lost, his tongue entering your parted lips when you let out a small gasp and whimper. there was no more pretending, this was more real than ever.

"could get lost in how you taste. how you feel. i love you so much angel."

[holylulusworld]

House hunting

Summary: Steve wants to have a place on his own.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bestfriend!Reader

Warnings: a little angst, fluff, best friends to lovers, haunted mansion trope, mentions of death/accidents/murder

Square filled for @fandom-free-bingo "Gingerbread Edition": Haunted Mansion AU

“House hunting is boring, Steve,” you whine. “Why can’t we buy a Christmas tree for the communal room instead or Christmas presents?”

“You promised to spend the day with me,” Steve points out. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives you a stern look. “Promises are meant to be kept.”

You sigh, deep and long. “Yes, Captain,” you mutter under your breath. If only you’d have known that Steve wants to look for a place to get away from you and the others and not have some good old-fashioned Christmas fun. “Let me get my coat and boots.”

“You don’t look very excited,” he chides because you promised to be there for him today. “If you don’t want to come with me, it’s fine.”

“No, no!” You are quick to reply. Steve is right. You promised to go with him. Letting him down only because he wants to do something you don’t like would be wrong. “I’d like to spend the day with you. It’s just… I’ll miss you here if you move out.”

“I’ll miss our late-night conversations and movie nights, too,” he shyly admits. “But you can visit me anytime.”

“Yeah,” you don’t sound very convincing. “It won’t be the same, though.” You push the sadness away and force a smile on your face. “But I can come over for a sleepover if I’m not on missions.”

“Anytime,” he replies, returning your smile. Steve’s smile is not fake like yours, and it makes you feel even sadder. “You’re my friend.”

“Yup,” you pop the “p” and point at your coat. “Let’s go before someone snatches the house you want out of your hands.”

“You’re such a cute couple,” the real estate agent coos. Your heart flutters, but you know she only tries to sell the house to Steve. Complimenting you is simply another sales pitch. “Do you want to have children? This house is perfect for a family.”

“Uh—we’re not together,” you hastily say to stop her from embarrassing you in front of Steve. It’s not that you never daydreamed of having a family with Steve, or at least becoming more than a friend to him. He doesn’t see you that way. “We’re friends, and Steve asked me to come with him.”

“Oh,” she chuckles. “There’s always hope, right?” She elbows you, and you roll your eyes. Great, now Steve looks at you like you’re some stray kitten.

“How many bathrooms does it have?” Steve tries to save you and him from the awkward conversation. This is not the time or place to discuss how you feel about each other. “What about the kitchen? Is it brand-new or used?”

While the real estate agent talks to Steve about the house, you feel a cold shiver run down your spine. Somehow, it felt like someone put their hand on your shoulder.

“Make him yours before it’s too late,” a voice whispers in your ear, and you believe you lost your damn mind. “Don’t let him go. Never...never..never.” The voice chants, and you want to scream.

You shake the invisible hand off and hurriedly follow Steve and the real estate agent. You’d rather not stay alone in one of the rooms. The house is nice, but it gives creepy vibes.

“Uh—stupid question,” you clear your throat to get the real estate agent’s attention. “Did someone die in this house, or did anything happen in here?”

She blinks a few times and swallows thickly. Ah, there is the catch. You know something was off with the house and the price. “Well,” she tries to play it cool, but you can see the panic in her eyes, “the owner fell down the stairs and died, unfortunately. She was only twenty-four.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Steve nods thoughtfully. You watch him rub his arms as goosebumps erupt over his skin. He must’ve felt it too. You’re not crazy. “Anything else I should know?”

“Her fiancé found her,” she admits under Steve’s intense gaze. “The police weren’t sure it was an accident, but they never… arrested him.”

“Fuck, that’s a murder house, Steve!” You grab Steve’s wrist, harshly tugging at it to make him follow you out of the house. He laughs it off and shakes his head.

“Doll, there’s no such thing as a murder house. It’s a good price, and the house is huge. Let’s have a look around.”

You whine and shake your head. “No. It’s haunted. They talked to me…”

Steve and the real estate agent look at you with amusement. They don’t believe you.

“How about I hold your hand?” Steve offers. He takes your hand and holds it gently. “For me. Let’s take a look.”

“Fine,” you grumble. “If I end up dead, I’ll haunt you in this house.” He smirks and wraps his arm around your shoulders to make you feel safe. You relax, hoping ghosts are scared shitless, knowing a super-soldier is here to protect you.

“Let’s head upstairs to take a look at the master bedroom,” the real estate agent goes ahead. You bite your lower lip, chewing on it when the stairs creak loudly. It sounds like they cry anytime she climbs up another step.

“Steve, I’m telling you something is wrong with the house,” you whisper as he guides you upstairs. You shudder because the house suddenly feels so much colder. “Please, let’s leave.”

“Ghosts are not real, doll,” Steve assures you. He pecks your temple. “After we are done here, I’ll invite you for dinner.”

“If I’m still alive,” you whisper, making him chuckle. “I mean it, Steve. If I die here, it’s your fault.”

The staircase seems to be endless, and you’re tired and out of breath when you reach the top. Even the fucking stairs must be haunted.

“Please follow me,” the real estate agent says and waves you closer. “If you go to your left, you’ll find the master bedroom.”

You stop in your tracks watching a vase drop to the ground. No one was even close to it, but it just fell to the ground and shattered into pieces. You scream and hide your face in Steve’s chest.

“Stevie! Let’s get out of here! Please!”

“Marry her! Marry her!” A creepy voice chants, and your blood runs cold.

You grab Steve by his upper arms and shake him. “What else do you need to hear and witness? That’s a haunted mansion, and we are going to die here if we stay!”

Steve looks at the broken vase. He shrugs while ignoring the voice coming from the bedroom and guides you closer to the door.

“MARRY HER! SHE’S YOURS!” The voice screams louder, and Steve stops in his tracks. He furrows his brows as the voice screams your name.

“Okay, I’m out of this for good,” you cry, and grab Steve’s wrist. “The ghost knows my name!”

“Uh—I think we should leave,” Steve hastily says. Before you can agree, he grabs you by your waist, throws you over his shoulder, and runs down the stairs—never looking back.

“Mission accomplished,” Tony says as Bucky, Clint, Bruce, and Peter join him to watch you and Steve feed each other with strawberries.

On your way out of the house, and toward freedom, you and Steve finally admitted your feelings for each other. Promising to be together in another life if you don’t make it out of the mansion. Facing a haunted mansion and ghosts made you see there’s more to fear than ruining your friendship.

“What if Steve ever finds out we tricked them?” The fake real estate agent asks. She smirks and takes off the mask she wore. “Next time, I want a real mission, Stark. Not some rom-com shit.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Belova,” Tony snaps at Yelena. “Now let me enjoy watching my real life performance rom-com. I had to buy a fucking mansion to get these idiots together…”

[madlori]

Sometimes the delulu IS the solulu.

After some thought, and reading a lot of really insightful thoughts here and on Discord, I think I've reached a conclusion.

I'm going full tinhat. Not in an unhinged way, though.

I don't think this is the end.

I'm not going to count on it. I'm barely going to hope for it. But I am going to...keep an eye out for it.

The one common refrain we've heard from each other is that this did not feel like a permanent breakup. It felt so obviously and blatantly like a setup for Buck to fight for the relationship. It was that "one partner freaks out a bit and the other has to show their commitment" relationship hurdle which is so common it's a trope. In fact, most of us assumed that's just what it was...until those interviews

Now, I do not put Tim Minear up on some kind of pedestal of writerly greatness - far from it. And he did not write this episode, but the plotlines all go through him.

BUT.

He has always been very attached to Tommy as a character and to this relationship. He loves it. He loved red string theory so much that he wrote it into this episode. And I'm about halfway convinced he's in love with Lou but that's beside the point. (I mean, we get it, Tim.)

Tommy's what he always said he wanted to get for Buck. Firefighter, integrated into the 118, yadda yadda, we've been over this a lot. Someone he chooses, someone he works to build something with. Someone who shows up for him. He had Buck SAY in this episode that he'd never felt like this since Abby.

The thread of Tommy wanting a found family like Buck's. The intense settled/caregiving vibe of 8x05. It all felt so...purposeful. And yes, I agree that this could have been done just to punch up the angst for Buck when it ends. But that's not the only explanation.

The many, many comments of wanting to move Buck along in his personal life. Oliver wanting to do settled, domestic storylines with him. Giving Tommy the big hero romcom entrance in that hospital.

And what now? Cycle Buck through another love interest? It's hard to imagine recapturing what he had with Tommy with anybody else, or for the GA to embrace it as much as they did. What little we can see of the GA reaction (because the official socials are weirdly quiet and have not posted) is that they're not happy about this. Tim knows this.

I can buy Tim making some dumb writing decisions but he's not stupid. I find it very hard to swallow that he'd voluntarily toss away all this, and this potential, and what they'd already established, and a pairing/character/actor he loves, for what? For nothing.

So I think that it's not for nothing.

I think the plan IS to reunite them...

...they just don't know when, or how.

For some reason he wants to give it a break for awhile. I don't know why. There could be off-camera reasons. But I think it happened recently. Two weeks ago we got interviews talking about hurdles being overcome, relationships deepening, etc etc. It's a great episode for them, came out of Oliver's mouth. Not important, not consequential - great. And hey, what happened to that very important Bobby conversation where he gave Buck important advice? It wasn't there.

I think a change was made in the last two weeks. And yes, I know the loft stills were dated 9/17.

Two weeks is plenty of time to reshoot one scene, between when those interviews came out and last night. The stills could be from the first time it was shot, in September. Put the guys in the same wardrobe, we'd never know the difference, or that those stills weren't from the scene we actually saw.

OR

The scene was always the one we saw, but was always meant to be temporary, and the change was in how they talked about it in the interviews from last night. That is a simpler explanation, as it doesn't involve reshoots, but it doesn't explain those very incongruous interviews we got two weeks ago that do not match the scene we saw. Now, they have always vagued it up, and talked around things in interviews, but this was an entirely new level of misdirection and outright lying that isn't typical.

I'm really tinhatting it up now, but hey, what have I got to lose? I'm not investing anything in this. It's just...a thought.

If you think the network interfered (I don't, at least not for plot-related reasons, see below) or Oliver demanded the relationship be cut (I don't - I know lots of you are mad at him but I'm not), whatever it was...I just get a vibe. It could be as simple as money. It could be a ratings thing. Honestly? It could be that they've found out they're getting cancelled, and were ordered to cut bait on guest stars. They could be kicking the can down the road to goose ratings for spring when they do bring it back. There are lots of reasons I can think of and probably more that I can't.

I read a thoughtful and reasonable post about how it was more or less a mercy killing to post those interviews - most showrunners like to keep viewers guessing and coming back, so for them to say definitely BT was dead meant it's really, really dead (although how definitive they actually were is another question).

They might be right about that. I don't know.

Or they just might not know themselves. Even if the plan IS to reunite them eventually - if they don't have a plan for how or when, the safest course is to shut it down. No guarantees they can make it work, so play it safe. Oliver and Lou might not be looped in on this.

It's pretty thin. They probably would be, although we have ample evidence of actors not knowing stuff until the last minute. The other option is that they are looped in and are intentionally lying but I think that's very unlikely - although Lou has demonstrated a keen skill in keeping his mouth shut when necessary.

I'm not going to get nuts about this and neither should anybody else. I'm not going to be scouring socials or the internet looking for support or clues. I'm not going to be holding my breath waiting for a sign.

The only thing I'll keep an eye on is how they handle any flirtation or dating Buck does in the near future. How they handle it might be telling.

This is ALL very unlikely, let's be real.

I'm still tinhatting, though. Why not? What have we got to lose?

But if I'm right, I expect that red dodgeball in my inbox toot sweet.

(And Buddie still isn't going canon, btw.)

[golden-hearts-silver-tongues-if]

Demo: (Release Date: when i figure out twine, and then a week)

Life was never easy, but the day you first found your talent for less than legal practices, it certainly got easier. And when you finally got taken in by a nosy noble who could appreciate your talents, life finally seemed like it was looking up. But the highlife isn't all it was cracked out to be. You had to leave behind your best friend for this chance at the high life, and that's not even to mention all the enemies you've made while in service of the person who brought you in. Was it worth it? Can you keep your skeletons nice and tidy in your closet? Or will the past prove to have a few too many chips on its shoulder. ------------- This is a game about many things. Struggling to find meaning in your own life, trying to cling to those you care about as life drags you apart, and what can happen when you don't make peace before the storm. You take on the role of a peasant with a talent for the illegal, be that quick hands or a quicker wit. After years of dealing with the dirt of life to make a living, you get taken in (read, bought into service) of a noble who claims to have nothing but good intentions. They want to expose other nobility for their wrongdoings while climbing the ranks themselves. Will you be willing to remain loyal to their cause, or is money truly the only thing motivating you? That remains up to you to decide. Golden Hearts, Silver Tongues is rated 18+ for explicit language, mature themes, drug and alcohol use and abuse, violence, thoughts and mentions of suicide, self-harm, death and mental trauma. -------------

Customizable MC, choose your gender, pronouns, appearance, sexuality, romantic attraction, personality, history with some characters, potential disabilities, and most importantly, how you choose to go about your crimes. Are you a smooth talker, or someone who prefers actions over words?

Romance one of four available ROs? Will you fall back to your tumultuous Ex/Ex Best Friend? Or perhaps your new coworker or Boss? Or perhaps the most dangerous, the Ex-Noble hunting you down?

Struggle with Morality as you get pulled in different directions. What constitutes good anyways? And let's be honest, do you even care about being good at this point?

Resolve all of your lingering issue, before choosing how to move forwards. To remain trapped by the chains of your past, or to cast it all off and move forwards, unburdened. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

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

Romance Options:

The Rival (F, Cis or Trans selectable) - Your one and only friend in the early days of your life, and perhaps something more? You two grew up together and often were the only ones each other had. Perhaps she was your best friend, your lover, or someone you were so close to you could consider them family. Regardless, whatever she was, she isn't anymore. A fight caused a rift between you two, and now you two aren't on talking terms, much less anything else. So, when she shows up to one of your jobs, to steal the same items no less, is it any surprise things don't go well? Tropes - Exes to Lovers, Childhood Crush, Exfriends to Lovers, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers

The Boss (M, F, NB selectable) - The person who scooped you off the streets and showed you what the high life was like, and all you had to do was steal whatever they told you. Simple enough, right? You'd think. In practice, it seems like they keep upping the ante on your targets and at some point, you have to wonder whether or not this is all born out of good intentions. Though, with the looks they keep sending your way, perhaps more than just your skills have captivated them? No, that couldn't be true. After all, a noble and a peasant would cause far too much of an uproar for the already tumultuous figure that is your boss. Right? Gender Footnote - If NB, the Boss will be Agender. Tropes - Forbidden Love, Age Gap, Nobility x Peasant, Employer x Employee

The Coworker (M, Cis or Trans selectable) - A surprise your boss sprung on you just a few months ago, he is another noble who embraced your Boss' rhetoric and now wants to help reveal the darker side of the Kingdom. It's a shame he doesn't know what he's doing, but luckily (or unluckily), that is where you come in. Tasked to show him the ropes of thieving, you must figure out how to teach this eager learner what you've known all your life. He might not have quick hands, nor can he lie to save his life, but if there's one thing, he knows it's how to get up after a failure. And that surely has no correlation to all the gifts of his you've ignored over the years, right? Tropes - Coworkers to Lovers, Master x Apprentice, First Crush, Himbo, Potentially Grumpy x Sunshine

The Baron (M, F, NB selectable) - Hate is a strong word. Luckily, the Baron is a strong person. The first major noble your Boss ever sent you after, they by far had the hardest fall from grace out of anyone you know. Going from ruling an entire quarter of the Kingdom, to being nothing more than a rogue knight hunting you down for revenge. It's a shame they still have so much money at their disposal to hunt you with, and for all that it's worth, they are very good at finding you. Catching you, not so much. You always manage to just barely evade their capture....surely nothing to think about. Gender Footnote - If NB, the Baron will be Genderfluid. Tropes - Hate-Hate Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Murder makes people hot, Villian Route, Potentially Redemption Arc

------------- Note Zone: Hey there! Thanks for reading all the way through this. This little place down here is where I plan on placing things like links in the future, and also any notes on progress or big topics and stuff that comes up. For now, all asks are welcomed, and once again thank you!

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part five)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (16.3k words) | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

Death was first explained to you and Yelena when you were six; Yelena’s favourite of her mother’s pigs passed away, and you were both called in from playing outside to be sat down gravely.

“Girls… Wilbur the piggy has, ah, passed away,” Alexi told you. You stared back at him blankly.

“Do you know what that means?” added Melina more gently.

“Uh… Peter from class said his mom and dad passed away,” Yelena offered after a few moments. “And it means that, like, he can’t see them ever again, so he lives with his aunt now.”

“Yes!” said Alexi enthusiastically, before catching himself and adding in a much more solemn tone, “I mean, ah, yes… very sad. Not good.”

Melina looked at him sternly and he fell silent. “You are right, Yelena. When someone passes away, it means they are no longer with us.”

“Like when you go to the store?”

“No. When I go to the store I am always coming back, да? Passing away is permanent, and it means you never see them again.”

“Oh. But I like Wilbur,” said Yelena sadly, and you nodded in agreement.

“That is what makes life all the more precious,” Melina told you gently. “You never know when someone may pass away — only that everybody will, someday. So you must enjoy the time you have with them, my darlings, and never take it for granted.”

As the years went on and the two of you began to understand what death actually means, that first introduction to it became somewhat of a running joke between you and Yelena (because how else can humans deal with such a terrifying concept as death? You can choose to either laugh or cry, and Yelena will always choose to laugh); the idea of someone passing away will often be referred to as going to the store. For example, Alexi is probably the sole man responsible for the entirety of Ohio state’s roadkill — neither you nor Yelena can remember a car journey with him in the wheel during which some unfortunate creature has not stumbled into his path and suffered fatally for that mistake. Every time it happens, without fail, Yelena will turn around eagerly in her seat or poke her head out of the window and assess the damage before gravely announcing, “That one is definitely not coming back from store.”

It’s a euphemism that can be used in any situation — and often is, actually. Whenever the TV signal packs up (as it often does in such a rural town as your own) and the Kardashians begin to cut out awkwardly, Yelena will throw down the remote and shout in frustration “Ma! The fork thingy on the roof has gone store again,” and Melina will know exactly what she means. Or whenever your history teacher Mr Fury hobbles into class, who is so old he looks like he’s witnessed half the events he teaches you, Yelena will nudge you and whisper “he is close to store’s doorstep now, eh?” Et cetera, et cetera. The phrase gets used often.

You feel silly for your mind wandering to those words, given the circumstances. But all you can think of right now is your overwhelming hopes and prayers that Liho has not gone to the store — and that neither has your bond with Yelena. As for Natasha… well, recent times have been a cruel wake-up call.

It’s been a few hours since Melina left with the cat, and the only text you’ve gotten from her since then says cat in surgery now. Yelena has barricaded herself in your shared room — her room now, you think miserably to yourself. You have never, ever seen her so upset, not in your whole life. You don’t think you’ve ever even argued with her, outside of your usual half-hearted play wrestles. But now she’s shouted at you through your thick heavy door, a solid wall between you, putting miles between the two of you but still not enough distance to lessen the brutality of the words she hurls at you from the other side of it. Words you can’t think of for too long or tears will begin to brim in your eyes all over again. Words which you know you deserve, but ones you never thought you’d hear your best friend say to you.

Now you sit uncomfortably stiff on the couch, feeling like a stranger in the home you’ve grown up in, the silence threatening to suffocate you. You feel almost like a prisoner in your body, unable to move as you relieve the last few hours over and over in your head. There’s no doubt in your mind that Yelena is right. You are an awful person. If you weren’t, if you were better, maybe Natasha would still want you, instead of casting you aside once you began to bore her. Maybe if you were better you’d have been sensible or strong enough to not sneak around with her at all. But you’re not, and now you’ve broken apart a family you weren’t even worthy of in the first place.

Natasha is sat in the armchair opposite you, legs curled beneath her, nursing her bloody nose. Her gaze has been fixed on you for the indeterminable amount of time you’ve both been sat here, but you are too exhausted to care. For once, you have much, much bigger problems than her feelings.

Eventually, she speaks, more subdued than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s somewhere else, someone else’s, far away.

“For…” She hesitates. Like there’s something she doesn’t want to say out loud. “For not, uh. For treating you badly.”

Well, that’s not really what you expected her to say.

Your silence prompts her to flounder further. “I just— I don’t, well, I can’t really explain a lot, but I— I know I messed up. You deserved better. And I’m sorry.”

And you’re so done with her, and so little of yourself is left now that you simply stand up and walk away.

Natasha doesn’t even call after you, just kind of makes this sad and defeated little noise that makes your heart hurt. You know it would just ache even more if you turned around again, though. So you don’t. You walk the hall for a few aimless moments before your feet carry you to the only person currently home who you still have a dependable relationship with — Alexi.

His workshop, as he calls it, is adjoined to the kitchen; a tiny wooden door which he has to bend himself double to fit through, leading to the garage. This has been his space for as long as you can remember. You have no idea how he moves with such ease through it when it’s like a maze to you — huge chunks of greasy half-repaired machinery everywhere, cluttered workbenches and racks of tools and shelves of liquids labelled in his indecipherable Russian scrawl. He often has the tiny tin portable perched on a shelf squeaking out radio shows in his mothertongue which he guffaws merrily at, but as you enter now the room is peacefully quiet, save for Alexi’s disjointed hums of a thousand songs in one and the little chink noises the piece of metal he’s working on makes every time he hits it, slowly bending it into shape.

“Ah, привет! Good evening, daughter,” he says cheerfully, without even turning around as you creep up barefoot behind him. He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you, for a while; you opt to simply sink down onto one of the wooden stools littered about the place and watch Alexi absently while he works. This doesn’t faze him at all. On the occasions where Yelena was busy without you as a kid, you would do this very thing. Alexi would simply chuckle at you and ruffle your hair with a large bearish hand, oftentimes leaving behind little smudges of black motor oil in it. You’re still in your prom outfit, though, with your hair done up intricately, so tonight he stops himself in time.

“Do you think Liho will be okay?” you ask after a while, in a very small voice.

“Oh, да,” he replies, without hesitation. Even with his back to you as he tinkers busily you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Yes, yes. Think of what that kitty has been through already, eh? When you found him he was doing worse than that. He is, uh, tough meat. A fighter.”

Seeing Alexi so placid and unshaken in the face of tonight’s events is strangely calming and you nod, soothed by his words, before another thought strikes you. “Oh… but the vet bills.”

Alexi lets out a low but not unkind laugh. “Ah, не будь глупым, you worry so much. We will figure those out. Melina is a sly fox, has money tucked away in hidey-holes, eh?”

“But— I mean —” You twitch uncomfortably, and Alexi seems to finally cotton onto what it is that you’re really worried about. He sets down his tools with his usual gentleness, which never fails to look foreign on such a giant of a man, and turns to look at you.

“You are member of this family,” he tells you. “No matter what Yelena say. She is angry, sure, but it will blow over, eh? You love the silly little fur man, and we do too. So if these bills will help him of course we will pay it. There is no need for worry.”

“But I ruined everything,” you say quietly.

He laughs again. “Nonsense. You have not ruined any of the things, голубка.”

“But… your date night. And— Natasha,” you hiccup.

“We have date nights all the time, подсолнух, there will be others. And Natasha… well, me and your mama are knowing this for long time. Yelena will be coming round also, eventually. We will figure this all out, we are a family. She is your sister. All of the things will be okay. None of them are ruined.”

And you can’t help but cry at that, at his earnest sincerity, his certainty that things will work out — and because you love him, and he is your family. You tell him so through choked sobs, and he just looks at you softly before wrapping you into a petrol-scented bear hug, prom outfit be damned.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything will be okay.

Yelena sinks into another episode over the following days. She does nothing much but sit, a vacant look in her eyes, devoid of any feeling, and stare for hours at a time as though seeing something that the rest of you cannot. She has no words left to give, and drifts around on autopilot, only performing basic functional tasks when prompted to — as if they’re an afterthought. Seeing her like this wracks you with guilt in a way none of her episodes have before, because for the first time you know with a crushing certainty that this is because of you. You offer countless times to return to your parents’ house across the road, the residents of which you haven’t conversed with in months, but Alexi and Melina dismiss this as if it’s the silliest idea in the world.

“You are family,” Melina tells you firmly. “Fights happen, да? You stay.”

Even if you’re still welcome in the house you’re certainly not welcome in your usual room. Natasha offers to put you up in hers but drops this very quickly after the look that you give her, so instead a section of the loft is cleared for you. You and Alexi spend a merry Sunday together in his workshop assembling a bedframe for your new space, only to discover once you’ve made it upstairs that it’s actually too large to fit through the attic hatch, so you have to take it to bits to get it up there and then rebuild it all over again. (It doesn’t really matter though, because Alexi is so bemused by the whole thing and his own oversights that it’s impossible to be frustrated at the setback. He just grins so goofily.) When Yelena is in the shower you sneak back into her room to gather as many of your belongings as you can and begin to turn the little space into yours. Melina brings home some fairy lights from the store, you order some posters online and within a week or so you’ve organised yourself a very cozy nest amongst the mess of the loft.

Even now you’ve moved in, over half of the room is still piled high with boxes of various things and piles of junk and the distinct, cloth-draped, dust-gathering shapes of Alexi’s abandoned projects (which he insists on keeping on the basis that he might need them someday, much to Melina’s theatrical chagrin). The various artefacts throughout the room create a kind of ever-changing maze, and you remember playing up here with Yelena when the two of you were kids and it was too cold to play outside — for you, anyway, being someone who’s grown up in a relatively warm American state. To this day Yelena often scorns you for your inability to tolerate any kind of cold, and reminds you of the climates the rest of the family has lived in.

Thinking of her makes your heart involuntarily twinge, and you wince, standing from your perch on the end of your new bed in the vain hopes of shaking it off. As you do so something in the opposite corner of the room catches your eye; the neat pile of scrapbooks Melina worked on for years when you were kids. “I’m going full American mama,” she would quip, spending hours of an evening painstakingly prettying the pages laden with pictures that Alexi had taken throughout the day. You find yourself warmed by these memories, and drift over to the pile of books, settling before it. The newest scrapbooks are naturally at the top, so you shuffle through the pile until you reach the very first scrapbook Mama Melina ever made, which begins the day Yelena came home. You settle down comfortably on the floor, cross-legged like you’re a kid again, and begin to flip through its pages; the very first are adorned with pictures of Melina and Alexi in their youth, and then on their wedding day. After that is the day Yelena came home, absolutely unfazed by this strange new country and its drawling people. Every single photo has the date it was taken written beneath it in perfect cursive, and through the timeline shown you can see that it was barely two weeks into Yelena’s residency here before you and her properly met, and became firm friends. Things progress like that for two years, from when you were five until when you were seven; regular entries are made in the scrapbooks documenting road trips and school plays and lost teeth, all of which you smile upon fondly.

Halfway through the third scrapbook, Natasha comes home. You recognise one of the many pictures documenting this milestone as one that hangs large and framed with pride downstairs above the fire; a stunned, still blue-haired Natalia swathed in thermals, huddled in the corner of Alexi’s rickety old fighter jet on the journey back from the motherland, beaming widely up at whoever’s taking the photo. Despite the fact that you see it every day, seeing it alongside so many others in which she’s so bewildered but so, so happy makes your heart feel so strongly that you have to flip ahead.

You pore over the pages of the main scrapbooks with interest for a while longer, until the main timeline ends and divulges into you, Yelena and Natasha each having your own dedicated scrapbooks. You have no interest in studying your own baby photos, and given all that’s going on reliving Yelena’s would be unbearable right now, so instead you find yourself picking up Natasha’s, and pushing the others aside.

Seeing her grow up before your eyes like this is surreal. In reality you were by her side every day, and most of these changes happen so gradually that you barely even noticed them, but here are immortalised stills from throughout the years which show how she’s grown. When she first came home she hadn’t had her growth spurt yet, and still had her gentle Russian lilt which the rest of her family retains to this day. As she starts attending public school and socialising with her peers you can see that something changes very hastily within her; a light kind of fades from her eyes. The blue is bleached from her hair, and as the red fades back in its place she seems to fade a little too — into the quiet, observant Natasha that you know today. She doesn’t seem unhappy, as such, but… uncertain, and it dredges up a kind of sadness in your chest that forces you to push the book away, lest the tears in your eyes follow through with their threat to overspill.

You’ve always seen Natasha as someone so secure and sure of herself — so much so that she doesn’t feel the need to speak over anyone else in the room in order to get her opinions across. When she does speak it’s usually a quick, cutting remark that earns laughs and leaves everyone eager to hear more out of her. When she walks into a room heads turn to look at her, no matter where she goes. She knows that. She’s someone worth paying attention to. It’s never occurred to you, not once in your life, that her behaviours aren’t the result of something different. But looking at these pictures has stirred up something in you which you can’t quite describe. A deep sadness at the fact that you’ve probably never known her at all, aside from the parts of the real her that have slipped through the cracks; her Russian accent and sleepy kisses first thing in the morning, her goodnight texts, the way she doesn’t need to ask your order at drive-thrus or coffee shops, the notes she’d leave under your pillow. That’s Natasha. Not whoever this is who’s pushed you away. Not this girl who has bleached the childhood from her hair and taught herself how to be from another place.

You pile the scrapbooks back in the neat and tidy order in which you found them and crawl back to your bed, flopping into it, utterly emotionally exhausted by this trip down memory lane. You think it’s dark outside… you’re certainly tired enough to rest now, anyway, and you do; drifting in and out of an uneasy slumber, visited by vague and twisted recollections from your childhood which disappear upon your waking again, before you can grasp them properly, like the sand of your youth slipping through your fingers.

Mama Melina is a woman of science. She’s always considered herself a grounded person. She doesn’t concern herself with what she doesn’t understand, or care for (namely whatever she cannot see for certain with her own two eyes) to the extent that this is the path her career has taken, and is now what feeds her children. She is, objectively, an intellectual woman. Her analytical methods of thinking have led to scientific breakthroughs in her area of expertise, and she is renowned as an expert at her job. She did not reach this point through belief in the spiritual, or abstract. Hell, being raised in an orphanage herself, she didn’t even really believe in true romantic love until Alexi bore his whole earnest heart to her.

One day, when you were young, you came home from school and, with frightening nonchalance, came home and asked if one of your classmates had been correct in saying that people who kissed others of the same gender were hell-headed sinners. Melina abruptly halted her mundane household task and sat you down, taking one of your hands in hers.

“Sin is a fairytale,” she told you, as delicately as she could. “Nobody knows for certain whether sin or God or heaven or hell are real. To believe that is a choice, a leap of faith which certain people make. But all we know for certain is what’s here now, да? Like I am real, you are real,” she cupped your little face between her warm hands and squeezed gently, making you wrinkle your nose and wriggle happily, “Baba and Yelena are real. But sin is thing you choose to believe in. It is made up stories to make us feel better about death but it does not matter, малыш. What matters is what we do now, when we are alive, not what we do to secure a place in an afterlife that might not exist, eh? We are kind to each other now while we live because we know it to be true that we’re alive. To tell someone else who to kiss was wrong and unkind of that boy at school. Worry about the afterlife once you get there, да? If you want to kiss girls, kiss girls. No one who is kind or worth your time will care.”

She kissed the top of your head before standing back up and returning to her cleaning. No more words were exchanged on the prospect, but from that day onward it has appeared to be common knowledge in the household that you like girls, and that Melina is not a fan of religion justifying bigotry.

In all honesty, she is not a fan of anything that’s not an irrefutable truth. Science is her preferred method of explanation for any problem that may occur. But as her relationship with Alexi has blossomed, and then in turn the ones she shares with her daughters too, she’s learned that facts and feelings do not have to be mutually exclusive. Some of the complexities of the human mind are far beyond her understanding, or indeed any of us — and yet this is a truth which ought to be embraced, not feared. The greatest joys in Melina’s life are its mysteries.

And so Mama Melina has never questioned the dynamic you and Natasha share; at least to her, it’s seemed crystal clear since day one that the two of you harbour affections for one another — admittedly for reasons beyond her comprehension, but it’s nonetheless undeniable to anyone who knows you like she does. She’s watched you grow all of your lives, delicately inching closer to one another like two flowers craning their necks to reach the sun. Melina long ago accepted she’ll never in this lifetime know what higher power reigns as a puppeteer over her, or understand the complexities of love, but she knows better than to pretend as if some things in this world aren’t inexplicably and cosmically connected. You and Natasha only prove this point. If she looks hard enough, Melina can see the red thread that runs from your body to her daughter’s.

Alexi, by far the romantic, wholeheartedly agrees with her, which only furthers Melina’s convictions (he would know better than her, she reasons) — although admittedly the events of the last few months have blindsided the both of them. Melina appears to be more concerned by it than her husband, though; so much so that one night she actually sits him down to ask if he even knows what’s going on, and why there’s this big gaping gulf between her daughters, tearing her family apart.

Alexi just guffaws, so full of mirth that Melina is startled. “Ah Боже мой, my love. Do not be silly, I would have to be blind to miss those daggers over dinner, no? No, do not worry, I’m understand. But love is not easy, ah? Its course has never run so smooth. Remember when I first asked out you? You were so… skittish, like little kitten, for weeks,” he recalls with shining eyes. “And look where we ended up now, ah? These are silly babies. They’ll make mistakes. They need the time that you did.”

His words soothe her, in the way that they always do. She relaxes into his comforting embrace with the knowledge that even if she’s the intellectual (and financial) breadwinner in this relationship, Alexi always knows what to say in the face of the heart’s unpredictability. Maybe he is right. Maybe everyone just needs some time.

So, despite her doubts, time is what Melina gives.

Two weeks after that conversation, Liho comes home. His fur is patchy where it’s been shorn off and started to grow back again, and one of his legs is still bound tightly, but he’s back and he’s yours. He leaps happily into your arms when he sees you (despite the yelp of alarm Melina makes) and it’s like he never left. Yelena comes the closest to you that she’s been in weeks to pet his head while he’s curled up against your chest, and she even allows a smile to escape. You can’t help but smile back, like the beginning of spring after a long harsh winter, hope blossoming in your chest once again.

In the time that it’s taken him to come home, other things have happened too. Natasha’s nose, displaced by the punch Yelena successfully laid on her, heals quickly. Your relationship does not. Something unspoken festers between the two of you, hardening and shrinking and blackening into a sickening nothingness. You can’t look at her now without the taste of something bitter filling your mouth — and yet that boiling hot liquid rage still fills your chest when you think of her with someone else. How is it possible to love someone so much but hate them at the same time? You wish, more than anything, that none of this happened. You wish she would just let you love her without having to ruin it for the both of you.

It’s such an indescribably lonely feeling that the two of you are like this now, when only a short time ago the two of you bore open hearts to one another — well, you gave yours to Natasha, anyway. The more you think about it the less of her you have ever known. She’s a stranger to you. Quite a few times since prom night she’s tried to speak to you — offering another half-assed apology, no doubt — but you’ve only ever shut her down. What is there left to say? Nothing that you want to hear, for sure.

(And maybe the things that still hang heavy in the air between you are better left unsaid.)

A few days after Liho comes home you’re laid on your bed in the attic, with your baby boy himself curled comfortably on your chest, purring away merrily as you scratch at his head. There’s some soft music on in the background but neither of you are really doing much. You’re just trying to enjoy his company, (and he’s evidently enjoying yours,) now that you know not to take it for granted.

The scare you’ve had with him has shifted your perspective on a lot, actually — it’s been a rude but much-needed wake up call. Yelena, just like Liho, is your family, and you want to make up with her. Who knows how long either of you have left, or what might happen?

Yes, you absolutely want to be her sister again. You’re just not sure where to even start.

The knock that comes at your door is unexpected, though, and only more unexpected when you see who your mystery visitor actually is. Yelena stands in your doorway, eyes fixed on Liho on your chest. He mews happily when he sees her.

“Кот,” she says hoarsely, holding out her arms and making grabby hands. You blink, stunned for a moment at the fact that she is talking at all, let alone talking to you. This would usually be a good sign, one that she’s coming back into herself, but these naturally are unprecedented circumstances, and you can’t really be certain what anything means anymore.

Yelena steps forward, jerking you out of your trance; you shoot to your feet and kiss Liho on the forehead before holding him out to her with your hands beneath his armpits so that his legs dangle underneath him, rendering him comically long and thin. Lena scoops him up and curls him against her chest; he purrs contentedly and her eyes crinkle in quiet gratitude before she leaves, humming her song to herself.

You almost call out to her, but your body freezes. The door closes behind her you scold yourself for not reaching out, for trying to close this rift between you, but maybe you’ve not given her long enough yet.

What Yelena needs is time, you know. Her whole world has been turned upside down and she has to rebuild it piece by piece. But how much time is enough?

Well, as it turns out, you won’t have to wait much longer.

It’s the last week of school, just over five weeks now since your catastrophic prom night, and you’ve just walked out of your last final. Sam Wilson is waiting for you outside the doors with your favourite flavour of popsicle in his hand, and is already busily consuming his own. When he spots you he waves a broad hand merrily, and you make your way over to him.

“I’m sure you aced it, squirt,” he says before you can even open your mouth, and offers you the popsicle. Unfortunately you’re all too familiar to Ohio’s stifling summer air, making every thought or movement damp and groggy. You accept it gratefully.

Your core friendship group, which you’ve been in for years now, has been pretty turbulent since things went down between you and Yelena. Pairing that with finals and early graduations, you can feel a permanent shift occurring, and it’s frightening. Everyone’s still making  effort to maintain contact with you, but this change on top of everything else has you feeling like you’re drowning when you think too long about it.  It seems like you never know what are the golden days until they’re gone. (You got twelve golden years with Yelena, but is that where it ends? Will she ever tolerate your presence in her life again?)

Someone who you couldn’t be more grateful for throughout all of this is Sam. One day not long after everything happened you came to him crying, and confessed everything. He patted your back with an aura of awkward concern until your sobs subsided, at which point all he had to offer was, “Huh. Well, I guess that explains why prom night went to shit.”

You can’t help but admire the way that he takes everything in his stride. Nothing fazes him. It’s welcome after spending so long around Natasha, who’s constantly on edge, worried someone else might see her with you. Sam is so unbothered, just being in his presence is calming. He’s become a good and valued friend to you.

“That was your last final,” he reminds you, bringing you back to the present moment. “You’re free now for the whole summer.”

“Oh fuck yeah, man,” you say as the realisation dawns on you.

“How’d you want to celebrate?”

You look up at him and a toothy grin takes root on his face as he realises what you’re about to say.

“Arcade,” you say and he nods fervently in agreement. In recent times you’ve become its most loyal patrons; you retreat there often after classes, whether it’s to recuperate from a bad day or celebrate a good one. Today, thankfully, appears to be the latter.

“Arcade,” he repeats happily, and the two of you amble off out of the school gates and down the hill toward the centre of town, where the Boulevard housing the arcade is located. You chat happily for a little while, about your plans for the summer and what you might do together.

“And, uh… any updates on your… anything?” he asks delicately. It’s a vague question but of course you know what he means.

“Not really.” You deflate a little. “I’m not sure Lena wants me around anymore, to be honest.”

“I’m sure she does,” Sam consoles with a startling certainty. “Seriously. What about Natasha?”

You just shake your head. “I don’t want to… I can’t. Not until Lena…”

“Gives you the okay,” he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But until she’s sorry, too. She was really mean,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I get that. It’ll be okay, man.”

You’re not so sure about that, but before you can express this you cross the road and the two of you have reached the arcade, where your troubles are promptly forgotten.

Sam’s words are very quickly proven correct, though — within only a few hours. You arrive home from your arcade trip with some silly winnings tucked under your arm and a smile on your face. It is Friday night, date night for Melina and Alexi, so a car is missing from the driveway and the kitchen is empty as you enter.

Perfect, you think to yourself, and begin to fix yourself some food. These days you’re very careful not to venture into the communal areas of the house unless you’re sure you won’t be treading on anyone else’s toes. You kind of feel like a burden as it is — you’re not a proper part of this family anyway, not in the way that everyone else is — and you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable in their own home. So you’ve moved bedrooms and now you meticulously strategise what times you’ll make an expedition down to the kitchen. (Sometimes, when you’ve not had a chance to eat yet, you’ll open your bedroom door to a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of you. Everyone in the house denies knowledge when asked but you have your suspicions of who’s behind it.)

Sometimes you think about moving back to the place where you were born, but you’re not sure if you could stomach that. That feels like a forever choice. There’s no going back from that.

Liho pads up to you, excited that you’re home and even more excited that you’re making food. Unable to help yourself, you indulge him with some chin scratches and scraps. Life’s too short, you say. Why shouldn’t you make a fuss of your boy?

He winds himself around your legs contentedly while you cook. It is just you and him and school has finished and you have the whole summer to do what you want, and you are cooking, and for the first time in a while you are able to shut off and experience a moment of complete peace.

Naturally, with the trajectory of your life at the minute, this peace does not last long.

“Is Sam Wilson your new best friend?” says a cool voice behind you. You actually yelp in alarm, and very ungracefully fumble with the piping hot utensils you’re using, burning your hand in the process. Liho hisses, and you do too, making a beeline for the sink.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you mutter half-heartedly. Yelena, now moving to stand fully in the light, just makes a noise in the back of her throat as she opens the cupboard above your head and reaches for the first-aid kit. Her face is carefully unbothered.

“I only asked a question,” she says, moving your food off of the heat. Liho claws at your ankles worriedly. You struggle to process Yelena’s words, much less the fact that she is talking to you. Did you blink and miss a chapter?

“Uh,” you rub at the back of your neck with your hand not under running water, “n-no. No, he’s not my new best friend. I don’t,” your voice drops, and you look away, “I don’t think I have one anymore.”

“You do,” she informs you matter-of-factly, hopping up onto the counter beside you and swinging her legs while you continue to bathe your hand. “If you still want one. But she is very mad at you.”

Your voice catches in your throat.

“She does love you,” Lena continues, “but she is wondering why you did things in the way you did.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You gather your thoughts. You weren’t expecting to have this talk tonight.

“I was scared,” you tell her.

“Of what?”

“Of,” you gesture between the two of you, “this. Of making things bad. I always figured it would be like a,” you tilt your head back to keep from crying, because now would be a stupid time to cry, “a stupid schoolgirl crush, you know? She never even spoke to me, I was just her little sister’s dumb best friend, but then things happened and it was so fast and I was so scared. And I wanted to tell you but she… didn’t. She only wanted me when no one else could see. I guess I hoped that she would — come around, eventually, and then I wouldn’t be lying anymore.” You’re heaving with the effort to not cry. “I was wrong.”

“All this time the mystery girl was treating you like shit, you could have told me who it was,” Yelena implores. “I love my sister but she makes me sad also. She can be a dick, absolutely. She’s the worst. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“She’s your family,” you choke. “I couldn’t cause a— a rift or a problem like that. And what if you believed her over me? And it kept getting worse, and —”

“Сестра,” she leans over, cupping your damp face between her hands and forcing you to look at her, “I would always believe you. Always. Never before have you given reason to not.”

You nod tearfully, and she lets go. The only noise is the running water for a few moments.

“That is probably long enough under tap,” Lena murmurs, turning it off and taking your injured hand in her lap. Opening the first aid kit, she begins to dress the burn. “I am sorry for making you jump.”

“I am sorry for everything else,” you reply honestly. “I was stupid.”

“Yes,” she agrees bluntly. Then, “Natalia was stupider.” When you look up in open surprise, she rolls her eyes. “Close your mouth, you will catch flies. Of course she was stupid, she has fumbled so hard. You,” she pinches your cheek affectionately, “are a catch. I am not even into all of this, but if I was a dater we would be together and I would treat you like four million times better than she does.”

“You already do,” you say quietly, looking down at your hand in her lap as she continues to bandage it.

“Oh absolutely, I am the best.”

Another, much longer, pause. She finishes wrapping your hand, and pats it three times to notify you that she’s done, the exact same way that Mama Melina does. The action makes your heart swell and eyes fill with unexpected tears.

“Do you know why I was so upset by all of it?” she asks unexpectedly. You blink in surprise. This feels like a trick question.

“Because… I lied?”

“Because you picked Natasha over me,” she tells you.

“No I didn’t— what?”

“Yes, you did,” she says, and she’s a little choked all of a sudden. “All of my life Natasha has been the one who everyone looks at first. She is the special one. You are the only one I had first, who was mine. My близнец. And then I find out that for months you have been lying and picking her over me instead. When she is mean, she is so mean sometimes, yes I love her but she is not much like when we were kids anymore, she is so mean. But everyone likes her more than me. Even you.” She turns away.

“No, no I don’t,” you rush to her side, unable to help it now, scooping her close to you. “No I don’t. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It was stupid to think she’d ever love me, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have left you out of it. I think I was trying to protect you? I don’t know. You’re always the one to protect me and punch everyone else, I think I was trying to stop you from getting hurt. And her? But it was dumb. Very dumb.”

“Very, very dumb,” Yelena agrees.

“The dumbest.”

“You have broken world record, кролик.”

You laugh a little tearfully, and while Yelena’s arms are wrapped around you she feels it throughout her body. She revels in the feeling of you holding her and loving her again, after the longest time.

“So we are back from the store?” she asks hopefully after a moment. It takes you a moment to process what she means.

“Oh,” you laugh, “we were never there. You will always be my favourite person, Yelena Belova-Shostakov.”

“Okay.” She exhales in relief. “Good. Just, because — well, you know, we have not spoke in so long and you didn’t think you had a best friend, and—”

“No— what? No,” you frown, “that was me giving you space to process and heal. I wasn’t sure you’d want me back,” you laugh. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise.”

“I will always want you back,” she says in a small, content voice. “I will always want you home. With me. Not at store.”

“Not at the store,” you repeat.

And just like that, you have your best friend again.

One familial bond repaired doesn’t mean all of them, though — and Yelena’s relationship with her sister has been patchy recently, to put it mildly. In your eyes it’s a plus that they haven’t outright fistfought in the way that they absolutely would if they were any younger, but Mama Melina doesn’t seem to see things that way.

A few days after you and Yelena make up, the two of you along with your parents are sat around the dinner table. At the very least Melina is able to fuss over her twins again, and Alexi is able to once again boom “here comes trouble” whenever the two of you enter a room together. They both take great pleasure in it,  much to Yelena’s entertainment and your endearment. You love your parents.

The conversation halts when the front door slams, though. Natasha appears in the kitchen doorway for a second before processing the scene in front of her and slowly backing away, back out of sight.

“What is this about?” Alexi calls after her through a mouthful of food. “Come eat, love.”

There is no response, only footsteps on the stairs.

“Our daughters hate each other,” Melina sighs heavily. When you and Yelena look up at her, she clarifies, “no, not you two. You and Natasha.” She pinches Lena’s cheek.

“We do not hate each other,” Yelena says placidly, much to everyone’s surprise. “I am just angry at her. We will be fine.”

Natasha, who is still within earshot at the top of the stairs, feels her heart skip a beat at this and thinks to herself that just maybe Yelena is ready to be receptive to her attempts at reconnection. Her only issue is she has no idea how to facilitate it. She’s done all the things she can think of, aside from straight up cornering her younger sister — she leaves offerings of food at her door and texts  her when the Kardashians are on the TV — but all of it has been treated with nonchalance that’s left her bewildered as to what her next step should be.

Yelena’s got her covered, though.

It’s her turn to strike, she knows, and again she chooses to do it when her sister will least expect it. Nat traipses home late one night, exhausted from cheer practice that overran. (Their next game is the last of the season, and her last cheer match ever considering she’s graduating this summer, so this semester’s team captain Sharon is determined they go out with a bang — even if that bang is a cheerleader toppling from the pyramid out of sheer exhaustion.) She mumbles her greetings and goodnights to Melina and Alexi, who are huddled around a decanter of whiskey in the study with Liho, and stumbles upstairs. All the lights are off up here, and she figures you and Yelena are probably settling down for the night. With a long, wistful look up the spiral staircase towards your firmly closed door, she trudges into her own (pitch-black) room. When she flicks on the light, though, she shrieks in horror. Sat expectantly at the foot of her bed is a long-limbed and blonde-headed figure, with hands folded neatly in its lap.

“Good evening, сестра,” greets the figure, sometimes known as Yelena Belova, with vaguely ominous nonchalance.

Natasha leans back against the door and closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to revert her heart rate to normal. Her first instinct as an older sister is to yell at her to get the fuck out, but in light of recent events this probably wouldn’t be the wisest of choices. Instead, she clamps her mouth tightly shut as she attempts to regain herself.

“I don’t,” she pants after a moment, “I haven’t— what? Hi. What?”

“You should really get a better lock,” Yelena says amusedly. “Very easy to pick.”

“You don’t have to break in,” Natasha grumbles, letting her bag slide to the floor and flopping backwards onto the bed. “Just knock.”

“No fun.” Yelena pokes Nat’s thigh with her toe just like she would when they were kids and for a moment they’re both young again. But she blinks, and the moment is gone, and now they’re two almost-adults with an entire universe between them.

Natasha just groans and flops back to stare up at her ceiling. A few years back you and Yelena helped her paint it blue and now it looks like the sky. It makes her smile when she’s sad sometimes. Yelena joins her, and the two cloudgaze for a moment.

“Why are you in my room?” Natasha asks quietly.

“To annoy you,” Lena quips.

“Success.”

“And to talk,” she continues.

“Also success. We are talking.”

The blonde lunges for her, and Natasha rolls away playfully. “No, I’m serious. Real talking.”

“Alright, I’m all ears.” Nat puts her hands behind her ears and pushes them forward to emphasise her point — again, like they would when they were kids.

“I want to know what you were intending when you started dating Y/N,” Yelena says, and Nat’s stomach drops. She knew this was coming, she knew this was where the conversation would lead, but she was still hoping to stall it for as long as possible just for the joy that her sister is talking to her again. The excitement is short-lived, though.

“We were never dating,” she reminds her quietly.

“Why not?”

The bluntness of the question makes Natasha stop short.

“Because it just, didn’t work out like that, I guess,” she tries. Yelena remains eerily stony.

“It’s not nice to lie to your baby sister, Natalia.”

Natasha deflates. “Because w— because I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t know what you want me to say. I know I messed up.”

“Step one is awareness,” Yelena nods sagely, while Nat grits her teeth. “So what are you going to do about it?”

She shrugs. “Graduate, and leave town, I guess. You and Y/N are twins again now, and I caused all these problems, so once I leave things should be fixed.”

“Untrue and false,” the blonde interrupts sharply. “That is lie. Y/N/N is crushed. This will not magically be fix if you take off for college.”

“But it will help,” Natasha insists.

“No it won’t,” Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “oh my god, how are you so stupid. She is in love with you, and she is so patient with you, she is not even angry. Which I would be, by the way, but she’s not. She’s only sure you don’t want her.”

“Huh? But I do.”

“No, like wanting her,” Yelena says gently. “As a whole. Like… unity, ah? Влюбленный. She feels so not good enough for you, and every day you are prove her right. You take only what you want from her and leave the rest. That is not what love is. She feels not loved by you, and that you only like her for the things she can offer you.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mean to,” Natasha says tearfully. Suddenly she is very small, and she draws her knees up to her chest. “I was only… Lena, маленький, I didn’t know what to do.”

“The answer seems pretty simple,” the blonde observes astutely, “all you had to do was either tell her you love her and want to be with her, or tell her it is over. You can’t keep having things in your way forever. She has feelings too, and the relationship cannot be on just your terms. She is not a doll, or toy.”

“I do,” she says hoarsely. “I do, t- the first one. It’s- I do. But I’m so…” She raises a pale trembling palm to run a hand through her hair, inhaling shakily, and with a blink of surprise Yelena realised how scared her older sister truly is.

“What is so terrifying?” she asks tenderly.

“Y/N is a girl.”

Yelena almost laughs at the confession but is able to refrain, and is proud of her capability to do so upon seeing just how agitated her company is over the subject. “Is this all that holds you back? Nobody would care. Ma and Daddy wouldn’t. This is not end of the world.”

“No, you don’t get it,” says Natasha fiercely. “Ever since I came to America... you were here first, you and Y/N, and you just get to be you. You have who you are. But I don’t know who I am, so I have to — do all the American girl things. I have to fit in. I don’t have a Y/N. And American girls don’t kiss girls.”

Yelena stops to consider this. It’s true that Natasha has always put far, far more effort into fitting in and Westernising herself more than she or their parents ever did. Yelena is perfectly content with her slightly broken English and her raspy accent and her life of in-betweenness. She’s okay with being from two places. To her, when she looks in the mirror, that is Yelena Belova. They’re just parts of who she is. She’s never even stopped to consider those as potential insecurities — not when she had other things and feelings (or lack thereof) to worry about. How could something so unchangeable be a source of doubt? And yet here she now sits, struggling to wrap her head around this invisible binary which has suffocated her sister for so many years.

“But you are not… what?” she says confusedly. “You did have a Y/N. All of this… you’re being someone else. I knew something felt strange. I do not understand why? I like who you are before. It wasn’t bad. I like Natalia.”

This seems to break Nat, who buries her face in her hands. Yelena lets out a motherly cluck of sympathy and scoots closer to loop a gangly arm around her sister.

“I just want to be normal,” breathes Natasha.

“But it is not worth all this,” Yelena says, squeezing her sister tightly to her chest. “What does normal even mean? Being cool is not the most important, Natalia. Everybody liking you doesn’t… fix you not liking yourself.” She cringes at her own words, reminding herself a little too much of Darcy’s Pinterest feed, but the words seem to ring true with Nat, at least.

“I am just so scared,” Nat says in a small voice. “And I think I’ve made this so bad it can’t be fixed.”

Yelena pulls away to look her sternly in the eyes. “Things can always be fixed. Maybe not in ideal way you want them to be, but we can always make amends. But you have to be sorry.”

“I am,” Natasha cries, “I am sorry.”

Yelena holds her. “I know.”

She’s not so sure you know it, though.

Maybe somewhere deep down, you do. You see it in the saddened smiles Nat offers you whenever she steps out of your way or leaves a room so you can use it. You see it in the way she brings your favourite snacks home and leaves them in the pantry without word or question, like she doesn’t even expect you to notice. You see it even in the absence of her; in the way that she gives you space, quietly leaving rooms when you enter them so you can use them despite the fact that you can feel in the air how much she wants to stop and talk to you. Sure, you can tell that she’s sorry. But you’re not sure that she knows what she’s sorry for.

You’re not sure she knows how badly she’s really hurt you, with her every move stabbing into you repeatedly over a course of months. Now that the knife is turned on her and she’s the one in exile, a selfish part of you wants to leave her there, just so she knows what it’s like. You guess that’s kind of what you’re doing now. You know this can’t go on forever though. In a couple of months Natasha leaves for out-of-state college, which she announced over dinner a few nights ago. You had to excuse yourself from the table to process that information. Your time is limited, you know, and it’s clear what Natasha wants (to kiss and make up) — but what do you want? To leave this wound untreated, festering for the next eternity? Or to allow yourself peace and let this go?

“Why do I have to be the bigger person?” you half-heartedly complain to Yelena one night as the two of you wash the dishes. “It’s not fair.”

“Because you are the bigger person,” Yelena laughs. “Natalia has given you the control. The next move is on you. That’s just the way it is, if it’s fair or no.” She whips you playfully with her tea towel, and the conversation moves on without further incident.

The issue plays on your mind long after the words are spoken, though. Whether you like it or not, Yelena is right. The next move’s on you. But how are you meant to make that call? What is the right move to make?

Well, one of Natasha’s friends appears very opinionated on the subject. 

On a particularly warm afternoon, you and Yelena stroll into town, and stop off at May Parker’s ice cream parlour — the best in town.

“Ah,” Yelena grimaces, as you draw close to its glass windows, “it is so busy in there. I go in, you wait out here?” 

You smile at her gratefully, and she disappears inside. 

“Y/L/N!” a voice calls out behind you, and you turn around to see Bucky Barnes making a beeline for you. He’s about twice your size in every way imaginable, and you gulp. 

“Hi?” you say uncertainly. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken to him in your life.

“What’s up with you and Romanov?” Well, he’s straight to the point. 

You flounder, mouth opening and shutting, and he’s gracious enough to continue, “look, I know you and her are a thing. Were. I don’t know, she’s being so weird about it. It’s okay, it’s okay, I was her beard. And she was mine,” he adds, gesturing over at Steve Rogers, who’s stood on the other side of the road waiting patiently for his boyfriend. He smiles and waves amiably on cue. 

You blink. “And no one thought to inform me?” 

He shrugs. “Not my place. I think it is my place, though, to ask what’s got her so torn up. You and her fallen out? I’ve never seen her like this. I’on know what to do.”

He may not mean it menacingly, but he’s towering over you and you’re finding it hard to breathe. “She was an asshole, dude,” you say, perhaps a little more defensively than you envisioned. “She wasn’t nice to me and we weren’t even together, because she didn’t see me like that. So yeah, I guess we fell out.”

He frowns, deeply, and takes a moment to process this. “Oh. That… but she does feel that way about you.”

“It’d be nice if she’d show it,” you say bitterly. 

His face softens. “Maybe… Look, even if the two of you don’t work it out proper, wouldn’t it be easier to at least clear the air? She likes you so much. She just wants you in her life, I think.”

You look at him uncertainly for a moment, but he holds your gaze earnestly. You know him and Natasha are relatively close, and you don’t see why he’d lie about something like this. It’s definitely tempting to believe.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but you feel a hand on your shoulder and instantly recognise Yelena’s presence just behind you. “What is going on?”

“Just talking,” says Bucky smoothly, but it seems apparent that the moment is over. “See you around, kid.” He crosses the road back to Steve.

“Kid,” you mutter, “he’s one grade older than me.” 

“What did he want?” Yelena asks you, and you relay your strange interaction to her. “Oh. Well, he is probably right, but I’m not sure how much it means coming from Natasha’s ex.”

“Were they really together?” you ask, your stomach turning at the thought. Wouldn’t that co-occur with your and her relationship? “He said he was her beard.”

She shrugs. “Not my expertise. Come on, the ice cream will melt.”

You don’t see Bucky Barnes again for the weeks that follow, although you can’t help but wonder what he meant, and what he was trying to achieve. (And a little part inside of you thinks that maybe he could be right.)

“Ma?” says Natasha suddenly. “How did you know you loved Alexi?”

It’s late at night, and the two of them are on the car ride home from Nat’s last cheer game of the season. (At her request it was not a family affair, despite Alexi’s insistence that it was his right to make a fuss of his talented daughter’s performance at her last high school cheer game.) The roads are empty and the towns are sleepy, but Natasha’s question has Melina wide awake.

“Eeh… it was not like a revelation. I did not wake up one day with new clarity. It came to me over time. It took me long time to accept, though. Your father is very patient man.”

“But was there anything specific?” Natasha persists.

Melina purses her lips in thought. “Well, when I met him I was not trusting person. One time when we were in the kind of in between bit right before being proper couple, ah —”

“The talking stage,” Nat supplies helpfully.

“— yes, да. We were in that, nothing proper but something, and he went to touch me and I had a… panic? I shut down. Achh, моя любовь, I was still figuring out who I was and what I did and didn’t like and… still growing up and healing from when I was kid. I was scared.”

Natasha nods solemnly. There are some childhood experiences which, despite unspoken, bind she and her mother at the soul.

“So I freak out, and I expected him to… belittle or leave, or something. But he stays and he is so patient, he apologise for making me jump and fetch me tea, and I thought like wow, he is so gentle. And he is not like the other men I known.”

Again, Natasha nods. Gentle is the perfect descriptor for her father. He’s the most wonderful man she’s ever met.

“So we spent more time together, he was patient with me and always caring. That was the time that I knew I would fall in love with him. But I’m not really know when it happened. Maybe by then it already had, ah? I have only ever had eyes for him. He make me feel… valued, and worthy.”

Natasha just hums in response, for she’s suddenly and embarrassingly on the verge of violent sobbing. She blames Ma and Baba and their beautiful relationship. Nothing else.

“Is this about Y/N?” Melina asks quietly. Natasha opens her mouth to reply and there it is, just as she feared, the waterworks are unleashed. Ma sighs heavily and pulls over.

“Идите сюда,” she says, holding her arms out, and Natasha crawls into them. She rocks her daughter back and forth, exactly how she used to so many years ago when the girl was half this size, while Nat’s face is buried in her mother’s neck. They stay like that for a while, until Natasha’s tears begin to die down.

“Do you want to go and get milkshakes?” Melina breaks the silence. Natasha hums her assent.

The 24-hour diner isn’t far from where they’ve pulled over, and it’s almost empty at this time of night. With no words exchanged Melina orders Natasha’s usual, or what was her usual when she was a kid — a strawberry milkshake and fries. A young Natasha decided strawberry was her favourite as soon as she found out that pink was a girl’s colour. Thinking about that now, especially with the hindsight of her conversation with Yelena, has her stomach turning a little. How long has she been letting her view of the world colour every single choice that she makes? Which parts of her are really her, and which are the ones she’s willed into existence?

It’s a scary line of questioning, and Natasha can feel herself beginning to spiral. No more, she tells herself. Yelena was probably right about needing to get to know herself — and learning her real favourite flavour of milkshake seems a manageable starting point.

“Can I have the caramel one?” she asks Melina gruffly, pointing at the menu. Her mama just nods and alters their order accordingly.

They sit at their usual booth and eat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional “pass the ketchup”s. Once they’ve finished, though, and Melina can sense her daughter has calmed enough to leave, she turns and says to her, “Love isn’t easy thing to admit. But it’s… not something to be ashamed of. When it comes, just let it happen. It’s scary, but it does not make you weaker, ah? It will do you no good to push it away.” She hesitates, but then seems satisfied with what she’s said. She turns on her heel and heads back out to the car. Natasha, dumbfounded, follows her.

When they finally make it home, Alexi is snoring away upstairs and you’re on the sofa with Yelena sprawled on top of you, fast asleep. You’re wide awake, though, and look up as the two of them come in.

“Night, ma,” Natasha murmurs to her mother, kissing her cheek before tiptoeing off to bed. Melina hums at the action and pads into the living room toward her twins.

“Hi ma,” you chirp, voice a little husky. “Everything okay?”

Your mama nods, and holds out a brown paper bag. “We stopped at diner. Got your favourite. Some for Lena too.”

Your eyes crinkle up into half-moons as you smile at her in gratitude, and Melina smiles back fondly, her chest filling with warmth. “Thank you.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead, who does not stir, and then yours, lingering for a moment.

“I love you,” she tells you sincerely, and a fierceness glimmers in her gaze that you’re not quite sure what to do with. “We all do.”

“I love you too,” you tell her honestly. You only hope you’re matching her intensity. She holds your gaze for a moment longer as if searching for something within it,  then nods, seemingly satisfied, and retreats upstairs to join Alexi, leaving you alone with a meal to demolish, a slumbering blonde pinning you to the sofa and many, many thoughts.

A few days after that conversation, you wander into the backyard (Melina’s carefully pruned pride and joy) to pet Liho, who’s basking peacefully in the summer evening sun.

“Careful of the flowerbed,” you warn as he flexes his claws and kicks his legs happily. “Someone will suffer if Ma’s roses are ruined.”

He huffs in what could be agreement, and you toe absently at the sandy dirt you and Yelena used to play in.

A gentle creaking sounds from somewhere nearby. It’s a noise that makes you feel ten years younger, and curiously, you rise to your feet.

At the far end of the backyard, nestled among the pines and pratia, is the swing set Alexi built a little while after Yelena first moved in. It’s a little haggard-looking, as when Natasha came to America Alexi bodged a third swing so all of you could play together, but to his credit it’s still held up all these years. Sure, it doesn’t get so much use anymore, but sometimes when one of you is feeling a little down you’ll revisit the simpler times of your childhood.

This seems to be what you’ve stumbled upon Natasha doing now. She’s sat on the middle swing (which in times gone by was your swing, as the middle spot often was when you were a kid, so both siblings got to be next to you), rocking back and forth gently as she cradles something small in her hands, turning it over. She’s lost in thought. Wondering if you’ve intruded on something private, you begin to slowly pace away. When you catch sight of what it is in her hands, though, your stomach turns; a small and glistening pink rock, rubbed smooth by years of love.

“You kept that?” you ask quietly. Natasha’s head shoots up and she takes note of your appearance in the same way that a deer takes note of rapidly approaching headlights. Her mouth opens as she fumbles for words, but she just settles for nodding vigorously before lowering her gaze to her lap again.

You don’t really know what to think, or do. You hesitate for a moment, and find yourself thinking of Bucky’s advice — wouldn’t it be easier to clear the air? This tension is suffocating. With this on your mind, you seem to surprise Natasha as much as yourself when your feet march you over to the swing on your left, and your knees bend to seat you. Her entire body tenses as yours nears her. You can tell that, since you’ve gone to great lengths to escape her company recently, this is the last thing she expected. (In all honesty you weren’t really expecting this either. What now?)

“You know that I’m in love with you, right?” Natasha says suddenly, and you freeze. Your chest tightens, and it’s like she’s wrapped herself around it, claiming your breath as her own.

“That’s not funny,” you reply in a small voice. “Don’t— don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play with me like that.”

Her stomach lurches. “I’m being serious.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Were you and Bucky ever actually together?”

“What?”

“Bucky Barnes. Were you with him when you were with me, too?” 

“N- no,” she says with vehement certainty. “I was — well, I guess it doesn’t really matter now, but when him and Steve were a secret I was his cover story. And I guess he was mine, so that I could… yeah.” She gestures towards you, pressing her lips together. 

“But even after they came out I was still a secret.”

“I—” Natasha says, and buries her face in her hands for a moment, because this is not how she hoped this would go. “Yes. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I think I was trying to protect you, and me, and you from me because I know how messy I can be, and I wanted you so bad but I didn’t want to drag you down with me. And I still did anyway.” She sighs heavily.

“That’s an interesting way of showing affection,” you quip. 

“I know,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I know I haven’t shown it well — at all — and I don’t really blame you for not believing me. Or, uh, hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you say softly.

Her shoulders sag. “Oh. W— well that’s good, then.”

“But I wish I did,” you add.

“No, yeah. That’s fair.”

“You’re really mean.”

Natasha just nods.

“And it’s even worse because I can’t even hate you because you can also be really nice.”

She nods again uncertainly. She’s not really sure how to respond to that.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you so mean sometimes?”

This makes her stop up short. The way that both you and Yelena never fail to cut to the chase or ask the questions that nobody else would will always catch her off guard. “It’s kind of just who I am,” she begins, but at the way your face scrunches she adds, “or who I’ve decided to be, anyway. I don’t really know. I’m not sure… who I am.” Even uttering the statement aloud is a weight lifted from her shoulders. “It’s scary. I guess I… I thought that, like, I have to be the mean one, or someone else will first. To me. You know?”

“Why would anyone be mean to you?”

“Because I like girls,” she says truthfully, and there’s a tremor to her voice.. “And I’m not from here.”

You stare at her. “…? I like girls, and Yelena isn’t from here. No one is mean to us for it.”

“Because Yelena can and will beat the shit out of anyone that tries something,” Nat snorts. “But I just… I don’t know. It’s different for me.” You nod encouragingly and she adds with reluctance, “I don’t— belong here, not really. Or anywhere. I’m too American to be Russian and too Russian to be American. Ma and Baba and Yelena have it figured out, they’re just both and themselves and they don’t even have to think about it. But that’s not so easy for me.”

“Maybe,” you say carefully, “it’s to do with the people you choose to surround yourselves with. Is it possible that you’re… spending time with the wrong people? If you’re made to feel as though these things make you lesser.”

She shrugs. “Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that I just… I really don’t have a lot going for me. So I kinda pretend that I do, and then it gets out of hand and I’ve convinced myself that I’m a lot more interesting than I am, to the point that I don’t know who me is. And I get all freaked out. And I’m so scared I kind of just shut off and try not to think, so I guess I’m just an asshole instead. Like it’s a reflex, you know? But it’s not really me. Nothing is me. My entire life is one perpetual identity crisis.” She drops her gaze to toe at the ground.

Your swing comes to a still as you clasp one of her hands between both of yours. They’re warm and perfectly manicured, and her eyes light up at the contact. “You don’t have to know who you are. You just have to exist, and you find out. I’m learning things about myself all the time, and so is Lena. This was my first relationship —” Nat’s stomach drops at the use of the word was “— and I’ve learnt a lot about myself and how I like to be treated. And Lena only came to terms with being aroace this year. Even Ma only just decided she’s demi,” you point out, and Nat can’t help but smile at this. (A little while ago, after Yelena first came out, you and Melina began joining her in attending weekly meetings at the local youth centre for young queer people and their parents. Your mama was determined to be a more educated advocate for her three queer daughters. Very recently, with all this new terminology at her disposal, she dropped into a dinnertime conversation in the presence of the whole family that she thinks she’s demi. “Not that it matters,” she added, “the only one for me is your father,” and she kissed his beaming crinkly cheek with a motherly tenderness. It was a beautiful moment to witness, despite Yelena’s playful booing.)

“I guess,” she says quietly. “Um, I’ve been talking to someone. Professional,” she adds at the look on your face. “Yelena said some stuff that made me realise I probably shouldn’t sort through this alone.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t,” you nod. Natasha raises an eyebrow at your ready agreement. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. Lena sees someone. I do too.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “Baba takes me every other Thursday. I have horrible abandonment issues. I guess after everything that’s happened, I’ve kinda internalised some stuff.”

“I definitely took advantage of that,” Nat says guiltily. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”

You look at her. “I know.” Your hand squeezes hers before letting go and she instantly aches to feel it again. “I’m sorry, too. For not… I don’t know, setting more boundaries. Or being more forceful.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, and the two of you sit in silence for a long while as the sun begins to retire.

“You know,” you say suddenly, “you don’t have to move across the country. You can if you want, obviously, it’s your call, but if it’s just because of me… you don’t have to.”

“But-? I’m trying to give you space? To heal,” she says confusedly, and you laugh.

“And it’s very sweet, but I don’t need that much space. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Natasha’s soul leaves her body. “You— huh?”

“I have,” you laugh kindly. “I did some of my own thinking, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t think you need me being mad at you, on top of everything else going on in here.” You tap at her temple gently to emphasise your point, and she shivers. “And I don’t think I need that either. I don’t want to carry that with me.”

“Okay,” Natasha breathes. “T— thank you.”

You wrinkle your nose at her affectionately. “You’re silly.”

She’s awash with the overwhelming need to kiss you, and instead twitches a little, digging her nails into her palm. You take in the movement with such wide-eyed concern that she has to close her eyes for a moment, because she’s almost ill with how much she feels for you. This feeling only grows more intense as you continue.

“I know we’re… whatever we are, but… if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” you say more quietly. “I know you’ve been through some stuff, and even when you’re seeing someone for it it can get overwhelming. I do care about you.”

She nods, and swallows thickly. “ I don’t— I— uhm. What does this make us?”

You can hear her hopes heavy on her tongue, and your heart is like lead. “Friends?” you offer. “I— I don’t think we should be anything else, right now.”

Natasha nods, and swallows thickly. With it she swallows back the words but I love you. It must be written across her face, though, because you cup it between your hands (which really isn’t helping her self-restraint at all).

“I love you,” you tell her honestly. “And I always have. But love isn’t… you don’t… I don’t know. That kind of love is something that you earn, I think. And we both need to take care of ourselves.”

“I understand.” Natasha’s voice is hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “And I want you to feel like I respect your decision. But I also want you to feel like I’m serious. About you. And I will prove it if I have to.”

Against your own better judgement, you smile at her.

One thing about Natasha Romanoff is that she’s not a quitter.

Some would say it’s an endearing quality. More would probably tell her it’s the reason she finds herself in so many messes in the first place. What’s objectively certain is that she’s a stubborn little shit — and and with this determination she’s decided she’s going to win you back. Your slight encouragement, no matter how vague, is enough fuel for a fire that could simmer for months.

It starts as chocolates, and flowers. At this point she seems to have cottoned onto the fact that you’re not one for big, theatrical confessions of love, but rather consistent affirmations of it. Actions, not words, she’s heard you say (although now more than ever before she’s seeing for herself what you mean). So there’s no four-act sonnet recitals when you receive her gifts — although you don’t really receive them at all, in the traditional sense. Rather they seem to begin popping up everywhere you go. At one point you open your locker to a bouquet so over-endowed that flowers begin to tumble out onto the floor. Sam steps neatly to the side and watches with glee as you scramble to clean the mess. (He’s most definitely enjoying watching all of this play out.)

Your favourite of all these surprise gifts is probably one delivered by your own four-legged Cupid himself. Liho headbutts the door to your room open and stalks in with a scowl on his face and something attached to his collar. As soon as you remove it to inspect it he rolls onto his back and looks up at you expectantly, clearly expecting compensation for this favour.

“Yes, you’re a very handsome boy,” you tell him distractedly, using one hand to rub his belly while you attempt to unfurl the note he’s delivered with the other. Yelena lets out a noise of amusement. She’s perched on your bed with the Kardashians paused on her laptop in favour of watching this play out instead.

“You are so ungraceful,” she comments mildly, making no move to help you.

“I love how you always see the best in me,” you reply through gritted teeth.

After a moment, you manage to succeed in your task. I picked these for you :), the letter reads. You glance over at Liho’s collar again to see a tiny bunch of forget-me-nots, only slightly battered from their journey and bound neatly by brown twine.

“Another gift from the mystery girl?” Yelena teases, and you groan.

“Okay, saying mystery girl is officially banned. It’s giving me war flashbacks.”

“And that is fair,” your sister muses, getting to her feet to inspect your latest delivery. After she’s done she sits back on her heels. “You don’t have to keep turning her down, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it’s just because of me. You have my… blessing, or whatever. But on the condition that you’re not gross about it.” She rolls her eyes, and nudges your cheek with her nose. You squirm good-naturedly.

“Why thank you, your Grace.”

“Yes, I’m the graceful one,” she preens.

“Sure,” you snort, and she smirks. “Um, thank you, though. That’s good to know. I guess I’m still… figuring it out, but she’s growing on me again.” And it’s true. You have your reservations now, but she’s trying to remind you why you first fell for her (and yeah, she might be succeeding). Part of you wonders if she’s turning on the superficiality again, but after she spilled her guts to you on the swing set you’re trying to have faith that she really is turning a new leaf, and charming you authentically.

Yelena considers this. “Yes, okay. This makes sense. Remember to tell me if she tries anything again though. I will put them up.” She raises her fists and you giggle, but you know she’s at least partially serious. She’s very athletic in her own right and people at school go out of their way to avoid crossing her. That’s how you’ve stayed out of trouble your whole life — by standing behind Yelena and letting her handle it instead. Where you hesitate, she dives right in. You adore that about her, though.

“Do you know what you’ll do once she’s out of state?” Lena asks, and you shrug.

“Figure it out as we go, I guess. I don’t know if she’ll lose interest in me.”

The blonde looks up fiercely. “If she does that I will stick them up.”

You beam at her, admittedly less for the violence and more for the sentiment behind it. She beams back for reasons more ambiguous.

“Do you know what we will do?” Yelena queries. Upon your frown she elaborates, “next year when it is our turn to pick college. You and me, what will we do?”

“Pick the same one, and both get in because we’re super smart, and we’ll be roommates. And you can make us mac and cheese every night,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She contemplates this.

“Okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Can we hit play now? I want to know what’s happen to Kim’s diamond earring.”

“Two cookies say she gets it back.”

“Two cookies say eat my ass the way a fish ate her earring,” she retorts, and the two of you settle on the bed again. (You have two more cookies than usual after dinner.)

Despite the witticism you take Yelena’s blessing with pride, and it means a lot more to you than you let on. Now that every single member of your family has shown their support for your relationship you can’t help but feel a slight ray of hope, the likes of which you thought had been stomped out long ago. Never before have you dared to imagine a situation where you could actually have a shot with the girl of your dreams, who you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember — and yet here you are, with her putting her back out working overtime to win you over, and your family watching with interest. Every morning you wake up a little warmer to the idea of letting this happen.

That doesn’t mean Natasha’s out of the woods yet, though, and you’re careful to make this clear to her. She senses your hesitance, and completely understands its presence. She’ll wait for you as long as it takes. (She’s genuinely stunned at how forgiving you have been of her, in all honesty.) In fact she takes your reluctances in her stride in a way that actually has you feeling more for her — but again, you know better than to repeat your mistakes of the past, and so you take this as slowly as you can considering she’s coming on strong and you live under the same roof.

Three months of summer lie ahead of you, stretching out like an endless expanse of sunset-tinted possibility. You and Yelena manage to land jobs at the video store in town — Yelena goes blazing into the interview and makes it clear as she can that the two of you are a package deal. Wong, the guy who runs the place, just seems grateful for the help.

The store becomes somewhat of a hangout spot for the two of you, who work the same hours and are joined at the hip like always, and it’s a safe bet to stop by if anyone wants to find you. Sam often swings by to playfully irritate the both of you, since the marina where his parents’ boat is docked is just round the corner, and Natasha will meet you when you’re closing to take you out for dinner after. (Sometimes Yelena tags along to these meals, and gleefully revels in the awkwardness her presence causes.) Since you and Yelena are twins again too, things are looking up for your friendship group and they’ve taken to visiting also. You’re delighted to spend time with them again. (Seeing Makkari’s face light up when she steps into the Deaf & Subtitled section of the store makes your whole week.)

In fact, word seems to have gotten out about the fact that Wong’s employed you, because one sleepy Tuesday afternoon Bucky Barnes drops by to rent a DVD. He picks one at random, not even glancing at the cover, and as you scan it through for him he says to you lowly, “thank you for making Natasha happy again. She cares so much about you.” He offers you a genuine smile before heading out abruptly and almost forgetting his DVD in the process. (You suspect his purchase was a mere means to talk to you.) It’s a strange interaction, but decidedly more pleasant than your last with him, so you take it no further.

Another perk of having this job is that you have your own money now. You’re not really sure what to do with it at first; the only thing that occurs to you is that you want to get a gift for Natasha. At the end of the summer is her graduation — she’ll walk and wear the square hat and everything, and you’re very excited to embarrass her with photos of the event — and after that she’ll leave for college. Her graduation is the perfect time to present her with said gift, you decide.

You know you want the gift to be meaningful, but you’re not really sure of the specifics. Luckily for you, one night on the roof with Natasha is all you need for the inspiration to strike.

Can’t sleep, you text her one night, after hours of fruitless tossing and turning.

She replies immediately.

Me neither

Come down to my room :)

If you want to!!! she adds after a moment, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. She is adorable.

Omw, you tell her, rolling out of bed.

The door is unlocked!!!!!! just come in

You follow her instructions and slip inside. The room is cosily lit, with her fairy lights on and her little lamp shaped like Calcifer flickering merrily; the bed is unmade, as if someone’s been in it recently, but Natasha herself is nowhere to be seen.

“Nat?” you call out uncertainly, and squeak in surprise when her head pops through the window. She smiles softly at your reaction.

“I’m out here,” she tells you. “C’mon, there’s space for both of us.” She wriggles along her perch on the flat row of tiles of the roof, and pats the empty spot beside her. Antics like this don’t faze you after twelve years of friendship with Yelena. You clamber out beside her readily.

“Hi,” says Natasha a little bashfully, once you’re settled. You lean up to peck her lips and she flushes. “Y— yeah. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” you reply sweetly. “It’s nice out here.”

“It is,” she agrees, her gaze not straying from you. You take no notice, though; your sights are set to the heavens. No matter how much you snipe about how annoying it is to live in a small town, the views still take your breath away. The stars shimmer bright above you, as they do almost every night. They’re not the only beautiful sight your town has to offer; Wanda adores the rocky hills at the edge of town, where many scavengers like squirrels and raccoons have made their home (one boy in your grade, Peter Quill, has befriended one of the raccoons and affectionately named him ‘Rocket’. He visits Rocket every day after lunch with his leftovers from the cafeteria). Occasionally she’s able to convince everyone in your group to accompany her hiking there. Despite your grumbling, it does make for an enjoyable day out.

“I come out here when I can’t sleep,” she tells you quietly.

“I sit on the roof sometimes,” you reply, and you beam at each other. It’s true — you do, but sharing the information feels vulnerable. You’ve figured out how to hoist yourself up through the skylight in the loft and onto the utmost point of the house, but it’s an activity you’ve kept as your own for now. While you adore more than anything being twins with Yelena, and living your life with her, you’re also learning how to exist by yourself for the first time in your life, and enjoying having your own space. Your little corner in the attic has afforded you many freedoms, and not just material ones.

“You see the moon?” Nat asks. The planet in question hangs round and heavy over the horizon, not quite full.

“How could I miss her?” She’s the most beautiful thing in sight.

“You know the difference between waxing and waning?” Natasha prompts, and you shake your head, solely because you love when she talks about her passions. “Waxing is when the moon transitions from a new moon to a full moon — so she fills out. See, that’s what she’s doing now.”

“She’s nearly full,” you remark quietly.

“Yup.” She grins. “Now when she’s waxing, she fills in from the right side — so she kinda looks like a C.” She makes a C shape with her left hand and holds it up against the sky to confirm that, yes, while the moon is waxing it vaguely resembles the letter. “But soon she’ll start to wane — maybe next week? After the full moon. Waning is the transition from the full moon back to the new moon, so she shrinks away into nothing. She’s eaten away from the left side, so she looks like a reverse C.” Nat makes a C shape with her right hand this time, so that it’s reversed, and holds it up to compare to the moon. They don’t match up right now, but they’ll get there someday.

“This is my favourite period though,” she confesses, her voice dropping a little lower, “of the lunar cycle. When the moon is waxing.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels,” she hesitates. “I don’t know. It feels like gross to say out loud but it kinda just feels like, encouraging. Things are always changing. They won’t be like this forever, you know? The cycle keeps on repeating itself.”

“The cycle keeps on repeating itself,” you repeat, and she smiles at you.

“Yeah. You don’t think it’s… dumb? I don’t know, I’ve never brought anyone else up here. I —”

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell her, and she kisses you gently.

The next day you go out and buy a crescent moon necklace.

Natasha has been coming into your room more and more often lately, and you don’t trust yourself to not leave it lying around in plain sight, so one day while she’s out you enlist Alexi’s help to loosen one of the floorboards in the attic so you can stash things under it inconspicuously.

“It’s not for anything suspicious,” you tell him quickly, “you can look under it whenever you want. It’s just to hide gifts and —”

“Relax, sunflower,” he chuckles, “you are entitled to your secrets.”

The necklace stays hidden there until summer draws to a close.

The weeks fly by in a golden haze and before you know it, you’re getting ready for Natasha’s graduation.

Alexi is stood on the landing in his smartest suit, and flexing proudly in the mirror on the wall. “It still fits!” he booms triumphantly.

“Don’t forget to wear your nice shirt, любовь,” Melina calls up the stairs to him. “No one with holes in.” He deflates a little, and retreats back into their bedroom to change.

“He looks fine,” Yelena scolds half-heartedly as she lumbers down the stairs, holding out her wrists to Melina. “Can you do my cufflinks?”

“Where’s your please?” Melina retorts, but she sets her clutch down so she can use both hands to help her daughter.

“We have to leave in ten minutes,” Natasha announces as she bursts from her own room. “Семья, I know what you are like, and we cannot be late.”

“Relax, love.” Alexi reemerges from the bedroom in a different shirt this time. “I will go and start the car,” he starts down the stairs, “and— oh.” He pauses as several buttons pop off his shirt simultaneously. “Ебать.” He turns around and subduedly makes his way back up the stairs.

“Baba,” Natasha groans. “This is what I mean.”

“Hey! I am nearly ready,” says Yelena indignantly, nodding at her mother in thanks for doing her cufflinks before ducking in front of the mirror. “Oh shit, where is my tie?”

“Language,” reprimands Melina.

“See?” Natasha sighs exasperatedly. “Y/N/N is the only one who’s ready.” She hurries down the stairs to where you’re stood in the hall, watching the scene unfold serenely. You’ve been ready to leave for the last ten minutes. She beams at you and pecks you on the cheek just shy of your lips. You flush, and the crescent moon necklace burns a hole in your pocket. Now isn’t the time, though.

Eventually, you all make it into the car, with everyone now sporting correctly-fitting outfits. As always on car journeys, you’re in the back, sandwiched in the middle between Natasha and Yelena. Lena scrolls through her phone disinterestedly, headphones in, while Natasha vibrates on your other side with anticipation and nerves. You take one of her hands between both of yours and she stills instantly.

“I am very proud of you,” you say quietly, “to have made it this far, with these grades. You’ve gotten into your dream college. You can do anything. Today will go fine.”

She doesn’t speak for fear of bawling and potentially ruining her eyeliner, so instead she rests her head on your shoulder in silent gratitude. She doesn’t move until you arrive, at which point she shows you all to your seats (front row, you note) and disappears to the backstage meeting point for all of the graduates.

The actual ceremony doesn’t begin for a while, so Melina converses with the other parents seated around her while Alexi nods politely, and you and Yelena compete in a thumb war. Eventually Principal Rambeau steps onto the stage and a silence settles on the gathered audience.

“Thank you all for attending,” she begins. “We’re here to celebrate our wonderful seniors, who have put in so much work to make it here today, and walk this stage.” She continues like that for a short while before they begin to call the students’ names, and they each walk across the stage in turn to claim their diploma. Natasha is a little later on the register, so you just sit back and enjoy the show — you’ve lived in this small town all your life, where most people know of each other, and so you recognise or even know the vast majority of the people who make their way across the stage. Some of them choose to make a memorable exit from their high school career (like Happy Hogan who chooses to breakdance his way across the stage, or Ned Leeds who walks proudly in a hot dog suit), whereas others take the more graceful route (see Valkyrie King, a prominent athlete of the school, who walks with confidence and regally basks in everyone’s recognition of her). When Natasha Romanova-Shostakov is called, she walks the stage a little bashfully, and with a blush accepts the cheers showered upon her after several years of being the cheer team’s star. You clap and shout louder than anyone else, and to Yelena’s glee capture several shots of her in her square graduate cap. Front row seat privilege. 

After the presentations, the students flood into the crowd and people break off into little groups. The air hums with the joy of people laughing and congratulating and embracing one another. Natasha makes her way over to you and Yelena, who are stood now with your parents beside the refreshments. She brightens when she spots you, and is instantly by your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“There is my girl!” Melina cheers. An outbreak of hugging ensues.

You mingle politely for a while with the other families milling around your own. Natasha appears intermittently, being the centre of attention today. Yelena is by your side (with her arm annoyingly resting on your shoulder to remind you that she’s taller) until one of her hockey friends pilfers her to show her something. In the few moments that you’re unaccompanied, Natasha resurfaces from the crowd, takes your arm and leads you somewhere a little quieter, and a little less visible to the masses.

“I just, um,” she realises she’s still holding your arm and lets go of it with a blush, “I wanted to thank you for being here. Like actually. It means a lot to me. I know— I know that in a couple of weeks I won’t be here properly, and it might make things weird, but —”

Now is the perfect time, you decide. As she continues to nervously ramble you pull the crescent moon necklace in its little velvet box from your pocket, and present it to her. She falls silent and looks at you.

“It’s for you,” you say unnecessarily, opening it to show her the treasure inside. Her eyes widen. “I— I want to do this with you. I want to give us a try. I like being with you.”

And as you clasp the delicate chain around her neck, and lean up to press a chaste kiss to her lips, Natasha understands. Love is something you earn.

She entwines your hand with hers, and together the two of you make your way back towards your family.

[theoraekenapperciation]

☆ Theo Raeken Appreciation Week 2024 ☆

this event is for Theo Raeken centric fan works and will run from August 1st — August 7th 2024, it can be gen works or ship, all characters & au’s are welcome! feel free to send in an ask with any questions or concerns!

to participate in this event tag your creations with #theoapprecationweek24 and/or #theoweek24 and then tag this blog @theoraekenapperciation — please make sure to read the rules found here before posting a work for this event

☆ prompts - these can be mixed & matched however you please and if you don’t want to follow them that’s fine too!

day 1 — first meet - what was it like for theo when he first met members of the pack? is there a meet scene you want to rewrite?

day 2 — on accident - is it something sweet like the one bed trope? or is it serious and theo has to navigate the consequences of a major accident happening? or maybe someone else is at fault and he’s caught up in the aftermath?

day 3 — rarepairs - is there any pairings that didn’t happen in the show that you’d like to see? any characters from past seasons you want to see interact with theo?

day 4 — canon divergence - rewrite a scene, add theo into a scene, change the direction of a scene, change an entire storyline, anything your heart desires

day 3 — college - what does he study? is he rooming with someone? does he go out of state or to a community college? does he happen to run into someone from the pack accidentally?

day 6 — being a brother - does theo still have those brotherly tendencies? do they come out around the pack? does he talk about tara a lot or is that kept to himself? is he scared of finding himself in another sibling dynamic?

day 7 — dealers choice!

☆ visual prompts

day 1 — color theory - mess around with color theory in anyway you please!

day 2 — weather conditions - rain, snow, sun, fog, absolutely anything

day 3 — dancing - any kind, jazz, hip hop, goth! maybe he’s dancing with someone? set the scene, is there a certain outfit you can picture theo in as he dances or a place he dances?

day 4 — hobbies - show theo doing any hobby you think he’d enjoy, or he could’ve gotten roped into it by someone in the pack

day 5 — down in hell - find a way to visualize what it was like for theo in the skinwalker hell

day 6 — found family - it could be the pack or maybe someone outside the pack like a parental figure or someone that only showed up for a limited time

day 7 — dealers choice!

☆ alternative prompts

alt 1 — season 5 - any and everything to do with season 5, go wild

alt 2 — season 6 - like season 6 more? perfect, create something to do with any and everything season 6

alt 3 — fluff - anything soft & sweet, or maybe some hurt/comfort, or a canon scene you wish had more fluff in it

[dividers from @cafekitsune]

[sleepynoons]

sakura x afab!f!reader, sfw, not beta read

cw: n/a

notes: in celebration of summer coming to a close (how the heck is it back to school season already in the states...), i wrote this quick drabble on taking sakura to a summer festival. packed w/ a bunch of classic shojo tropes + a sprinkle of humor lol enjoy!!

SAKURA DIDN’T think this through. his excuse is that it all happened too quickly.

one late afternoon after school, he and suo accompanied nirei to a local market, who unexpectedly won a couples travel package to an onsen in a street-side raffle. since nirei doesn’t have a special someone, he gave it to sakura, thinking it was about time the two of you went on a trip together. suo only added fuel to the fire by bringing up the fact that sakura hadn’t kissed you yet in fear of screwing your first kiss as a couple up.

he really only agreed to go on the trip because he was baited into it. 

he sighs, peeking at you through his periphery as you clearly vibrate in your seat, admiring the mountainous landscape speeding by as you both ride the bullet train. 

the sight of your excitement and anticipation makes him sigh. fine, he admits, maybe he had other reasons for coming on this trip.

you swivel over, beaming up at him. “sakura!” you chirp. “what should we do tonight?”

he rolls his eyes. he knows that whenever you ask him this question, you usually already have an idea or two in mind. but he plays along anyway.

“nothing,” he grumbles. he tries to meet your gaze, but just sharing eye contact for a few mere seconds turns him into a blustering mess.

you hum happily, tuning out his grumpiness. “i heard there’s a summer festival! it’s close to our stay. wanna go?”

sakura simply rests his cheek on his propped fist with an expression that reads “do i really have a choice?”.

elated, you clap your hands and peer out the window again.

an hour later, the two of you arrive in a small town known for its onsens, even during the summer. it’s already seven o’clock, and having already eaten bento boxes on the train, the two of you head straight to the inn. sakura thanks his lucky stars that there’s a divider in the room because there’s no way he can sleep right next to you. you, however, are clearly disheartened at the sight, but sakura makes up some half-assed lie (“i’m a sleep walker, so it’s better that i don’t accidentally step on you!”) to appease you. anyway, after stowing away your belongings, you head out to grab some water.

in reality, though, you leave to prepare a small surprise for sakura. you know your boyfriend can’t say no to you, and he’s too busy snoozing on the tatami to know how long you’ll be gone. having done your research ahead of time, you found out about the summer festival yourself, and there is a yukata rental store nearby as well. not only will this be sakura’s first summer festival with you, but he also hasn’t seen you dressed up. you want to dazzle your boyfriend so hard that he nearly faints on the spot. you giggle at your mischievous antics and quickly make your way to the store.

sakura wakes with a jolt. how long has he been out for? he aimlessly searches for his phone, slapping his hand against the floor around his head until he feels the cool metal in his hands.

his eyes widen at the time. he was asleep for a whole half hour. he looks around – and where are you? it shouldn’t take you this long to get some water.

as if on cue, his phone beeps with a notification from you. you sent him a short text message: “wake up!! i’m already waiting outside the inn!!” sakura scrambles to put on a light jacket and his shoes, mussing with his hair as he speeds over to you.

when he’s outside, you’re nowhere in sight. there’s a family of four including a mother strapping a baby into a stroller, an elderly couple walking by, and a girl wearing a summer yukata – wait, is that you?”

you look over your shoulder, and sakura thinks time has stopped. the world has ceased rotating on its axis. there is no one and nothing else in the world except for the two of you. he zeroes in on your outfit, admiring how the colors and patterns contrast yet fit together seamlessly, complementing your skin tone. your hair is also done into a neat bun with decorative floral pins and embellishments. and your face. he’s not well-versed in makeup, but he at least knows what lipstick is, and the soft pink painting your lips is tantalizing. his first instinct is to kiss you.

but the instantaneous, almost primal thought catches him off-guard, and everything resumes. you’e watching him curiously, waiting for him to come to your side. sakura blushes and scowls, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, before stalking over to you.

you roll your eyes (internally very delighted by his initial reaction) and ask, “why are you in such a bad mood? woke up wrong?”

your boyfriend sputters, trying to find his words, before responding, “why the hell are you wearing those shoes? can’t walk anywhere with those on.” 

“hey, the sandals go with the outfit!” sakura’s scowl only deepens, his eyebrows and forehead scrunched up even tighter. you flick him lightly before taking one of his hands into yours, leading him to the summer festival.

the festival is the busiest at this time. the fireworks display is occurring in an hour and a half, and families, couples, and friend groups alike are hustling and bustling about. you and sakura go to as many of the game booths as you can. for once, sakura’s grateful that you’re such a busybody because the games are a great way to get his mind off of you and how pretty you are. at one stall, he shoots down four objects in a row to win you a black cat plushie that you say reminds you of him. at another, you both struggle to fish water balloons, and after failing all five of his attempts, sakura throws his metal hook on the ground and calls it quits after being called a loser by one of the children playing next to him. finally, as the two of you near the end of the stalls, you make one last stop. it’s a narrow booth selling candy apples, and the lights strung onto the makeshift roof make the red glaze and plastic wrapping glitter like crystals. even sakura pauses to stare, and you decide to purchase one. you don’t think sakura’s had one before.

he objects at first, slightly leaning back as you hold it out to him. “huh? you didn’t have to, i can’t finish it all.”

you huff and only shove the candy apple closer to him. “i already bought it, and we can just share it.”

just when he has finally distracted his mind from solely thinking about kissing you, you pull this stunt on him. he chokes, barely muttering a “whatever,” and grabs one of your arms to pull you away from the booth.

despite the packed crowd, the two of you manage to squeeze into a small, unoccupied patch of grass on the field for the fireworks. the fireworks are starting in five minutes, and in the meantime, he unwraps the candy apple, ready to nibble away at it.

sakura seems to like it, you observe, as you gaze at him adoringly. you’re glad that he seems relaxed and is having fun, even if he still gets shy around you. it’s ok, though, because you’ll help him with that.

one more minute. your boyfriend asks if you’d like to have some, stuttering and tripping over his words. you chuckle, urging him to continue eating.

thirty more seconds. you wipe away some of the stickiness smudging his chin.

ten more seconds. sakura is fully occupied with the candy apple, completely oblivious with the way the crowd is stirring with anticipation.

five.

four.

three.

two.

sakura opens his mouth wide.

and one. he bites down, and you lean over, placing a chaste peck on his cheek. the first firework booms in the background, and as you sit back up, he blinks owlishly at you.

sakura could care less about the fireworks, the countless people surrounding you all, even the sugary treat in his hands. did you just… kiss him? because he wants to do it for real. he wants to make the first move, lick away at the gloss on your lips, confirm his suspicions that you are as sweet – possibly sweeter – than any dessert he’s had. he’s not even bothered by how ridiculous his wants are.

he’s going to do it. he’s going to go for it. oh, wait, he has to ask if you’re ok with him kissing you. right, right.

but as sakura’s about to speak, he forgets that a chunk of candy apple is still in his mouth. he bites down on his tongue, squawking before cringing and curling in on himself from the pain.

you watch as all of this unfolds right beside you. you can’t help but laugh loudly at your boyfriend’s clumsiness. through gritted teeth, he tells you to shut it, but you continue to giggle as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“it’s ok, sakura, we can take our time,” you say into his blushing ears. he replies with something you can’t hear over the fireworks, probably something snarky and not at all serious, but doesn’t make an effort to shake you off.

you think sakura’s already improved considerably tonight, and you’re looking forward to seeing how he’ll act throughout the rest of your trip.

[lanasblood]

HOTTER THAN SIN | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!reader

summary: at night, you find yourself seeking solace and comfort in the arms of your lover while conflicting emotions highlight your struggle between duty and true happiness.

word count: 3k

warnings: forbidden love trope, nsfw content - minors do not interact, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, biting, marking, some background info for the plot (to make it a bit logical), cheating with consent (?), you and neteyam acting like wild animals lol it's always h words hours with him, all characters are adults

na'vi words: yerik - hexapede (deer-like pandoran animal); yawne - beloved

* gif's mine (for the first time)

"You are promised to my baby bro." His words echoed in your mind, over and over again, as you absentmindedly ran a comb through your hair in your nightly routine. The night had already slipped away, the moons shining brightly in the sky, silently witnessing your inner turmoil as you, for the third time now, abandoned your attempt to braid your hair. A sense of unease settled in the air as you found yourself alone, lost in deep contemplation, unable to sleep peacefully.

"Your baby bro loves someone else, and so do I,"  you had told him, not to appease your own conscience or even his but as a matter of fact. It was true that you and Lo'ak had been forced to reach a silent agreement, but that didn't mean you were in agreement at all. It was largely driven by your parents and his; you had been betrothed to each other as young children, unaware of the true significance of it. As the years went by and this arrangement took up more presence in your lives, both you and Lo'ak realized that there was absolutely no chemistry between you. And so, you agreed that until your impending mating (and both of you were confident you would find a way to escape the situation by then), he could do as he pleased with whomever he wanted, and so could you. What Lo'ak didn't know was that your "whomever" happened to be his own brother, a secret you no longer wanted to keep hidden. 

You've had many conversations with Neteyam about it, repeatedly making it clear that you were not satisfied with the current situation, and that you no longer wanted a secret affair. You were tired of meeting him whenever it was convenient and not when you wanted, tired of hiding in the shadows when it could be so easy to change it all. All he had to do was face his elders and announce that he had chosen you as his mate by his side. Everyone would understand, you were sure of it. But Neteyam didn't want to hear any of it; he ignored your questions, changed the subject, and smooth-talked his way out of it every time. You were so fucking tired of it all. 

However, you were not tired of his lustrous glances during communal gatherings, his playful smiles whenever he saw you at training, his gentle touches on your lower back that lingered a bit too long whenever he passed by, his whispered compliments close to your ear when no one was looking, and his secret signs only you knew, like the subtle nod of his head signaling you to follow him to the forest, or the way he licked over his lower lip, barely noticeable to untrained eyes, but a clear sign for you that you wouldn't be spending the night alone.

"What the..." you furrowed your brows, setting the comb aside in your hand, as you saw a familiar silhouette standing at the entrance of your family's tent, a smug smile on his face. "Are you crazy?" you whisper-yelled at him, "My parents are sleeping!" You quickly glanced at the sealed section at the end of the tent, hoping that no one would come out and see you together with Neteyam in the middle of the night.

"I know," he shrugged nonchalantly, "But that has never stopped me from seeing my beautiful girl."

"Not your girl," you reminded him harshly, "Your own words. Besides, I'm still angry at you, so in case you don't have an answer to my questions, you can just go away the way you…" 

You gasped then, your eyes widening in alarm, like those of a yerik witnessing the sharp tip of an arrow hurtling towards it. Suddenly, you found yourself lying flat on your back, with Neteyam above you, having pinned you down. How on Pandora had he done that again? Just a few seconds ago, he was standing at the entrance of the tent, you had been distracted for a fraction of a second, and now... 

You decided not to dwell on his surprise maneuvers for long, as his soft lips had once again claimed yours, the same as the hundreds and thousands of times before, washing away any questions and worries with a single sweep. You gasped into the kiss, letting your slender hands roam over his strong arms, tracing along his well-defined back where your fingertips pressed into his delicate skin. Eywa, this man was perfect.

"That's why I'm here," he mumbled in between hot kisses, while your lips almost refused to part for even a second, "Cannot let my girl go to sleep angry, can I?"

You sighed into the next kiss, a longer, and more passionate one, but tried to keep a clear head as a single question dominated your thoughts: Just when would you officially become his?

"Do not ask questions whose answers you cannot handle," he whispered against your lips, brushing a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth, and buried his left hand in your flowing hair.

"You know I can handle it," you retorted, a slight pout on your lips. You no longer wondered how Neteyam always seemed to know what was going through your mind. Perhaps he just knew you inside and out. Or perhaps you were an open book, and everyone else could genuinely read from your face what you were feeling, what you were thinking. That was indeed the most plausible explanation that had come to your mind since the first night you has spent with Neteyam. Yes, that must be it, you must be easy to read. 

If only you knew that you were precisely the opposite. You had thrown Neteyam off balance so many times without even trying, without even realizing, solely through your actions, which stood in contradiction to your feelings that he could sense as clearly as a gentle touch because he did, in fact, know you inside and out. You were anything but easy to read. At least not always. And you were probably the most capable person he had encountered, with him always being in awe with the new surprises you had up your sleeve. 

Neteyam smiled a genuine smile, "Just trust me on this and leave the rest to me." 

His deep accented voice triggered so many emotions within you. Your hands slid lower, reaching the hem of his loincloth, attempting to untie the knot, but it proved to be more challenging than anticipated as Neteyam playfully nibbled on the delicate skin of your neck, occasionally running his tongue over it in a teasing manner. You shuddered so intensely under his touch that you believed you were on the verge of experiencing an orgasm solely from his caresses, the peak of pleasure within reach and tantalizingly close whenever he was near. It was crazy.

"Yes," you murmured as his hands tenderly glided along your sides, descending to your bare thighs, venturing further toward your heated core, which yearned so desperately for attention. But he took his time, still lavishing attention on your neck, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His tongue traced a path down to your chest. You yearned to feel more, so much more, and the absence of his touch in that specific place drove you wild. His hand traveled up again, skimming delicately over the insides of your thighs, teasingly brushing against your heated core, only to divert his focus to your taut stomach and breasts. Everywhere but there.

"Please." It almost sounded like whining, which caused the prince of the forest to chuckle softly once again. 

In the next instant, you already regretted your quiet plea, as the following sound you heard was the screech of fabric ripping apart.

You gasped heavily, staring at him with eyes filled with desire. "You... oh, you. Couldn't you have done that like a normal person?"

"I thought you didn't want to wait any longer," he smirked, exuding an irresistibly seductive charm. Gone were your loincloth and upper feathery piece that you had loved so dearly, having spent hours of weaving. He then adjusted himself slightly as you struggled to remove his loincloth. The clothes fell carelessly to the ground, as if they had never belonged to you both. Completely naked, as the Great Mother had created you, and yet like wild animals, you both pounced on each other.

Shamelessly, he now gazed at your body, completely exposed, as you lay before him, as you eagerly craved his touch. But this time, it was he who looked rather surprised, as you swiftly rose up, burying your hands in his nape and and drawing him back down to you. You pressed your throbbing core against him and your sweet lips against his, claiming him with fervor, completely consumed by desire. You kissed him this time with wild, unrestrained passion, and dug your nails into the firm flesh of his back. Neteyam broke away, gasping for a moment, before turning his attention to your breasts. He encircled your hardened peaks with his soft lips, sucking and teasing them, occasionally nipping and biting, which elicited another gasp from you. It aroused him immensely to hear those sweet sounds escaping your lips, knowing that only he could evoke such a response from you. His loins were on fire, his cock eager to feel the wet, tight embrace of your folds, but for now, his focus was solely on you, you and your quivering body under his hands and his mouth.

"Mhmm," you hummed, running your tongue over your lips and wrapping your legs tightly around his hips, grinding your arching core against the hardness of his arousal. You wanted to feel him. To feel him filling you completely, driving you to the edge of sanity, but he took his time, still caressing your tits, occasionally nibbling lightly on your hardened nipples, eliciting soft moans from you, before soothing them with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands never ceased their massaging motions, sensually exploring every inch of your body. His mouth trailed lower, moving along your stomach, and his tongue traced circles around your belly button. His hands gently spread your legs apart, granting him more access and freedom to explore your trembling form.

Arching your head back, as much as you could in that position, you let out a soft moan as his hands glided briefly over your pulsating core. He lowered his head between your legs and tantalizingly licked over it, causing a slightly louder moan to escape your lips this time.

"Shh, yawne, not so loud," he warned you, and once again turned his attention and focus on your sensitive pearl, licking it once more before exhaling a gentle breath onto it, which sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

And there it was... his lips pressed against your highly sensitive spot. He kissed you there, suckling on your bud and then traced small circles over it with his warm, wet tongue, causing you to grip the mat under you tightly. Eywa, it felt so good. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you wanted more. So much more.

"You like that?" he whispered in a sultry tone, knowing damn well you did, his breath feeling so hot on your pulsating core caused another shiver to run through you. Unable to form any words, you simply nodded, your back arching as he expertly buried two fingers inside you, pleasuring you and making you see stars. Afraid of being too loud, you pressed your own hand against your mouth, while simultaneously pressing your hips against him. With your other hand, you caressed your breasts, eliciting a low growl from Neteyam. If only you knew the intensity of the fire you ignited within him as you touched and pleasured yourself before his eyes. 

Before you could lunge at his neck in frustration for withdrawing his fingers just as you were on the edge of orgasm, you could already feel the firm tip of him pressing against your slick entrance. Opening your eyes, you locked your gaze with his, a wave of longing twisting your features as his lustful gaze met you, making your pelvic muscles clench with burning desire, begging for his hard cock. 

Neteyam's smile grew even more seductive, his demeanor unapologetically indulgent as he plunged into you with one powerful thrust. You gasped for air, wanting to moan, and the handsome man knew it wouldn't be a quiet affair. So, he quickly pressed his lips against yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue, and muffling your cries as he initially took you in a slow rhythm.

You wrapped your legs around his hips once more and threw your head back as you felt Neteyam's lips on your neck, his hands on your breasts, and his throbbing hardness pulsing between your legs. Biting down on your tongue, you suppressed the urge to moan loudly, moving your hips to meet his thrusts and digging your fingers into his back, leaving faint red marks that would surely fade by tomorrow.. 

"Ahh, yes… you make me feel… so good… mmm… Neteyam..."  you whispered hoarsely in his ear, lightly biting into his earlobe, causing him to momentarily tense up. His weakness.

Neteyam didn't waste a moment. His hand swiftly descended between your bodies, finding your bud and expertly stimulating it with his fingers, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His thrusts intensified, becoming faster and more urgent, as he synchronized the movements of his hand with the rhythm of his hips. The combination of his skilled touch and the relentless pace of his thrusts pushed you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your moans grew louder, the world around you spinning as the intensity of your orgasm built within you, ready to explode in a wave of pleasure, threatening to consume you and pull you into the abyss. You knew all too well that you couldn't remain silent for it became harder and harder to contain your moans any longer. The need to release them was as urgent as the pulsating sensation between your legs. You were going to scream, but you shouldn't. Not here, not now.

"Come for me, yawne," Neteyam moaned softly against your lips. His words sent a shiver of anticipation through your body. The pleasure intensified as he increased his relentless pace and his hand continued to simulate your clit. You should come for him. Only for him. Every stroke, every touch brought you closer to the edge.

"Oh, Eywa, you're so… mmm… you're so…" A chocked sob left your mouth right when your body trembled, and your muscles suddenly contracted as the orgasm hit you with such force that for a moment, you feared losing consciousness. You wanted to scream, but Neteyam's mouth on yours silenced any sound that would have been too loud and potentially awaken your parents... no, perhaps the entire village. You surrendered completely to the ecstasy, letting it consume you entirely as he continued to ride out your orgasm, maintaining his rhythm and intensity. You came undone in his arms, your release washing over you in powerful waves, a surrender to the passion that ignited between you. This was different, you knew it. Not even in the woods last week, or when he surprised you while bathing early yesterday morning, had you experienced anything like this.

You breathed heavily, keeping your eyes closed. Only dimly did you register Neteyam, heaving in sync with your own panting and heavy breathing, finding his release with your name on his lips and collapsing exhaustedly on top of your delicate body, burying you beneath him, as comfortable warmth filled you, painting your walls. Both of you were on fire, the heat between your bodies lingering, the aftershocks of the orgasm gradually subsiding, and your heart pounding in your chest, mind struggling to process what just happened between the two of you, you clung to him, to his sweaty, strong body.

You didn't want to talk, you never really did, after sex. That's why you were grateful to Neteyam for lying there in silence, giving you some time to gather your thoughts that had become jumbled in the heat of the moment.

Your worries were gone. No anger, no negativity, no elders, no Lo'ak, no duties, no secrets, just Neteyam, just him and you. 

Neteyam stood up, bracing himself with both hands on either side of your head, and silently observed you for a moment, a thumb coming forward to brush your silent tears away. Small beads of sweat glistened on his body, looking like stars in the pale moonlight, and his bioluminescent freckles glowed so beautifully, giving him an ethereal look as if he were blessed by Eywa herself (which he probably was), as if he were the only source of light in the darkness, as if he were the answer to all your questions, your anchor, your key.

Your breathing was still uneven, but you were gradually calming down. Your hair was tousled on the mat, and as Neteyam looked at you with a loving gaze, he tenderly traced his fingers along your cheek, to which you instinctively leaned in, seeking his touch.

"You are beautiful, yawne," he whispered and leaned in closer to you. He gave a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, on the corner of your mouth, and sealed your lips with his one last time, savoring the taste of your sweetness that ignited a primal desire within him, but this time, he exerted self-control and held himself back. "I promise you, I will make you mine."

You murmured something weakly in response, closing your eyes as he placed his right hand around your body, keeping you impossibly closer to him. Although you knew, he'd be long gone in the morning, you snuggled against him, pretending as if he was yours and you were his, the both of you meant to be. And you smiled at that thought, his golden eyes were the last thing you saw before falling into a deep sleep, embarking on what would likely be the sweetest dream you had ever experienced in your life.

note: not trying to be pick-me here, I genuinely find the smut I write cringey, but let me know if you enjoyed it, loves 🥴💕

btw, I've never seen anyone gif this exact scene. how do you like neteyam staring right into your soul? (if anyone has a 4k version of that, please hit me up)

[idyllic-affections]

Here's how i view the hashira as:

Mitsuri is the bestest big sister ever no i don't accept no everyone loves her and there is a reason

Kyojuro would be the cool big brother along with tengen (his wives would love to take care of you as well)

Sanemi is the mean insane looking uncle that's actually soft for you and only you (he's still mean tho )

Obanai is kinder to you in comparison because mitsuri loves you and he doesn't want to make her sad (he grows to love you but is too shy to accept it)

Muichiro and giyuu are your silent siblings that you go to when you need to be alone but not completely alone y'know like they don't talk much so it's perfect for some quality time

(i don't know enough about gyomei to make an assumption rn)

I was bored so um,,, here you go?

the hashira as a big found family.

summary. the hashira, but with found family dynamics.

trigger & content warnings. no applicable warnings.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. found family, fluff. mitsuri kanroji & reader, kyojuro rengoku & reader, tengen uzui & reader, sanemi shinazugawa & reader, obanai iguro & reader, muichiro tokito & reader, giyuu tomioka & reader, gyomei himejima & reader, shinobu kocho & reader. 0.7k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. 100% agreed!!! i had to make a post based on this ask, it was super cute to me hehe <3 thank you for the idea!!

mitsuri is the kind and supportive big sister. she is well beloved for a reason, indeed. she's the one you can go to if you need encouragement. oh, some people said that you're bad at your hobby? that you're bad at your job as a demon slayer, if you happen to share her occupation? don't listen to them! you're doing your best, that's all that matters. she won't rudely confront anyone being mean, but she will confront them if necessary. she's just very kind about it, about everything she does <3

kyojuro and tengen are the guy equivalents of mitsuri. kyojuro is so so supportive, just like mitsuri! tengen is also very supportive, but he's the one to lovingly bully you (and later get scolded by his wives for it. he looks like a kicked puppy every time they yell at him LMAO). he's also one of the "no-one can bully them except for me!!" types. it's okay, though. if tengen's being too mean, just go hide behind kyojuro or tengen's wives! kyojuro will laugh joyously and just... hoist you up and run away. he probably takes you out to eat! the wives can and will bully tengen back if you choose to run to them.

sanemi is definitely that uncle. the words he spits towards you in front of everyone else are mean and cruel, but behind closed doors, he's much gentler. gives you little headpats. he feeds dogs with you as a pastime. also he is SO protective man. if someone fucks with you, just go to sanemi. he will chew them OUT. he'll tear them a whole new asshole. he's the second "no-one can bully them except for me!" type.

obanai is an interesting one, i think. on on hand, he is kind of like sanemi in that he's a little mean and harsh with you, but he's generally much gentler than sanemi. he's kind of like a reserved older cousin. you don't see him much, and you don't talk to him as much, but he loves you nonetheless. he's just too shy to admit it. bro also doesn't want to make his wife mitsuri sad, so yeah, he's a lot gentler with you than sanemi is. he will also be so mean to anyone who harasses you.

muichiro is definitely the quiet, absentminded brother. if you just want to quietly watch clouds or listen to the wind, feel free to sit beside mui when he's doing it! you don't even have to bother announcing your presence. he knows you're there. he doesn't mind. mui is also a bit possessive. you're his sibling!! do not ignore him pls, he will be sad. probably clings to your sleeve, regardless of if you're older or younger. another one who will be VERY mean to anyone who harasses you.

giyuu is the reserved brother. he's another one you can go to if you need quiet time. he might offer to share food with you, maybe he'll ask what's on your mind. he's awkward with showing that he cares, but he really does! he cares a lot. he's like... the quiet guardian. he's nicer to anyone who bothers you, but he will confront them and will be very firm about it. he won't bully them back like sanemi or obanai, but he won't be kind like mitsuri.

gyomei is the father of the group. as the oldest hashira, he is the one that has to stop any shenanigans going on. you want to do something stupid with tengen? no. do not. you will make gyomei sad if you get hurt :c he seems like he would give really really good hugs. also, if you fall asleep on his arm, it's okay. he'll stay there with you for a bit, or he'll carry you to bed. he watches out for everyone's health and safety!

shinobu is the responsible big sister. she is ON TOP of your health and will absolutely tear you apart if you fail to take care of yourself. also she is SO mean LMAO... she bullies you lovingly. she also falls into the "no-one can bully them except for me!" category. if someone is mean to you? oh man. oh boy. they had better beg for her forgiveness. an angry shinobu is a scary shinobu. she can be very sweet, though. if you're having a bad day, she will definitely hug you tight and tell you it's okay to feel angry or sad (hypocrite...).

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.3K 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, pining, angst, fluff, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of depression

A/N: Alright, I struggled to write this chapter. I wanted to get the interactions between Dean and Reader right but also, wanted to give you more info on Reader. So, I really hope you’ll like this chapter.

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Tag list: @lyarr24, @deans-baby-momma, @hell0-ki11y111, @kr804573, @zepskies, @impalari, @urinternetmom, @sushiumex

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You poured the salt on the corpse. You cracked a match and threw it on the body. Flames engulfed the bones. You stood there for a little while longer. The poor girl had not stood a chance. Her family had been horrible to her. Put her through torture. And that was decades ago. She had no reasons to remain amongst the living, no reasons to haunt them. They weren’t the one who had hurt her and yet, she still wanted revenge. Blinded by her rage, the spirit had killed the people that had lived in her mansion over the years. Some were classified as natural deaths, and others as freak accidents. With so many deaths in one mansion over the years. All happening at a specific time of the years, you had to check it out.

It was a run of the mill hunt. Quite easy. You threw your bags in the trunk of your car, and climbed in the driver’s seat. Your goal was to get out of town as quick as possible, to disappear. You drove through the night. You wanted to get to your small flat as quick as possible.

Your two bedrooms apartment was your refuge. You could go there and recuperate for a few days. You loved hunting, you really did but you sometimes needed a break from it. Adding to the dangerous nature of the job, and the constant near death experiences, it was also draining. And rarely, was it ever rewarding. But that was not why you were doing it. You truly believed that everyone in this life was born with a purpose. There were people born to be doctors, or cops, or even firemen. And some were born to be hunters. That was you.

One fateful night, you found out that monsters were real. Everything that went bumping into the night, the monsters under the bed, the witches, vampires, werewolves, they were all real. That fateful night was also the start of your aversion for woods, camping and wendigos. You hated all three of those things, and you avoided them at all cost. But it had not deterred you from getting into the life. After finding out about them being real, you could not just ignore it. You could not keep living your life as though nothing had happened. As though you knew nothing of monsters and of the people that hunted them.

So, you became one yourself.

The sounds of gunfire welcomed you as you pushed your door open. And the voice of your youngest brother swearing at the television followed. You pushed your door closed behind you with a tired sigh. Sure, you had texted him to let him know that you would soon be back. But you had not expected him to be there still.

“That’s not why I left you a key, you know?” You said dropping your bags by the door, after you locked it.

He put down the controller on the coffee table. “Your plant is taken care of.” He shrugged turning to you. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.” You answered dryly. You dropped your keys on your dinner table, and moved to your kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah,” He got up and followed you into your kitchen. “So, how was it?”

“Matt—”

“Come on, you can tell me.” He leaned on the counter behind him.

“I don’t want to tell you.” You shook your head. “I’m not talking about it with you or anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because—we are talking about hunting monsters. And I don’t want any of you into the life.” You moved back into your living room. “And what the hell are you still doing here anyway? Don’t you have a girlfriend to go back to?”

“Just wanted to make sure, you were alright before I left.” He shrugged.

You smiled fondly at him. “That’s so sweet.” You cooed at him, pinching his cheek. He swatted it away.

“Stop.”

You snorted. “I’m alright, not injured. So, you can go back to your girlfriend.” You slapped his shoulder.

“you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” You nodded. “Go.”

“Alright, call if you need anything.”

“I won’t.” You called after him. “And don’t call me for the next few days, please.”

“I will.” He walked and locked behind him.

You spent the next few days locked up in your apartment. True to his words, your brother called you. But you really did not mind. Your youngest brother only wanted to make sure that you were taken care off. After all, you were living alone while he and your two other siblings had people to come home to.

Building relationships with anyone had never been easy for you. Especially romantic ones. Something always went wrong. You felt as though you were giving more than you were receiving. You always thought that you were not understood as you did them. And instead of expressing those things, you kept quiet. You let things go, hoping they would solve themselves. And ultimately, it would lead to break-up.

You never stayed home too long. You gave yourself a few days off, away from hunting and monsters, before going back into the fray. It wasn’t surprising to find you back on the road within days. And you always let your brother know when you did.

Out of all your siblings, he was the closest to you. The one that truly worried about you and made sure you were alright and taken care of, when you were home. And to think both of you hated each other growing up, was just laughable now. You knew you had failed him when you were younger. Always siding with your parents, trying your best to keep peace within your family. It had put a strain on your relationship with your siblings over the years.

“Agent Prentiss, FBI.” You flashed your fake FBI badge to the officer on the scene.

“Officer Davis.” He introduced himself. His eyes inevitably landed on your cleavage area.

Your white buttoned-down shirt was a little tight around your breast, you had left a couples of buttons undone. Which was giving him a glimpse of it  

“What brings the FBI into this neck of the wood?” Davis said, clearing his throat.

You smirked as you caught him ogling at your cleavage. “The bureau has taken an interest into the recent strings of death that has been happening lately.”

“There’s nothing interesting in a couple of animal attacks.” Davis scoffed.

“True but these are quite unusual.” You pointed out. "Hearts missing. And nothing else. Doesn't really sound like an animal to me."

“Look, it’s better if people think it’s an animal.” Davis said quietly to you. “We don’t want them to panic while there’s a killer on the loose.”

“I completely understand your situation, trust me.” You told him. “I’m only here to help you. Maybe, a set of fresh eyes may help you see things a little clearer.” He seemed to hesitate. “I don’t want to step on your toes, here. I really do want to stop the killings. So, let me help you.”  

You looked up at him. He ran a hand on the back of his neck. Hesitating on letting you in the investigation.  He looked around you, the crowd at the edge of the crime scenes, the journalist looking for sensational news. Clearly, he was at a loss. He needed to provide answers to the victims’ family.  

The killing spree had started a few days ago. It was pretty gruesome. Dead bodies had been found recently; their hearts had been ripped out. For you, it was quite an easy hunt. It was clearly werewolves. The deaths started with the full moon, and their hearts were missing.

“What can you tell me about the victim?”

“Young woman, early twenties,” He cleared his throat. He started to lead you toward the victim, where the Medical Examiner was getting a look at the victim. “She was found by a couple of joggers.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow to him. “People jog in this area?”

“Yeah, there’s a short trail that go into the woods for a few miles, before it cuts back into the park over there.” He gestured over your shoulder.

You looked over your shoulders briefly, and did a double take when you recognized a couple of familiar faces. “You have got to be kidding me.” You said under your breath.

“What was that?” Officer Davis asked you.

“It seems there was a mix up at the bureau.” You smiled tightly at Davis. “Anyway—” You turned to the M.E. “Anything you can tell me on the cause of death?”

The M.E. looked to the leading officer for approval. The latter nodded at her. “Same as the others.” She said, moving the head of the young woman to the side. “No apparent defensive wounds, she was hit over the head. Same spot as the others,” her hands left her head and went to victim’s wrists. “Ligature marks, and of course her heart’s missing.”

It looked like a werewolf kill alright. Although, the ligatures marks did not make much sense to you. Neither did the head trauma. Werewolves were pretty strong creatures and this seemed to indicate that they needed to restrain the victim before the kill, but why?

You turned around to see Dean and Sam Winchester were walking up to you. You excused yourself and met the brothers halfway. Dean looked a little peeved by your presence there. You approached them under his glare. You really did not get why he was mad about you being there. And you didn’t care.

“Winchesters, we meet again.” You said as a form of greeting.

Sam smiled down at you. “It’s good to see you.” Dean scoffed at that.

“Not everybody agrees.” Your eyes drifted to Dean briefly before you returned your attention on Sam.

“You’re not working the case.” Dean said and you glanced up at him confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not working the case.” Dean then gestured between him and Sam. “We are.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “I already have an in with the officers. I got this under control. You can sit this one out. You do look like you need some rest, you look tired.” You patted his shoulder; and he recoiled from your touch.

“I don’t need rest.” He pointed an angry finger under your nose. “And really?!” Dean’s eyebrows went up into his hairline. “You got this under control?”

“Yeah, I do.” You nodded.

“So, you have it all figured out already?” Dean questioned, clearly hostile.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “Dead bodies, heart’s missing. I’d say—werewolves.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“And you do?”

“How can you be so sure it’s werewolves?” He questioned.

“Because it makes sense.” You argued back. “What else could it be?”

“Skinwalker.” He shrugged smugly.

“Please.” You scoffed. “You’re just pulling something out of your ass.”

“Dean’s right.” Sam sighed. “It could be a skinwalker. We don’t know that for sure.”

“We do.” You retorted. “It’s a full moon.”

“It won’t matter if it’s a skinwalker.” Dean shook his head.

“Alright.” You snapped at him. “I’ll take that in consideration. Thank you for your help. Go home.”

You turned away from Dean and stomped to your car. You were angry with him, now. He was talking to you as though you didn’t know how to do your job.

Dean grabbed your arm, stopping you on your way to your car. “Listen, kid—“ You looked between him and the grip he had on your arm. “You could barely handle a vampire hunt on your own and now you want to take on werewolves?” You ripped your arm out of his grip. “You should really leave this one to us.”

“First, not a kid. Never was.” You replied. “Second, I called for help because I had never hunted vampires before.” You walked closer to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. “I know how to handle myself on a hunt. Not that’s any of your business, Winchester. I don’t need you or your brother, I can take care of this.”

You turned around and ripped the door to the driver’s seat open, before slamming it shut. And peeled out of there. How dared he? He treated you as though you were an amateur. This wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew how to hunt. You weren't new to this job. You should have reminded him that you saved his life on this vampire hunt. Had he forgotten?

You couldn’t care less if he stayed in town or if he left. You would just proceed with the hunt. Whether it was a werewolf or Skinwalker; as they suggested; you’d kill it and be out of town. After all, it was an easy enough hunt.

As you’d soon find out, they, in fact, did not leave town. You crossed path with them at the diner. You sent a glare Dean’s way as you walked up to one of the empty booths. You were determined to ignore Dean Winchester and his brother. You were determined to show them that you could handle yourself, and take care of it all on your own.

You didn’t need them. You had never needed anyone.

You sat alone in your booth and ate your lunch while reviewing the victims’ files. They all had been found by the trail near the small wooded area. Heart’s missing, ligatures marks, slight head trauma. The heart being ripped out, indicated a werewolf kill but the ligatures marks and the head trauma suggested something different. You didn’t understand why they were there. Why did they tie up the victims?

There was only one way to find out but you did not like it. You had an aversion for the wooded areas by night. More than anything. However you were a hunter and sometimes, you had to do what you had to do. So, you traded your FBI pantsuit for dark jeans that hugged your large hips and thick thighs perfectly. You traded your dress shirt for a tie-dye crop top that showed a sliver of your skin, and the stretchmarks that peeked out of your waistband. Scars that you had gained over the years as your body changed. It had grown and suffered. It wasn’t slim or thin, it was curvy and big. You had large hips, thick and plushy thighs, a large breast. You loved your body and you had learned to flaunt it.

Flaunting your assets was not what you were going to do tonight. Anyone who knew you, would tell you it was the worst idea you’d ever had. Especially knowing your aversion for the woods at night time. Garth would advise you to ask the Winchesters, since they were in town, to accompany you. And in retrospect, you probably should have. But he didn’t need to know about that.

“Son of a gun!” You breathed out shakily. You tightened your dark green flannel and your thick jacket around your torso.

You were too stubborn to ask for help when you should. But asking for help was like admitting weakness. And you refused to appear weak in front of Dean Winchester. He already thought you were incapable. You didn’t want him to think of you as weak. You were not going to give him the satisfaction.

Your fingers were tight around your lamp torch. Your heart beating wildly beneath your ribcage. Every breath you took was shaky. Everything in you was screaming at you to run. To go to safety. But you were a hunter. You needed to put an end to the killings. You needed to take care of the werewolf. Or the skinwalker.

Crunch. You froze. Crunch. You pulled out your gun. Crunch. A snort. You knew it wasn’t human. You took another shaky breath. A failed attempt to steady yourself. Your feet remained rooted to the ground. As the sounds were coming closer to your position. You needed to move. And fast.

When your body finally obeyed your brain, it was already too late. You had barely moved when the beast pounced on you. You let out a scream as you landed on your back. The wind got knocked out of you. Your gun flew away from you.

There you were, defenseless. And alone.

Yellow eyes staring into yours. Bared fangs as it snarled at you. Its breath was hot on your face. You did not wish to die here. Alone. Away from your family. This seemed much too familiar to you. A feeling of déjà-vu. You hated it. You hated the woods. You hated that monster breathing down on your face.

A shot rang. Its head snapped up to the sound. Two tall figures were rushing to your aid. You could have sobbed with relief at seeing them. But you weren’t out of the woods yet. No pun intended.  

Its snarled at them. They fired their guns again.  The creature fled as fast as they could. Sam rushed to your aid while Dean pursued the monster.

“Hey,” He helped you up. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. You were still shaken up. This was too close. You could have died tonight. All of that because you weren’t prepared. Because you wanted to prove something. You screwed up. You clenched your fists repeatedly. You just wanted for your hands to stop shaking. If they could only stop shaking.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Dean snapped at you, once he came back.

“What?”

“We were tracking it down and now it’s gone.” He continued. “You screwed it all up.”

“Dean.” Sam put a hand on his brother’s chest.

“Excuse you!” You snapped back at him. “I screwed up? I was being attacked.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t know what you’re doing, princess.” Dean stepped closer to you, glaring down at you. “I don’t know how you survived this long on your own, but it won’t last much longer if you keep pulling stupid stunts like that. Leave this to us before you get yourself killed.”

What he said wasn’t untrue. You could have gotten yourself killed tonight. It was reckless to go in before truly knowing what was behind the attacks. Although, that was unfair of him to say. You didn’t set out to be attacked or get yourself killed. You were only trying to do your job. You were a hunter and this was what hunters do. This was what they were doing. So, why was it okay for them to do but not for you?

No one believed in you. No matter how hard you tried they still thought you were uncapable. You had met hunters like him before. Doubting you and your skills. You were too soft, they said. You scared too easy, they said. However, you had proven to them that you knew what you were doing. You had proven to them that you got the job done.

You glared back at him. “Like you care.” You wanted to sound harsh, angry. You wanted him to know that you won’t let him get to you. But that wasn’t how it sounded coming out of your mouth.

You sounded tired and defeated. No one would care if you did die. Not the Winchesters. Not even your own family. Those words had always been floating in your brain for years. After all, you had done so many things for so many people. So many things that went unnoticed. Of course, if you were to disappear. No one would notice the difference. They didn’t need you. Not as much as you needed them. You felt the tears pressed against your eyes.

You would not give him the satisfaction to see you cry, on top of everything else. So, you turned around and walked away from the Winchesters. You heard Sam called you but you ignored him.

You needed to get away from the woods. You needed to get away from Dean.

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[junowritings]

Hello ☺️💚

I hope I can request something, if they are closed please feel free to delete this 🌺🌺

I absolutely I adored your NRC amnesiac MC story with the dorms and would love to see more. It just hit all the tropes I love so much and adore.

Maybe with the rest of the dorms? As scenarios?? Or imagines?? (Honestly I’m a confused when it comes to those terms, so whichever is easier for you)

With pomefiore, ignihyde, and diasomnia? I feel like Vil is going to take one look at mc and go “okay, time to take care of another potato” but lovingly, ignihyde is going ortho is “I have another sibling” and gosh diasomnia is practically family and lilia is going “time to adopt another one 👏👏”

I just found the idea so so cute, but feel free to do whatever you want ☺️🌺

Right so first off I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED THE ORIGINAL ONE!!! Also thank you so much for all the kind comments that you leave on my post I see every single one and it still makes my day to re-read them!

But also GOD I love this idea too and I got way too carried away with this. There's a lot of TWST I gotta catch up on (haven't been able to start chapter 7 yet) so I had to work with what I've got in terms of knowledge of Diasomnia.

I hope this was well worth the wait~! (OG scenario here btw)

Pomefiore

♡ Time passes at Night Raven College, and life continues to move on, as it always has. It’s been months without a single shred of your memories resurfacing, and with no sign of anything returning anytime soon the attention has turned from your past, to your present. Your memory loss has become a simple fact of life at this point, a reality that you had to put on the back burner with everything else that had happened since your arrival and during the winter holidays. You’re thankful that the needless prodding seems to have died down by the time that students start returning back to the school and classes resume. Things return to the only sense of normalcy you’ve ever known, and you think you can get used to this without another incident.

♡ Until VDC happens.

♡ Ramshackle is the only place you have to call home, but even you can admit that it needs a lot of work. It’s a poor excuse for a building, considering the state that it had been left in far before anyone called it home. It at least had running water, and electricity, but compared to the other dorms and their meticulous upkeep by both students and staff, Ramshackle is most certainly the odd dorm out with only two members and a handful of ghosts to its name. And yet it’s the place that the headmaster deems an acceptable place to host the VDC group during their month ‘training camp’.

♡ It makes it easier knowing that you’re good friends with the majority of the group, having been through plenty before the training camp even started. In some weird way it’s kind of like a month-long sleepover with your friends and classmates, not unlike the times Kalim’s dragged you over to Scarabia for the night in the name of making fond memories. Still, you can’t help but feel cautious around the Pomfiore members you now have living under your roof, and how little you actually know about them.

♡ By this point, the fact that you’ve got no memories prior to ending up in Twisted Wonderland is pretty much common knowledge amongst the people who bother to keep tabs on you. And considering how Pomefiore’s got the likes of Rook, a skilled hunter who has a penchant for people watching anyone who catches his eye, you’ve got no doubts that they’re well aware of your circumstances.

♡That, and Crowley’s a loudmouth when it comes to his generosity about your ‘unfortunate situation’. That headmaster is really starting to test your patience…

♡ While Vil is strict, he’s by no means cruel, and is at least polite when you first allow them all into your home. He thankfully doesn’t pity you like you worried he would - you’ve had enough of the pitying looks some people give you when they think you’re not looking. Your lack of a past isn’t something you want to dwell on, Vil can see that clearly with how thoroughly you throw yourself into the training camp alongside your friends and new acquaintances. Not to mention that you act as a surprisingly good buffer between the members whenever tensions start to arise with the upcoming deadline. 

♡ It’s admirable really - a single minded little spudling if he’s ever seen one. You’ve got promise, if you keep up that resilient attitude, so Vil offers you no quarter in getting you just as involved in this little training excursion as the others are, if only to help you flourish with enough memories of this upcoming event to last you for a lifetime. 

♡ With that being said your thirst for knowledge isn’t to be underestimated, and once you find out that Vil’s pretty much a celebrity and acting prodigy you’re intrigued. Vil’s walking past the living room after the group’s come back from another day training at the ballroom and freezes once he hears his own voice coming through the door. Sure enough you’re lounging over the couch watching one of the more obscure movie titles Vil’s acted in on the phone Crowley ‘gifted’ you before winter break. There’s a blunt honesty when you praise his work once you notice you’ve got an audience. Sure, it’s praise he’s heard from adoring fans and critics more times than he could ever hope to recall, but it’s not something you’re saying just to try and get in his good books. When you offhandedly mention that he looks a little happier in the roles where he’s not the villain, noting that they suit him and that whatever world you’re from he’d probably be a big hit, you swear that he gets a bit smug, apparently pleased by whatever you’d said. You may not know all the ins and outs of this world yet, but Vil’s at least sure you’ve got taste. Which is why he turns a convenient blind eye at the treats you smuggle up to Grim and your room after he’s sure you swore to Ace and Deuce to follow along with their no-sweet regime.

♡ Rook is observant, and it’s hard for people not to feel like he’s prying a bit too much into their personal lives when they happen to gain the huntsman’s attention. Perhaps it’s because you’ve got a relatively blank slate, or that you’re so focused on forging ahead to whatever comes next that you’ll get involved at a moment’s notice. Whatever the quality it has piqued his interest, and from the moment that the camp starts he’s committing every little detail about you to memory. 

♡ You may not see it, but there’s so many details in the actions that you do and your daily routines that tell the story of who you are to whoever is diligent enough to listen. It’s in your mannerisms and the way you engage with everything around you, all easily missed to the untrained eye. It’s beautiful in its own way, and Rook is nothing if not an appreciator of that beauty. 

♡ Your homestead at Ramshackle is but another shining example of who you are as well. Having nothing but the clothes on your back and a basic understanding of how to function when you first arrived, it’s clear that you’ve made a concentrated effort to at least make the place liveable for you and Grim; not just as a shelter, but as a home. Because of course this is the only place you can call home, and Rook is sure to treat it with the respect such an important place deserves.

♡ Epel doesn’t really know what to make of you at first. You’re from a different world entirely, for one thing, and not having any kind of past beyond school makes him feel a bit awkward about interacting with you. According to Vil, Epel’s still rather rough around the edges, and when his emotions get the better of him he’s been known to put his foot in it and say something that comes off blunt and snappy. Plus, surely there was only so much the two of you could talk about that wasn’t VDC or school related, right?

♡ He’s proven wrong when that huge batch of apple juice from his nana back home is delivered to Ramshackle’s doorstep. All it takes is him mentioning to Kalim that his hometown is known for its apples, and before he can even elaborate your voice chimes in with a helpful “Oh,the village of Harvest, right?” that has Epel’s attention snapping over to you so quickly you think you’ve done something wrong.

♡How did you even know that? His hometown’s barely on the map to begin with, so it genuinely makes him freeze when you recognize it so quickly. The question bugs him until he’s able to ask you about it later, where he finds out just how much you’ve thrown yourself into learning about this world you’ve ended up in. You’re excited that someone’s finally asking you about stuff that you do know, and you pretty much end up talking poor Epel’s ear off for the rest of the evening, telling him all kinds of facts you’ve read up on regarding his hometown’s history and culture. Hell, you spout off a few facts that even he didn’t know about, and he doesn’t miss the proud grin on your face once you learn that.

♡Surprisingly, you want to hear more from Epel too. About the place he grew up, the people he grew up with - his family especially. You’ve had some time to process your own grief around your potential family and your life back home, and though there’s still a twinge of jealousy that sparks up on the bad days you don’t want it to hinder the people that you care about right now. And so you sit, and you listen, prodding him for as much information as he’s willing to give. He practically has to send a message to his nana there and then thanking her on your behalf for all the juice when you learn that she was the one kind enough to send them all over. It’s the only way to get you off of his back about it, but there’s no denying that it’s actually kind of nice having someone who’s genuinely curious about his upbringing, instead of snooping or looking down on it.

♡Even after VDC you’re surprised to find that Pomefiore’s promptly nestled itself into your life. With everything that took place before and after the group's performance it only made sense that they’ve bonded to their newest potato, just be prepared for what exactly that entails. Expect plenty of gifts in the form of the latest cosmetic brands and accessories to be delivered to Ramshackle (much to Grim’s disappointment because it’s not food.) You’ve even had yourself called all the way over to Pomefiore’s dorm only to come back with entire outfits just because you let slip once that Crowley’s budget for your dorm doesn’t cover enough to justify buying anything more than your uniform. 

♡ Those aren’t the only gifts you receive too. Often when you’re hanging out with the first year group Epel’s got one thing or another that his family back home has practically strong-armed him into giving to you. He’s talked about you to his folks a few times thanks to the whole apple incident, and Marja herself has made Epel remind you more than a couple times that you’re always welcome at the village of Harvest when the next school breaks come up. Did that embarrass Epel? Yes. Did it make him panic when you immediately teared up because of how touching it was? Also yes. 

♡ Pomefiore’s final gifts are small, but mean just as much. They also confuse the hell out of you because when did they even show up??? They’re specific things - things related to your hobbies like new books, CD’s, Movies of your favorite genre for you to enjoy (in case Crowley ever caves and gets you that TV on sale at Sam’s store that he’s been promising you for weeks now goddammit-). All placed somewhere that you’re sure to find them. These gifts are well thought out and honestly mean a lot once you realize who they’re from. Not to mention that there’s a folder with a beautiful decorated cover amongst these little surprises, a clear label reading ‘Memory book’ in very familiar handwriting. Thank god the mystery is solved once you find out Grim’s being bribed with tuna by a certain bob-cut huntsman to drop all these things off at Ramshackle (Grim was supposed to give them to you in hand, but he always gets too bored to do so before you get back from school.) So long as you come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pseudo-adopted into Pomfiore’s ranks by the end of it, it’s honestly kind of nice.

♡Just maybe don’t tell Vil that you may have accidentally made friends with his biggest rival on the day of the event because you ran into him backstage. Rook is certainly happy about it - Vil not so much.

Ignihyde

♡ Your friendship with the housewarden of Ignihyde can be rather prickly in light of everything that’s happened, especially after the events with S.T.Y.X. Before that your only real contact with the Shroud brothers was through Ortho, during your first run in at the audition waiting room. You didn’t hide your excitement once you learned that Idia had made the vocal synthesizer that Ortho was using for the VDC auditions, marveling about how cool it was and asking question after question about how he did it. Ortho is more than happy to answer each and every question you have and then some - especially once you learned Technomancy was a thing and just about lit up like a lightbulb. In fact Ace and Deuce basically have to strong arm you away from the conversation in the end because you’re gonna end up making them late for the damn audition. 

♡ You at least have the chance to call out to Ortho to tell his brother that he sounds awesome and his stuff is cool before the ballroom door shuts behind you. And that’s exactly what he tells Idia as soon as he’s back from the auditions. Idia thinks that you’re just pulling his leg and don’t actually mean any of the nice things that you say, and it takes Ortho insisting on playing it to him on his memory bank multiple times to prove just how genuinely nice and excited you sounded.

♡ Idia doesn’t really expect to hear anything from you after that, but hoo boy is he mistaken because once you’ve gotten in one of the Shroud boys’ good books the other one (reluctantly) follows. Not that he has much of a choice, because not even a couple of days after the auditions Idia’s getting added to a group chat with him, Ortho and you. It’s supposedly because you’d wanted to ask him a few more questions about his tech, and after Ortho had mentioned his brother probably wouldn’t like the face to face grilling, a group chat with the younger Shroud as the middleman was born. Grim sometimes forces his way into the conversation, but that usually involves him demanding you to write down the texts for him or slapping the nearest meme on your phone into the chat completely out of context.

♡Ortho has a lot of fun chatting with you because he shares your passion for learning things, and the two of you become thick as thieves over it before and after he officially becomes a student. He’s basically got the internet at his fingertips at all times, alongside a variety of other tools that basically make the younger Shroud brother a walking hub of information. You, for one, are absolutely living your best life because whatever odd subject has caught your attention, no matter the question you can always ask Ortho and he is more than happy to provide you whatever fun fact you’re looking for within a matter of moments. You get a bit quiet once he mentions the memories he was given during his creation, but that’s to be expected given the circumstances that you’re working with.

♡ At first, getting Idia to even pop up in the chat is like pulling on a gacha - you’ve got a good 2% chance of him actually interacting, though he does check in a lot more than you’d expect. With time however, and more than a little persistence on your part, you’ll find cracks in Idia’s defenses. He finds it easier to talk to people behind the safety of a screen, and it's not like you’re forcing him to interact with you so that at least gets you some brownie points. Granted, expect him to prod juuuuust a little bit if the topic of your memories come up in chat. He’s sure he hasn’t got enough of a bond rank with you yet

♡Things go up in the air when S.T.Y.X breaks into NRC.

♡ It was one thing having all of these people who you’d come to call friends suddenly stolen away, but losing Grim? The one who’s been your rock since you first showed up who’s been a part of every single memory you’ve made? If Rook wasn’t already planning to sneak out to find them you would have tore through their headquarters with your bare hands to get that damn tuna loving weird rock eating fluff ball back. Once you found out what S.T.Y.X actually had their hands in, especially considering the Lethe River system you were pissed. If you didn’t know for a fact that you were from another world entirely, and that the system operated to a very specific set of procedures for rewriting and erasing set memories, you would have thought that it had something to do with your own memory erasure. If that was the case you probably would have throttled the poor older Shroud; but because you know the truth, and the system itself is down for the next few centuries you settle for being absolutely livid about it. 

♡ It’s a sore spot, hitting a little too close to home knowing that there’s people out there who have had memories taken away from them or altered to protect S.T.Y.X’s existence. It’s nothing like your own situation, but you can’t help feeling angry for them. And on top of that, seeing all of those phantoms and knowing that they could have been your friends if you hadn’t been able to bring them back from their overblots? You may try to think of every memory being worth it, but you learn that some bad memories keep you up at night for days after you’re all finally home.

♡ Your friendship with the brothers is tentatively built back up after this, but it takes a bit of work. Idia’s convinced that you’re never going to want anything to do with either of them again after all that’s happened. So convinced that he nearly has a heart attack when you reach out into the group chat once you’ve had time to process things and recover.

♡ Gonna be honest, the wonderlink he gets for you and Grim becomes a huge olive branch once you’re settled back at Ramshackle. Your determination to make memories alongside not having a clue how the gaming system works leads to you either calling Idia over the phone or actually wrangling him into coming over to play with you. Whether by accident or purpose most of the games you purchased on the system he gave you are multiplayer and you insist that there’s absolutely no way just the two of you can place and that you need a gaming expert. Of course Idia sees through your poorly veiled attempts to get him to socialize, but you must have pulled some cheat code because you somehow manage to get him over to play with you two. Just be ready to have more than a few memories of losing - he’s a gaming pro for a reason, after all.

Diasomnia

♡ You’ve firmly wormed your way into the Diasomnia circle from the moment that you first encountered Malleus, whether you realize it at first or not. 

♡ Mallues may not be the most intimately involved in the school's affairs or gossip, but even he’s heard talk of the prefect from another world with neither magic nor memories to their name. The lack of magical aptitude wasn’t anything to bat an eye at, though it was unfortunate given your current enrollment at one of the top arcane colleges in the world. But to have no recollections of your life prior to enrolling? In a place where no one can recognize you or give you the answers that you’re looking for? Truly, an unfortunate set of circumstances you’ve been dealt.

♡ He did not expect to cross paths with this infamous prefect on Ramshackle’s grounds not long after word of them popped up. The old bones of the place were a comfort to Malleus on many nightly walks; when he finds out that it’s no longer as abandoned as he first thought he’s sour at the knowledge that he’ll have to find another place to pass his time in peace. The last thing that Malleus expects is you being bold enough not only to approach him, but to greet him so casually as you none too subtly try to pry into what he’s doing walking around your dorm grounds. 

♡ Perhaps you’ve lost more than just your memories, as there’s not even a shred of trepidation or cautiousness as you so boldly interact with the fae. Not only that but you listen, looking up at him not with the nervousness or even fear that he’s seen in the faces of most of NRC’s students, but with curiosity. You’re a stranger to this world, so you don’t yet know the name Malleus Draconia, nor the face the name is tied to. For once your lack of knowledge works to someone’s benefit, and an unusual bond is formed.

♡ Your friendship with Malleus is an interesting exchange - you provide him company and idle conversation whenever he spirits away to Ramshackle; and he provides you company in turn, as well as a willing ear for you to confide in. Sure, your friends have told you that you can talk to them about your problems, but for some reason you’re able to open up easily to Mal. Maybe it’s because of just how little you know about him, right down to his very name - he’s just as much of a blank slate to you as yourself. So you find yourself sharing your worries about where you came from, or the life you lived before this, or the general distress of not knowing the first thing to do about getting your memory back. 

♡ Even after all these months it still weighs heavily on you, Malleus can see it in the tired expression that wears on your face when you recall all the things you’ve done to bring back even a shred of your old identity until your head’s pounding and your eyes ache. He hates seeing you troubling yourself over it, and more than once he’s found himself flickering through old books and tomes that haven’t been touched in centuries back home with the small hope to relieve some of that burden from your mind.

♡ On a happier note, Malleus will quite happily fill you in on subjects that peak your interest. He may have lived a fairly isolated life up until his enrollment here, but even what he does know about NRC and the world outside of it he’ll share with you, if only to see the way your expression lights up in wonder hearing everything he has to share.

♡ This dynamic changes very little, aside from the fact that now that you know his true identity these interactions are no longer purely one sided in the sense that you don’t have to wait around for him to just magically appear like you have been for months. Now he’s the one being surprised by your presence when you come knocking on Diasomnia’s doors looking to hang out. Surprising, but it honestly makes the young Draconia’s day having you march through his dorm’s halls wanting to spend time with him, encouraging him to talk about his day and asking how Roaring Drago is doing as you do so. 

♡ It’s an unusual feeling, having someone’s undivided attention simply because they enjoy your company, and that you leave such an impressionable impact on their memory. Your memory is a precious commodity considering your unique circumstances, and Malleus realizes that he wants to be in as many fond memories as you’ll allow him to.

♡ Though he has to admit, Malleus can’t shake the conflict that dwells in his chest whenever the topic of your home world comes up. Perhaps it’s just in your nature to yearn for something you’ve never known, but he wonders if you’re thinking about it because your worried about your ties to this world. He hopes that once you realize the life that you’re building here, and the memories that you’re making with him and your friends will be enough to convince you to stay. But that day is far away, and so he pushes it to the back of his mind in favor of enjoying the time spent with his closest friend, for however long it lasts…

♡Lilia, catches onto the friendship you’ve got with Malleus quickly, because of course there’s no hiding how much happier Malleus has become. You’re an interesting case yourself, being able to tackle most of the problems that Ramshackle has to offer you and come out the other side as unscathed as you can be. That coupled with the increased amount of time you begin spending around Daisomnia and its students is more than enough reason to catch this guy’s attention. He learns about your memory loss early on, especially considering that it’s pretty much the talk of the school once the information drops. He won’t prod you about it like some of the younger students might, however; he’s been on this earth long enough to recognize a sore subject when he sees one. 

♡ And so he sets about learning things about you in the present rather than the past. Your likes, dislikes, favorite foods, how easily shocked you get when he tries one of his infamous surprise appearances. Lilia’s very easygoing so it’s rather easy to get along with him, not to mention being a dad he’s got the comforting parental presence down pat when he wants to use it. He’s an easy person to let your guard down around, and admit things you usually wouldn’t. Maybe that’s why you end up talking to him about the what-if’s of your previous life.

♡ It’s a moment of weakness, you let one of your idle thoughts about your family back home slip, asking aloud if there’s anyone there to actually miss you. Lilia doesn’t miss the somber chuckle as you admit that you’re a little jealous - Sebek has his parents, and Silver has Lilia. You want a family like that. You try to lighten the mood by jokingly asking why someone can’t whisk you away into their family already, thinking about that time Kalim very nearly got you adopted into his family once he learned of your memory loss. You don’t expect an answer, much less for the moment to suddenly be broken as the fae pats your head ruffling your hair. No doubt he’s made your hair a mess by the action, but you’re more focused on the grin Lilia gives you when he mentions always wanting a big family - he’s sure Silver wouldn’t mind having a new sibling!

♡Unrelated but Lilia loves sharing old stories with you. Some of the things he shares you vaguely recall reading about in some history books at the library; some of those books were so old you have to wrack your brain trying to do the mental gymnastics to figure out exactly how old he is. He is thoroughly entertained seeing the mild existential crisis inducing cogs turning in your head as he continues his tales, waiting for you to inevitably jump into the story to prod him for more information. Just wait until Malleus shows you that one textbook that’s got Lilia’s portrait in; Lilia doesn’t hear the end of it when you come flying into his room mid game with the textbook in hand demanding to know how the hell he looks the same in a portrait taken centuries ago and waiting like a stubborn child next to his chair as he finishes the raid he’s working through with Gloomurai.

♡ Maybe if you weren’t so desperate for answers, you would have noticed that his friend’s gamer tag looks kinda familiar…

♡ Offered to cook you your favorite dish once. You thought it was a nice gesture, until Sebek and Silver made a joint effort to wrangle you away from the scene, basically pleading with Lilia to please not step foot into the kitchen. That’s probably one thing you’re better off not learning about…

♡ When Sebek first runs into you at NRC, he almost fools himself into thinking that you’re playing up the amnesia for some unforeseen gain. He’s not the first student to have had their doubts, and honestly you can’t entirely blame him for just how weird ‘complete memory loss aside from remembering basic functions and muscle memory’ sounds even without the whole context of this being a world governed by magic. However, what makes Sebek different is that he approaches the subject about as delicately as a falling brick. You’re only half listening as he’s demanding answers for things you don’t even know yourself, already fed up with the whole rigmarole of people throwing questions about your amnesia at you.

♡There’s only so much you can hear about memories this, hiding that before you snap back, hissing out that you’d give just about anything for it to be a lie rather than spending every night guessing where you’ve come from and who you’ve left behind while he’s got the luxury of knowing the kind of life he’s lived before this damn school. That shuts him up faster than you’ve ever seen, jaw snapping closed so hard you swear you hear his teeth click together as you turn heel and generate as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

♡ He feels guilty afterwards; Sebek may be a bit of a livewire but even he knows when he’s taken things a bit too far, and it’s clear to see his prying has left you feeling more than a little bitter towards him. Thankfully team dad Lilia is right there to offer advice on smoothing things over in a way that doesn’t result in things looping back around to the original argument. It takes a little while to come to terms with the fact that Sebek genuinely didn’t mean any malice in his prodding; with him on a determined path to become a knight worthy to protect Malleus he wants to know that he can trust you before allowing any kind of potential friendship to form. The way that he went about it however was blunt and came off way ruder than intended; that’s something you can both agree on when he bellows out an apology in the middle of the damn hallway when you cross paths the next day.

♡ He comes to respect how diligently you work despite your initial setbacks coming to Twisted Wonderland with such limited knowledge. What he once thought was an attempt to pry into things for malicious gain he finds is actually just a desire to understand the world around you and the people who inhabit it. Sebek has relayed his respect to you before, in his own way, and thankfully you’ve spent enough time around him to know that he genuinely means every word of it. 

♡ Will actively spur on your thirst for knowledge. The first time he lent you a book because he thought the material would give you something to think about, he fully expected it to be weeks before you’d finished. Cut to the next night and you’re unceremoniously dropping that same book onto his bedroom desk, sitting down next to him as you exclaim how cool the book was and your favorite highlights. 

♡ Of course Sebek quizzes you about it, but when it’s clear you’ve actually taken an interest in the book he’s given you expect to be walking home that night with a new pile of them to pour over to your heart's content. He’s got his own passion for books, and the pair of you bond over this shared activity a lot more than people realize. Lilia almost can’t believe his eyes how quickly Sebek’s hot-blooded attitude simmers down into something more tempered whenever you come over to gush about the latest book he’s recommended to you.

♡You made a joke once about being adopted by Sebek’s parents while he was on call back home, if only to get a laugh out of the smoldering glare he shot you from the other side of the couch. That laugh however breaks out into a full on cackle hearing his parents actually agreeing with you as you shuffle across the couch and pluck the phone from Sebek’s hands while he’s frozen in shock. His mom is thrilled; Sebek, decidedly, is not, as a pillow from the couch goes sailing across the room as you flee from the scene, disappearing into Daisomnia’s halls with Sebek’s phone to tell your second adopted family all about how he’s been making them proud at NRC.

♡ Silver doesn’t miss the signs that you’ve essentially been pseudo-adopted by his father and the other Diasomnia members, though he doesn’t know that you haven’t clocked onto it yet. Considering how Malleus considers you a close confidant, Lilia is basically treating you like another one of his children, and Sebek seems to actually enjoy having you around it’s easy to think that you’ve noticed just how much everyone cares for you. And of course you care for them in return; more than once you’ve stopped by during Silver and Sebek’s training with something from the cafeteria, or you’ve brought the oddest little things you’ve found at Sam’s shop to show off how cool they are (all of which he’s pretty sure he’s seen scattered around Malleus’ room whenever you bring a new item to the dorm.)

♡ You’re quickly becoming such an integral part of Diasomnia’s life that it’s getting harder to imagine a time without you here, and these guys have become all you’ve ever known in the same way. So it’s shocking to Silver when one of the other students mentions that you’ve basically been adopted into the dorm - you’re there so much you’re practically family anyway - and he sees your reaction. You freeze, jaw slack as you process what you’ve just heard. You hardly even notice Grim swiping the sandwich Silver brought you for lunch in your shock, instead glancing up at the Diasomnia boy as if to confirm what you just heard

♡ When he gives you a confused look in return and asks why you’re so shocked since they’re right he practically watches you go through several stages of emotions, right before you’re grabbing him by the lapel of his uniform and guide him to follow you as you bolt over to Crowley’s office. The poor headmaster doesn’t hear the end of your demanding for Grim and yourself to be made honorary Diasomnia members after this. If they’re adopting you, then by the seven you’re getting it in writing from the bird man himself.

♡ Silver mentions once that he wouldn’t mind if you really were adopted into the family. It’s right as he’s on the cusp of another one of his naps, leaning up against your shoulder when he lets slip that he’d be proud to have a sibling like you without thinking anything of it - because of course it’s true, it's just a thought he hasn’t voiced out loud before. Cut to Lilia coming in a minute or two later to check in only to find his son conked out on your shoulder while you’re a blubbering mess over the fact that someone genuinely wants you as part of their family. Lilia feels only marginally bad when he reaffirms the sentiment, him casually throwing out that he already sees you as Silver’s little sibling resulting in you crying harder.

[amyrlinegwene]

It’s become really apparent to me how TV has changed based on the shorter seasons.

I feel like so many TV shows want to tell really in-depth complicated plots, but they’re only given eight episodes (sometimes less). And this can work if you have a smaller cast, or you are very strict about who the core cast is, for example in succession, the core characters are the family unit and the secondary characters—the people who work at the company— are not given a similar level of focus, the actors do a really great job of conveying who those characters and what their motivations are, but they still leave you wanting more because ultimately, you know, you might get a hint of something in the script that you can’t go into in depth.

I think the problem is trying to fit a really complicated plot(s) in an eight episode season that also has an extremely large cast of characters that they want to focus on. I see this in Wheel of Time, I saw it in The Gilded Age too.

And one of the main ways I feel like the stories really suffer is that you don’t really get to sit with a story or the implication of things that happen like you do if there is a longer season. For example, there’s a lot of cutaways right after dramatic event instead of seeing peoples’ reactions and afterwards reactions are implied, or perhaps you skip an important scene altogether, and then just tell people that it happened. 

And I think there’s choices that you can maybe make as a writer or a director once or twice for a meaningful reason, but sometimes it happens so often it really feels like it’s only to save time. You didn’t want to see the character having in that emotional reaction for more than two seconds because you don’t have enough time the episode to focus on them, now you have to go to someone else’s plot. Or you skipped over that explanation/event to just have the character have already found out in the next scene because you know if they were to have that scene, it would take up at least a couple minutes because of course they would react to strongly to that news. But now they have known for hours/days etc so their reaction is stale and can be implied with a withering look or a long sigh and a quick mention to let the audience know that something happened.

When you have a large ensemble cast in a short season, there simply isn’t time to give everyone a meaningful plot all the time or there isn’t time to examine everyone’s deeper characterization as a result of their plot; this often ends up with audiences wanting more and writers relying slightly on stereotypes or character tropes to help round out the character in audiences minds.

I really hope the strike helps reverse the trend of shorter and shorter seasons for television shows, because while not every show needs to be more than eight episodes, many shows would benefit from the ability to have more time to tell their story. It is wild to me that a 12 or 13 episode season for a drama series is now a long season to me.

[firstkanaphans]

GMMTV 2025 Tier List

Thanks to @rythyme for the template. You can make your own here.

Overall, I was very pleased with this year’s line-up. I think it’s the most solid line-up we’ve seen from GMMTV, possibly ever, and the people complaining about it are simply never going to be satisfied by anything GMMTV does. 

A break-down of my S and A tiers can be found below the cut:

Ticket to Heaven (S): I was raised in a Southern Baptist church which, for those unfamiliar with the different sects of Christianity in America, is basically a cult. I have a lot of unprocessed and unhealed religious trauma that still fucks me up to this day, but for some reason, I gravitate towards shows like this that show gay characters overcoming the struggles I’m still fighting. I’m very excited for this one and I think it’s perfectly cast. It’s giving me ITSAY meets Your Name Engraved Herein vibes and will probably make me cry, but I’m not mad about it.

Girl Rules (S): Toxic Yuri? Yes, please! To be quite honest, I’ve never been a huge MilkLove fan, but this trailer totally changed my mind. I think I just haven’t vibed with the characters they’ve played in the past because Love in this??? Oh my god. She’s going to kill me. All of the girls were hot and horny. What more could you ask for?

Dare You to Death (S): Listen. Do y’all remember that Amazon show Panic? I was obsessed with it for no obvious reason because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even gay, but this is giving me that and I literally cannot wait. I also adore that they’ve finally let JoongDunk switch up their roles so that Joong is the one that actually gets to emote this time because boy does he look pretty when he smiles. 

Cat for Cash (A): Oh my god it’s so soft 😭 The found family feels are getting to me. I think it’s very obvious from this trailer that they only have concepts of a script right now, but I have high hopes that this could be something really special. P’Au was the director of MSP which is one of my favorite BLs of all time. He’s been stuck doing Japanese adaptations this year, which I don’t think he likes or excels at, but I’m excited to see him tackle an original script in the genre he’s most comfortable with. He’s P’Aof’s protege and their styles are very similar. 

Love You Teacher (A): This is my “hear me out” of the day. Age regression isn’t a trope I’m familiar with and I do have some reservations, but boy did this trailer make me feel things. If this was just a basic amnesia plot, it would probably be S tier for me. I think it was perfectly cast and I’m willing to reserve judgment until I see the finished product. P’Dome of Peaceful Property fame is directing, so I’m expecting that same brand of “romcom” where it’s actually not a romcom at all and instead makes you cry every single episode.

Only Friends: Dream On (A): I was going to put this in B tier, but EarthMix fucking on stage in an empty theater bumped this up to an A for me. I fully expect to enjoy this version of Only Friends more than the original because the original stressed me the fuck out. This time, I have no skin in the game and can just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Melody of Secrets (A): I’ve watched this trailer like four times and I still have no clue what’s happening, but I like the vibes. ForceBook proved in Peaceful Property that they can take on a serious script and I’ve always felt that Book especially is highly underrated as an actor. I’m excited to see them branch out and try something different.

Tagging a few people whose tier lists I would love to see, but feel free to ignore: @doublel27, @mbjw, @wangxianinventedromance, @elliebirdwrites, @khaopybara, @moonkhao, @boozles, @scrumptiousstuffs

And everyone else please feel free to participate and tag me in yours as well!

[unluckiestmember]

yk now im curious on what would happen if Miguel saw his “daughter” in [Name]. Like she would just pop in with miles ( they’ve been friends since the first movie basically) and she is like a carbon copy of the daughter from the world he was like im when taking the place of himself. I would personally see it as a head cannon type of thing but ur choice! (bonus if platonic yandere) and if u do write this tysm for taking time out of ur day to do so❤️❤️

Coming right up!

Miguel O'Hara X "Daughter"! Reader

Characters: Miguel O'Hara, Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhaker, Gwen Stacy, Peter B. Parker and Jessica Drew

Tags: Found family trope?, yandere!Miguel, Miguel being Miguel, overprotective father figure, problematic friend group, intervention, fluff and hurt/comfort.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: Sorry this is not my best, you got me working on four hours of sleep and immediately after an eight hour shift. But I still hope you enjoy this! XD

Let’s get one thing straight; Whether he admits it or not, Miguel loved you since the first time he laid eyes on you.

You reminded him so much of Gabriella in the way you looked, the way you acted, etc.

Literally had to do a double take a few times before he realized you weren’t her.

But even then, that didn’t make him hate you.

Actually, it fueled him to get closer to you and create a bond with you.

Call it the father in him if you must.

He indulges in familial activities like sight seeing and even eating some sweet treats with you.

Spider-Society swears you are the only person to make this big guy crack a smile.

And for that, you are considered a wizard.

Jokes aside, Miguel cared about you so much as if you were his own daughter.

But maybe he cared about you too much?

When you arrived with Miles and he chose to challenge his canon event, Miguel wasted no time giving him a hard time.

Especially knowing that you two were thick as thieves.

If he was sprouting things on you about changing canon and destroying the multiverse, what else could he be putting in your head?

And don’t even get him started on the fact that the multiverse would be destroyed because of him.

You would be taken from him Everything would be taken from everyone.

Even if you have friends like Miles, Hobie, Pavitr and Gwen, don’t expect your father figure to let them in with open arms.

He becomes a literal cat hissing at your inner circle because they’re “bad influences”.

It gets to the point where Jessica, Peter B and even yourself have to remind him you are your own person.

That you are not Gabriella.

And that hurts him because he knows. But that won’t change that you’re his kid.

Just because you didn’t carry the same flesh and blood didn’t mean you meant the world to him.

Was he extreme? Yes.

Was he kind of idiotic? Absolutely.

But he would do anything for you.

He lost one daughter. He’s not going to lose another.

And if he needs to put his foot down a bit, so be it.

Spider-Verse Requests are open!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part two)

natasha romanoff x fem reader (high school au)

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one | part two (7.3k words) | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

A good few months have passed, now, since that night in the laundry closet. The harsh Ohio winter begins to melt away to a much more gentle spring, and as the world around you blossoms, so do the relations between you and Natasha.

They remain secret, of course. The novelty of sneaking around has not yet worn off, and so for now whatever is blooming between the two of you remains concealed in a cloak of deceit. You can’t help but feel a little guilty for lying to Yelena, your best friend in the entire world, but the blonde doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Whenever Nat can tell it’s bugging you, she does her best to calm you down, pressing kisses to the places that she knows will make you forget everything except her. Pretending in front of others is hard, acting as though everything’s the same as it was before and as though the absolute love of your life doesn’t send you good morning and goodnight texts, but it’s made absolutely worth it by the attention she does give you when you’re alone.

It’s nearly four months in, now, and you’re still struggling to believe she’s choosing to do things with you. You — her gangly little sister’s scrawny best friend. There’s no doubt in the fact that she could have anyone at your school, senior or otherwise, and the fact that she has chosen you over everyone else in the world quite often makes your head spin, and you have to drop what you’re doing and go and touch her just to remind yourself that this is reality. You’ve wanted this for so long, since you were able to understand what loving someone in this capacity means, and her reciprocation is quite literally incomprehensible to you.

Well… maybe reciprocation is a slight leap. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, who instigated this whole relationship, she becomes a little flighty whenever you bring up anything more serious — taking her out on a date, or talking about what will happen between the two of you after she graduates. It stings a little (a lot) to think that you might just be a secret for her, someone she would be embarrassed to be seen in public with. That’s been your number one fear since the moment you were sentient enough to comprehend your feelings for her; the crippling fear that you’re not good enough for her. Her, the perfect popular cheerleader and you, who’s decidedly not that. Every moment that you remain a secret is like a constant reminder that those fears are true. The fact that this might be true and that she is ashamed of her relations with you is something you’ve trained yourself to not think about because you start to get all twitchy if you do.

So that’s how it stays. You try to shut off your mind and keep sneaking around with Natasha, trying not to think of the future or of the day that she will inevitably toss you away like a toy she’s no longer interested in, and trying to enjoy the fact that she sees you as worthy enough of any attention at all.

Right now, it’s the last day of school before spring break — and to celebrate, the Starks are throwing a party tonight at their McMansion. It’s all anyone has been talking about since Tony stood up on a lunch table in the cafeteria and announced it himself last week. You were there for the announcement, sat at your usual table tucked away in the corner with your group of friends. It’s a small posse, but you’re very close-knit; consisting only of Darcy Lewis, Wanda Maximoff, Makkari Eternal, Yelena Belova (of course), and you by extension (you’re often teased by the others that you’re attached at the hip, and it’s true, in many ways). As soon as Tony stepped down from his makeshift podium, the whole cafeteria erupted into noise, and Darcy began to excitedly plan who she would ask to go with her.

Your stomach turned involuntarily at the thought of pretending that you’re available, and tolerating your friends’ (mostly Darcy’s) matchmaking attempts for the millionth time. Before you could even stop yourself, you found your gaze wandering to Natasha on the other side of the cafeteria, where she sat with her own (decidedly larger) group of friends. To your surprise you found her already looking at you wistfully. The two of you shared eye contact for a moment, something oddly intimate for such a public setting. At least you could take some form of comfort in the fact that you weren’t the only one in this relationship uncomfortable in pretending you aren’t accounted for.

“Earth to Y/N,” Darcy hums loudly, and you blink as she snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Welcome back, space cadet. We’re talking about —”

“The party,” you finish for her tiredly. You weren’t planning to go at all, but Darcy’s coerced you into it, promising you’ll only have to stay a couple hours. You didn’t have the energy to fight with her, lord knows how insistent she can be, so you ended up giving in — on the condition that she wouldn’t set you up with anyone tonight. She just grins at you though, seemingly amused by your determined lack of enthusiasm.

Darcy is trying to pair us all off with someone, Makkari informs you long-sufferingly. How unpredictable. (Sometimes you forget that most of the people your age haven’t been hopelessly in love for all of their lives, and actually enjoy putting themselves out there, while not feeling awfully guilty that they’re betraying someone.)

“And Makkari was next on the list!” Darcy signs and speaks, so that Wanda (whose nose is buried in a cloth-bound book) can still hear what’s going on. “You and Druig would be cute together, I think.”

The visceral disgust on Makkari’s face is so intense that Yelena bursts out laughing.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious,” Darcy complains, even though she’s smiling too.

That is revolting, Makkari tells her with feeling . That man is… a brother to me. And I’ve been told he’s a shit kisser anyway.

“He can learn,” Darcy replies with confidence. Makkari performs a very rude and elaborate gesture. “Hmm, who next… Yelena, you got your eye on anyone?”

Yelena shakes her head vehemently. “No. No, thank you.”

That’s a lie, Makkari comments. I see you and — She fingerspells a name much too quickly for any of you to catch it, and you all lean forward in confusion. Makkari rolls her eyes and spells out the name again, slowly, and then even slower again at the blank looks on your faces. K—A—T—

“Kate Bishop,” supplies Wanda dryly, looking up from her book.

Thank you, Makkari says exasperatedly, while Darcy gasps, clapping her hands together in delight and Yelena’s jaw drops, her cheeks flooding with colour.

“Oh, that’s perfect, I totally see that,” Darcy gushes. “How long has that been going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” says Yelena defensively, “she is — we are partners in class, and she shares her snacks with me sometimes. We went to the mall once or twice. That is all.”

When Darcy stares back skeptically she presses her lips together tightly, leaning slightly into your shoulder. You slide a hand into your best friend’s hair, scratching at her scalp to calm her down, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. This isn’t the giddy behaviour of someone with a crush, you realise — this is genuine discomfort.

“Why are you just projecting onto us that you can’t find anyone to go to the party with, anyway,” you snort to Darcy, signing out the basics of that sentence with your one free hand (Makkari subtly nods to let you know she understood). Wanda snickers at that without even looking up from her book this time.

“Okay, ouch, not true,” Darcy narrows her eyes at you, “Thor Odinson asked me to save him a dance. Is that not the behaviour of someone who’s showing interest in me?”

Makkari snaps back with quick retort that you don’t catch, and Darcy gasps in faux insult, the two of them beginning a quick and fiery exchange. You look down at Yelena to see her already looking up at you, the corners of her eyes crinkled in silent gratitude. You wrinkle your nose at her, and brush the bangs out of her eyes before returning to your food. She stays nestled against your shoulder for the rest of lunch — the rest of which proceeds as normal.

Natasha has agreed to drive the both of you to the party, as naturally she will also be in attendance.

“On one condition,” she warns firmly, as you all sit down at the dinner table. “Neither of you get blackout drunk, okay? I won’t have too much since I’ve gotta drive you both back, but if either of you cannot support your own body weight I will literally leave you there. You can fend for yourselves.”

“Always so serious, Natasha,” Alexi chuckles as he folds rags covered in very pungent motor oil. “Loosen up, да? If the twins want to drink they can drink. Lord knows I did at their age.”

“Not at the dinner table, Alexi,” Melina scolds, slapping at his shoulder as she passes him on her way to the stove. “This is good wood, oil will ruin the varnish.”

“Also it smells like shit,” Yelena adds helpfully, promptly ducking to avoid the massive hand that attempts to cuff her reprimandingly round the back of the head. “What is it from? Don’t tell me you are working on that beast in the garage again.”

“The one and only,” Alexi says with glee, rubbing his hands together at everyone’s collective groans. “What is this about, ah? She will be beautiful once I have fixed her up. You will all love her, I know. I call her… Melina.” He says it in a hushed voice, full of wonder, which is promptly quashed when the real Melina just snorts in amusement.

“Very creative,” she quips dryly as she sets down a crockpot in the middle of the table.

“Oh, you laugh now,” Alexi grumbles, “but when we are in backseat you are never complaining.”

Melina laughs wholeheartedly at that, while you, Yelena and Natasha let out similarly horrified noises.

“I can’t eat,” Natasha announces, pushing her plate away dramatically, and you quickly follow suit.

By the time Natasha pulls up into Tony’s stadium-sized driveway, the sun is already dying in the sky, taking its last fiery breaths that paint the world a shadowy pink before dwindling below the horizon into nothingness.

“Remember what I said —” Nat starts.

“About drinking, yes, I remember,” Yelena finishes for her impatiently. “No throwing up on myself, promise. Can we go in now?”

“Well fuck you too,” Natasha retorts. “Be careful of drink spiking, don’t just take a drink that’s handed to you. There’ll be a lot of people here, Stark knows some… unsavoury individuals so just stick to people we know. And whenever you’re feeling like heading home, text me, or come find me, kay?”

“Okay,” says Yelena long-sufferingly, which earns her a twisted arm in response.

You’ve never actually been inside of the Stark household before — well, maybe household isn’t accurate, it’s a multi-million dollar property and easily the biggest building you’ve ever set foot in. Yelena looks around at the high ceilings and chandeliers with a similar element of awe, while Natasha gazes around bemusedly, what with this place being a regular sight for her.

“Romanoff and co, you made it,” Tony Stark himself cheers, swooping into the lobby with a box full of beers. “Drink, m’lady?”

“Driving,” Natasha grimaces.

“Ooh, unlucky. Probably for the best, though, I heard Barton conspiring to put something gross in the punch. He thinks he’s slick… I swear, that guy thinks everyone else is as deaf as he is.”

Nat snorts in amusement, sending you and Yelena one last glance before heading off to the kitchen with Stark. Yelena links her arm through yours, and the two of you head off into the thick mass of people, on a quest to find your friends.

This task proves difficult. Half an hour in, you’ve wandered quite a few of the Stark Mansion’s impressive number of halls without a single member joining your party. You return to the main area, choosing to settle in a corner near a table covered by very expensive-looking vases, and Yelena disappears briefly to fetch you both some drinks. You don’t notice much what it is, you’re just grateful for the cool relief it provides.

“Oh look, it’s Kate Bishop,” you say absently as you spot her over at the chocolate fountain (now is not the time to question the presence of a chocolate fountain, you decide) next to America Chavez. You made the remark without thinking, knowing that Kate is one of the people Yelena likes to see (“she is like a puppy,” Lena said to you once, “all squishy and bouncy and eager to please. Fun to spend time with”), but you remember what happened at lunch today and tense, looking at her to gauge a reaction. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Yelena plays it off well, sipping from her drink to avoid replying any further.

Your hand hovers tentatively for a moment before resting on her shoulder. “Y… you know that if, well, anything, you can tell me, right? I won’t… make fun of you. I like talking with you. Just, uh. Just so you know.”

She looks down at you for a moment, gaze darting from the hand on her shoulder to your eyes. You stare back to her with uncertainty, but a desperation to reassert that you care. She observes you for a moment, long and hard, and you daren’t look away.

Then she gives you a short, sharp, singular nod, and downs the rest of her drink in one.

“I know,” she says curtly. “I will go say hi to her. Come find me later.”

She pats your head with a gentleness that one wouldn’t expect from a tall threatening Russian, to let you know she’s not mad, and you watch her go serenely. You’ve known Yelena for all of your life. She doesn’t say things, she does things. Talking has never been her strong suit, especially in a language that isn’t her mothertongue; you have always been careful to respect her boundaries. You’d never expect her to do something she wasn’t ready for, you’ve always been patient with her and you’ll give her as much time as she needs on this one. You know with a calming certainty that she will talk to you when she’s ready, about whatever she’s feeling about Kate Bishop that’s confusing and hurting her. The fact that you can know your best friend, your twin flame with such assuredness (and she know your own behaviours in turn) is something that never fails to make you feel as though you’ve found your place in the world. You don’t know what you’d do without her. She is your family (and the thought of you betraying her so in sneaking around with your sister is like a knife through your guts, so you’ve very quickly learnt to simply not think about it at all). 

But this feeling of otherworldly serenity is shattered as soon as you turn to leave and explore. Your eyes land upon the sight of Natasha dancing with Bucky Barnes, and it makes your blood run cold.

To be fair, it’s not as though they’re the only two on the dancefloor; most of their friendship group are stood in fairly close proximity to one another. But these two have clearly paired up for this song (Nelly Furtado, you think, but you don’t care enough to figure it out), with their arms around one another, and Barnes whirling her around when the beat drops. The way she’s smiling at him, as though she wants do the things with him that she does with you, makes you feel so ill that you have to look away for genuine fear of being sick right here on this dancefloor.

Feeling like this is an overreaction, you rationalise desperately to yourself, even as all the hairs on your arms begin to stand on end. The two of you aren’t exclusive — that much has been made clear by her insistence around avoiding the topic. And it’s just a dance, Bucky is a good friend of Natasha’s, it probably doesn’t even mean anything.

So why do you feel so gross?

You need a drink, you decide, stumbling off in the direction of the kitchen to overanalyse in peace.

You’re not sure how long has passed by the time Sam Wilson stumbles upon you, in a long dark narrow hall that weirdly reminds you of the Hogwarts bridge, one wall lined with gaping windows that look out on the rest of the house. You’re sat on the floor, wedged into a corner with your knees up to your chest and your back pressed against the wall, watching the party from a whole other dimension with a bottle beside you.

“Oh — hey, sorry, I was just on my way to the bathroom,” he laughs easily. “You gave me a fright there, all curled up in the dark like some horror movie shit.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which his eyes are presumably adjusting to the dark, before he speaks again. “You’re… Y/N, right? That kid Romanoff lives with?”

You press your lips together tightly at the mention of her name, but you nod. (Sam looks so funny where he’s stood in the distance, at the far end of this corridor, you think to yourself. Like a tiny matchstick guy you could put in a dollhouse.) Sam must see your response, because he continues, “thought so. Hey, what’re you doin up here all alone? Where’s Belova? You okay?”

You shrug. He dithers for a moment before slowly walking the hallway, approaching you as though you’re a wild animal that might scare at any moment. When you don’t, he slowly lowers himself onto the ground next to you.

“‘S loud down there,” he says after a moment. “Stark’s my bud and all, but his shit gets too much for me sometimes.”

You nod your agreement. You don’t know Sam well at all — you don’t recall ever speaking to him, he’s much more Natasha’s friend than your own — but there are definitely worse people who could choose to talk to you right now.

“That why you’re up there? All alone? Without your conjoined twin?” he adds, spirit light, a teasing smile on his face.

The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you speak at last, voice a little croaky from crying. “I guess. She went off with someone, I was trying to give them privacy.”

Sam hums, and nods in understanding. “Well if you’re not enjoying the party anymore we can get you home. I think Nat stayed sober tonight, or we can call you a taxi… put it on Stark’s card,” he adds mischievously, which earns a laugh from you.

“Yeah,” you rub at your eyes unceremoniously, “this party’s been a bust.”

“We’ll get you home, then,” he says gently. “Parties ain’t for everyone. Romanoff was looking for you, anyway.”

You freeze. “She was?”

“Yeah, think so. C’mon, let’s go.” He gets to his feet, offering you a hand, and very politely doesn’t comment when you have to lean on him a little on the journey back to the main hall.

“Alright. You sit tight, I’ll go find Romanoff.” He pats your shoulder before letting go of you, and wanders off.

You cast your vacant gaze around the party, simply looking rather than really seeing. With the state your brain is in it takes a few moments to process Yelena rushing across the dancefloor, head lowered and hair shrouding her face, with Kate hurrying after her, calling out. The haze that your somewhat intoxicated brain applies and the distance with which you’re watching from makes the scene look unreal, like something from a movie.

You bite the inside of your lip, hard, forcing yourself to pull it together, and discard the bottle you’re holding on a nearby table as you make your way over to Kate — who by this point has given up the fruitless chase and stands forlorn by the front door, staring out at Yelena’s quickly disappearing figure.

“Bishop,” you say, trying to keep your voice even, “what happened?”

She’s already nervous, you can tell, but when she sees you by her side her eyes go big as saucers. “Oh god. Hi. Hi, hi hi. Um, so, I don’t know.”

“I’m not gonna be mad at you, Bishop,” you say tiredly, “but I need to know what’s going on. She’s been acting weird all day, and when Makkari brought you up earlier I think she actually malfunctioned. What’s going on?”

Kate twitches instead of replying, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose between your forefingers. “Please just spit it out.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Kate maintains squeakily. “I thought we were good and we went to like some nice roses or something, I don’t know this place is massive it was like a garden I think, we sat on a bench and we were talking just normal talking it wasn’t even anything weird like we’ve talked about much weirder stuff! This was pretty tame! And she just like shut off and went all blank and marched out and I don’t know what I did,” she finishes lamely, with the trademark Bishop puppy dog eyes that Yelena has complained about to you.

You nod. “Okay. Uh, I’ll talk to her, you just… uh, get home safe. And text her, but don’t suffocate her, you know?”

Kate nods vigorously, stammering more  than you’ve ever heard someone stammer before. “Y— uhh, yep, alright, cool, perfect, got it. No… no suffocation. Nope. That would not be good. Uh, is double texting suffocation?”

“Double texting is like the maximum you can go before it’s asphyxiation,” you advise sagely, and she nods like one of those little dolls with a spring for a neck that you see in trucker lorries before scurrying off (she really is like a puppy, you muse to yourself as you recall Yelena’s words; an oversized, long-legged puppy).

“Alright,” you mutter, “where have you gone, Belova?”

When you turn around, it’s not Yelena that you’re faced with, but her sister. Well, it’s a start, at least.

“Nat,” you say, and your voice sounds like it’s very very far away and it doesn’t belong to you, “come on, we have to find… Yelena.” You reach out to grab her hand but she shakes away your touch, and your cheeks burn at the rejection and the realisation you’re in public. Of course she doesn’t want to touch you in public, you think to yourself, and the doubts from the hallway before Sam came and found you start creeping back and your head starts to hurt again.

“What’s going on?” Natasha asks, daring to place a hand on your shoulder as she leads you through the front door and down the driveway. “What’s wrong with Yelena?” She pauses, taking in your appearance for the first time all night under the light of the street lamps that line the long, linear driveway. “What’s wrong with you?”

You open and close your mouth a few times without making any sound, like a fish, searching for the words. Suddenly it feels as though the whole night is catching up on you, and you can’t really explain it but you’re not really you or in your body — it’s like you’re watching from someone else’s perspective, or reading about this experience instead of living it, and all of the thoughts seep out of your head. (Shit, maybe it’s a good thing you don’t drink that often.) Nat’s face softens slightly, and in the solitude of the front yard she’s gracious enough to loop an arm round your waist and guide you gently to somewhere you can rest for a minute; the stone pillars, to the corner of the front of the house.

“Deep breaths,” she urges you quietly, pinning you between a pillar and her body, both of your hands in hers and her face nestled in close against your shoulder, lips by your ear, safely hidden from prying eyes by the shadows of the pillars. You comply, in, out, in, out, until your body is yours again, and you can feel her breath on your cheek.

“I told you not to get shitfaced,” she tells you as she pulls away again enough to be able to look at you, but there’s no real anger in her voice, and her eyes are so soft and warm as they look down at you. Her hands are still in yours, grounding you, and you grip onto them tightly. “What’s going on? Where’s Thing 2?”

“Kate Bishop upset her,” you relay blearily. “She ran off, I was gonna find her, n go home.”

“And what happened to you?” she adds more gently, cupping your face in her hands.

“You,” you mumble, and then realise what you’ve said. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you quickly try to rectify, “no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean. I just meant… I’m sorry, sorry, I can’t do words, I didn’t mean that. Wanna go home.”

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, “but can we talk about it? What did I do to upset you tonight, huh? To make you get like this?” She moves one hand to prod gently at your chest to emphasise her last two words. 

You shake your head, normally at first, but the movement becomes more exaggerated as though you’re trying to clear your head of this fog. “N — nothing. God. Sorry. It was — me. Just, I just mis… misread the situation. Thought I was special. Was being dumb. Sorry. Can we,” you tug on her arm, “can we go home, I can’t think, my head really hurts.”

Her eyebrows are furrowed deeper than ever, glossy lips pushed together, but she nods — and then her head turns sharply in the direction of  the bushes. You turn too, instinctively, and see Yelena walking toward you. Her eyes lock onto yours for a moment, and you are filled with the most paralysing, existential dread. This is it, you think to yourself, this is how my life ends. But Yelena makes no move towards you, and you realise quickly that even though she can see someone’s hands on you, she can’t see who they belong to. Natasha has picked a place to stop so perfect that Yelena can’t see her from where she’s stood, and this realisation has you weak-kneed with relief. 

The two of you make eye contact for a moment, and despite your deep longing to have Natasha publicly be yours you’re overwhelmingly grateful in this moment that your tracks are somewhat covered . Lena’s gaze flits from yours to your hands, occupied by a shadow-faced stranger; her lips press into a thin line and her eyes fill with tears as she turns and trudges away again, disappearing into the night.

By the time you get home, she’s already there, in your bedroom getting ready for bed. Her tearstained face takes one look at yours, which is in a similar state after your car ride home with Natasha. While Yelena doesn’t say a word to you or Nat, she kisses your forehead before you both climb into your beds on the opposite sides of the room, so you know she’s not really mad. She just needs time, you know, and you’re very careful over the days that follow to give it to her.

Melina and Alexi are all too familiar with Yelena’s silent episodes. They come on whenever she’s processing something, and the only thing you can do to support her is wait patiently until she’s able to talk. Even though you’ve long since grown up, and nowadays can see the grey in a situation that was black and white when you were young, you still think of things in the very simple terms they had been presented to you in as a six-year-old.

“Why is Yelena quiet?” you asked Alexi. “I didn’t do anything.”

The giant man had sunk to his knees, wincing at the pop and crackle of his joints, to be on the same level as you, and took both of your tiny hands in one much larger one. “Uhh… ah. So you have to be very grown up, ah? да, смутьян? Yelena did not have same start in life as you, eh. Me and Melina are her parents, you know, we live here in Ohio with you,” he tickled your belly to punctuate your involvement in his story and you squirmed happily, “but we are not… giving birth to her, ah? Before we bring Yelena to Ohio, in fact before she is brought to orphanage, she is having another mom and dad. Who giving birth to her,” he explained to you in his usual broken English; he spoke with a level of thought and caution that you’d never seen before on the usually crude man.

“In Russia?” you queried.

“In Russia,” he confirmed. “The motherland, ey? So the mom and dad who giving birth to her, they aren’t very nice, ah. So Yelena’s… formative years, when she was baby and learned all the emotion things like cry when sad, smile when happy, she learned different, да? To protect herself. If cry, her old mom and dad get angry because of noise, so when sad she go all quiet and… spaced out and faraway instead. And even though now she is in place where we won’t be angry if she cry, it is still how she has learned things. So if something bad happen, she shut down. It is her way to cope. And you are probably thinking that it is strange, but we have to be gentle to her, okay?” he said encouragingly to you, and you nodded eagerly to this man who even then was like a father to you. “We are gentle, and show her we aren’t get angry when she sad, and when she ready she open up. Make clear we love her. It is big important task. We treat her with kindness when she go quiet, kay? Can you do that, trouble, eh?”

And of course you nodded seriously, because Yelena was your best friend, and you already knew you would do almost anything for her.

You understand a lot more, now, but you still think of it like that. It’s the way her brain works, it’s a result of her start in life — she can’t help it, it’s not her fault, and it would be beyond unfair to make her suffer for something so out of her control. So you barely leave her side in the days that follow, by her side in every mundane task she half-heartedly attempts, even clambering into her bed from your own on the dark drizzly morning where she can’t even peel herself from her own bed. You and Natasha haven’t spoken since that hellish car ride home, but for probably the first time ever the redhead is barely on your mind; you’d do anything for her, it’s true, but you’d do anything for her sister too. You knew it when you were six years old and seeing one of Lena’s silent episodes for the first time, and you know it more than ever now. This takes precedence.

Yelena doesn’t utter a word for six days, only nodding thanks and smiling at you with the corners of her eyes. On the morning of the seventh day, you wake up to her sat on your chest.

“Oh,” you wheeze, “good morning.”

And she smiles at you in reply, wheezy laughter bubbling in her chest at the way your limbs are splayed out awkwardly beneath her weight, and you can tell that she’s back.

She doesn’t tell you what had her spiralling until the evening, but you spend the whole day bouncing around the house with her as though you’re little kids again, and it fills you so wholeheartedly with joy to have your best friend back. She truly is like an extension of you, you don’t feel right when she’s not around, and you don’t feel right when she doesn’t, either. But she’s back, she’s talking and laughing again and it’s contagious. Whatever souls are made of, yours and hers are the same.

Right now the house is quiet, the lights are out and the two of you are sat on the windowsill, looking out at the stars.

“That one’s winking at us,” you whisper with a grin, pointing to a flickering star. You feel Yelena’s eyes on you, and turn to see her smiling softly at you, her eyes crinkling at the corners the way they only ever do when she’s trying to tell you that she’s grateful for something.

“There is a thing that is broken inside of me,” she tells you matter-of-factly. You blink, surprised, but nod encouragingly for her to keep going. “I don’t think I am like you or Darcy or Kate. And that doesn’t feel fair. I thought, it is always me, I just want to be normal. So I say okay, I will be normal, I ignore it and pretend it wasn’t there, and it only makes things go all funny and the world doesn’t make sense. It’s like one of those…”

She pauses for a moment to think. “Ah черт возьми, cannot find the words, you know those… visual — eye tricks? Illusions? At the museums, that are like art, and hurt your brain?”

“Optical illusions?” you offer.

“Yes. When I am pretending it is like looking at the world through optical illusions. Nothing is making sense, and it makes me so sick and sad and lonely. So I was pretending at the party, but it was like everything just…” She makes a boom noise with her mouth, and mimes an explosion. “I could not handle, no more, I thought why me, why don’t I have what everyone else has, what did I do wrong? And then I saw you, making kissy face with some girl —” your heart leaps, but she still doesn’t seem to know who it was, thank god “— and I just,” there are tears in her eyes that glisten with frustration, “and I just… wished it could be me. Not that I want to kiss you,” she adds hastily, “but I want to want it. It would make things so much easier.”

“You… wish you wanted to kiss me?” you ask carefully.

She nods furiously. “Maybe not you, we are Близнецы… that would be weird, probably. Just to… want any kissing. But I don’t. I don’t want to kiss you, or Kate Bishop, or anyone. There is none of that for me, it’s just not…” She gestures vaguely in the air, as though she is searching for something she does not have, and then shrugs. “Я потерян, I don’t know. Y/N, I am aroace,” she tells you proudly. “I did the research, it is me, it fits me perfectly. But I don’t… want to be. Not when everyone else, even you, is kissing people. You are my person, I don’t want to kiss you, but I want to… always be with you. But then I realised,” she gulps, and she’s fighting back tears again, “that’s not… how things work. And you are kissing other people — I don’t care who,” she adds as you open your mouth to interject, “I know it is not my business and you will say when you are ready, but we are growing up and I must do grownup things now and it’s scary. And Darcy is always asking me who I am crushing on and… it is hurting, a lot, to realise no one. Ever. And I’m okay with it, I don’t want it because I want it, I want it because if I don’t want it I’m wrong and it means there is something… wrong inside of me. And my brain is broken enough as it is,” she covers her face with her hands, “and I think I just lost the… hold on everything when the Kate Bishop kissed me.”

“She kissed you?”

“Mhm. And it was like the world ended, I could not handle it. Because I thought I was so good at pretending that I have this thing when I don’t, but I couldn’t tell that… she felt like that, when a normal person would have been able to tell. Darcy could. Makkari could. And I am just done pretending, I think, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Her hands still cover her face, but after a few moments you catch her peering through the gaps between her fingers, anxiously trying to gauge a reaction from you. For a split second you see a scared child watching apprehensively through the slats of a staircase bannister, younger than you ever knew her, fearing someone who in this moment she does not know. When the fear is this primal, it is timeless, and all-consuming. You see it in the way she closes the gaps between her fingers again, closes the blinds on the outside world, decides she’d rather not know what it is that you make of this for fear of it being negative; in the way that it has always ended for her, in the rare moment she’s been so fragile around someone. And you feel it, in this moment. It’s so heavy it’s almost tangible, and you fear if you speak or move or think wrong it might shatter irreparably.

So you are absolutely silent for a few moments. You don’t move, don’t blink — you’re not sure that you breathe, actually, while you process what’s just been said.

“I’ll talk to Darcy,” you say eventually. “I’ll tell her to stop. I’m sorry I didn’t see that it was upsetting you sooner.”

Yelena’s hands drop away in surprise, and she looks at you, her cheekbones shimmering a little in the starlight. “You — you aren’t? You don’t —?”

“No,” you say simply, but gently, a hand moving to rest on top of hers, which fiddles with the loose threads on her pyjama bottoms. Its movements cease instantly. “Why would I be? You are okay with me liking girls. Why wouldn’t I be okay with you not liking anyone?”

She crumples, then, in relief; as though it’s so all-consuming that she can’t support herself any longer, and you’re there to catch her. She cries even as you smooth her hair and pull her over to her bed.

“Я тебя люблю,” she chokes out quietly as you cocoon her in the mass of blankets she insists on keeping in her bed.

“Я тоже тебя люблю,” you whisper, “так много.”

A few moments of quiet, where your fingers continue to comb through her hair, and her eyelids begin to flutter.

“I don’t know what to do about Kate Bishop, though,” she admits sleepily. “Because I don’t… ah… not like her. I just don’t think I can be what she wants me to be, but I don’t want to… lose her.”

“It’s all about how you feel,” you remind her gently. “Kate’s cool. She will always respect you, remember. She’s like a puppy, you’re not getting rid of her if you try,” and Yelena giggles a little at that. “We’ll figure it out, Lena. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

She nods, and mumbled something about thinking, and slips into the first peaceful sleep she has had in seven days.

Your mind moves to Natasha, now that you know with certainty that Lena will be okay. You kiss her forehead before quietly leaving the room and heading downstairs, where you know Natasha will still be awake, watching old black and white reruns.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, Liho pads up to you, meowing and tugging insistently at the bottom of your pants.

“Hiya, buddy,” you murmur, relenting at once and giving him what he wants. You scoop him up just the way he likes and he purrs happily, writhing around in your arms, rubbing his face against yours before eventually settling with his chin on your shoulder and you cradling him to your chest like a baby.

The two of you walk slowly into the living room, where just as you predicted, Natasha is curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket in front of the TV. What surprises you though is what she’s watching.

“I thought you hated this show,” you comment quietly, a smile fighting its way onto your face as you watch Kourtney and Kim fighting. You move to sit down in the armchair furthest from her but she makes a noise of displeasure and pats the spot next to her insistently, even lifting up the blanket for you and Liho to slide underneath.

Well, who are you to deny her?

“I wanted to see why you guys like it so much,” she replies after a few moments, once you’re half on top of her, head on her chest with Liho tucked into the warm gap between you, and you can feel every word that she says. “I’m not sure I really get it, to be honest.” Her fingers gently trace the outline of your face, your jawline, your cheekbones and you melt into the touch. “Are you still upset about the party?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you murmur.

“But I do, you said that I upset you. You’ve been avoiding me all week, Y/N/N, I don’t even know what I did.”

“You didn’t upset me, I was just being dumb.”

“About?”

You groan, and press your face into her chest, sensing she’s not going to let this go. “Just seeing you, like, dance and flirt with other people. I just wish I could do that sometimes. Please, I don’t wanna think about this anymore,” it comes out as something of a whine, and you can feel the way she’s tensing against you.

“Y/N,” she sighs heavily, “you know we have to cover our tracks, if we both keep acting weird when someone flirts with me then people are gonna know that we’re together.”

“But we’re not even together, really,” you mumble. “Please, let’s forget about it. Please.”

“You can’t keep saying stuff like that and then tell me to forget about it,” she scolds half-seriously, and you break the eye contact for a moment to bury your face in her chest again so she won’t see your smile. “You know we can’t tell people about us. It would… it would be too much to handle.”

Whether that’s for you or for her she doesn’t explain, but she doesn’t have to. She might be protecting you, but she’s also protecting herself. She couldn’t handle it, if she held your hand in public. Stolen moments like this are all you’ll ever get, you think to yourself miserably, as she ever so gently lowers her lips to your neck. But even with this knowledge you would still let her do anything to you, in whatever way she wants, because her wanting to touch you in any capacity is going to have to be enough — even if she harbours you like this, her little late night secret, it’s surely better than the days that she barely looked at you at all. You might not ever have her in the way that you want to; every moment like this is precious beyond belief.

So you give yourself over to her completely, and pray that someday this lingering feeling of dirtiness will fade away, and only the gratitude remain.