#cereal with or without milk is food

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Cookie and Water on Table <- reminder to eat/drink something if you haven't today

Can: soda brand

[dizzybevvie]

my grandmas mother in law was straight from england, and she taught her how she made tea. my grandma taught my mom, and my mom taught me so when i was younger i always learned to put an obscene amount of milk in my tea . and then i learned that tea without milk is like 100 times better. i felt so lied to. earl grey and english breakfast need honey and a bit of nutmeg and that’s IT

THE BETRAYAL HELLO??????????????????

[satellite-evans]

my lando

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Sophie go grocery shopping, but they come home with more than just food.

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: fluff

Request: If you’re taking requests I would love anything dad!f1. Also would you consider writing doing a part 2 for best friends that fic is so cuteee

A/N:

this is a part 2 to my fic best friends, so I encourage you to read that first xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The doors of the grocery store slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a burst of cool, air-conditioned breeze that carried with it the faint scent of baking bread and fresh produce. Lando guided the shopping cart inside with one hand, its slightly wobbly wheel clicking rhythmically against the tile floor. His other hand rested gently, protectively, on Sophie’s tiny back as she walked close to his side, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly to her chest like a shield against the vastness of the store.

“Alright, up you go, birdie,” Lando said with a playful grin, crouching to scoop her up effortlessly under the arms. Sophie let out a soft squeal of delight as he lifted her, her sneakers briefly kicking at the air before he settled her into the child seat at the front of the cart — the coveted "captain's chair" where her little legs dangled through the holes, already swinging back and forth like tiny pendulums.

“I get to ride today!” Sophie beamed, adjusting bunny carefully on her lap, making sure his floppy ears were arranged just right.

“You sure do,” Lando chuckled, leaning in to kiss the top of her head, his lips brushing her soft curls. He tried smoothing her wild hair down, but it only seemed to puff up more in defiance, and he grinned at the sight. “You’re my co-pilot, remember? Gotta help me make all the big decisions.”

Sophie nodded solemnly, her eyes wide and serious, though a smile still tugged at her lips. “We need milk,” she began, holding up one finger as though counting on an invisible list, “and fruit. And cereal. And snacks for Mommy.”

“Ah, snacks for Mommy — very important,” Lando agreed, steering the cart deeper into the store, the wheels creaking as they rolled over a patch of uneven floor. “You’re already keeping us in line, huh? What would I do without you?”

Sophie giggled, her arms wrapping around her bunny as she sat a little taller, clearly proud of her responsibility.

As they rounded into the bakery section, the smell of warm bread and sugar hit them like a soft wave. Lando reached out to grab a fresh loaf, checking its softness with a squeeze before putting it into a bag and tossing it gently into the cart. Sophie watched everything around her with wide, curious eyes — the rows of golden pastries, the spinning cake display, the workers bustling behind the glass counter.

“Lando! Look!” she whispered suddenly, leaning forward with excitement, her tiny finger pointing as though discovering a secret treasure. “Donuts!”

He followed her gaze, laughing as he spotted the display case filled with perfectly frosted rings of sugar.

“Dangerous,” he murmured dramatically, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You found my weakness, kiddo.”

Sophie giggled, hugging her bunny tighter. “Mommy likes chocolate ones,” she added, her voice soft and matter-of-fact, as though sharing insider information.

“Oh, does she now?” Lando asked, one brow raised in mock seriousness. He ruffled her hair again with a smirk. “Well, maybe we’ll have to grab some — just because you said so.”

Sophie nodded, clearly pleased with her influence, and together they moved on toward the fruit aisle.

Reaching for a bright red container of strawberries, Lando held them up to her with an exaggerated questioning look.

“These good, boss?” he asked, making her giggle at the title.

She tilted her head, inspecting them as if she were a real expert. “Hmm… yeah. They look yummy. Mommy likes those.”

“Perfect. Into the cart they go,” he said, gently placing them beside the bread and giving Sophie’s knee a little playful tap as he did.

As they kept moving, Sophie leaned to the side, reaching her hand out as though she could touch all the colorful cereal boxes lining the aisle. Her fingers trailed the edges of bright packages, and Lando smiled, watching her soak in the world around her.

“Alright,” he said finally, steering them to a stop right in front of the towering wall of cereals. “Big decision time, co-pilot. What cereal are we getting?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled, her legs swinging faster with excitement. “I want the animal one! With the tiger!”

Lando scanned the shelves and plucked down the orange box featuring a grinning cartoon tiger.

“The tiger one it is,” he said, holding it out to show her before tossing it into the cart. Then he reached up for another box, holding it up with a sly smile. “Should we get chocolate cereal too? Y’know, for emergencies?”

Sophie gasped dramatically, her eyes going wide, clutching bunny to her chest like she couldn’t believe such luck. “Yes! And I can share with you!”

“Deal,” Lando laughed, giving her a playful wink as he added the chocolate cereal to their growing pile of groceries.

As they made their way toward the checkout, Sophie kept up a steady stream of chatter — soft, bubbly, and full of little observations about the store. She pointed out balloons near the floral section, admired the shiny apples they passed, and made Lando laugh with her random musings about what kind of cereal bunnies would eat if they could.

But then, as they rounded the last aisle, her voice grew more thoughtful.

“Lando?” she asked, glancing up at him with her head slightly tilted, curls falling over her cheeks.

“Yeah, bug?” he answered, glancing down, ready for whatever question might come.

She hesitated a moment, her fingers playing with bunny’s ear. “When the baby comes… can they ride in the cart with me too?”

Lando blinked, his heart giving a soft squeeze at her tenderness. You found out you were pregnant after your 1st anniversary with Lando, and he was over the moon. He already felt like a dad with Sophie, but this time he could experience everything from the beginning. Sophie was even more excited than the both of you. She always wanted a little sibling, and her dreams finally came true.

He slowed the cart and leaned in closer to her level, smiling gently.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “they might be a little too tiny at first. But when they’re bigger? Yeah, I think you two can share. You’ll have to teach them all about being a good co-pilot.”

Sophie’s whole face lit up at that, her smile beaming like sunshine. “I’ll show them how to pick snacks for Mommy,” she said proudly.

Lando grinned, giving her a soft, affectionate nudge. “Best teacher I could think of.”

As they neared the checkout, Sophie’s sharp little gasp cut through the hum of the store.

“Lando! Flowers for Mommy!” she cried, twisting in her seat and reaching one small arm toward the flower stand by the front entrance — a burst of color against the neutral aisles.

Lando followed her gaze, his chest tightening a little at the way she said it — so sure, so full of joy.

“You think so?” he asked, voice softer now, already knowing her answer but wanting to hear it from her.

Sophie nodded, curls bouncing as she leaned forward, bunny squished protectively in one arm, the other still reaching out. “She loves it when you bring her flowers. She smiles a lot.”

For a moment, Lando just stood there, hand resting on the cart handle, watching her. There was something about the way she said it — like it was the simplest thing in the world to make her mom smile, like love was easy if you just remembered the right kind of flowers.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, glancing down at her small fingers gripping bunny like a lifeline, her bright eyes shining with certainty.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice a little rough as he nudged the cart in the direction of the flower stand. “Okay, birdie. You get to pick them. Find the best ones for Mommy.”

Sophie’s eyes went wide, taking her role very seriously, sitting up straighter in the seat, scanning the colorful bouquets as though searching for treasure. She leaned so far forward, tiny brows scrunched in concentration, that Lando reached out instinctively to steady her back with a gentle hand.

Her little fingers hovered over a bunch of purple tulips, then bright yellow daisies, before finally pointing with great determination at a bundle of soft pink and white flowers — delicate, gentle things that looked like they’d been kissed by morning light.

“These,” she said firmly, voice full of quiet conviction. “These are like Mommy.”

Lando smiled as he reached for the bouquet, cradling it carefully in one hand. His throat felt tight again, but this time he let it settle, let it stay.

“You’ve got good taste, bug,” he whispered, brushing a hand softly over her curls, fingers tangling for a moment in the wild strands before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

As they made their way back to the checkout, the flowers nestled carefully on top of the groceries, Lando tried to shake the feeling pressing into his chest — that deep, aching kind of love that made it hard to breathe sometimes.

Sophie stayed perched in the cart, bunny tucked under her chin, legs swinging back and forth as if life couldn’t get any better than this simple moment.

The cashier, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a bright name tag that read MARIA, smiled warmly at them as she began scanning their items, the beep of each product sliding across the scanner filling the air.

“Out with Daddy today, huh?” she asked casually, reaching for the strawberries.

Lando froze for half a second, one hand still on a box of cereal, his fingers tightening around the cardboard. The word Daddy hung there in the air between them, like something delicate he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His mouth opened, but the words tangled on his tongue.

“Uh—”

But before he could figure out what to say — before he could trip over the explanation he wasn’t even sure how to give — Sophie piped up, her voice sweet and clear and full of absolute certainty.

“Yeah! He’s kinda like my daddy,” she said with a proud little grin, turning her face up toward Lando, eyes shining with trust that knocked the breath right out of him. “We do everything together.”

Lando blinked, his throat tightening again as he stared at her, at this tiny person who just knew who he was to her, even if the world didn’t have a name for it yet.

The cashier, thankfully, didn’t ask questions. She just smiled even softer, glancing between them as though she saw more than he knew.

“Well,” she said gently, carefully placing the bouquet on top of the groceries, “looks like you’ve got a pretty great team.”

Lando finally found his voice, though it came out a little rougher than before. “Yeah,” he murmured, glancing at Sophie as she hugged bunny tight. A small, quiet smile curved his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

They finished packing up in a comfortable silence, Lando sliding items into bags while Sophie sat watching, her eyes occasionally darting to the flowers with a little grin.

When they were ready to leave, Lando gave the cart a gentle push toward the exit, but before they made it out the door, Sophie reached out and caught his hand in hers, her tiny fingers curling tightly around his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Lando?” she asked softly as they stepped out into the sunlight, which poured over them like warm honey.

“Yeah, birdie?”

Sophie looked up at him, her face thoughtful under the bright sky. “Can I give Mommy the flowers when we get home?”

Lando looked down at her, heart full to bursting, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s gonna love that.”

Sophie beamed, her legs swinging happily again as she perched in the cart, bunny still safe in her arms. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze as Lando guided them toward the car, and for a long moment, it felt like the whole world had slowed just for them — like this little life they were building together was enough. More than enough.

After putting Sophie in her seat and loading the last of the bags into the trunk, Lando closed the hatch with a soft thud and turned around, expecting to find Sophie already impatiently bouncing in her seat. But instead, he found her still sitting quietly in the car, her stuffed bunny securely nestled in her lap, her little fingers curled around it. She was buckled in, looking out the window with wide eyes, her expression already brightening with the anticipation of the next part of their adventure. She seemed so small in that big car, but the way she sat there — calm, expectant, full of life — made it clear that she was the one driving this moment.

“You ready to head home, kiddo?” Lando asked with a smile as he slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. His hands settled on the wheel, ready to start the drive, but his heart still carried the weight of all the little moments that made the day feel like something special.

“Yep! Let’s go!” Sophie chirped back enthusiastically, her grin stretching wide across her face. She hugged bunny tightly, giving him a little squeeze like she was sharing the joy with him.

“And can we play the happy song again?” she asked, her voice practically sparkling with excitement.

Lando chuckled, starting the car and feeling the low rumble of the engine beneath them. He gave Sophie another glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. “The ‘do-do-do’ song?”

“YES! The Walking on Sunshine song! I want to sing it again!” Sophie declared, her tiny voice full of enthusiasm, and Lando couldn’t resist her infectious energy. He cranked the volume up a little and tapped his hands on the steering wheel, pretending to be a professional DJ for a second.

“Alright, alright! You got it, boss,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

The familiar beat of the song filled the car, and Sophie’s face lit up immediately, her whole body bopping in her seat. She raised her arms in the air like she was conducting an orchestra, her joy radiating out of every tiny movement.

Lando, unable to resist the infectious tune, joined in with her, his voice a little off-key but full of the same carefree spirit. The car seemed to come alive with the sound of their combined laughter and song as Sophie’s little voice rang out beside him.

"I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-oh!"

Sophie’s eyes sparkled with glee as she turned to him, practically vibrating with energy. “Sing louder, Lando!” she commanded, her voice bubbling with laughter.

“Louder, huh? You got it,” Lando said, laughing as he turned the volume up even more, filling the car with the pure joy of their off-key duet.

Together, they belted out the chorus at full force, both of them laughing through their notes. Sophie’s voice cracked with the excitement of it all, and Lando’s was barely more in tune, but they didn’t care — they were singing for the sheer joy of it, their spirits rising with the beat.

"And don't it feel good!"

As the song reached its peak, Sophie threw her arms up dramatically, her face split by a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Good job, Lando! You sang it so good!” she said with a proud gleam in her eyes, as if she had been the one to coach him through the song.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest as he glanced back at her through the rearview mirror. “Thanks, kiddo. You were amazing!” he said, his voice full of affection. He gave her a soft smile, his eyes momentarily soft as they met hers in the mirror. “You sure you don’t want to be the singer? You’re way better at it than me.”

Sophie gave him a serious look, her little brow furrowing as she considered his offer. Then she nodded with quiet confidence. “No, Lando, you’re really good,” she said earnestly, like she was offering him sage advice. “But I’ll help you. I can teach you the words.”

Lando chuckled, the warmth in his chest spreading even further. “You’ll be the best teacher, huh?”

“I will!” she declared, her voice full of such certainty that Lando had no doubt she’d take her role as the teacher very seriously. “We can practice more next time!”

“That’s a deal,” Lando said, his heart swelling as he turned the car onto their street. The world outside the windows felt like it was moving slower, almost as if it was giving him space to savor the moment. He smiled softly to himself, realizing just how right everything felt. The car ride, Sophie’s laughter, their simple joy — it was all perfect in its own little way.

As they approached their house, Sophie’s voice piped up again from the backseat, bringing Lando back to the present.

“You did a good job, Lando. You always do good jobs.”

The words caught him off guard, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment as he blinked. It was such a simple, honest thing to say, but it hit him deeper than he expected. He kept his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the steering wheel, trying to hold it together as the lump in his throat threatened to grow.

“You always make me feel like I’m doing good,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her, but Sophie heard it. She always heard him.

Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and she smiled a smile that could light up the whole world. “’Cause you are. You’re the best Lando!” she said, raising her hand in the air like she was giving him a high five from the backseat.

“Thanks, little bird. You’re the best too,” Lando said, his voice full of affection as he winked at her, reaching back to give her hand a gentle squeeze, just for a moment, to remind them both of the bond they shared.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Lando shifted the car into park and quickly turned off the engine, jumping out to open the door for Sophie. He helped her out gently, making sure she was steady on her feet. She jumped down and immediately dashed ahead, her excitement bubbling over as she ran toward the house, bunny still pressed tightly to her chest.

Lando paused for a moment, grabbing the bags from the trunk, and just watched her. She was humming a little tune to herself, her feet barely touching the ground as she skipped up the steps. Her giggles — full of joy and wonder — floated back to him on the breeze, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Lando murmured softly to himself, his eyes following Sophie’s retreating figure up the steps.

The front door creaked open as Lando pushed it gently with his shoulder, carefully balancing the bags of groceries in one hand. His other hand was pressed to his side, whilst Sophie tried to keep the bouquet of flowers steady as she maneuvered through the doorway.

"Mommy! We're home!" Sophie called out, her small voice ringing through the house, echoing with a sweetness that made Lando’s heart warm.

You appeared from the living room, still in your cozy clothes, your hair a bit messy, one hand resting on the curve of your bump as the other brushed sleep from your eyes. The moment you saw them — Lando juggling bags, Sophie with her face full of joy and her arms holding the bouquet — a soft smile tugged at your lips.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted softly, your voice a gentle melody. You took a step forward and leaned in to kiss Lando’s cheek, your lips brushing against his skin, making him grin, his tired eyes lighting up just from the simple affection. Then you turned to Sophie, who was practically bouncing with excitement, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

“You two had quite the adventure, huh?” you teased lightly, your voice full of warmth as you bent down slightly to meet Sophie’s sparkling gaze.

Sophie’s eyes twinkled as she held out the bouquet toward you, her hand trembling slightly with the weight of her proud accomplishment. Bunny was still clutched securely under one arm, his little button eyes seemingly looking up at you too, as if he were part of the gift.

“These are for you, Mommy!” she declared in her most serious, grown-up voice. “Me and Lando picked them! I picked the best ones.”

Your heart swelled with an emotion that almost caught you off guard. You reached out, taking the flowers from her hand with care, inhaling their soft scent. The delicate fragrance filled the air around you.

“Oh, sweetheart, they’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft as you kissed the top of Sophie’s head, feeling the warmth of her curls beneath your lips. “Thank you, my love.”

Lando, who had set the grocery bags on the counter, watched the two of you with a look in his eyes that melted your heart — that look, the one where it was clear his whole world revolved around both of you. His smile was subtle, but it said everything.

“I'm guessing you were the boss today, Soph,” you teased gently, reaching out to ruffle Sophie’s hair, a playful grin on your face.

“She was,” Lando chimed in, stepping over to you. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hand instinctively resting on your bump, as if to remind himself of the little one that was growing there. “Best co-pilot ever.”

Sophie giggled at the praise, her face lighting up with the joy of being recognized for her hard work. She was clearly proud of herself, her small chest puffed out like she had just achieved something monumental.

“Well, I think my little co-pilot deserves a kiss too,” you said sweetly, your voice full of affection. You bent down and peppered Sophie’s cheeks with soft, gentle kisses, making her squeal with laughter, the sound pure and full of life.

“And me?” Lando asked with a playful pout, his voice teasing but warm.

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek, pulling him toward you for a soft kiss. Sophie giggled even louder, watching the two of you with innocent joy.

“Okay, okay,” Lando said with a laugh, breaking away from the kiss and ruffling Sophie’s curls. “You win, birdie.”

After a few moments of laughter and unpacking, Sophie seemed content. She scampered off to the living room, her little feet thudding on the floor as she went, bunny still tucked in her arms, her toys calling her name. Her soft giggles echoed from the hallway as she disappeared from sight.

Lando lingered in the kitchen, standing still for a moment with a thoughtful expression, glancing over at the doorway where Sophie had vanished. His fingers brushed the edge of the counter, his thoughts clearly still wrapped up in the day. Then, after a quiet pause, he turned to look at you.

“She, uh…” Lando started, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of vulnerability, as if unsure how to express something important. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to collect his thoughts. “At the store… someone asked if she was out with her dad.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly in quiet surprise. You turned toward him, watching him with soft curiosity, knowing there was more to the story. “Oh?”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight and looking down for a moment, his hand running through his hair as if still processing the conversation. “I didn’t know what to say. And then she just—” His voice broke into a soft, almost disbelieving smile, and he shook his head slightly, as if still in awe of what had happened. “She just looked up and said, ‘Yeah, he’s kinda like my daddy. We do everything together.’”

Your heart clenched in the sweetest way, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. You stepped closer to him, slipping your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“She’s not wrong,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and truth. “She’s right. In every way that matters.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. His fingers laced with yours as he leaned into your touch, his forehead gently resting against yours for a brief moment. “I love her so much,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper, but it held so much weight, so much truth. “I know she’s not mine but… she feels like mine. I don’t know how to explain it, but she just… feels like mine.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pressed your lips together, knowing exactly how he felt. You cupped his cheek with your free hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

“She is yours,” you whispered, your voice a steady comfort. “In every way that matters, she’s yours.”

Lando smiled softly, resting his forehead against yours for another brief moment, savoring the connection between you. He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled away, his eyes set with a determined gleam.

“I wanna tell her that,” he murmured, his voice low but resolute. “I just… want her to know. In case she ever wonders.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She’d love that. She’d be so happy to hear you say it.”

With one last gentle kiss to your lips, Lando pulled away and made his way toward the living room, where Sophie was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stacking blocks while bunny sat next to her like a little guardian.

“Hey, bug,” Lando said softly as he sat down beside Sophie, stretching his legs out comfortably. He glanced over at her, admiring the concentration on her face as she carefully stacked the blocks one by one.

Sophie looked up, her face lighting up immediately. “Hi!” she chirped, her eyes sparkling with the innocent joy only a child could have.

“Whatcha building?” Lando asked, his voice gentle, watching her tiny hands work diligently, the small pieces of the block tower taking shape in front of her.

“A tower. For bunny,” she said with a proud grin, motioning to the small stuffed bunny she had tucked safely beside her, sitting as if it were the most important guest in the room.

“Very cool,” Lando replied with a smile of his own, his heart swelling at the sweetness of the moment. He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her as she worked. The quietness between them felt comfortable, peaceful. But there was something on his mind, something he knew he needed to say, even though it made his chest tighten a bit.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, the nerves creeping in. “Hey, uh… can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual.

Sophie blinked up at him, her face a perfect picture of curiosity, and then tilted her head to the side, as if trying to decipher whether this was a serious moment or just another silly conversation. “Okay,” she said with a small nod, her big eyes watching him carefully.

Lando took a deep breath and then reached over, gently brushing some curls away from her face. His fingers were soft as they ran through her hair, a gesture that felt almost instinctive, like this was a moment he didn’t want to rush. He let the quiet stretch between them, gathering his words.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, “I know I’m not your… well, I’m not your real daddy.” He swallowed hard, as if the words themselves were harder to say than he anticipated. “But you know what?”

Sophie’s small face became serious for a moment as she listened intently, her eyes not leaving his. Her little fingers paused their work as she waited for him to finish.

Lando smiled faintly, his chest tightening with a mix of emotion. “I love you like you’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking a bit with the truth of it. “And I always will. I’ll always be here for you. Even if I didn’t get to be there when you were a tiny baby, I’ll be here for everything else. Okay?”

For a brief moment, Sophie’s lip wobbled slightly, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. Lando’s heart clenched at the sight, but before he could say anything more, she beamed, her expression shifting in an instant. Without any hesitation, she launched herself straight into his lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“I know, Lando,” she whispered into his shoulder, her voice full of sweetness and trust. “You’re my Lando.”

Lando let out a soft, shaky laugh, feeling the flood of emotions overwhelm him. He hugged her tight, pulling her close, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the top of her head, the soft strands of her hair tickling his lips. “Yeah, bug. I’m yours,” he murmured, the words feeling more true than anything he had ever said.

Sophie nestled against him, content and at peace in his arms. Lando stroked her curls, trying to steady his breath, feeling her tiny heartbeat against his chest. There was so much love in that simple gesture, in her complete certainty that he belonged to her, that he was a part of her life in a way that felt both simple and profound.

After a few moments, Sophie pulled back just enough to look at him, her bright eyes still filled with the kind of wonder only a child could possess. She gave him a wide grin, her cheeks still flushed from the affection they’d just shared.

“Can we teach the baby to make towers too?” she asked eagerly, her voice full of excitement at the idea of a new adventure — one that would involve teaching the little sibling who was still growing inside your belly how to build things just like her.

Lando smiled, his heart feeling fuller than it ever had, a lump forming in his throat. He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Yeah, we’ll teach them everything,” he said, his voice quiet but full of promise. He could already imagine them all together — Sophie, the baby, you and him — building towers, teaching, laughing, and sharing moments just like this.

Sophie didn’t wait for a response but instead leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her lips soft and sweet against his skin. Then, without another word, she hopped off his lap, grabbing bunny with one hand and skipping back to her tower as if everything was exactly as it should be. She resumed stacking the blocks, her tiny fingers moving with determination and focus, like she hadn’t just shared something truly profound. As if nothing had been heavy in the first place.

Lando sat there for a moment, watching her, a smile tugging at his lips. His heart felt full in a way he never knew it could be. He didn’t have the words for it, but he felt it all — the joy, the love, the hope. His life had been turned upside down in the best way possible, and it was because of moments like these, with Sophie, with you, with everything that was growing between them all.

When he turned to look toward the doorway, he saw you standing there, watching him with a soft smile on your face. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, but your expression was one of pure love, a smile that said everything he needed to hear without a single word.

This was his family.

And there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

[itneverendshere]

can we see rafe with a pouge reader and they are dating. they go out to go grocery shopping and rafe sees that she has a calculator out and watches as she picks up an item then types it in the calculator and then puts it back and chooses a cheaper option and he has to tell her that she doesn’t need to do that

birds of a feather - rafe cameron

word count: 2.9k belongs to this universe

The grocery store is quiet for a saturday afternoon, a rarity that makes the experience almost peaceful. Fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead as Rafe pushes a cart lazily with one hand, his other hand draped comfortably around his girl, you. 

He catches your eye and smiles, relishing the way you always lean into him, your bodies fitting together perfectly. Dating you was like finding the missing piece of himself—something he always knew he needed but never thought he’d find, let alone on the other side of the island.

Rafe grabs a box of cereal, tossing it into the cart without a second thought. “You good on milk, babe?” he asks, scanning the shelves for anything else that might catch his eye.

You nodded absentmindedly, focusing elsewhere. He notices that you are holding your phone in one hand and have a small calculator app open. His brow furrows as he watches you pick up a box of pasta, glance at the price, and then quickly type something into the calculator. After a moment of calculation, you place the box back on the shelf and reach for a cheaper brand.

Rafe's heart clenches. He hadn’t really thought about the differences between you in this way before. He knows you don't have the same privileges he does—didn’t grow up in a life of luxury as he had—but it’s moments like this that make him feel like a fucking entitled douche. 

He watches you do it again, this time with a jar of tomato sauce. You compare the prices, calculate the difference, and opt for the less expensive one.

“Hey,” Rafe stops you as you reach for another item. “What’re you doing?”

You blink, as if coming out of a trance, and look up at him with almost embarrassed smile. “Just trying to make sure I stay within the budget. Groceries can add up, y’know?”

He can’t stand the idea of you worrying about something as basic as food. Sure, he understands budgeting—everyone has to do it to some extent—but this? This was different. This was a mindset.

He gently takes the phone from your hand and slips it into his back pocket, keeping your hand in his. “You don’t need to do that. I’ve got you, okay?”

“Rafe, I—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, “You don’t have to worry about the prices. Just get what you want. We’re fine.”

You are grateful—God, you were always grateful—but there’s something else, something that has kept you up at night.

You hate relying on him. Not because you don’t trust him or appreciate everything he does for you, but because it reminds you of the whispers you’ve been hearing ever since you started dating. 

You can almost hear the voices now, like a nagging reminder in the back of your mind. “Gold digger,” they’d hiss. “Dirty Pogue. Look at her, clinging to him for the money. She’s got him wrapped around her finger, totally pussy-whipped.”

The rumors had messed with your head the first time you’d heard them, and even now, they still hurt, despite knowing they weren’t true. But the worst part is that a small, insecure part of you hates there might be some truth to what they said. You didn’t want Rafe to feel like he had to take care of you, or that you were using him for his money. You love him too much to ever want him to think that.

You glance at him, watching as he casually tosses another item into the cart without checking the price, without even a second thought. He’s so at ease, so unbothered by the things that you had worried about during your entire lifetime. You can’t help but feel guilty, like you’re dragging him down, making him take on responsibilities that should be yours alone. 

A you walk down another aisle, you keep your eyes on the floor, as you force the words out. “I know you’re just trying to help, and I really appreciate it, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”

Rafe stops in his tracks, turning to face you fully. His brows knit together in concern like he genuinely can't grasp what you just said.

“I don’t feel like that,” he says,“I want to take care of you because I love you. It’s not about feeling like I have to—it’s because I want to.”

“But I hear what people say, Rafe—”

“They don’t know shit,” he scoffs, hand wrapping tightly around the cart, “They don’t know. Anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping as you lean into him, “It’s not that simple, baby. But I appreciate the thought.”

His other hand tilts your chin up so you’re looking directly at him, “It is that simple. I love you. You love me. That’s it.”

You know he means it, that he’s not just saying it to please you, but it doesn’t make the worries disappear. You nod, giving him a small smile, but he knows your brain is working double shifts, imagining all kinds of scenarios.

He sighs, knowing this conversation is far from over, and presses a gentle peck against your temple, all while murmuring, “Let’s finish up here and get out of this place.”

You agree, and the two of you continue down the aisle. Your hands are itching to take your phone out of his back pocket, and your brain scrambling to do simple math. You hate it. You automatically reach for the off-brand items, skip over the more expensive snacks, and choose the smaller sizes of products to stretch your budget. Rafe is abnormally quiet and you know it’s taking every will power in his body not to pick you up and lock you in his truck while he finishes shopping for you. 

He pauses in front of the snacks aisle, his eyes catching on your favorite candy. It’s something he knows you love but rarely allow yourself to buy. Without hesitation, he grabs a couple of bags and tosses them into the cart.

“Rafe, those are expensive—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a playful grin.

“They’re my favorite too.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the way he looks at you, with so much affection, makes the words die on your lips. Instead, you shake your head huffing as he wraps his arm around your shoulders dragging you along, “You’re so annoying.”

“Don’t be mean, baby.”

You squeeze his waist in retaliation. 

When you finally reach the checkout line, he watches as you nervously glance at the total on the screen. It’s a small thing, for him, but it’s enough to make him realize just how much it affects you. Without saying a word, he hands over his card to the cashier, ignoring the way you try to protest.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know,” he says firmly, “But I want to.”

You bite your lip, nodding reluctantly as he pays for the groceries. It’s a small gesture, but it means the world to him. He wants to take care of you, to make sure you never have to worry about something as basic as food ever again. He wants to give you the life you deserve, the one you never experienced on The Cut.

He opens the trunk of his car, starting to load the groceries while you stand there, too quiet. He hates not hearing the sound of your voice. 

“Hey,” he closes the trunk and turning to face you. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He steps closer, his hand finding a home in your neck, thumb caressing your pulsing point, “Forget about them okay?”

You sigh, forehead touching his chin, “I’m trying. I just don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”

“You’re not a burden,” he says firmly, fingers pulling your head up, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that, no matter how often it happens, still takes your breath away. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Now get that fine ass inside the car.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way he says it, so casually and with so much conviction that it leaves no room for you to second guess his thoughts. His confidence, his overwhelming trust in everything that he says, is one of the things you love most about him. He’s always been like that—bold, sure of himself, and unafraid to go after what he wants. And right now, what he wants is you. 

“Why?” You tease, rolling your eyes but smiling as you let him guide you toward the car “You gonna make me if I don’t?”

You wish you could photograph the grin on his face, the way his beautiful eyes seem to drink you in like he’ll die if he doesn’t look at you all the time. 

“Oh, you know I will,” he says as he steps closer, his hand slipping down to give your ass a firm but playful slap. The sound echoes through the quiet parking lot, and you gasp, more from surprise than anything else.

“Rafe!” you scold, though your laughter makes it known there’s no real annoyance. The smirk on his face only grows, clearly pleased with himself.

“Consider that a warning,” he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’d hate to have to follow through.”

You try to hold back a grin, biting your lip as you tilt your head to look up at him. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” His tone is a challenge.

For a moment, you consider pushing more just to see what he’d do, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s ready to scoop you up and take you back to his bed right then and there—makes you rethink it. Instead, you play along, giving him a coy smile as you turn and head for the door.

“That’s what I thought,” he calls after you, his deep voice filled with a smug satisfaction that makes you roll your eyes again. Before you can reach for the door handle, he gently pulls it open for you. You slide into the passenger seat, and before you touch the seatbelt, Rafe is leaning in, his hands brushing over yours as he clicks the belt into place.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, as he pulls back slightly. It’s something so simple, yet so endearing he has insisted on doing ever since the two of you started dating.

You smile up at him, practically oozing in your love for him as your hand reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Thank you."

His gaze softens as he leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips, “Anything for you,” he whispers, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek before he finally steps back and closes the door.

As he rounds the front of the car to get in on his side, you can’t help but watch him. It still blows your mind that this is real. The way he looks at you, the way he takes care of you without making you feel small—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You’re still not used to someone loving you like this, so openly. You never imagined Rafe Cameron would be that someone. 

He starts the engine, the low hum filling the silence between you. The radio automatically tunes to a soft indie station, one of your favorites, and Rafe reaches over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“I’m cooking tonight.”

You turn to him, even though you know his attention is on the road, “Really?”

Rafe’s thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on the back of your hand, “Hmmm.”

“So you can burn down the kitchen again?”

“Baby, that was one time.”

You snort, the image of Rafe with a fire extinguisher still fresh in your memory, “What’s on the menu?”

He grins, “I was thinking we could make that pasta you like, with the garlic bread.”

Your heart swells a little at the thoughtfulness behind his choice. He remembers all the little things—your favorite foods, the way you like your coffee, the songs that make you smile.

“Are you trying to get laid?”

He laughs, loud and boisterous as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, “So you don’t want desert?”

You hit his shoulder gently, all too aware you’re still in a moving vehicle, “Don’t be nasty.”

His touch moves to your thighs, squeezing gently, "Can't help it when I'm around you."

The smile tugging at your lips is impossible to hide. There's something so easy about being with Rafe, despite everything. Despite the whispers, the looks, the insecurities that sometimes creep in—he has a way of making you feel like none of it matters. 

The city lights begin to twinkle on the horizon, the sun dipping low in the sky. It's peaceful, the kind of quiet that lets you sink into yourself. The idea of a cozy night in, just the two of you cooking dinner together, fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the summer heat outside.

Rafe glances over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Penny for your thoughts?"

You shake your head, the smile widening on your face. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

He quirks an eyebrow, "I think I'm the lucky one."

"Yeah, but you're also really annoying," you tease, earning a chuckle from him.

"Annoying but irresistible," he counters smoothly, pulling into the driveway of his house 

He parks the car and quickly rounds the front to open your door, always the gentleman. As you step out, you look up at him, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost overwhelms you. It's not just the grand gestures or the way he spoils you—it's the little things, the way he makes you feel cherished, the way he sees you for who you are and loves you anyway.

"Ready for our gourmet meal?" he asks as he takes your hand, leading you towards the front door.

You laugh, leaning into him as you walk. "If by gourmet you mean slightly burnt, then yes."

He chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "With you, it's always perfect."

Before you can walk through the front door, he stops all too suddenly, dragging you against him. You’re confused for a second, looking up to see him ogle you.

“What?” You stutter out, “Something’s wrong?”

Rafe shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips as he looks down at you with that same adoring expression that never fails to make your heart  stop. "No, nothing’s wrong.”

You blink up at him, still confused, “Rafe...”

 “I know you worry sometimes. About what people say, about what they think. But I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I only care about you, about us.” His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb moving gently along your cheekbone. “I love you, y’know that? Right? Aways.”

Your breath hitches at the sudden emotion in his voice. It’s random moments like this that remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place—beneath the confident, cocky exterior, Rafe Cameron has a heart that beats fiercely for the people he cares about, especially for you. 

“I love you,” you whisper, feeling the words settle between you like a vow.

“I love you more,” he replies, his voice full of conviction. Then, with a small grin, he adds, “And I’m gonna marry you someday. We’re gonna have our own place, our own life. Just you and me.”

It’s not the first time you’ve talked about the future, but hearing him say it so plainly, so confidently, sends a warmth spreading through your whole body.

“Is that a proposal, Cameron?” you tease, though your voice wavers just a little, eyes burning as you pathetically attempt not to cry.

“Not yet,” he smirks, leaning down to press a peck to the corner of your lips, “But when I do, you’ll know. It’s gonna be perfect. Just like you.”

You pull back slightly, resting your forehead against his as you take a deep breath, trying to calm the stupid fluttering in your chest. “You mean it?”

“More than anything,” he replies without hesitation. “I want to build a life with you, baby. The kind of life where you never have to worry about anything, where you can just be happy.”

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, but they’re the good kind, the kind that comes from being overwhelmed with love. So different from the ones you’d experienced as a kid, growing up. You nod, not sure how to explain how you’re feeling inside, so instead, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your lips show what your voice can’t.

You kiss each other like you have all the time in the world, which you have, savoring the way your lips fit perfectly against his. There’s no rush, no urgency—just you two. 

When you pull apart, both of you slightly breathless, Rafe gives you a lopsided grin, his lips just barely grazing yours as he speaks, “So, how about we start with dinner?”

[gillipop-plus]

edit: i meant bug lollipops im sorry T^T

[writingsbychlo]

DECK THE HALLS | DRACO MALFOY

SUMMARY: Narcissa has big plans for her son's girlfriend this time of year, and you're determined to live up to her expectations. WORD COUNT: 7680 NOTES: The first fic of this year's Christmas series, and I think you guys will really love it! It's cute, it's sweet, and it's just the right amount of sassy-Draco.

The moment you sank into the seat beside him, Draco pushed a cup of your favourite herbal tea across to you, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered a sleepy greeting. Opposite you, Mattheo was half-asleep above his bowl of cereal, his head tipping forward precariously — and a slight thrill shot through you at the idea of him dropping face-first into the milky bowl. 

“You’re evil for choosing a six am lecture, do you know that? And they think Matt’s father is the darkest wizard there is.” Daphne groaned as she shuffled into the kitchenette of your small, shared flat in her bunny-eared muggle slippers. Chancing a glance at Draco, you didn’t miss the disgraced twist to his lips as he eyed them. Just like always. 

“Nobody forced you to get up at this time, y’know.” You teased, blowing the steam away from your mug, and Mattheo’s head lulled forward just far enough to fall when the toast popped. He jerked his head back up, only inches from getting a face-full of milk and rice crispies, and you pouted in disappointment as he blinked himself back awake, and scooped some more into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “Why do you get up at this time every day?”

“Because Dray makes us all breakfast if we do!” Daphne chirped, adjusting far better to the early rise than your other roommate, who would be cranky until noon, even without face-planting his crackling snack. 

“Correction, I make my girlfriend breakfast, and you two just pilfer food that isn’t yours.” He snarked, buttering the toast, and kissing the top of your head a moment later as he placed it down in front of you. Moments later, a teapot, jam, a plate of only slightly too-crispy bacon and hashbrowns floated over too, laying themselves out on the table along with plates and cutlery. 

Since his insistence on moving into his own accommodation at the start of university, Draco had been practising his cooking skills. After setting off the fire alarms every day for the first two weeks and screaming every insult under the sun at the beeping box on the ceiling, he’d started to become quite adept at it. 

A harmony settled across the table as you all tucked into your food, only the scrape of butter on toast and the occasional squeak of metal on pottery sounded, the tea in your mug sinking dwindling as the clock on the wall ticked on. Finally, when it was time to leave, you floated all the dishes to the sink, and let Draco trail you to the door of your cramped apartment. Wrapping a thick scarf around your neck, he used it to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your lips when you grumbled;

“I have to go, Dray.”

“I know.” He mused, licking across your lower lip in that same way that always made your legs tremble a little. 

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your boyfriend teased, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you in close. Your hand, that had been reaching for your coat, somehow found itself tangling into those soft blonde strands instead. 

“I’m going to be late.” Your murmur was swallowed by his mouth closing over your own, a wider kiss, covering your mouth and you sagged into him. He was practically radiating smugness, the squeeze of his arms around you, the arrogance in his breathy chuckle. “Dray…”

“Mmmh?”

“I—”

A tapping at the window cut you off, and Draco pulled back with an indignant sound, whipping his head around to look at the window. He sighed with agitation, “Do you think my mother simply does not care that our apartment building is Muggle, or does she still think Muggles use carrier pigeons?” 

You smothered a laugh as he made his way over to the window, taking a little more effort to open it as ice frosted the seals closed, but when he finally did, the tawny brown owl acknowledged him with a rather irritated hoot. The moment Draco had taken the letter, it was stretching its wings, flapping again and taking off into the murky dawn light. 

Tugging on your coat as he closed the window back up and shuddered, you shouldered your bag. Upon seeing your progress towards leaving, and another morning of failing to hinder your departure, Draco pouted. His attention turned to the letter in his hands as you opened the front door. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“My mother, she sent the letter to you. Do you want me to leave it on your—”

“Give it here!” You squeaked, lunging for the letter, and letting the door fall back shut as you snatched it from his hands. Just like he said, elegantly scrawled across the front in Narcissa’s handwriting was your name, and a flush of nervous heat flooded your body. Suddenly, despite the ice and snow outside, you were wearing too many layers. 

“I thought you had to leave?”

“It’s a letter from your mother! I can’t leave this until later!” Turning it over and running a shaky finger under the seal with the Malfoy signet, you popped it open, the envelope falling open into a folded parchment with the same lovely handwriting contained inside.

Scanning your eyes over the words, seconds seemed to drag on into endless minutes, as you read it again and again. At last, you clutched the letter to your chest, peering up at your confused boyfriend with wide eyes. “So, what did she say?”

“She wants me to plan the annual Christmas Eve party this year.”

Your breathing was light and shallow as you sat inside the restaurant, smoothing down floo-rumpled hair that had taken Daphne almost an hour to style for you. Your dress was new, courtesy of a panicky shopping trip with Draco after insisting you had nothing appropriate to wear to eat dinner with his mother. Your lipstick was the perfect shade and you’d made sure your perfume was just on the right side of decorous, not the sultry date night scent you typically wore to places like this. 

And still, despite all your preparations, your hand trembled as you picked up your water glass and brought it to your lips. 

And then, the green flames at the front of the restaurant flashed once again, and out stepped Narcissa Malfoy. Sophistication incarnate, she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, one that made your own feel like a burlap sack. Several members of staff flooded to her side before she’d even finished stepping down from the line of fireplaces, and she smiled politely as she handed over her coat. Inquisitive gaze flicking over the room, that smile became genuine as she set her sights on you sitting at the table already, and she walked through the room like she owned it as she made her way to you. 

Standing as she approached, she let out a regal scoff —how she managed to make a scoff sound so posh was beyond you— and waved a hand in the air. “No need for formalities, dear. Sit, please.”

She kissed both of your cheeks, before pointing to your chair, and you sank into it as she settled into hers. “It’s so lovely to see you, Narcissa. I was surprised you wanted to see me, alone. Draco is—”

“Draco is probably pacing in that little apartment you both live in that he insists upon. Why he forces you to live there when he could have much nicer accommodations is beyond me.”

“It’s a nice apartment. We bought some lovely throw blankets.” Hiding your smile in your glass, your laugh at her expression bubbled your water, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you lowered it and patted at your lip. “I’m so sorry.”

The woman before you only chuckled privately and raised her hand to a waiter. The young man hurried over, cracking open a bottle of white wine without even having to be told, and Narcissa smiled at your confusion. “I have the same wine every time I come, this quaint little place is a favourite of mine. Did you know Lucius attended this same university when he was your age?”

You tried not to hang on the word quaint, thanking the waiter as he poured you a glass too, before hurrying from the table once again. Instead, you moved on to something else, “Which university did you attend, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t attend university, dear. In my day, a woman was never supposed to be more intelligent than her husband. Educated, of course, but not too smart.” A fond look passed over her features, “Though, Lucius has never seemed to mind. I have read enough to possess multiple degrees by now, he is not intimidated by my curiosity for knowledge. It is one of the reasons I love my husband. But, enough about me.”

Your breathing hitched as her eyes sharpened on you once again. She toyed with the bracelet on her wrist and plucked off a small charm. Placing it on the table, with a single muttered incantation, a gorgeous, pure-leather briefcase with her initials embedded on the side in gold, filled the available space. The clasps popped open, and she peered at you over the lid. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we, dear? We have much to discuss. You know what you’d like to eat, I presume?”

You did not, in fact, know what you wanted, but you nodded regardless, and picked the first thing from the menu that came to mind. When your order was given, Narcissa placed a delicate pair of reading glasses onto her nose and began to pull out papers and folders to stack beside her wine glass. 

“You shall host the Christmas Eve party this year, but despite it being loosely called a ‘party’, it is so much more. It is a social event, a business event, and one of the most desired gatherings of the year. It is exclusive, thousands of wizards globally vie for a spot on this guest list and most are disappointed year in and year out. It must be spectacular, splendid, and unique. Repeated themes are the death of any social event, as I’m sure you know.” Peering over the rim of her glasses at you, she raised a manicured eyebrow inquisitorially. “Are you taking notes?”

With a jump, you reached for your far less elegantly-stored bag on the back of your chair, and rooted through for your notebook and QuickQuill, setting it to work atop the table as she continued to speak. 

“I have brought my records for the last ten years, and a list of the themes dating back the last thirty, in order to help you. I have also included a copy of any and all documents I typically use, to help you out a little. Nobody helped me when I first began. Merlin, Lucius’ mother hated me until the wonderful day the old hag died, she wanted to see me fail. I do not want to see you fail.” She looked up as the scribbling of the quill on your paper stopped at her small rant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I, uhh, I—” You stumbled over your words, clearing your throat as she closed the briefcase and linked her hands, setting them upon the tabletop with poise as she waited, “I’m just wondering why?”

“Why?” She sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose and raising one brow into a high arch. “Why what?”

“Why you’re giving this to me? It’s an honour, truly, but I’m just wondering why you would put something so important, your family’s name, into my hands?”

At that, Narcissa’s lips turned up into a fond smile, and her head tipped to the side. “My son loves you.”

After a moment’s pause, you nodded, throat feeling thick. “He does.”

“I am happy for him. He adores you, as he should. You are a wonderful girl, my dear. I do not want you to have the harsh break into this world that I did. I thought I had been prepared to become a wife, I was an heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, but a union between the most noble House of Black and the most powerful House of Malfoy created something else entirely. You, you are clearly Draco’s one. The men in this family love wholly, powerfully, and obsessively. You will be a Malfoy one day, and I wish for you to be ready. I wish to guide you in a way nobody guided me.”

Words froze in your throat, and tears prickled behind your eyes are her words. “You really think that? You think Draco will marry me one day?”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t already thinking about it. He is, at the end of the day, still a high-society boy raised to find a suitable wife.” She left her statement short and succinct, and you sniffed lightly to hold back your feelings. “Do not cry.”

“Sorry, I—”

“I mean it. Do not start crying. We have work to do.” 

You nodded, but then she smiled fondly, and a small and emotional squeak escaped you.

The number of notes Narcissa had given you at dinner alone had required their own folder entirely to properly organise. So this morning, you’d braved yourself on a journey out in the ice and snow to a local stationary store to pick up two more. Surrounded by open folders, QuickQuills, and some coloured tabs and inky pens deemed highlighters that you’d noticed some Muggle girls picking up, you had set to work hours ago. 

Your neck ached, your back was sore, and two of your QuickQuills had broken while the notepad in your lap had more pages torn out in frustration than actually had useful ideas and notes. 

That, and Draco had been needy since the moment he’d gotten home, laying himself out dramatically on the floor in front of you and trading refills on your tea for kisses. Some time ago, he’d convinced you to take a break for dinner and to do your homework together at the table. 

Now, the sun had set, Mattheo had long since returned from his part-time job at the record store, and Daphne had come back from her weekend study group, gotten ready, and gone back out for a date, and you still felt like you hadn't quite done enough. If the stress of party planning didn’t kill you, it was certainly going to cripple you. 

Stretching your arms over your head from where you perched before the coffee table, you pushed your legs out into any space available. As you did, a relieved groan slipped free at the delicious pain of tight muscles unfurling in your back. Draco cupped your chin, tipping your head back to drop a kiss onto your lips as he passed by to go to the kitchen, leaving his book marked and closed on the side of the couch. 

You listened to him make another cup of tea, rubbing blurry eyes and attempting to focus once again. Just before you could re-enter the zone, tapping on glass broke your focus, and you heard Draco sigh. Cracking open a window, he retrieved whatever had been sent, feeding the bird a few treats before sending it on its way again and closing out the cold chill of the December night. 

He appeared moments later, his black and white Christmas-themed socks filling your peripherals. 

“Another letter for you, from my mother.” Draco drawled, passing the envelope to you as you glanced up from your folders. He waved it before your face, and you snatched it with a scowl, adding in a glare for emphasis when he only laughed. “You know, she writes to you more than she writes to me these days.”

“Yes, well, we complain to one another about the terrors of you Malfoy men and how we’re supposed to put up with you.” Your words were muttered amid distraction, skimming your gaze over the letter in your hands and frowning. “Word has already gotten out about this party, and now the Prophet wants to run an article on it.”

Your voice climbed higher and higher as you spoke, until your boyfriend winced at the shrill tone you had taken on. “I wouldn't worry too much about that.”

“Wouldn’t worry— it’s the party, Draco! And now the media wants a piece! If it’s a failure, the entire Wizarding World is going to know about it by eight the following morning!”

“More like six, if they hurry it though printing—”

“Draco!”

He rolled his eyes, flopping ungracefully down onto the couch and stretching his body long out on it. Holding his arms open, you collapsed into them with a whine, and he kissed your forehead as he wrapped you into a tight embrace. With the letter crumpled between you both, you pressed your face into his neck, taking in a deep breath of his cologne and letting it calm you slightly. 

“You’ll still love me even if I throw the worst party ever, right?”

“Yes, I’ll still love you!” He spoke through peels of sudden laughter, and the shake of his chest underneath you brought a smile to your face. Propping yourself up to peer down at him, he puckered his lips, a request for a kiss that you eagerly indulged. “And I meant it. This isn’t personal to you, this is just Skeeter trying to push a new weak point. I don’t even think she knows you’re the host yet, she does this every year. She tries to wrangle her way into an invitation through her job, and every year, my mother sneers at her letters and burns them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my love.” Rubbing his hands up and down your back, Draco leaned up to press another loving, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Now, can you please put those folders away for the night? We haven’t set up our Christmas tree yet, and you haven’t given me proper cuddles all day.”

“Just five more minutes?” You bargained, and his lips tightened with annoyance for a fraction of a second. 

“Only as long as it takes me to make two hot chocolates.”

“Deal.”

“Hi, baby.” You whispered, leaning against the doorframe. Draco peered up at you from over the top of his reading glasses, folding his book silently and placing it down on the bedside table. He laced his fingers together, resting his hands across his stomach, and waited. “Whatcha’ reading?” 

“A thousand and one ways to ruin your girlfriend’s Christmas party.” He deadpanned, and your smile fell, arms crossing over your chest. Straightening up and stepping into the room a little more, Draco smirked at the glare you gave him. 

“If you would just help me out a little—”

“You’ve yet to apologise for what you said earlier.” He crosses his ankles casually, lounging on the bed. 

“Yes, well, earlier was—”

“That’s not how apologies start.” Draco chastised, clicking his tongue. With a strangled sigh, and a slightly childish stomp of your foot, you caved. Ignoring the urge to ask him what he knew about good apologies, you instead made your way closer to the side of the bed. As you approached, he reached out, wrapping his arm around the backs of your legs and looking up at you, waiting. 

“I’m sorry for shouting at you and calling you a bad boyfriend when you messed with my sticky notes. It really wasn’t that deep.” Your words were begrudging, certainly holding an underlying bitterness to them that wasn’t hidden, but Draco grinned nonetheless. “I’m just really stressed out.”

“You’re putting too much thought into this, darling. You need to relax. It’s just a party.”

“It’s not just a party! Do you realise that these people will—” Will be our wedding guests one day? Will be the people who pass judgment on my suitability to be your wife someday? Will remember this social event for the rest of their lives? It all sounded too shallow to say out loud, but somehow, it still meant something to you. “Will be so disappointed if it’s not good.”

Your boyfriend’s brows furrowed, he knew there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t push. Instead, he wrapped his arms more securely around you, tugging you down onto the bed, and you squealed as he rolled you over, your back in the blankets and his lips closing over your own in a slow kiss. 

Your fingers laced into his hair, nails dragging over his scalp and he hummed happily, lips pressing more insistently into your own. Every tug and drag, every beat of his heart onto his chest pressed to yours, helped to settle the raging nerves that were sending tremors through your body. 

“I know you don’t think it, love, but it’s going to be fantastic. You needn’t be so worried.”

Smoothing your hands along his cheeks, you unhooked his glasses, folding them away with a sweet kiss to his nose. Putting them down on top of his forgotten book, you decided to try your luck one more time. “Does this mean you’ll help me? Because I could really use a second opinion on—”

“Nuh-uh. My mother entrusted you with this job. And I know why.” 

At your gasp, he smirked. “You do?”

“Of course, I do. This party is a tradition for generations of Malfoy women, so if you’re going to be a Malfoy woman, you’d better learn now.” At your scoff, he pressed a kiss to your lips, chuckling when you puckered and attempted to steal more. 

“If you don’t help me, then you’d better find a new future woman.”

“Shan’t. Can’t. I’ve already chosen you, and the men never party plan. We’re terrible at it. Just ask my mother about when my father suggested a Weasley-orange banner for—”

“Alright, alright!” Your arms flung around his neck, pulling him in for more kisses, and leaving the conversation behind. For a little while, you were perfectly willing to let Draco help you forget your stresses. 

“My darling, what are you doing?” Draco’s groggy voice split the silence of the room, and you blinked as you refocused on him. Pyjamas pants low on his hips and no shirt, a spattering of pale hair trailing down his lower stomach and disappearing into his waistband… Some absent part of your exhausted brain sparked with excitement at the sight of him. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“What? No, it’s not. I said I’d come to bed at—”

“At midnight?” Draco yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing at the clock with the other. True to his word, it was actually past two, and a sigh slipped out. 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm.” Draco shuffled across the room, standing behind you and running his fingers through your hair. “This is what we’re doing now? We’re staying up all night?”

“No, no. I’ll pack away and come to bed now.” Stacking up your papers, you turned to look up at him with a smile. “I did it.”

“You did it?”

“Yes. I have officially finished the whole of my planning stage. Now, I just have to… y’know, actually put everything together and pull it off and hope it’s a success and—” His brows raised, and you took a deep breath, remembering all the steadying words he’d muttered to you over the last few weeks. “I’ll just put all this away, and come to bed, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.” Draco promised, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

He padded away silently through the room, and as you scooped up a pile of papers, they slipped out of your sleep-trembling hands, spilling across the floor. “Oh, crap.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He grumbled, returning across the room and leaning down, smacking the papers out of your hands where you attempted to clear them up. Dipping down, he hooked an arm underneath your legs, lifting you swiftly up into the air and cradling you to his chest. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Sleep, now.”

An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but he was right, and the moment your cheek touched his shoulder and your eyes slipped closed, you knew it too. You were half asleep before he’d even reached the bedroom, dropping you both onto the mattress, still warm from his body, and cradling you to his chest. A sweet kiss and a deep rumble in your ear were the last things you recalled, before curling into his chest and falling asleep. 

Shaking out your hand, you whimpered a little at the pain taking over. “I’m going to end up with my hand locking in this shape.” 

Daphne glared at you from across the table, clearly still unhappy about the fact that two hours ago you’d managed to rope her into helping you with this job as well. Your eyes were blurring, your hand was cramping, and you were still only halfway through writing out the invitations. You’d put Daphne on folder organisation, her voice was hoarse from reading out addresses, and creating a filing system for RSVP’s and replies for your records. 

If you had to hear any more dietary requirements, special requests, or seating demands, you were going to lose your mind. Only a few more envelopes had been completed, joining the pile of ones still waiting to be sealed with wax and sent on their way, before a shooting pain shot up your arm as cramps set in. 

Dropping the quill in your hand and messing up the letter before you, you cursed at the smeared ink. Rubbing your palm and digging your thumb into the tense muscles, you conceded that now was most definitely the time to take a break. 

Swaggering into the room, Mattheo peered over at the mess that had become the shared kitchen table, his brows shooting up his forehead. “You two look busy.”

“I’m being held against my will,” Daphne muttered, tucking away the pages into the folder and beginning to pack away, despite your protests. 

“You want some help?” Mattheo offered, and your gaze snapped to him.

“Oh, Matty, that’s so sweet…” Your lips pressed together, wincing a little bit as he eyed all of the stationary and neatly-arranged piles on the table. “It’s just…”

“Your handwriting is shocking and your organisational skills are even worse.” Daphne put bluntly, and you hid a laugh at the sulky expression on his face, even if he knew it was true. “Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“Well, yes.” He spun to give you both his back as his cheeks flushed pink, opening and closing random drawers in an attempt to look busy. 

You gave an excited squeal as Daphne smirked at his bashfulness. “Is it with—”

“Yes!” He huffed, the tips of his ears now turning red too.

“You really like this girl, huh? You never see the same girl twice, and this is, what, your fourth date?” Your teasing made him relent, and he at last turned around. He was picking nervously at the sweater he must’ve bought just for this occasion, as you’d never seen it before. 

“Fifth, actually. We, uhh, bumped into each other last week after class and went for some impromptu coffee, and…” He scratched the back of his neck, a sweet smile taking over. “Do I look okay?”

“You look lovely, Mattheo.” Standing up, you fixed his collar for him, brushing off the shoulders of his sweater, and he preened into your touch. “Oh, wow, Daph. You have to come and see this. Is this… what I think it is?”

“What?” Mattheo panicked, turning his head to his shoulder as you rubbed the fabric between your fingers. Turning him around, he attempted to peer over his shoulder as you turned the inside of his collar out. “What is it?”

“It doesn’t say it on the label, but…”

“You know, I think you’re right,” Daphne said, feeling the fabric stretched across his shoulders. “No, no, it definitely is.”

“What? I don’t have time to change! My jumper is what?” Mattheo gasped anxiously.

“Boyfriend material.” You said, very seriously, and it took a moment for the fear to melt out of his eyes and be replaced by annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Mattheo pushed you both away from him, scowling as your laughter filled the room, and the pair of you made your way back over to the table. “You two are the worst.”

“You love us.”

“I don’t know why.” He mumbled, glancing at the clock, even as his cheeks stretched into a smile. “I have to go soon. But how about I make you both a snack before I do? I can at least make a good sandwich.”

“That’s… everything.” You mumble, staring in awe at the two —almost three, filled folders of notes, invitations, floor plans and more. “I can’t believe that’s it.”

“It is?” Draco asked, through a mouthful of fried rice as he fixated on the screen. Since Mattheo’s introduction of a Muggle television into the flat, Draco had been hooked on a ‘sitcom’ a half-blood in one of his classes had introduced him to. He had written to Theo three times this week alone to update him on ‘Ross and Rachel’. Theo had given up replying last week.

“Yes. Everything, it’s all done.”

“Mhm.”

“Draco!” You snapped, and he paused the show, wide eyes moving to you as he stared innocently. “I’m done.”

It took him a moment to process before his face split into a wide grin. “You finished the party planning?”

“I did!” He put down his container of food as you dove across the couch to cup his cheeks, smacking giggly kisses onto his mouth as you took him down into the cushions with you. Large hands gripped your waist, a smile on his face as he chuckled by your ear.

“So, does this mean I get my girlfriend back, at last?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You rolled your eyes through a smile, flattening yourself out against him on the couch, content to melt into his body as he pressed play on the show. He picked up a new box, hand-feeding you dumplings in turns as the episode played on, and you chuckled between jokes and comedic pauses as you finally allowed yourself to unwind. 

“Don’t you think Pansy is just like Monica?” Draco asked after a while, wincing as you screeched a laugh beside his ear at the impromptu comparison. “The need to control, that inherently irritating early-morning mentality, looking shockingly good in red—”

You pinched his side, just over his ribs, and he yelped but did not continue comparing how good other women looked in red. After a second or two of deliberation, you added, “Tom is Ross.”

“What? No. Tom is Chandler! Tom is smart and ridiculously awkward and incapable of talking to women!” Draco argued, and you sat up in his lap, shaking your head. 

“No! No. Tom is Ross, the complete obsession with one specific thing and also being a massive control freak, plus, the commitment! He was adorably committed to Carol, and Rachel, bar that whole cheating moment—”

“They were on a break—” You pressed your finger over Draco’s lips to silence him. 

“Anyway, I can totally see Tom accidentally getting someone knocked up, and also, you have to save Joey and Chandler for Theo and Matty!”

Draco mulled it over, “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

He pulled you back down onto his chest, and you snuggled in. Between the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the dulled tones of the easy-going TV show to send you off into a hazy place, with Draco’s fingers smoothing up and down your back. 

“You look perfect.” You smiled, hands clasped under your chin as you looked at Draco in his newly fitted dress robes. This was the first time he was seeing them, the look on his face unreadable as he took in the design, fit and patterns, but you thought it was just right. “Do you like it?”

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again, straightening out the sleeves and buttoning the rather modern front, tucking one hand into a pocket. At last, he turned to you and smiled. “Well, it’s nothing like what my mother normally makes me wear, but I love it. Are you finally going to tell me the theme?”

“No! You said you didn’t want to give any opinions, so now, it’s a surprise! Nobody knows, except me!” Smoothing your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you admired the pretty picture he painted before you, even in the dim light of your bedroom so late at night. “I have a couple of handkerchief options for your pocket, and I was thinking we could pin a sprig of holly onto your—”

Your words died in your throat in a sudden rush as a thought crossed your mind, and Draco waited, brow furrowing the longer you remained silent. “What’s wrong, you don’t like it?”

“I forgot a dress.” You whispered to yourself, shock draining from your body as realisation set in. “I got so caught up with everything else that I never ordered a dress! It’s next week, Draco! How am I supposed to find something by then, between classes and—”

“You’re okay.”

“No, this is so not okay!”

“Darling, breathe.” Draco cupped your face, kissing your lips quietly, “I have something for you.”

Opening up the wardrobe dedicated to his clothes, Draco pulled out a garment bag. Embroidered on the front in sparkling gold was the name of his family tailor, and he hooked it onto the front of the door. Unzipping it slowly, beautiful waves of green silk and jewels filled your vision, a sparkling corset and a flowing skirt that spilled out of the bag the moment it was open. 

“I noticed a few days ago that you’d ordered me new robes, but not a dress for yourself. I asked my mother and Daphne, and you hadn't planned anything with either of them. So, I ordered you something.”

“Oh, Dray…” You whispered, stepping closer to admire the dress. Your fingers hovered just over the top of it, and Draco carefully lifted it out, laying it over his arm for you to better admire. “It’s perfect. How in Merlin’s name did you know?”

“Well, red, green and gold were some of the specified colours on the invitations, and I knew damn well you weren’t going to dare dress me in red, so green it was. Plus, I mentioned to my tailor that I needed a dress for you that matched whatever secret outfit you had planned for me.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, and your cheeks flushed as you looked between him and the dress. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good, because I already picked up some jewellery for you too.” You quirked a brow, smirking at him as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t have you pulling the same nonsense you did last year, so I fetched a couple of items from the vault.”

“Can I see?”

“No. It’s a surprise. Unless, of course, there’s anything you want to tell me?” He bargained, and your jaw dropped at his audacity, shaking your head. 

“I love you?”

“Hm. No. But I love you too.” Kissing the tip of your nose, he held the dress up for you. “Try this on, I want to see you in it, and see us both side by side.” 

Taking it from his hands, the soft material slipped through your fingers and floated like clouds as you held it up. “Draco, I…”

Words died in your throat, unable to properly convey just how much this meant to you. Despite his refusal to get involved with the ridiculously stressful planning of the party, Draco had made sure to dote on you and take care of you all the way through. He seemed to see right through you, his expression softening as he leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “Hey. You take care of everyone else, and I’ll take care of you.”

Straightening out Draco’s collar for the eighth time, you huffed anxiously when he batted away your hands. “Darling, my robes are fine. Tug on them anymore and you’re going to crease them.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”

“Don’t be. You planned a perfect party, and you worked so hard. Let yourself enjoy it now.” Draco took both of your hands in his as he chuckled, kissing your knuckles as you conceded to his point. He was right, this ridiculous batch of nerves was far more out of a need to impress his mother than it was to impress anyone else on that invitation list, but you couldn't shake the buzz of trepidation in your veins. “Let me distract you.”

“Distract me?”

“Yes. Let me distract you.” Draco grinned, tipping your chin up with a finger underneath your jaw, and dipping his head down. His lips encased your own, a soft sound of pleasure bubbling from inside you as the taste of mint and lingering wine from his drinks with Theo spread to your tongue. Two large hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your lower back. He tugged you closer to him again, until you were crushed to his chest, no doubt wrinkling his robes, as your arms looped around his neck. 

With every crush of his mouth against your own, your worries slipped further from you, letting the proximity and adoration of your boyfriend settle the unease brewing within you. Something cold brushed against your collarbones, the dipped neckline of the dress Draco had chosen for you showed goosebumps in its wake, and you pulled back with a gasp at a tug on your earlobe. 

You raised your hand, a simple but elegant charmed bracelet was wrapping itself around your wrist, as your fingers brushed your sternum to feel the pendant of a necklace perfectly setting itself on your chest. In your ears, a string of diamonds now swung lightly from each one, completing your look at last. 

“Perfect. Now you’re properly adorned, as Malfoy woman should be.”

“Don’t tell me this necklace is your family crest like a brand.” You teased, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger, but only the precise cuts of a perfectly-carved gem were felt beneath your finger pads, not a name or brand to be found. 

“Well, I was tempted, but no. I went a little subtler, instead, I chose a very recognisable piece from the Malfoy public collections.”

His smirk made a flush rush to your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to address it before one of the Manor’s house elves popped into the empty space before you, curling a finger around its ear as it bobbed excitedly where it stood. “Misses first guests be arriving, the floo has been opened and the guest’s carriages be coming through the gates. Does miss or sirs be needing anything else, or should Fip be starting pouring the drinks?”

“Pouring drinks would be excellent, thank you, Fip.” Draco murmured, sending the elf away with one final pat on your back as he stepped away, Draco smoothed a hand down the front of his robes. With the mere wave of a hand, the large wooden doors separating you both from the grand hall began to creak open, and Draco offered you an arm. “Shall we greet our guests, my love? I’m rather excited to see your party theme at last.”

You slid your arm through his, taking one more bracing deep breath, before at last turning to see the culmination of all your hard work. 

As the doors parted further, you were left breathless at the sight of the room before you. It had been transformed, from something you’d seen so many times before in so many luxurious visions, to the dream of your own making. The enchanted ceiling was that of swirling clouds and a dark, starry sky. Snow that could pass for real floated around the outside of the room in glittering flakes that disappeared into thin air before touching the floor, creating a wintery setting that was countered by the cosy and warm feel of the crackling fireplaces around the room. 

Floating around the dance floor were sparkling, swirling lights that would bob and weave between the guests, keeping the lighting low and romantic as candles flickered on the tables and gave the room a wonderfully golden glow. Tablecloths brushing the floors, centrepieces made of golden flowers, wreaths and holly berries. Snow-touched Christmas trees, twinkling lights and ornaments, red ribbons, green silk, accents of gold and silver, and it all came together so perfectly. Draco walked you slowly towards the centre of the room as he took it all in, his jaw dropped as he peered around the room. 

“Well, we’ve certainly never had anything like this before.” He whispered. “It feels so… cosy.”

“Do you think they’ll—”

‘Who cares what they think? Do you like it?” Draco pressed, cutting you off as the two of you stood squarely in the centre of the room, the spelled instruments in the corner starting to play classical versions of your favourite Christmas songs, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Are you happy with it, my darling?”

“I love it.” You finally relented, pressing your lips together to quash nerves and choosing instead to revel in your masterpiece. “I wanted to tap into that old-fashioned, classical, comforting Christmas. I wanted to make my mark, I wanted something beautiful but simple, I wanted it to feel like an intimate gathering, not a social event.”

The doors at the other end of the hall opened slowly, voices from the other side filtering through, and your attention turned to that of your friends and their families. Theo whistled under his breath as he looked around, stopping abruptly at his father’s command, and he rolled his eyes when the older man wasn’t looking. Across the room, he caught your gaze, and gave an approving nod and a smirk. Pansy’s lips were curled into a smile as Daphne’s jaw dropped, admiring the enchanted sky-scene with her sister. 

You moved to greet them, accepting their approval and using the warmth their comfort offered to soothe the jagged feelings inside of you and put them to rest. 

The more the crowds piled in, the better you felt, slipping into polite chatter and breezy small talk as you greeted each guest to pass through. The drinks were flowing, the music was playing, and most of all, people were smiling. You’d only heard compliments, no whispered talk under anyone's breath of backhanded compliments, only genuine kindness. 

By the time Narcissa and Lucius came gliding into the hall, you’d almost been reassured enough to let your guard down. However, as the regal older lady greeted all her old friends and favoured guests on her way to you, the nerves all seemed to reappear. 

By the time she reached you, her hands had extended out and clutched your own as she smiled. “My, my, dear. What a party you threw, and to think you’ve been so worried. You had no need to be.”

Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. “I-I wouldn't say worried, just a little concerned, that’s all—”

“Please, let us not hide things from one another. Draco has been writing to me, he told me you were panicking like a, what was that odd Muggle term you used, like a headless chicken?” Her nose wrinkled as you blushed, and Lucius rolled his eyes. Your glare turned to Draco, who only shrugged and sipped his drink, feigning innocence. “This is a marvellous party, I hope you’re proud of it.”

“I am. It was exhausting, though. I don’t know how you do it.” You sighed, and she smirked as she squeezed your hands before letting go. 

“Did it.”

“Hm?” You questioned, and her shoulders rose and fell delicately. 

“Oh, you did such a fantastic job here. You’re all anyone is talking about, and truly, I am so tired of planning these events. I think it’s due time you take over them now. The next one is February, I’ll be sure to send you all of the details.” Your jaw dropped open at her words and Draco choked a little on his champagne. His father scowled, poking him in the ribs with his cane and telling him to stop slouching and spluttering, as you tried to find words. 

“Oh, I’m not sure that—”

“Lucius, dear, I think I see Tauria Parkinson. Come, I must ask her about her gardens.” 

“Yes, dear.” He mumbled quietly, and she had whisked her husband away before you’d even finished your sentence and turned to Draco. With your jaw still dropped in horror and shock, he covered his snicker behind his hand. 

“I can’t believe this.”

“What? She’s right. You planned a great party, and you were going to have to take over all of this one day anyway—”

“Draco!”

“Yes, dear?” He drawled, and you smacked lightly at his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re a menace. I hope you know that you will be helping with party planning. If we’re to proceed down this road, we’ll be a modern couple. None of your old-fashioned ways.” You scoffed, taking his drink from his hand and swirling the bubbly inside, before drinking the rest in a single gulp.

“None of them?” He pressed, an arm snaking around your waist as his lips brushed your neck. His lips moved to your neck, whispering some sweet, some slightly inappropriate things into your ear about honeymoon traditions, drawing a laugh from you. 

“Alright, maybe a few.” You caved, tipping your head up to him just in time to catch the growing sprig of mistletoe over your head. Snaking one hand around to cup the back of his neck, you pulled his lips down to yours, brushing your mouths together lovingly. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

[vampzity]

neglectful | FL

“It always goes like this, could’ve predicted it. I’m so naive to think you loved me for me.” — goddess, laufey

pairing: bf! felix x reader

after a rough disagreement with your boyfriend, you can’t help but feel like a terrible parter to him. he does his best to go out his way to show you you’re more than enough but unbeknownst to him, it was already too late.

[warnings]: slight arguing? self-consciousness. this is far from fluff i fear…! angst only hehe

word count: 1.5k

“You just don’t seem to care! All you’ve been doing is pushing me aside and I’m tired.”

You stormed out of the house, completely forgetting the lunch that Felix had packed for you. You’ve had enough of the excuses, of the silence whenever you were right, the “ifs ands and buts.” Felix stood there in disbelief, your plate of breakfast still in his hand as he hoped you would just come back through the door.

Except you wouldn’t, not this time.

There was going to be no more, “letting him off the hook.” Every time you argued, you’d let him have the last word— you’d forgive him so easily and let it go as if it wouldn’t continue again in the future. You were exhausted and you just wanted him to listen.

Felix wasn’t always this way, oh no. He was a completely different person back then, but it just left you with the many wonders of what had changed. When did he become so cold, so distant and why? For some odd reason he didn’t want to talk about his feelings toward you and that bothered you. Relationships should be all about being open with each other, communicating.. he was doing the exact opposite.

The cycle was the same, he’s cold, he’s distant, you comment about it, he brushes it off as nothing and then you argue. With him moving on like it was nothing hours later. It hurt you to see someone who you still cherish so deeply, switch a flip on you unexpectedly.

Felix placed your plate on the table, staring with a blank expression. There wasn’t a single day that you’d go without eating breakfast, especially not before work. It shouldn’t have. bothered him, but it left a heavy weight on his shoulders that he didn’t like. He sat at the table, pushing the food on his own plate around with a fork as his mind raced.

Was he really as neglectful as you made it out to be?

He glanced over to your plate across the table, full and missing your presence. An empty feeling washed over him— it was odd to be eating breakfast without you, as it was something you two have done every morning for the last 2 years. For once, there were left overs. Your untouched leftovers.

A frown painted his face as he got up to clear the table. He searched through the cabinets for a container to save your food in, but to his surprise there was none. How far in the gutter was his mind? Did you ever mention anything about needing more containers before?

Felix glanced around the kitchen, his eyes catching a small list against the fridge. He walked over to it and pulled it down, scanning it for a moment. Milk, eggs, cereal, and there it was.

Storage containers.

“A grocery list, for me?” He tilted his head in confusion, his eyes catching the date of the note.

1/03/25.

That was nearly a whole week and a half ago. A sighed escaped him as he imagined the many times you had told him to bring back groceries on his way home, or simply go and get them on his days off.

It all made sense now— why you came home furiously carrying multiple bags of groceries the other day. Why you gave him the cold shoulder whenever he cooked for you. He was neglecting you without noticing and didn’t even bother to see the signs you threw his way. Felix’s heart sank at the realization, feeling horrible for the way he let you feel. He loved you, he always did, however it was clear you felt that he didn’t anymore. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel less than enough.

How could he make it up to you?

— ✧⁂✬ —

You pulled into the driveway of your shared home, groaning as you turned off the car. You sat in your seat for a minute, contemplating if you even wanted to walk inside— it’s not like you’d be greeted with any warm welcome. A useless argument seemed more likely to occur the that at this point, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it.

You got out of your car, locking it as you walked over to the door. You fumbled with the keys for a moment before the door swung open in front of you. Startled you jumped back, being greeted with a guilty look from Felix. You looked at him for a second, before brushing past him to take off your coat and shoes.

“Can we talk?”

Felix closed the door, trailing behind you as you switched into your house slippers. You ignored him, walking over to the kitchen to spot a small plate of brownies on the table. You raised your eyebrow, giving him a quick glance only to be met with a half smile. Sending the cold shoulder his way, you grabbed a drink out of the fridge and walked toward the stairs.

It’s been months since he’s made you anything, let alone brownies. Though to make brownies all of a sudden, especially knowing you were upset with him? It was unusual.

“Hey,” he grabbed your hand, tugging on it slightly. You turned your head to look at him, sighing as you pulled your hand out from his grasp.

“Please talk to me, I’m sorry.” he mumbled, searching for even the slightest bit of light in your eyes.

“Talk about what, Felix? I’ve said more than enough to you yet time and time again you don’t care. Why waste my breath?”

He gave you a small frown, accepting the harsh truth that you had every right to be upset with him. All he wanted to do was fix things and make you happy— was it too late for that?

“I’m just, I feel horrible. I spent so much time in my work, I neglected you and.. that’s not right.”

He looked away from your cold gaze, picking at his chipped nail polish. You sighed heavily, turning away from him and walking back up the steps to your shared bedroom. You dug through the closet and pulled out a suitcase, soon fumbling through the closet and drawers for clothes. Felix watched from the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him once again, walking into the bathroom to grab things and soon placing them in the stuffed luggage. You closed the suitcase, pulling it off the bed. Felix walked into the room, grabbing the suitcase from your hands and pulling it to him.

“Hey, give me that back!” You tugged at the handle that he held a firm grip on. “I’m serious Felix, I’m done here.”

“So you’re just going to leave like that? After everything? Where are you even going to go?”

His questions felt like knives, turning and twisting inside of you. Still, you ignored them, yanking the suitcase from his hold and walking down the steps. You changed back into your sneakers, Felix standing a good distance away from you. You glanced over to him, watching as tears escaped his eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you. Brownies doesn’t fix anything, especially this and you know that.” You put on your jacket, pulling the car keys out from the pocket.

“I’ve fought, I’ve communicated, I even thrown hints at you and still you pushed them aside as nothing. Can’t you see it Felix? I loved you more than I loved myself, more than you even loved me.”

Felix stood there still, his face covered in tears as he wiped them away. He couldn’t respond to you, he wouldn’t. There was nothing for him to say when you were right. He had to bring himself to see the harsh reality of it all— he hurt you, put you last, every feeling you had at this moment was valid.

He wasn’t always cold, he was never the cold mean guy toward you, and the tears may have proven it, but a part of you couldn’t bear with it anymore. He showed you his true colors without a warning. He was more passionate about his work than he was of your relationship, and it tore you apart.

“Felix..” your voice broke, tears rolling down your face as you walked up to him.

You held his hands in your own, bringing them up to your face before you placed a soft kiss against them. You gave him a small frown as you wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I love you, but I deserve better. I’m sorry.”

His heart shattered at your words. He subconsciously pulled you into a hug, squeezing you softly as if he didn’t want to let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his head gently before pulling yourself away from his hug.

“Please don’t go, I can do better. I promise.” His doe eyes met your own, making you look away.

You walked back to your suitcase, holding it tightly as you made your way to the door. You stopped suddenly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at his fragile gaze. It hurt you to see him like this, but that was only part of the extent that he ever made you feel. He may not ever know how you truly felt.

“You’re too late.”

You shut the door behind you, tears streaming down your cheeks as you made your way to the car. The worst part was over— at least for you, unlucky for Felix, it was just beginning.

uh, i’m sorry for this LMAO. part 2 maybe?

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @jjongibears @rvereri

@kittykat-25 @sundaybossanova @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @vnessalau

@tiredlittlevirgo @roomsofangel @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @minghaoslatina

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Supermarkets

Alien: What makes this place “Super”? Human: It has all the food you can want. Alien: Does it serve human? Human: …….. Human: It has almost all the food you can want. ---------------------------

Alien: And you call these things “Spices”? Human: Yup. Human: From all over the world and you put them on food to make them tastier. Alien: They don’t seem that noteworthy. Human: Don’t tell the british that; they fought several wars over them. Alien: And yet their food still tastes terrible. Alien: *Stops and turns to see human friend smiling Alien: What? Human: I am just so proud of you right now. --------------------------

Human: *Watches alien friend debating between two different brands of milk. Alien: *Becoming increasingly angry wondering where the rest of the 98% of the cow is. ------------------------

Human: What are you doing? Alien: *Unwrapping candy and measuring it Alien: I am ensuring it really is by the foot. ------------------------

Alien: I now understand why your species is so random. Human: Really? Human: Why? Alien: *Points to liquor aisle. -----------------------

Alien: Why do you put your young in tiny containment chairs? Human: Have you ever seen a child free in a supermarket? Human: They are like terrorists hopped on Colombian snow. Alien: None of what you said makes any sense to me. ----------------------

Alien: You have been debating between those rectangles for the last ten minutes. Alien: Please pick one as I wish to see the crustacean torture box once more. Human: Please do not call the fish tank a crustacean torture box. Alien: Do you not make them watch as their comrades are taken away one by one to be devoured. Human: Well, yes, but- Alien: Then it is a crustacean torture box. ---------------------

Human: I can’t decide. Human: *turns to alien friend and holds up two boxes. Human: Which one should I get? Alien: *Looks at both boxes, then points at right one. Human: Really? Human: Why pick that one? Alien: In a fight these tiny pointy eared mutants would be no match against a terran tiger. Human: *sighs Human: You can’t pick cereal based on which mascot would win in a fight. -------------------- Alien: Why does this fruit not have skin? Human: It was peeled so the customer doesn’t need to peel it. Alien: If it was meant to be easy then why is it in a plastic container? Human: Because without the skin it rots faster, so the plastic keeps it contained. Alien: Was the skin not already an effective container? Human: It was. Alien: So you skinned the fruit to make it easy to eat, but then put it in plastic to stop it from rotting. Human: I DIDN’T MAKE THE RULES; OKAY?!?! --------------------

Alien: I wish to use the mobile throne. Human: That’s a mobility scooter and you can’t use it. Alien: But my legs are tired of walking. Human: It’s meant for people with disabilities so you can’t just- *Loud snapping sound Human: *Turns to see alien has broken one of their legs and is now limping over to scooter. Human: Your lack of pain threshold is infuriating. Alien: Kiss my thorax ground pounder! *Proceeds to drive slowly away. --------------------

Alien: Why do you store your cheese as wheels? Human: Ease of access I guess. Human: How do you store your cheese? Alien: Paradoxical Cubes. Human: That doesn’t seem possible. Alien: For centuries it wasn’t. Alien: We lost a lot of good scientists in the endeavor.  Human: ……. ---------------

Human: *Wondering where alien friend is when alien friend comes running around the corner. Alien: We need to leave. Human: What did you do? Alien: They were offering samples of fried fish. Human: And? Alien: And I took two. Human: Dear god…. *angry supermarket workers come swarming in from every aisle

[ssahotchnerr]

i think it would be funny if y/n and aaron went to go pick ellie and jack up in the morning and JJ and pen were super cheeky about their night together.

the following morning

stop i adore that hehe that's so funny cw; fem!reader, dad!aaron, slight allusions to sex (nothing explicit), mentions of food, teasing banter and overall domestic fluff <3

on hiatus - part one

As soon as JJ opened the front door, the smug look on her face was the first noticeable thing; a knowing, devious glint in her eyes, eyebrows raised.

Aaron internally face palmed. "Don't start."

"Well look who it is. Enjoy your night?" She inquired amusingly, giving the both of you a quick look-over, Aaron more specifically. "You must've, you don't look nearly as tense as you did yesterday."

"Aaron? Tense?" You teased, grabbing his bicep and giving it an affectionate squeeze. Due to the polo he wore, you could easily feel his solidly built muscles. "Unheard of."

"You should've seen him." JJ allowed you both the room to enter, you closed the door behind. "He was begging us to take the kids off your hands."

"I wouldn't call it begging." Aaron defended himself, rolling his eyes to mask his itching smile. Guilty. "I simply asked if any of you were able to babysit."

"I don't know. The 'just a few hours, please' in the most desperate voice seemed a lot like begging to me." JJ quipped back, a smirk forming on her face.

"It was nice." You lovingly grinned at Aaron, still in the afterglow from the night before - you could feel the more-heightened-than-usual infatuation rippling throughout yourself. "Really, really nice."

"Did the two of you make a date night out of it?"

"No, we just stayed home."

"Oh I see, so right down to business-"

"Okay." Aaron blurted out, reentering himself into the conversation, his gaze moving down sheepishly for a moment. His expression took on a more serious look when lifted, "How were they?"

JJ casually crossed her arms, her mouth pursing nonchalantly. "Fine."

"How was Ellie?" You asked, your hand moving to Aaron's. "Was she difficult?"

"Not at all," JJ walked further in, the two of you followed. "She shed a few tears at bedtime, and I had some trouble getting her down. But once she was, she was fine. Especially once a movie was on."

"And she didn't keep the whole house up?" Aaron asked jokingly, but there was some seriousness within his words. With Ellie, you never knew.

"I think the boys wore her out honestly." JJ chuckled, her expression softening. "They were out in the yard for a bit. Poor thing, her little legs were trying their absolute hardest to keep up."

The three of you entered the kitchen, where breakfast was occurring. Ellie spotted the two of you first, the pigtails on her head absolutely disheveled and falling out from sleep. Her face lit up, "Mommy, Daddy!"

She scrambled out of her chair, her spoon clanging onto the table and rushing to Aaron's side.

"Hi Ellie Bellie." Aaron hoisted her up into his arms, giving her a smile. "Did you have fun?"

Ellie nodded enthusiastically, "Auntie Penny painted my nails." She stuck her hand out, displaying her fingers for him proudly. "They're pink."

"I see."

"We match," Penelope added from where she was also sat at the table; still in her pajamas, adorned in a colorful robe with a silk sleeping mask on her forehead. "Needless to say."

You wrapped your arms around Jack from behind, resting your chin on the top of his head. "How about you Jackers, have a good time?"

"Uh huh. We played soccer, then Henry and I built a whole Lego town. It had a park, neighborhoods, and we built where Dad, Aunt JJ and Aunt Penelope work too." Jack answered after a swallow of cereal, using his spoon to swirl around the marshmallows left in the milk. "We haven't taken it down yet if you wanna see."

"Um, of course we do." You gave him a squeeze, causing him to laugh. "And you were good for your Aunt JJ?"

He nodded, "I helped clean up the pizza we had for dinner."

"Cleared off the table without me even asking." JJ added, "Super helpful and sweet. As was Miss Ellie." She tossed Ellie just an equal grin - who bashfully hid her face in the crook of Aaron's neck.

After breakfast, Legos were viewed, all was cleaned and packed up, (Penelope also insisted on doing Ellie's hair), the Hotchners were on their way. Jack had practice in a few hours, and the usual Saturday errands were awaiting.

"Thank you again." Aaron told JJ, retrieving the stuffed bunny from Ellie, which she had just shoved at his thigh for him to hold, running out after her brother. "We owe you big time."

"Anytime, they're both always welcome, excuse needed or not. Although, Will and I may need to strike the same favor in return."

"Of course." You embraced her thankfully, juggling a tad due to Jack and Ellie's overnight bag in your hand - Aaron grabbed it from you before it could slip from your grasp. "Just let us know."

"So, are you ready to sleep in your own bed tonight?" Aaron asked Ellie, placing her bunny on her lap and strapping her into her carseat. He peered over at Jack too, ensuring his seat belt was fastened as well.

"Nope."

[daisychainsandbowties]

i love when fic authors write ava being really excited about going to the grocery store it’s like!!! yes! ava is excited to see oat milk. yes she wants to try every variation of haribo candies in every tiny european corner store they visit. yes she loves that things come in cans and that there’s drinks that are blue like in star wars

and also yes to bea seeing her swerve hard away from the baby food aisle. sneering in tandem with her at the applesauce and at cans of watery soup. bea teaching her how to season things so they don’t taste like powerlessness and neglect and hunger and rotting away

sighing indulgently when ava appears with another box of cereal to mow through in one night. bea brushing granola pieces off the bed without a word while ava sits cross-legged on her crumpled-up side with a book in her lap, one hand pressing the pages flat and the other elbow-deep in a box of chocolate hazelnut granola. scattering light crumbs everywhere

just yes to ava loving food and approaching it with so much joy it makes beatrice realise that there is actually something holy in a silce of orange, in a snack cake and in granola crumbs and haribos in the shape of little frogs.

something about how the ones we love feed us and how they can teach us to love. something about love leaking through ava like light through stained glass and beatrice realising that it’s not the sunlight itself that’s beautiful, or the glass all alone, but the two together, shining

[thistlerockcaster]

rewatching sophomore year (again) and thinking about riz gukgak and his relationship to work/sacrifice as an expression of love.

riz's decision to run himself into the ground in junior year for the sake of the people he loves (who did not ask him to) being the direct result of his conversation with his dad during sophomore year.

pok gukgak in sophomore year looking his son in the eyes and telling him "work is an act of love". riz's idea of a perfect heaven being to work forever without repercussion. his greatest fears being prioritizing his own needs above the case. riz staying up all night the night before school after 3 days of driving back to solace making intricate conspiracy boards and dossiers about what exactly needs to happen for him and his friends to secure the best possible futures they can where theyre still together. putting kristen on his back and taking on tons of stress for the sake of helping her achieve something she wants.

and of course pok's conversation was a contributing factor in this mentality, clearly, but i would like to point out ANOTHER: sklonda gukgak.

pok may have verbally endorsed this behavior of putting others above ur own needs to show ur affection, but sklonda was the living example.

riz spent his entire childhood seeing his mother exhausted, overworked, and struggling just to make sure he had food on the table and a roof over his head.

(theres a scene in i believe freshman year ((possibly during riz's intro in episode 1?)) where she makes cereal for the both of them and i think uses water in hers so he can have milk???))

like of course pok shouldnt have told his young impressionable son that damaging yourself for someone else is love. but riz was already damaging himself for the people he loves.

riz knows his mother loves him more than anything. he never once doubts it. and he knows it bc he sees her practically killing herself to provide for him. love is not only acts of service but complete and utter sacrifice.

work is an act of love so work urself to the edge of death.

work is an act of love so give up your health, your wants, your desires, your identity.

work is an act of love. so never stop working.

[redroomreflections]

Her Best Secret Part 3

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: ENJOY =)

w/c:6.3k

Routine. It’s what you value. It keeps you grounded when everything else feels too big or uncertain. Your days were pretty much the same. Wake up, shower, make breakfast, and prepare Claire for the day. If you were lucky, you could steal a moment for yourself—just a few minutes of quiet before the demands of the day swallowed you whole. 

Claire sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth, eating her favorite Cornfetti cereal. The sugary loops crunched between her teeth, and you can’t help but frown slightly. You’d rather she ate something healthier—fruit, maybe oatmeal—but Sam had insisted once, grinning as he poured the rainbow-colored pieces into her bowl. “Live a little,” he’d said.

So now, Cornfetti was her favorite. You moved through the kitchen with rehearsed ease, cracking eggs into a pan while the toast popped up behind you. Sam’s thermos was already filled with coffee, and you'd packed his lunch: leftover chicken, a few snacks, a note tucked inside that says, Have a great day. You’re unsure if he reads them anymore, but you wrote them anyway.

Sam came into the kitchen just as you were plating his breakfast. He was still wearing his undershirt, his tie loosely around his neck. He smelled like aftershave and the soap you bought last week, which constantly reminds you of cedarwood.

“Good morning,” he said, pulling you into a hug from behind. His arms were warm and solid, and you momentarily let yourself lean into him. He kissed your temple, then glanced at Claire, who happily shoveled cereal into her mouth.

“Morning, Daddy,” Claire waved, her voice cheerful and unbothered, her small hand sticky from the milk dripping off her spoon.

“Cornfetti again, huh?” Sam teased as he plucked a piece of toast from the counter.

You shrugged, trying to match his lightheartedness. “You’re the one who started it.”

“And she loves it,” he said, grinning as he leaned over to tousle Claire’s hair. “Right, Claire-bear?”

Claire nodded enthusiastically, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk with a mouth full of cereal.

The nickname caught you off guard. It wasn’t new, not by any means. Sam had called her that plenty of times before. But the first time—the very first time—wasn’t his. It was Natasha's.

You still remembered the unbidden but warm day it slipped from her mouth. Claire was about fourteen months old then. She held Natasha’s hand, pulling her toward the garden to show her a flower she’d plucked. “Come on, Claire-bear,” Natasha had said, the words soft and affectionate, as if they’d belonged to her all along.

Natasha. The name sent a pang through your chest, and you wondered if missing someone more than you did now was possible.

You missed Natasha fiercely, missed the way her eyes sparkled when she teased Sam, or how she always stole a piece of your food from your plate. You missed her soft voice when she read to Claire how she made up stories about dragons, magic, and princesses, which Claire would beg her for. It's not like she was unobtainable. Natasha was three doors down. Always there. Always constant. Except she wasn’t. Not anymore.

"Earth to Mommy," Sam chuckled. You looked up, and his brows were furrowed in concern. "Where'd you go?"

You blinked and shook your head. "I'm here. Just...thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing," you said, forcing a smile. "Just what we're going to do today. I'm thinking of taking Claire to the park to play."

You turned away before Sam could see the lie on your face.

The morning passed without much else happening, and soon enough, it was just you and Claire.

******

The television played quietly in the background, the black-and-white image of a man in a suit shaking hands barely registering to her. Natasha stood at the ironing board, focusing on smoothing the faint creases in Steve’s pale blue shirt. It was one of his favorites, and he had a meeting today. She’d promised it would be ready.

Her hand stilled for a moment, her mind somewhere else entirely. The room smelled faintly of starch and lavender. On another day, this might feel peaceful, but not today. Not when her thoughts kept circling back to the way you’d smiled. The way your laugh echoed in her head, even now. Then, her thoughts turned bitter. The way you'd left her house. Her kiss on your cheek wasn't supposed to be goodbye.

The phone rang, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Hello," Natasha answered, the cordless receiver tucked between her ear and shoulder. She silently hoped it was you. But instead, it was Jane, her cheerful neighbor.

"Good morning, Natasha. It’s Jane."

Natasha forced a polite smile, though no one could see it. "Hi, Jane. How are you?"

"Good, good," Jane replied warmly. "Just wanted to remind you about dinner tonight. You and Steve are still coming, right?"

"Yeah," Natasha said, her eyes flicking to the iron in her hand. The shirt was only half done, and the distraction was welcome. "Do you need us to bring anything?"

"Just yourselves," Jane replied with a light laugh before hesitating. "Oh! Is Y/N coming too?"

Natasha blinked, caught off guard. She gripped the phone a little tighter, her heart skipping a beat. "Y/N?"

"Yeah," Jane said. "I mean, you’re so close. I figured she’d be joining you. It’d be nice to catch up with her. She didn’t answer my call this morning."

Natasha scrambled for a response, her usual composure slipping. "Oh—uh, I’ll ask her," she said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant. "I’ll make sure she comes."

"Great," Jane said, oblivious to Natasha’s unease. "Tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her. It’s been too long."

"Will do," Natasha murmured, her voice quieter now.

"All right, see you tonight!" Jane chirped before hanging up.

Natasha set the phone down slowly, her hand lingering on it as if it might ring again. She exhaled sharply, trying to push down the knot forming in her chest.

"I’ll make sure she comes," she had said. But the truth was, Natasha had no idea what you’d say—or if you’d even want to come.

She picked up the iron again, smoothing Steve’s shirt with slow, deliberate movements. Yet her mind wasn’t on the fabric or the faint hum of the local news in the background. It was on you. Always on you.

********

Natasha hadn't seen you for three weeks. Not that she was counting. She'd come outside to check the mail. She gazed three doors down, silently hoping—half-ashamed at how much she was expecting—to see you on your lawn. Sure enough, there you were, kneeling on the grass with Claire, holding her tiny hand as she attempted to blow a bubble with her new wand.

Natasha paused at the mailbox, thumbing through the envelopes without seeing them. She should have just gone back inside. There was no reason to linger. But her eyes betrayed her, darting back to you before she could stop herself.

You laughed, the sound carrying easily, and she felt something twist in her chest. Her fingers tightened on the stack of mail as if to steady herself.

It wasn't until Claire pointed in her direction that she realized she’d been caught. You glanced up, shielding your eyes from the sun, and Natasha quickly dropped her gaze to the stack of mail as if it was suddenly the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

It wasn't until she heard the pitter-patter of little feet along the concrete. She looked up, and sure enough, Claire was running towards her.

"Natasha," the toddler shrieked, her tiny arms stretched wide.

“Hi, sweetie,” Natasha replied, crouching down just as Claire barreled into her. Tiny arms wrapped tightly around her neck, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile, the tension in her chest easing for the first time all morning.

“Claire! Claire Elise Wilson!” Your voice carried across the lawns.

"Natasha, I got new bubbles," Claire lisped, her words slightly garbled but no less enthusiastic. She paid your calls no mind, too engrossed in sharing her news.

“New bubbles? That’s awesome!” Natasha replied, her tone warm and indulgent as she adjusted Claire on her hip.

You jogged over, brushing your hands on your shorts as you approached. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, cheeks flushed—not from the sun but from embarrassment. “She’s been in a mood today.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but the look was playful.

"Really? She doesn't seem like she's in a mood," Natasha said, turning her gaze to Claire, who grinned and buried her face in her neck.

"I am," Claire said, her voice muffled but still bubbly.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Natasha replied, trying her best to sound disappointed, which earned her a giggle from Claire. "I guess you won't be able to show me your bubbles."

"No, I can show you," Claire insisted, leaning back and pushing her lower lip into a pout. "Please, Nat?"

Natasha chuckled and gently tapped Claire on the nose.

"Okay, okay. You can show me," Natasha replied with an amused shake of her head.

"Can we go to the park too?"

Natasha's smile faltered slightly, her eyes flicking to you.

“Claire,” you said gently, trying to keep your tone even. “I think Natasha has things to do today.”

“Nooo,” Claire whined, clinging tighter to Natasha. She rested her head against Natasha’s shoulder, her small hands gripping tightly. “I wanna stay with Nat.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shifting uncomfortably. “Claire, come on,” you said. “Let’s go inside. It’s almost time for lunch.”

Claire shook her head. “No. I want Nat.”

Natasha patted Claire's leg and slowly released the little girl from her arms. "Listen to your Mama."

"But—"

"Don't worry, we'll see each other later," Natasha promised, smiling softly.

Claire frowned, her lips pushed into a pout. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Claire finally nodded, accepting her fate. She reached for your hand, and you took it.

"Bye, Nat," she said, waving.

You started to turn away, but your steps faltered. There were so many thoughts swirling around in your head. There were so many things you wanted to say to her. You gripped Claire's hand a little tighter. Natasha straightened, watching you intently, her posture tense. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but no words came.

You turned back, your eyes meeting hers briefly before they darted to the ground. The words you wanted to say sat heavily on your tongue, but they felt too raw, too uncertain. You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

"I just..." you started, your voice trailing off. You hesitated, glancing at Claire, then back at Natasha.

Natasha's expression softened, but there was a flicker of anxiety in her gaze. She didn’t push or prod; she just stood there waiting like she always did.

"I need time," you finally mumbled, barely audible.

Natasha nodded slowly, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Okay," she said softly, her voice steady despite the flicker of something—hurt, worry—in her eyes.

You nodded, too, your throat tight. Without another word, you turned and walked back toward your house, Claire skipping beside you, blissfully unaware of the tension.

Natasha stood alone on the sidewalk, her eyes still fixed on where you were standing. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. She watched the door close behind you, and suddenly, it felt like the distance between you had never been greater.

*************

Jane and Louis Redman's dinner parties were always the highlight of your summers. They lived across the street, and you spent most weekends with Jane and Natasha. You'd gossip, talk about men, and drink iced tea until the sun started to set.

This night, though, was different.

You stood at the bottom of the Redmans' driveway, nervously twisting your watch around your wrist. It was a nervous habit that you thought you'd broken years ago. Apparently not.

You should've just stayed home. Maybe even feigned a stomachache or something. Instead, here you were, waiting to be invited into a place you once considered your second home. Sam stood next to you, his hand in his pockets and the other holding onto Claire's.

Claire tugged on Sam's hand, her gaze darting between you.

"Mommy, are we going?" Claire asked.

Sam glanced at you, his eyes narrowing in confusion. You hadn't said a word since you'd arrived, and now you were just standing outside, staring at the Redman's house.

"Yeah, we are," Sam said, his voice light. He squeezed Claire's hand and took a step forward.

You followed them, and the three of you walked up the driveway together.

"Are we gonna eat, Daddy?"

Sam smiled. "Of course. But remember what Mommy told you. You have to behave and eat your veggies."

"But I don't like green beans," Claire grumbled, wrinkling her nose.

"I know, but they're good for you. You'll like them eventually."

You opened the front door, the familiar smell of home-cooked food and laughter wafting out.

"Y/N!" Jane greeted, her face lighting up. "Sam, Claire!"

"Jane, hi," you replied, mustering up a smile.

Jane pulled you into a warm hug. "It’s so good to see you all. Come in, come in!"

Sam greeted Jane with a smile and a polite nod before scooping Claire into his arms. "Smells great in here. Let me guess—your famous pot roast?"

"Of course," Jane said with a laugh. "I’ve got a few more dishes in the kitchen. Y/N, would you mind giving me a hand?"

"Sure," you said quickly, grateful for the distraction. You followed her into the kitchen, glancing briefly toward the living room where everyone else was gathered.

That’s when you saw Natasha.

She stood by the mantle, chatting quietly with Steve, her hand resting lightly on the back of the armchair he occupied. Her red hair was swept in soft waves, and she wore a sleek, dark green dress that hugged her figure perfectly. It wasn’t anything over the top—modest but elegant, perfectly Natasha.

You caught yourself staring and quickly looked away, focusing instead on the dishes Jane had laid out on the counter.

"Everything smells amazing," you said, forcing a bright tone as you picked up a dish of roasted carrots.

"Thanks," Jane said, shooting you a knowing look as she handed you a serving spoon. "Louis and I have been testing new recipes, so let me know what you think."

You nodded, trying to focus on the task as your heart raced. Natasha hadn’t noticed you—or at least, you didn’t think she had. But you could feel her presence.

"Y/N," Jane said, her voice snapping you out of your thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, offering her a small smile. "Just a little tired."

Jane didn’t push, but her gaze lingered momentarily before she returned to the food.

You carried the dish to the dining table, carefully setting it down to avoid looking toward the living room again. But you didn’t need to look—you could feel Natasha’s eyes on you now, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glance back. It was going to be a long night.

*********

The table was cleared, and coffee and wine cups and pie slices replaced the remnants of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

Around the room, couples settled into their usual places, sharing stories and laughter. It felt good for your mind to be on something else for a change. Jane leaned into Louis’s side, her hand resting on his arm as she told a story about their youngest getting into the flour bin that morning. Wanda sat on the floor, her legs crossed under her skirt, as she picked at a piece of pie while Vision chuckled beside her.

You sat on the couch next to Sam, your hands perched on his lap as he rubbed your arm soothingly.

Natasha sat in the armchair across the room, her posture relaxed, though her eyes darted to you more often than she’d like to admit. Steve, ever the gentleman, offered to refresh Jane’s coffee, leaving Natasha with her hands wrapped around her untouched cup.

The children’s chatter and occasional shrieks of laughter filtered in from the playroom down the hall. Jane and Louis’s three kids—Emma, Michael, and Daisy—were busy keeping Billy, Tommy, and Claire entertained. The adults hardly noticed when one child peeked into the room to snag another cookie before disappearing again.

Louis chuckled as he reached for his glass of wine. "You know, I had a funny conversation with a few of the guys at work the other day. We were talking about gender roles, of all things. Some were adamant that a woman’s place is at home, raising the kids and keeping the house in order... you know, the usual. I had to bite my tongue because it felt like stepping into the 1800s."

Vision raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair. "Well, what did you tell them? I mean, not everyone can afford to have someone stay home all the time, can they?"

Louis laughed. "I just told them I had a hard time believing anyone would be happy with being cooped up all day. We need both parents working—at least in this generation. If anything, the man's job is to keep the kids entertained while the wife goes to work."

The men around the room laughed, and you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"You don't agree y/n?" Louis asked. He was baiting you. You didn't honestly want to contribute. You tended to get passionate about these topics. But the alcohol loosened your tongue, and you found yourself responding anyway.

"I just don't think we need to pigeonhole ourselves into traditional roles," you replied, your tone light but firm.

Louis gestured to you, his gaze turning to Sam, who shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Louis asked.

"I'm not saying the woman can't be a housewife. Or that the man can't do housework. We need to stop making it a competition.

"Competition?" Wanda repeated, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "It's not a competition, y/n. Not unless you want it to be."

You shook your head, ignoring the sudden heat in your cheeks. "I'm not saying it's a competition. I'm just saying we need to stop acting like there's some kind of hierarchy. If the woman goes to work, the man is less of a man. Or if the man does the cooking, then the woman is somehow inferior."

"You make a valid point," Vision said. "We have made quite a few assumptions about gender roles."

"Right, which is why we shouldn't assume anything. We should just...do what makes sense for us."

Wanda tilted her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I suppose so," she said, her tone light. "Though, I still think it's much more comfortable being a woman. You guys are the ones with the balls."

Another round of laughter filled the room, and even you couldn't help but grin.

"All right, all right," Jane said, her smile warm and bright. "Enough about gender roles. Did you guys hear about Georgia Park one street over? She found out her husband was having an affair and has a secret family."

"You're kidding," Louis said, his eyes wide. "That's a new level of cheating."

Jane nodded. "I heard he was living with the other woman and their kids. Georgia said they've been married for twenty years, and he had a second family right under her nose the whole time."

"That's crazy," Sam blurted. The conversation shifted quickly, but Natasha and you stayed quiet, each processing the information in your way. While the others were shocked and animated, you felt uncomfortable at the gossip, unsure if you should participate.

"That's... awful." Wanda frowned. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact, and let your fingers brush the edge of your wine glass, trying to distract yourself from the topic. "I can't imagine how she must feel."

Natasha looked down at her hands, her voice low but steady. “People are capable of some strange things, aren't they?" She glanced briefly at you, her eyes more intense than usual."It's... not something I'd want to be involved in."

You nodding, swallowing a bit, not wanting to add anything too personal."Yeah, I think it’s better to just... leave it alone. I mean, it’s not our business, right?"

Wanda shrugged."I guess. Still, it's hard to let go of something like that.”

Natasha glanced at you, her expression softening."Sometimes we have to just let it go, though."

You looked up and met her gaze. Your chest tightened at the look in her eyes, and for a moment, it was just the two of you in the room. Then, Sam's voice broke the silence.

"That's enough of that. Who wants to play a round of cards?"

Natasha blinked, the spell broken, and turned away.

"Oh, yes. That sounds fun," Jane said, her enthusiasm bubbly and warm.

"I'm in," Louis chimed in.

The group quickly dispersed, and you excused yourself to the restroom.

Natasha watched you go, her eyes lingering on your retreating form.

In the bathroom, you gripped the edge of the sink, your reflection staring back at you.  You took a deep breath and tried to steady your hands, which betrayed your nerves by trembling just enough to make you fumble with the compact mirror you’d pulled from your bag.

You focused on reapplying your lipstick, the repetitive motion of the tube sliding over your lips grounding you in the moment. It was better than thinking about why you were here. Better than admitting, even to yourself, that you’d come knowing full well Natasha would be sitting at that dinner table. It was better than acknowledging the ache in your chest that hadn’t entirely gone away since the day you walked out of her home. 

You’d been the one to end it. You’d said it wouldn’t work, that the two of you were kidding yourselves.

The bathroom felt too small, the walls pressing in as your mind replayed her words from earlier. "Sometimes we have to let go." Its weight settled in your stomach, heavy and unrelenting. Was that how she felt about you now? Had she let go? And if she had, why did she look at you like that? Like she still felt so much for you.

Moments later, you stepped out of the bathroom. The conversation in the den had gone to a low hum, and no one seemed to be talking. 

"Where's Natasha?" You asked as you stepped into the den. The redhead's absence was noticeable.

"She went home to fetch her favorite drink," Steve replied.

"Oh," You nodded. "I am just going to go check on her. "

"The two of you are so attached at the hip; I love it," Jane commented, giving you a friendly grin.

You ignored the playful jab, too distracted by the sudden urge to speak with Natasha. You had to find her.

You walked outside toward Natasha’s house, the familiar path feeling strange beneath your feet tonight. You arrived at the front door, hesitated, and then pushed it open. The familiar warmth of her home greeted you, but tonight, something different about it made it feel less like the sanctuary it usually was.

You found Natasha standing by her home bar. She looked so at ease, yet distant in a way you hadn’t seen before. She was dressed in her dinner outfit, and the tension you’d both felt earlier hung in the air.

She glanced up at you, her expression flickering with surprise before she masked it with her usual calm demeanor. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was steady, but the question had a slight sharpness, unintended but there nonetheless.

You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden coldness in her tone. It wasn’t like her to sound like that, and you weren’t sure how to respond. You took a breath and tried again.

“I just—” You hesitated. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed distant earlier, and I thought maybe we could talk.”

There was a brief silence, and Natasha stood still, eyes scanning you before her arms folded loosely over her chest. “I’m fine,” she said, but the words didn’t come with the usual certainty this time. They were quiet, almost as if she wasn’t entirely convincing herself.

You stepped closer, avoiding her momentary gaze as you glanced around the room, letting the silence sit for a second longer. “I know you’re fine,” you said softly. “But I still wanted to see you. To make sure you were okay.”

"Well, now you see," Natasha said. "If you don't mind. I'm trying to figure out how to drink this entire bottle of vodka before I go back."

You nodded. You wanted to say anything, but the words wouldn't come. There was too much to say, and the silence between you stretched.

Natasha fixed her eyes on the bottles in front of her, and you stood awkwardly by the doorway, your thoughts swirling.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," You began. You closed your eyes with a sigh. That's a cliche way to start. But what else could you say?

"I know," Natasha replied, her voice low and her back still turned to you.

"I just didn't want..." You trailed off.

Natasha finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy; her jaw clenched tight.

"Y/N," She sighed, her gaze flicking away. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," You shook your head. "I panicked."

Natasha let out a long breath. "I know."

You stared at her momentarily, watching as her features softened slightly.

"I didn't want to ruin things," You confessed. "Between us."

Natasha tilted her head slightly, her gaze still averted. "We're fine," she said, almost whispering.

You took a step forward, reaching out a hand tentatively, letting it rest on her arm.

Natasha's gaze finally flicked up to yours, and there was no trace of anger or frustration for a moment. Instead, she looked at you with a sad sort of understanding.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, your hand falling away.

Natasha took a deep breath and then straightened. "Let's not talk about this right now, okay?"

You swallowed, a lump in your throat. "Okay."

There was a pause. Then, Natasha finally broke the silence.

"Did you need anything else?"

"No, I—" You faltered, realizing the answer wasn't entirely true. "I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Right," Natasha said, her tone suddenly formal, as if she were talking to a stranger.

You looked down at the floor, wishing you could take back the last few minutes.

"Do I mean something to you?" She asked suddenly.

You froze. Your heart was pounding, and your palms were sweaty. "Of course you do."

"But do I matter?"

"Of course you do," You repeated.

"Then why did you push me away?"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Natasha said, her voice cracking.

"Natasha, I didn't. I'm sorry. I was scared."

"So am I."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

You were silent for a moment.

"What are we going to do?"

Natasha turned away, her expression unreadable.

"Nothing," she said, her voice a whisper.

"You're the first woman I've ever cared about," You whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don't understand what I feel. I love Sam."

Natasha took a deep breath, and for a second, you thought she might turn back to face you.

"I have to get back," She said instead. "They'll be wondering where we are."

"But I also care for you," You stopped her from walking past you. "I also know when you're upset. Usually, I'm not the one to upset you, but there's something else." You guessed.

"I'm fine," She replied, her voice stiff. "Thank you for coming over. Goodbye, Y/N."

"Wait." You reached out, catching her hand and squeezing gently.

Natasha paused, her eyes darting to your hands before meeting your gaze.

"What?" She asked, her voice quiet.

"Can we... can we just talk for a second?"

Natasha nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly as she relented. "Okay."

"Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not," Natasha sighed.

"But are you?"

"No, I'm not." Natasha ran a hand through her hair. "I'm disappointed, I guess."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted this to be different. Because I thought we were different."

"We are," you said, your voice soft.

"Then why did you say everything to me and then run?"

"Because I panicked," You replied, the words coming out more harshly than you intended.

"You're an idiot."

"I know."

"I care about you, too," Natasha said, her voice wobbling slightly.

"I'm glad."

Natasha nodded and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Natasha eyed the vodka bottle, biting her lip nervously. It was an effort not to cry; she didn't like to cry in front of people.

"I, um, I thought that I was pregnant before," She admitted, her voice slightly crackling. "I wanted to come and tell you, but we weren't talking."

"Natasha," You breathed. You knew how much it would mean for her.

"I went to the doctor," She continued. "I took a test. I had blood drawn. I waited in that room for so long only for it to be negative."

"Oh, Nat.." You couldn't find the right words, but you wanted to tell her how sorry you were.

"Which was fine," Natasha nodded to herself. "It was fine. I can't be someone's mom. I'm too unpredictable. I can never stay in one spot. I don't love my husband, but I can't leave him either. No baby deserves that."

"But a baby would love you, Natasha. It's impossible not to," You whispered.

"Maybe. But a baby deserves a better life than I could give," Natasha said.

"It wouldn't matter," You insisted.

"How do you know that?"

"Because you'd love it," You said simply.

"Love isn't enough," Natasha said. The weight behind her words unsettled you.

"Love is all you need."

Natasha let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head.

"You have no idea what I need," She said, her voice cracking.

"That's not true," You replied. "I do. And what you need is love. Love is everything."

"I need stability, y/n," Natasha said, her voice firm. "Isn't that why you ran?"

"I didn't—"

"You did," Natasha cut you off, her voice soft but unwavering. "You were afraid of getting hurt. Of getting caught. Of people knowing that you like to sleep with women."

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know," You sighed. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Neither do I," Natasha said, her voice softening.

"The first time we kissed, I felt like I was going to die," You confessed, your eyes fixed on the floor. "And the next time, I felt like I was going to live forever."

"Me too," Natasha whispered.

"When we kissed again, I didn't want it to end. But when we woke up, I didn't know what to say or how to act. And when I went home, I didn't know how to be with Sam. Not after that. So, I just... pushed you away. But I didn't want to. I still don't."

"So, why did you?"

"Because I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of what it meant."

"I'm scared, too," Natasha said, her eyes filling with tears. "But I'm not running. "

"What are we going to do?" You whispered.

"We could keep sneaking around. But sooner or later, we'd have to tell someone. And that would be the end of it."

"Or we could try," You said.

"Try what?"

"To be together."

"You're married." Natasha furrowed her brows. "Last time I checked, so am I."

"I know," You whispered. "Can we just sit for a minute?" You gestured over to the couch.

"Alright," She nodded, following you.

You sat down, leaning back into the cushions.

Natasha sat beside you, her hands folded in her lap.

You turned to face her, studying her features. "You're beautiful," You said, unable to help yourself.

"I'm tired," Natasha sighed.

"Are you really?"

"Of hiding. Of lying."

"Me, too," You admitted.

"I'm sorry that I got angry with you," She began. "It's not fair of me to ask so much of you. I wasn't thinking of Claire's well-being also."

"It's okay," You reassured her. "I shouldn't have left. I just panicked."

"It's been hard."

"It has."

"Do you still want to do this?" Natasha asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Be with me. Like this. Whatever it is."

"I think so," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha studied you carefully, her green eyes softening just a little though her tension was still evident. She exhaled deeply, leaning back into the cushions beside you. “You think so,” she repeated, her voice carrying a faint trace of uncertainty.

You looked down at your hands, clasped together in your lap, the words catching in your throat. “I—I don’t know how to say it. I’ve thought about us every day since I left. I know I was wrong to walk away like I did. I just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’m scared, Natasha.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded slowly. “You think I’m not? You think I don’t lie awake some nights wondering what happens if we get caught? If we hurt the people we care about?” She paused, glancing at you. “But I can’t stop thinking about you either. I can’t pretend this doesn’t matter.”

Your chest tightened at her admission, and you felt the sting of unshed tears in your eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I don’t know how to stop wanting this. Wanting you.”

Natasha reached for your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. She squeezed gently, her touch warm and reassuring.

"Tell me this is more than just sex for you?" You began. "Because, Natasha, I..."

"It is," she whispered, her gaze fixed on yours.

You swallowed hard. "I care about you," you murmured, your voice low and unsteady. "So much."

Natasha smiled weakly. "Me, too."

"You're my best friend."

"And you're mine."

"I love Sam," You began.

"And I care for Steve," Natasha replied.

"I want him. But I can't imagine losing you," You breathed, the words hanging heavy between you.

"I don't want to lose you, either," Natasha said, quiet but firm.

"So, where does that leave us?"

Natasha sighed, her gaze drifting down to the floor.

"We keep it a secret," she said. "Only for a little longer. I promise. Until we're ready."

"And when will that be?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

You hesitated.

"Are you okay with this?" Natasha asked, her voice tentative.

"I don't know," you said. Natasha nodded. You studied her face. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you," she murmured. "So do you."

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering to her mouth.

"May I kiss you?" You asked softly.

Natasha smiled faintly.

"Yes."

You leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She kissed back, her mouth soft and warm against yours. You inhaled her scent, the smell of her shampoo filling your senses, and you sighed into the kiss, the tension in your body dissipating.

After a moment, Natasha pulled back, her gaze intense.

"Natasha, I need to tell you," You breathed. "I really think-"

"Am I interrupting?" Wanda questioned as she stepped further into the house.

You jumped, startled, and quickly broke away from Natasha, turning to see her standing by the entrance with an unreadable expression.

"Hey," Natasha greeted, her tone calm and casual as if nothing was amiss. "Sorry, Wanda, we got a little wrapped up in girl talk."

"Oh, that's okay," Wanda smiled politely.

"What's going on?" You asked, trying to regain your composure.

"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure the two of you were okay."

"Yes, we're just fine," Natasha said, nodding.

Wanda's eyes lingered between the two of you for a moment, her smile still in place, but there was a flicker of something unspoken behind her calm expression. "Okay," she said finally. "Just wanted to check. Everyone's getting ready for cards, and Sam said we shouldn’t start without you.”

You nodded, your voice shaky as you replied, “Thanks, Wanda. We’ll be right there.”

Wanda nodded and stepped back toward the door, but not before her gaze landed on Natasha again. “Don’t keep us waiting too long,” she said lightly, her tone teasing but carrying a subtle undertone you couldn’t quite place. With that, she turned and disappeared through the door, leaving you alone again.

Natasha exhaled softly, running a hand through her hair. “That was close,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to her, your heart still racing. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

Natasha gave a faint shrug, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Wanda’s smart. She probably has suspicions but won’t say anything unless she’s sure.”

You chewed on your lip, anxiety creeping in. “Maybe this is a sign that we must be more careful.”

“Or maybe,” Natasha said, her voice firm but gentle, “it’s a sign that we need to stop pretending we don’t matter to each other.” She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against yours. “What do you want to do?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward the door where Wanda had just left. Then, you looked back at Natasha.

"I don’t know what this is supposed to look like,” you admitted. “But I know I want to figure it out—with you.”

Natasha’s expression softened, and she gave a slight nod. “Then let’s take it one step at a time,” she said. “No rushing, no overthinking. Just… us.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you let her words settle over you. “Okay,” you whispered. “One step at a time.”

Natasha held your gaze for a moment longer, then stood, her hand lingering on yours as she pulled you gently to your feet. “We should get back before Wanda starts playing detective,” she said with a slight smirk.

[genderless-naper]

hard worker

trafalgar law x gf!reader

sfw! lil drabble, wc: 900

↳ requested! lowercase intended!

being just as dedicated as your boyfriend is with work often times leaves you forgetting to take care of yourself, so law tends to keep an eye out to help you when you need it

law would be the first to understand how addicting it can be to be fully submerged in your work. he saw a reflection of himself when he saw you on the other end of the room working your way through books and to-do lists. additionally, he also knew how annoying it was to be interrupted during moments when you’re fully locked in on work. he knew all these feelings too well.

yet he can never help himself from trying to get you to stop.

seeing your messy hair and tired eyes pulls on his heart strings. he admired your dedication, but a small part of him hated it because he had to see you suffer from it. arguably the worst part would be how you never admitted it.

law stood from his desk to approach yours. the sound of the heel of his boot would echo with every board he stepped on. you decide to look up once you hear the heel-thumps stop in front of your desk. you flashed a tired smile at your lover then resumed your attention back to your work.

law cleared his throat to alert you that he wanted the same attention which was being occupied by papers. you look up and respond with a simple hum waiting for what he has to say. now he was put on the spot, but he didn’t quite understand how to form the words that could express his thoughts.

he quickly blurted out without much thought, “just stop it.”

you tilt your head slightly in confusion, “did i do something wrong law? i was just doing my w-“

law slowly shook his head while looking unsure of what to say next, “nothing is wrong. i think you should just stop with your work for tonight. you know.. take a break.”

you couldn’t help but to laugh. you figured law telling you this was some sort of comedic relief. it was ironic hearing such a thing from someone whose first horrible habit was his work ethics, and second would be his caffeine consumption because of his work ethics.

regardless, you waved him off and continued your work, “i’ll go whenever i finish this final task. i’ll be quick.”

law crossed his arms unsatisfied with your response, “just finish it tomorrow y/n-ya”

you shook your head immediately. it was noticeable that your attention was slipping back to your work. he observed you as you yawned, rubbed your eyes, heard your stomach growl, and saw you shivering.

he knew you were to busy to take care of yourself, so he would have to do it for you.

he went to your shared quarters to get you your favorite sweatshirt. then he made his way to the kitchen to fix you something light before bed. he made his way back to the shared research space.

he pulled your chair away from the desk which earned a suspicious glare from you. he tried to soften his tone knowing it was the best way to get you to listen to what he has to say, “you need to wear this. you’re freezing baby.”

law helps you wear your sweatshirt even though you protest heavily against it. you repeatedly stated how you just want to finish your last task, and how he was getting in the way. he was not giving in to your demands anytime soon.

he hands you a plate of food and a glass of milk, “you need to eat something as well.”

you look at the contents of the plate. you slightly laughed as you examine the pb&j sandwich with a few cookies on the plate, “seriously law?” you couldn’t tell if he was making a joke out of this or not.

his stance said otherwise. his tried his best to keep his demeanor, but he couldn’t help to feel quite embarrassed because of your sudden laughs. he mumbled as he kept his gaze focused on the ground, “it was either that or cereal y/n..”

a slight red crept up his face. you knew the poor man in front of you just wanted you to be taken care of.

after much consideration you decide to eat the “meal” presented to you. you watched as his whole demeanor changed to satisfied. if you looked any closer you could see a faint smile ghosting his lips. as you make your way through the food you see law starting the clear your desk in an orderly fashion. he made sure to put all your materials on one side of the desk in an organized respectful way, “it’ll all be ready for you tomorrow, so theres no need to continue your work.”

you hummed as you continued eating. after finishing and resting the plate you look back to the tattooed man, “if i’m taking a break then so are you.”

law immediately shook his head, “i have a lot of work to finish y/n.”

you rolled your eyes dramatically, “you’re such a hypocrite!” you made your way to his desk to give it the same organizational treatment as he gave your things. it was only fair he followed the rules he was imposing on you.

you ignored the responses from the man as you grab his arm to pull him out the office. being that you two barely take care of yourselves while you work meant having to look out for each other. you both couldn’t be more thankful for each other since you both fulfilled each others needs so well.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

The sounds around him were different from what he was used to—no gunfire or heavy footsteps, no shoutings from Price about night ambushes, no Johnny’s loud snoring. Simon peered through heavy eyelids, finding out it’s just the bloody annoying birds chirping outside. Groaning, he turned his aching body and reached his arms out.

Only to find the other side of the bed empty of his wife’s presence. Simon furrowed his brows, frowning. God, he’s such a grumpy old bastard, isn’t he?

Simon jerked upright, alerted by the clattering sound coming from outside the bedroom—the old dog instincts in him kicked in, only to be quickly quelled by his more recently acquired instincts shaped by the realities of the last seven years. He got up from the bed, trying not to be too agitated, making his way to investigate.

Upon entering the kitchen, his shoulders sagged with relief as he laid his eyes on the sole culprit—crouching on the floor, attempting to tidy up a mess of spilled milk and cereal with a torn kitchen towel. No doubt the source of the noise.

Walking over slowly so as not to scare her, he then asked, “What’s goin’ on ‘ere then?”

Gianna whipped around in a flash like a criminal caught in the act, her big brown eyes gleaming with a touch of guilt but not a trace of fear. "I dropped my cereal," she confessed succinctly, mirroring a trait she had unquestionably inherited from her father.

He crouched down next to her. “’Ere, let me help you with that,” then reached out, taking the paper towel from her tiny hands and started cleaning up.

Gianna just watched him until she finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“’S alright, darlin’. Accidents ‘appen.” Simon stated, rising to his feet and tossing the used tissues into the trash can. He then turned his attention back to his daughter. “But you could’ve woke me up. I’d ‘ave helped you clean it up straight away.”

“I know, but you were sleeping. An’ mum says you sleep like a… like a… clog?”

At that, he couldn't help but chuckle. “I think you mean a log, love.” He corrected.

“Oh right!” The little girl exclaims, nodding her head. “Tha’s the word. You sleep like a log.”

“Yeah, alright, whatever yer mum says.” He glanced at the box of cereal still sitting on the kitchen counter, then decided to keep himself and his daughter away from it. “So cereal is no option then. What d’you want for breakfast instead?”

Without missing a beat, Gianna chirps, “Ice cream!”

Simon snorts, shaking his head. “Can’t ‘ave ice cream for breakfast, darlin’.”

Gianna tilts her head to the side, eyes looking up at him questioningly. "Why not?" she asked. “Mummy 'as coffee for breakfast, alllll the time!” she spreads her arms out for dramatic effect—he chuckles at that. Definitely got it from mommy.

“Yeah, don’t be like yer mum, alright?”

The girl frowns slightly. “But why not? Mummy’s pretty, an’ she cooks good food.”

Something he couldn’t disagree with. He nodded, reaching out to ruffle her blonde hair. “That she does, darlin’. But we still don’t want you havin’ coffee or ice cream for breakfast, alright?”

"Okay, then can we go to Uncle John's house?" she asked.

“An’ why’s that?”

Gianna bounced on her toes, her arms swinging. “I miss Buddy an’ Daisy!”

Simon groaned inwardly. Should’ve known she’d bring that up. Ever since that one time he brought her to Price’s place and she met his dogs, Gianna has been begging to go back. Every time after school—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” Every weekend—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” And the thing is, the bloody mutts aren’t even there anymore, not since Price and his missus divorced.

“The dogs ain't there anymore, love.” He watched her face fall.

"Why not?" she asked, eyes wide in confusion.

Simon shrugged. “Cause,” he trailed off, not really wanting to explain the whole messy divorce situation to a five-year-old. “Nevermind that. What d’you want for breakfast?”

Instead of answering, Gianna crossed her arms while frowning. “I don’t want breakfast. I want Buddy an’ Daisy!

A sigh escaped Simon as the results of his parenting bit him in the ass. Bloody hell, he had to stop surrendering to her big eyes and pouting lips—just like her mum. She had learned from the best, hadn’t she? Got him wrapped around her tiny finger. There was only one trick up his sleeve to get her to cooperate.

“If you don’t eat breakfast, then then we won’t be able to go an’ watch yer mum later.”

And sure enough, Gianna’s whole expression lit up, renewed. She gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth in an exaggerated gesture. Seems like he got himself a drama queen.

“We’re gonna watch Mum?!” she asked, full of hope.

Simon nodded, trying to maintain a serious expression but always failing because of her antics. “As long as you behave an’ eat breakfast.”

The five-year-old was cheering, jumping, and doing her little dances in unbridled energy—just like her mum. He guessed it was true what Garrick said that day the lads visited the two of you at the hospital after Gianna was born—“She’s a perfect blend of the both of you.”

“Pancakes! I want pancakes!” Gianna squeals, scampering to the cabinet where the flour is stored. “Come on, Daddy! Let's eat breakfast so we can go an' watch Mummy!"

When the evening draws near, Gianna is already in the bathroom. Lately, she's been insisting on bathing herself, saying she's a “big girl” now. But he guessed it's more because she wants to play with her Barbie doll in the water, using up all the soap in the process.

“Don't take too long, alright? We've gotta be out the door by five.” He says.

"Okay!" Gianna chirps back, not really listening to him, too busy splashing around and chatting to her plastic friend.

Keeping the door open to ensure her safety, Simon stepped out to attend to his own tasks. Seems like it was yesterday when she was just a little baby, lying in the bath support, her tiny legs kicking every time you would rinse the soap off her soft skin. Time indeed flies so fast; one moment, she is just a baby who struggles to stand on her wobbly legs, and the next, she insists on doing everything independently.

Simon let out a heavy sigh, turning to your shared bedroom to pull on a fresh button up. As he’s closing the dresser drawer, the sound of his phone ringing caught his attention. He read the caller ID before accepting it and lifting it to his ear.

“’Ello?”

“Hey, are you on your way yet?” Your familiar voice comes through the line.

Glancing over to the half-open bathroom door, where he could hear the faint sounds of Gianna splashing and talking to herself, he then said, “The kid's in the bath.”

“Okay, okay,” You said, he could hear some shifting on the other side. “Make sure you bring her coat—the brown one. It's so cold today, I don't want her to get—”

“I got it, love.” He cuts you off gently, assuring you easily. “Just focus on yer ballet. I'll make sure she's all bundled up, alright?”

A chuckle from you—one that brought a smile to his own lips. Always the overthinker, his wife. He walked over to grab Gianna's towel and placed it atop a small chair near the bathtub, then held up five fingers, communicating the remaining time she had left before she had to get out.

“I’m on a break right now,” you tell him, voice soft, whispering. “I… I miss you, and Gianna too.”

He can’t help the smile spreading at that. “That so?”

“Yes,” you admit, he imagines you clutching the phone tightly against your ear like he’s seen you do so often. “Being here, rehearsing for the show, you two are all I can think about. I want to get this over with and go home.”

“Think she misses you too,” he murmurs.

“Really?”

“Yeah, she's been jumpin’ about when I mentioned we're gonna watch you.”

“That’s nice,” he could hear the smile in your voice. Then, a small pause between you before you asked again, “Um, do you… Do you miss me too?”

A low, amused chuckle escaped him at your shy question, and he compares it to a schoolgirl trying to gauge her chances with her crush. This is your husband you are talking to. He couldn't help but find the conversation amusing—and yet, he couldn't deny the warmth that rose to color his cheeks.

“What you actin’ all shy an’ coy for, eh?” he teased, “We’ve been married for seven bloody years now, ain’t we? Course I miss you, sweetheart.”

Simon could hear you take a deep breath. “Well, I just… Well, you just got home from deployment, and we haven't really had time together before I got to do rehearsals, so I feel kind of…”

“Ah, I see,” Simon murmurs, voice dropping to a low, rumbling tone. He glanced to the bathroom to make sure Gianna was still out of earshot before continuing, “Feelin' a bit starved for attention, are we, love? Maybe we should call up Johnny, see if 'e can come 'n babysit the mite for a night. Give us a chance to… reconnect, eh?”

You suck in a sharp breath at his words, heat rising to your cheeks and somewhere else from his implication. For a moment, you are silent; another minute passes, and Simon almost thinks the call has been cut off until your soft, discreet whisper finally cuts through.

“… Do you think the phone company records calls like this?”

At that, he laughed. “Why? You plannin' on sayin' somethin' naughty?”

“No! No, not at all!” You stammered; he can almost feel your embarrassment through the phone. “I-I was just… curious, that's all.”

It was amusing. How easily he could make you all worked up and flustered, even after nearly ten years of being together—dating, marriage, and even a kid thrown in the mix. He heard you take another deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Don't forget the special pass, okay? They won't let you in the theater without it.” You reminded him.

“I’ll find another way in if I ‘ave to.”

“Simon, I'm serious,” you say, voice firm. “You can't just sneak in. They'll never let you—"

You pause for a moment; Simon assumes you're focused on whatever's going on in the background. He catches the sound of a voice calling your name, saying something about returning to the stage. Then, you sigh into the phone.

“I gotta go. Stage check,” you explain, almost apologetically. “But don't forget the coat and the pass, okay? I need you there, Simon. Both of you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Love ya. See you soon.”

“I love you too.”

With that, Simon ended the call. He pivoted back to the bathroom; the gentle sound of splashing water reached his ears. “Alright, darlin’, time's up," he called out. "Let's get you dried off an' ready to go.”

“Okay!”

A short while later, the two Rileys found themselves inside Gianna's pistachio-colored room—the little girl still wrapped up in her towel like a burrito—both standing in front of the dresser. The sound of her damp feet tapping the floor filled the air as Simon swept his eyes over the colorful options in the closet.

“Alright, then,” he said, looking down at her. “What do you want to wear today?”

Gianna scrunches up her face in deep concentration, brows furrowed, lips pouting in consideration before finally pointing to a rather… mismatched combo of clothes. A bright pink tutu, a neon green t-shirt, and a pair of polka-dot stockings.

“That one!” she declared, looking up at him with a proud grin.

Wrinkles formed on his forehead as Simon gave a look of disapproval. "That?" He questions, tone laced with doubt. “You sure about that? I don't think that's gonna look very good.”

Gianna’s smile faltered, and Simon immediately felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Bloody hell. Clearing his throat, he quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s a bit… unique, isn’t it?” he said, trying to sound more encouraging—as if he hadn't just said it would look ugly. “But if that’s what you wanna wear, then tha’s what we’ll do.”

“Yay!” she squeals, bouncing, clapping her hands as her lips stretch into a toothy grin.

Reaching into the dresser, he pulls out the bright pink tutu, the neon green t-shirt, and the polka-dot stockings and lays them on her bed.

“You can do it by yourself, right?”

Gianna nods eagerly. “Yep!” she chirps, already reaching for the shirt.

“Alright, then. Daddy’ll be waitin’ downstairs, a’ight?”

“Okay!”

With one last glance, he turns and heads out of her room, making his way downstairs to ensure he has all the important things. Wipes, tissues, a few snacks, and a spare set of clothes just in case. He shoved it all into the bag that you usually bring whenever you're out with Gianna.

Zipping the bag, he then reached into his jeans pocket to feel for his wallet. He takes it out, flicks it open, and verifies that the special pass is safely tucked inside. His gaze drifts to the brown coat you had specified, draped over the arms of the couch—another item checked off his mental list.

Glancing up at the grandfather clock, he lets out a soft curse under his breath. Shouldering the bag and grabbing the coat, he walks into the living room and calls out Gianna’s name.

The car ride is a bit of a quiet affair, save for the sound of raindrops pattering against the windscreen. Simon glances at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Gianna in her car seat. She’s kicking her legs back and forth, a slightly bored expression on her face as she stares out the window—at least she’s not uncomfortable. He turns his attention back to the road.

The red light turned green; the car engine hummed as Simon accelerated. Suddenly, a small voice came from the backseat.

“Daddy, I want my song,” Gianna said.

Not understanding what she meant, Simon furrows his brows, shooting a puzzled glance at her reflection in the mirror. “Your song?” he asks, confused. “What song’s that, then?"

A dramatic sigh escapes her. The girl rolls her eyes in a way that is almost comically exaggerated for a five-year-old. “My song!” she exclaims, as if it were common knowledge. “The wheels on the bus, Daddy! The wheels on the bus go round and round!”

“Right, right,” he said, one finger reaching out to fiddle with nearly every button on the radio. “The wheels on the bus. Should’ve known that, shouldn’t I?”

Soon enough, the radio sprung to life, starting the tune of her favorite song. Gianna’s face lit up, and she began happily singing along. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round… Bloody hell, this is worse than the songs you'd had on repeat for a week. But he held his tongue from protesting, observing his little princess doing her small dance instead.

The torture was cut short when the car came to a stop at their destination. The grand neoclassical building of the Metropolitan Opera loomed before them, its mighty and majestic pillars illuminated by the lights. He closed the door, rounding the vehicle to get to Gianna’s side.

Reaching in, he unbuckled the car seat, the girl waiting patiently as he did so.

“Are we gonna see Mum?” she asked, brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Soon, princess.”

Gently, Simon pulled her out of the car seat, setting her down on the ground. Locking the car, he took her tiny hand in his before the two of them made their way to the entrance, where a steady stream of well-dressed onlookers was beginning to file into the building.

Panic began to kick in when Gianna’s tiny hand slipped from his. Before he could protest, however, she pointed in a direction. “Look! That’s Mum!”

Following where her little finger pointed, his brown eyes landed on the large billboard on the side of the opera house. There, illuminated by the warm glow of a spotlight, was you, posed elegantly in your ballet attire, with the bold letters of “The Nutcracker” plastered above you. He couldn’t help the proud smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

The sound of Gianna's hurried footsteps pulled him back to the present, her small form already darting towards the huge display. Quickly, he pulled out his updated mobile (the only reason he bought it was so he could take pictures of you and Gianna) and snapped a quick picture of his daughter standing next to the billboard.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he then strides over to Gianna. “C’mon, don’t wanna be late for Mum, do we?” he says, reaching down to scoop her into his arms. Simon tucks Gianna’s head under his chin.

Fishing out the special pass out of his wallet, he hands it to the person in charge of ticketing. They wave him through, and he steps into the foyer. Footsteps and chatter echo around him as he climbs the steps and through the towering doors of the grand opera hall.

After finding their seats, Simon leaned back comfortably in the velvet chair. But Gianna? The girl sat on the edge of her seat, her blonde head turning from side to side as she took in the sights of people filling their designated spots. She darted her eyes from one end of the room to the other, like she was searching for something—or rather, someone.

“Where’s Mum?” She asked, turning to him with a slight frown.

Simon was still leaning back in his chair. “She’ll be out soon, love,” he assured her.

“When?” she pressed, growing impatient.

Reaching over, he gently pinched her chubby cheek, eliciting a small giggle from Gianna. “Soon, princess,” he repeated, this time really hoping it will soothe her little heart. “Just sit back and relax, alright?”

“Okay, but are we gonna watch Mummy?”

“’Course, that’s why we’re here, right?”

Finally convinced, Gianna leans back, her tiny body relaxing as the lights begin to dim. The orchestra conductor ascends the podium, lifting his baton high. Gradually, the music comes to life. Simon glances over at Gianna to find her swaying her head to the melodies.

“Look, Daddy! Snow!” she exclaims, pointing at the delicate flakes of ‘snow’ falling as the opening scene of the Nutcracker unfolds.

It was easy enough to make Gianna enamored. She was mesmerized by the ‘snow’ coming down from above, letting out a soft gasp of awe when she saw the towering Christmas tree on stage. When the audience applauded, she joined in excitedly, trying to clap even louder.

But nothing, nothing compares to the moment she spots her mum.

The second you glide onto the stage, Gianna lets out a loud gasp, launching off the chair. She glues her gaze to your every step, jaw hanging open as her eyes radiate pure adoration. With her tiny index finger pointed, she jumps up and down.

“That’s Mummy, Daddy! That’s Mummy!”

His heart had never been this full. He chuckled, reaching out to gently tug her back down into her seat. “Aye, that's her, love.” He said, following where she pointed, to his wife.

“Tha’s Mummy, Daddy! Woah, woah! She’s so pretty!”

And she’s right—you’re absolutely enchanting, every movement imbued with elegance and poise. The fluid extension of your legs, the exquisite way the spotlight caresses your form. He watches you dance with your co-star in perfect synchronization, flawlessly executing those ballerina moves he can never recall the names of but loves all the same.

“She’s the best, Daddy! Look at ‘er go! Woaahh!”

“Aye, bloody brilliant, she is.”

Gianna nods in agreement. “Yeah, bloody brilliant!”

Simon snorts when she steals his lines, echoing like a loyal follower. As you continue your performance, Gianna’s oohs and awws fill the air around them. She makes little cheers, more praises, more clapping. “Didja see that jump?!” here, “She’s sooo pretty!” there.

Miraculously, Gianna still had a tank of energy even after the show was over. The second the girl saw you, she ran over and threw her arms around you. You quickly leaned down, sweeping Gianna into your arms. She giggled as you peppered her cheeks, nose, and forehead with kisses.

“Here’s my pretty girl!” you said, giving her chubby cheeks another peck.

Swelling with pride, Simon smiled at the sight of his two favorite people together. Walking over to his girls, he held out the bouquet of flowers he had just taken from the trunk of his car, offering them to you.

“Well done, love.”

You accept the flowers as Simon takes Gianna from you. “Oh, babe, they’re beautiful.” You breathe, lips curving into a radiant smile.

Without a second thought, you rise onto your tiptoes, bridging the height difference between you, before pressing your lips to his in a slow, prolonged kiss. Gianna makes a disgusted sound—Simon can feel the corners of your mouth curving into a smile. You can feel the warmth of his body as he pulls you close; the familiar scent of his cologne and something of him intoxicating you.

But the moment is interrupted when Gianna tugs on Simon's cheek.

“That’s gross, Daddy! Get off Mum!”

Simon pressed one last, gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away completely. “She’s my wife too, kid.” He reminded his daughter.

You giggle at Gianna's reaction. Reaching up, you cup Simon's stubbled jaw, your thumb gently caressing the short, prickly hair over his chin. Then, turning back to your pouting daughter, you lean closer to place a soft, affectionate kiss upon her cheek.

“I need to go change, and then we can all go home, okay?”

Soon enough, the three of you were in the car, with the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of “The Wheels on the Bus” playing on the radio. In the back seat, Gianna was still full of energy, even more enthusiastic after the ballet show.

As Simon makes another turn, Gianna suddenly pipes up. “I want to be like Mummy when I grow up!” she declared.

You twist your body in the passenger seat to face her. “Really? You wanna be a ballerina like me?”

Watching Gianna in the rearview mirror, Simon joined in the conversation with his question. “Yeah? What happened to wanting to be a soldier?”

It's not like he would actually allow her if it ended up being more than a silly childhood dream. The mere idea of Gianna putting herself in danger, surrounded by self-entitled men in their star-encrusted uniforms, facing the same horrors he had seen, filled his stomach with unease. If any of her aspirations were to see fruition, he would much rather she shine in the spotlight, where she could display her poise and elegance, just like you.

But Gianna took her time in answering, as if she was considering it carefully. “‘Course I want that too! I'll just be a ballerina an’ a soldier!”

Both you and Simon laughed at that. Always gotta have it all, your little girl.

[pretty-circa006]

Unhealthy Attachments pt. 5

Missing Him

◀︎previous part

Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader

summary Negan's indecisiveness is starting to take a toll on you tags more angst

wc 1.5k

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

 Every day since that afternoon in the church has been hell. Your dreams were so close to coming true. He said he wanted to make things work and treated you more affectionately than ever before, but quickly changed his mind not even an hour later. You felt your hope and happiness drain from within you, leaving you to be that empty shell you were before that day in his office. 

 You sat at the kitchen table, nibbling on some cereal. Your stomach was in far too many knots for food to be enjoyable. Thoughts of Negan plagued your mind no matter what you did. You heard someone walk into the kitchen, but you didn't bother looking up from your soggy cereal. 

"Honey," you mom said softly. You glanced up at her awaiting her next words. 

"Could you run down to the store and get a few things for the church picnic tomorrow?" she handed you the grocery list on a folded sheet of paper before you could even answer. You groaned internally, mainly because you didn't want to go to the store, but because you had forgotten all about the church picnic. You grumbled to yourself as you cleaned up your breakfast and trudged up to your room to get dressed. You were so dejected that you couldn't bring yourself to care about your puffy eyes and overall disheveled appearance. 

...

"You look like shit," you heard a voice say as you were looking at the expiration date on a carton of milk. You already knew who it was without having to look. It was Negan. Only he would break your heart then laugh about the aftereffects. 

"Feel like it too," you replied without looking at him. You couldn't, even though you desired to see his handsome face once again. You were sure you'd start bawling about what could have been. He'd have to be blind to not notice how heartbroken you were. You were wearing your heart on the sleeve of that tattered t-shirt you wore. He knew what it would take to brighten you back up again, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It'd be wrong no matter how he tried to spin it. The best thing he could do for you, was let you go. 

"Have a blessed day, Coach," you muttered sardonically before continuing your shopping. He sighed despondently before calling out your name, catching your attention. 

"What do you want, Negan!" you asked, tears burning in your eyes. You did not want to cry in front of the man again and he didn't want to be the reason you cried, not again. 

"Not pursuing this," he said motioning to him and you, "is what is best for you. I am not doing this to hurt you, and you know that." 

"That's not for you to decide! I am an adult who can make her own decisions and I want us to work," you argued, a lump forming in your throat making your next words difficult. You didn't know when you and him became an us, but calling it anything else would've been a lie and you both knew it. "Every minute away from you has been painful a-and I really miss you." The tears were falling now and you couldn't bear to look at the older man. You breathed shakily as you used your sleeves to wipe your tears as they left your eyes. Negan's hand clasped around your wrist, simultaneously pulling you closer to him and your arms away from your face. He held your face in his hands and swept your tears sway with his thumb. Negan's touch was comforting, but you didn't dare let your guard down around him. You couldn't handle him leaving again. 

"Doll, I-"

"If you're n-not gonna be serious about me, just let me go," you whispered, cutting him off. He looked at you with too many emotions swirling in his hazel eyes, rejection burning on the tip of his tongue. As if it were like you could feel it, you pulled away from him and stormed off, leaving him in the dust as you continued your shopping.

...

 The day of the church picnic arrived faster than you anticipated. After welcoming everyone to the picnic, you excused yourself and set up your own picnic blanket in an isolated area. You needed some alone time. Your mind was still reeling from that encounter you had with Negan the other day. Nauseous. That's how you felt. You were sick that you let Negan consume your thoughts like this. You cried about him before spring break, during spring break, and probably will after spring break. You hugged yourself as you bit back tears, grateful that you were far enough away from the others so they couldn't see. 

"There you are. Been lookin' for ya all over the goddamn place." Your head snapped in the direction of Negan's voice, your eyes meeting his as he stood over you, holding a plate. 

"Wha-? What are you doing here?" you asked, scooting up into a sitting position. He pulled out a pamphlet that was advertising the church's picnic and tossed it to you. 

"I wanted to come talk to ya since you wouldn't listen to me at the store," he explained. You stubbornly turned away from him, crossing your arms. You felt him sit beside you on your picnic blanket, but you still refused to face him. He slid the plate toward you, on it was a hotdog and some potato chips. 

" 'M not hungry," you lied, pushing the plate back to him. 

"Are you gonna fuckin' listen to me or should I just leave? Because I did not come all this way for your stubborn ass to ignore me." He was getting frustrated, which was obvious by the way he raised his voice, but he immediately regretted it when he heard you whimper and saw your shoulders shake. 

"W-what do you wanna say?" you choked out. Tears silently flowed down your face as you sniffled, choking back your sobs. 

"I shouldn't have kept leading you on like that, especially since you're so goddamn sensitive. So, I came to let you know that I'm done with that. I wanna make you happy, doll, I wanna spend time with you," he admitted. Your eyes widened. You didn't know of this was a dream or not. But when you felt his thumb swipe away your tears, you knew it was real. You tackled him into a hug, causing him to collide with the ground, taking you with him. 

"You better be a hundred percent sure this time," you mumbled into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you close. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at being in such an intimate position with him. He's hugged you before, but never like this. Instead of a teacher pitying his student, he was hugging you because he wanted to, not because he thought you needed it. The intimacy flustered him too. Feeling you on top of him was igniting every feeling he worked so hard to bury. But he was getting tired of burying those feelings. He saw the way his resistance was hurting you and seeing you hurt hurt him. 

"I am. I promise," he whispered into your ear. You held him tighter, not wanting to let him go, and it seemed like he didn't want to let you go either. But you were actually hungry, so you sat up and began eating the hotdog he got you. 

"Does this mean we can spend time together...outside of school?" you asked, batting the lashes of your doe eyes at him. 

"Of course, doll." The nickname, along with his promise of companionship, caused heat to blossom upon your face.  From a distance, you heard your father shouting your name. You looked at Negan longingly, not wanting to leave his side for fear he'd disappear, but he nodded his head toward your parents, giving you the go ahead and a silent promise that he'll still be here.

"Yes, dad?" you asked after trudging your way through the grass over to him and your mom.

"Ah, there he is!" he said, looking past you and at Negan who you didn't know followed you. You looked at Negan, confused, but he just smirked at you.

"Mr. Smith, my wife and I just wanted to thank you for bringing our daughter home last Friday," your father said gratefully. 

"Oh yes, our daughter talks highly of you. Says you make school that much better for her," your mom chimed in. 

"It's no problem," Negan replied. 

"Why don't you pop on by for dinner tonight? We'd love to show you our appreciation." Your face was flaming at the possibility of Negan being in your house. Butterflies flapped around furiously in your tummy at the thought of him seeing your bedroom. He must've noticed how antsy you were, because he smirked at you before he quickly accepted the offer. 

"That is very kind of you all. I'll be there." 

next part ▶︎

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I find it funny where in both comics and fanfiction

No one gets right how much Dick Grayson should be eating?

(Warning to everyone from here on bc I get into calories and plz don’t read on if you have issues around weight/ food thank you!)

“Oh Dick lives on cereal”

“Oh Dick eats like a bird”

“Oh he forgets to eat”

“Oh he’s prone to restrictive eating”

GUYS HES a heavily athletic young male who spent his LIFE in sport is around 6’0 and is vaguely dorito shaped

Like his basal metabolic rate even without exercise is HORRIFICALLY HIGH like at the conservative estimate it would be around 3.6k (since hes already accustomed to a heavily active life he’d burn more even laying down than say a sedentary person)

And EVEN if you didn’t count running around the city all night/ his day life/ the fact he’s usually on his feat even as a civilian.

If you just took in the calisthenics required to THROW yourself off of a roof

Baby that’s 700calories an hour

So again LOW END 2.4K + 3.6k = brother is packing away 6k calories

Without all the running, working out, training, gymnastics

And hes running/jumping across a city so i would also put in the average 2.6k calories the average person burns running a marathon?

Are you seeing what I’m putting down?

Bro is EATING like a bodybuilding

And PACKING on carbs on carbs on carbs for energy

Like at the LOW end Dickie boy is eating 7k calories for maintenance.

Which is also why I am a huge fan of the cereal thing in moderation. Bc yeah guess what a quick release cheap carb that can be consumed quickly makes sense

But I also believe Dick is eating fuck you amounts of high calorie low volume foods like 1000 calorie smoothie 2-3 times a day

Like Dicks grocery bill must be OFFENSIVE

Like bro must be putting sticks off butter in his coffee instead of milk bc idek how he wouldn’t be struggling

Like he’s losing 3-6% of his body weight in movement alone

AND LETS NOT EVEN TALK ABOUT THE LIKE 6 LITERS OF WATER