#i know you hate threads from answers now = w =

[ghostgirl101]

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

══════════════⊹⊱≼ fin ≽⊰⊹══════════════

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

[reidmania]

living for the hope of it all | s.reid

summary; spencer wants more than you can offer him.

warnings; fem reader, situationships, friends w benefits situation, illusions to sex, no strings attached agreement, reader has commitment issues, avoidant reader, angst, no happy ending.

an; yayayyayaya i laove angst, i laove avoidant reader.

You’re sitting across from him, feeling the heat of his gaze from across the room. It’s the same look he always gives you—part curiosity, part yearning, with a layer of something deeper that you’ve tried to ignore from the start. Spencer Reid, a genius, the child prodigy, and, perhaps most dangerously, the man who seems to see right through you.

When you began whatever this was, you were upfront. You didn’t want commitment, didn’t need the complications of feelings and labels. You’d made your boundaries clear, blunt, even cold. No dates, no labels, no expectations. Just the two of you, occasionally meeting in quiet places, sharing stolen hours that were meant to be simple. And you could tell yourself it was just that—simple. Until recently.

It’s not like you didn’t see the signs. The way his hand would linger on your arm, the way his texts became a little more frequent, or how he’d suggest something that sounded suspiciously like an actual date. You’d turn him down or laugh it off, dismissing it like he was only half-serious. But tonight is different. You can feel it. The weight of whatever he’s holding back is nearly suffocating.

“So,” he starts, voice gentle, almost hesitant. “I… need to talk to you about something.”

There it is. The words you’ve been dreading. You swallow, pushing down the instinct to shut this down before it begins, to brush him off with some practiced line that will let you slip out of this conversation unscathed. But something in the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible.

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that makes him look younger, a little vulnerable. “I think…” He takes a breath, and you brace yourself for the impact. “I think I want something more with you.”

The words hang between you like a fragile thread, stretched taut, ready to snap. You feel a familiar tightness in your chest, that instinctual urge to pull away, to build walls so high he couldn’t possibly climb them. But instead, you just stare, hoping he’ll continue so you don’t have to respond. Maybe he’ll convince himself it was a bad idea to bring it up.

But Spencer isn’t that easy to dissuade. He’s studied you, probably more than anyone else has. He knows you won’t answer right away. He knows how much you hate talking about feelings, especially your own.

“Look,” he says, quieter now, almost pleading. “I know you said you didn’t want anything serious, and I understand why. But I can’t keep pretending that this is enough for me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get tangled in your throat. He’s too close, too intense, and the familiar panic starts to rise. You want to tell him that he doesn’t need anything more from you, that he should know this was all it ever would be, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to say it.

Instead, you manage a sigh, crossing your arms defensively. “Spencer, we talked about this.”

“I know.” His voice is still soft, but there’s a firmness underneath it. “But people change, right? Feelings change. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I can’t just… stay in this halfway place anymore. Not when I know how I feel about you.”

His words hit you like a punch, and you have to steady yourself, focusing on anything other than his face. You’d been so careful to make sure he knew this was just casual, just an arrangement. A simple fix to fulfill a mutual need. And yet, the way he’s looking at you makes it clear that somewhere along the way, he forgot.

You shift uncomfortably, arms still crossed. “This… isn’t what I want,” you finally say, each word careful and deliberate. “We agreed this was going to be casual. No strings, no feelings.”

“But can’t you see that it’s not that simple anymore?” His voice cracks slightly, and you can hear the desperation, the frustration simmering beneath. “I know you’re scared, and I know you don’t want to get hurt. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care about you, not when I think about you all the time, not when—”

“Spencer.” You cut him off, sharp, and he flinches slightly. “You knew what this was. I told you from the beginning. I can’t… I’m not going to be someone you can build a future with.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if steadying himself, and when he looks at you again, there’s a vulnerability there that makes your stomach twist. “Why not? Why can’t you let yourself care about me?”

Your jaw tightens, and you look away, swallowing down the familiar knot of emotions you’re used to burying. You know he won’t understand, not fully. The truth is too complicated, too layered in years of self-protection, a lifetime of not trusting anyone to stay. Of not trusting yourself to hold onto something good without destroying it. You wished you could argue that you did care about him, because you did. Too much. An uncomfortable amount. An un-admitable amount.

“It’s just not who I am,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t do relationships, Spencer. I told you this.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to keep running from this just because it scares you.” His words cut deeper than you’re willing to admit. There’s a part of you, a voice you’ve tried to ignore, that wonders if maybe he’s right, if maybe you’re just too afraid of what could go wrong to even let yourself imagine what could go right. But the fear outweighs the possibility, and you push that thought away as quickly as it comes.

“It’s not just fear,” you insist, more to yourself than him. “I don’t want the kind of life you want. I don’t want the same things you do.” You didn’t know if this was true, you shut down any hopeful conversation about the future. About what sort of life you wanted, when he had asked you how many kids you wanted that one time you stayed awake together too late, you laughed and brushed it off. You couldn’t imagine being with someone long enough to get to that point.

Spencer’s expression shifts, something like resignation settling in his eyes. He nods slowly, and for a moment, the silence feels crushing, as though it’s pressing down on both of you, making it hard to breathe.

“Okay,” he says finally, his voice quiet, hollow. “If that’s what you really want, then… I’ll respect it.”

You can see the hurt in his eyes, the way he’s forcing himself to accept your words, and it tears at something inside you that you didn’t even realize was vulnerable. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you wish things could be different, but the words feel empty in your mouth. If you could choose anyone in the world to fall in love with, it would be Spencer Reid, but regardless of whatever apology or wishful truth you could spit out, it wouldn’t change anything. You and Spencer were so close to being enough, yet so far, like January and December.

So, instead, you just nod, your expression carefully neutral. “It’s for the best, Spencer. Really.” Some sick words you can’t even convince yourself are true.

He gives you a small, sad smile, the kind that twists your insides and makes you want to take it all back, just for a moment. But you don’t. You stay rooted to your spot, holding onto the fragile shell of indifference you’ve constructed around yourself.

“Right,” he says, standing up slowly, his movements careful, as though he’s afraid of breaking something. “I guess… I’ll see you around.” He doesn’t wait for you to respond, and you don’t try to stop him. You watch as he walks away, each step feeling like a goodbye that you’re not sure you’re ready for. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? The freedom to walk away without attachment, without strings.

But as he disappears around the corner, a hollow ache settles in your chest, a strange emptiness that feels foreign and terrifying. You tell yourself it will pass, that this is just the consequence of cutting ties. You’re good at this. You’re good at moving on. But this time, as the silence fills the space he left behind, you realize with a sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as immune as you thought.

[amourane]

cry for me

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: smut, pwp, enemies but their fwbs??

w/c: 0.8k

summary: you hated theodore nott but why now are you on your knees for him?

warnings: explicit sexual content, degradation, name calling, dacryphilia

a/n: i love theo sm and i'm currently writing an e2l fic with him so this is just me testing the waters! <3

If you were given the chance to either eat worms for the rest of your life or stay in a room with Theodore Nott, you’d choose to eat worms. There was a tiny part of you that knows that you shouldn’t be mean, afterall you’re known for being the sweetest person at Hogwarts, always willing to lend a helping hand to those who needed it.

Theo was just...cold. You didn’t think you’d ever seen the guy crack a smile, only smirks and devilish grins that can never mean something good. He was always lurking in the corners sometimes you wouldn’t even notice he’s there until he says something.

Hate was a strong word and you didn’t like to use it often. But you had grown up with Theo and it was always a constant apocalypse between the two of you. He had once given you a wilted flower on your birthday stating that it was to remind you that everything dies one day, including you. How could one person be so...morbid? It was safe to say that you really really disliked him.

So why were you here, on your knees, a moaning whimpering mess? Well maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought you did.

"Look at sweet little Y/n.” He cooed, grabbing your chin to look up at him, your eyes half shut as you pleaded for more. They were watering and your lips were flushed and glistening. “Who would’ve thought you were such a cock hungry slut. Suck."

At his command, you opened your mouth, tongue licking his tip. Your hands came up to palm his huge cock, whimpering at the girth between your fingers. Everything about Theo screamed seductive and, though you hate to admit it, you did find him irresistible. As he whispered more dirty words you found your panties soaking and he stuffed your face full of him and only him.

Your nose brushed his pelvis as you took him deeper, swallowing as you did. His cock filled your wet cavern, sliding into your mouth repeatedly. Your tongue swiped over the tip again, moaning around his length. The lewd sounds that filled your ears made your body purr in delight as your eyes fluttered shut. Theo threw his head back, his dark hair like a halo around him.

"Fuck-" He cursed, threading his fingers into your hair, pounding his cock into your mouth and you gagged, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose. "Such a fucking slut f’me, you like being my cum dump don't you? Like being used like the filthy whore you are whenever you're needed. Don’t worry I’ll make sure that nasty mouth is full of my cum angel."

The vulgar words he spat out always made your mind spin in a hazy world of lust. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him as deep as you can. When he delivered a harsh thrust into your mouth, you found your body trembling from the force, your legs felt like jelly.

Your fingers slowly trailed towards your thighs, trying to discreetly open them but the Slytherin caught you. 

“Aww.” He mocked a wicked smirk spread across his face. “Does the cock whore want to touch herself? Are you that desperate of a slut, wait I already know the answer, of course you fucking are.” 

You felt his hands dig into the roots of your hair, tugging roughly and you felt the pain sing through your body. You felt your tears roll down your face, big fat drops as you cried from both pain and pleasure.

“Now you’re gonna be a good fucking girl f’me and keep your hands off what’s mine.”

His mean glare told you enough and without protest, you removed your fingers, placing both your hands on his thighs as you continued to suck, not wanting another punishment. 

The filthy words that spilled out of his mouth never stopped and you felt yourself growing wetter as he called you more names. As the pulsing of your pussy grew you couldn’t help but grow impatient at the stickiness between your thighs. His cock throbbed in your mouth and you knew he’s close. You suck him harder, continuing your little ministrations that you knew made Theo go crazy.

“Shit Y/n.” 

He moaned, feeling the tightness of your throat. A string of curses left his pink lips when he came and it filled your mouth, warmness spreading over your tastebuds and you swallow. His breath hitched when you gave him one last suck before opening your mouth. 

“Who knew the way to shut you up was to fill your slutty mouth with cum.”

When you release your cock, you rub your thighs together, nibbling your bottom lip. “C-Can I get fucked now?” Your voice is raspy and it came out croaky, something Theo adored. He smirked, bringing your face closer to his.

“You sure can, principessa.”

[laurenairay]

so tell me to leave - W. Nylander

Summary: once is an accident, twice is coincidence, and three times is a pattern. You really needed to stop falling into bed with your ex-boyfriend William.

Happy (early) birthday @cellythefloshie – here is my entry for your birthday bingo celebrations! I managed to hit bingo too, with: one night stand, pining, quickie, ex’s to lovers, autumn birthday. I had a lot of fun writing this one, so I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: implied smut (off screen), poor communication, William being a flirt, William being an idiot.

Title from July, by Noah Cyrus

~

“This was a mistake.”

“Good morning to you too, käraste.”

You huffed, moving his arm away from your waist so you could get out of his bed. It took all of your strength not to roll your eyes as you saw blatantly check out your bare body.

“I’m serious, William. This can’t happen again,” you said firmly, shimmying back into your dress from last night, eyes desperately searching for your panties.

Three times would be a pattern, after all.

“Ouch, full name before coffee,” he groaned, “Just come back to bed, it’s so early.”

“Not going to happen,” you shot back, giving up on the lost panties in lieu of getting out of his apartment as quickly as possible.

You had other underwear at home – the sacrifice of one black lacy pair wasn’t the end of the world. Even if they were his your favourite. The longer you stayed here, the likelier you were to crack. You knew it. William knew it. It was a downside of having dated him for three years – he knew you far too well. Three months as exes was hardly going to change that all that quickly.

“I missed you this summer,” he murmured, propping his head up with a hand, bicep unfairly bulging.

“You looked like you were having plenty of fun in the UK, I doubt you missed me,” you snorted, picking your phone up from the floor.

The moment those words left your lips, you knew it was a mistake with how his face lit up in delight.

“And there I thought you’d deleted me from your social media,” he grinned.

Ass.

“I have,” you said dryly, “But I still follow your brother.”

His grin dimmed slightly, but he just shook his head.” You always did like Alex more than me.”

You just rolled your eyes. It wasn’t difficult to like his brother more than him right now – Alex wasn’t the one who’d left you in pieces.

“I have things to do, people to see. Or is it things to see, people to do? I always get that mixed up,” you said simply, eyes wide and innocent.

William just snorted. “You’re breaking my heart over here.”

“You broke mine first.”

He inhaled sharply, his composure visibly cracking, before a smooth grin slid over his lips. “I’ll see you soon, käraste.”

You hated how the words made your heart flutter.

~

From: DO NOT ANSWER I believe these are yours? [image]

Your jaw dropped at the message your received three days after the night you’d sworn to forget. The lost black lace panties. He’d had them all this time?

To: DO NOT ANSWER You thief. Why did you keep those?

Your eyes darted over to your coworkers, exiting out of the message thread with William while you waited for a response. The last thing you wanted was for them to see your waylaid underwear on your screen.

From: DO NOT ANSWER I didn’t keep them on purpose. Don’t you remember I shoved them in the back pocket of my jeans when I dropped to my knees by the front door? I definitely remember.

Your cheeks flushed with heat. Of course you remembered his hungry gaze looking up at you and the way he muscled his shoulders in between your thighs. How could you possibly forget that?

To: DO NOT ANSWER You are the worst. I want those back.

His quick response left you breathless.

From: DO NOT ANSWER You want them? Come and get them.

~

“You know, when I said come and get them, I didn’t necessarily mean straight after you finished work. That’s got to be a record for how fast I’ve gotten you from my front door to screaming my name,” William mused.

He just had to ruin the moment.

You lifted your head from the pillow, glaring down at him and squirming as he dug his chin into your belly button, your bare thighs framing his face like the artwork it was.

“And have you keep them like a weird trophy? No thank you,” you shot back, ignoring the jibe about the lightning-fast speed of your rendezvous.

He just cackled, smacking a kiss to your bare hip before rolling out of your hold. You shivered at the lack of body warmth, trying to keep your cool as he crawled up beside you to thump himself down on the pillow next to yours.

“I know you miss me, käraste.”

Something about the way he looked into your eyes, skin all flushed from your recent activities and a small smile on his lips – well, it left you feeling vulnerable.

“William,” was all you could murmur.

“I miss you,” he said firmly, “I miss you so much and I’m pretty sure my whole family is sick of me talking about you.”

He talked about you to his family still?

He missed you?

“You’re the one who broke up with me, remember?” you said shakily, pulling the sheets up to cover your chest.

“And I regret it every day. I was an idiot,” he said softly.

“You can’t just say these things! It isn’t fair!” you groaned, sitting upright.

William sat up next to you, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I know okay, I know. But I’m holding onto hope that you still miss me too! This is the third time we’ve fallen into bed together since we broke up. The first, when you came to pick up your belongings before I left for summer – once is an accident. But the second time three days ago? Twice is coincidence. Three times now…well, it’s a pattern. Three times when I didn’t deserve it, you still graced my bed with your presence. So I’m sorry if I’m not making things fair right now, but this is hard on me too.”

He was pining. William Nylander was pining.

Tears stung at your eyes and you turned your head away from him, but he placed a hand on your thigh over the bedsheet, staying silent. As much as your hated to a admit it, he had a point. Three times was a pattern. But was it a pattern you needed to break, after the way he treated you?

“You tossed me aside like old trash, William. You broke up with me out of nowhere, when all I’ve ever done is love you, and support you, and care for you. All because I dared to smile when Steph and Mitch joked that I’d be the one walking down the aisle next. A joke. A simple joke, because we’d been together for three years and they could see how much I loved you. But that wasn’t enough for you, or it scared you, or whatever the hell it did to make you break my heart and run away,” you said angrily, tears making your voice watery.

William’s hand tightened on your thigh briefly before it slid away, and you finally looked back at him to see tears in his own eyes.

“You’re right. I panicked. I messed up the best relationship I’ve ever had because before you I’d never thought about marriage, not seriously. And then they brought it up and it was all I could think about and I spiralled and I panicked. I’m sorry, käraste. I’ll never be able to make up for how sorry I am.”

Your lips parted in surprise at the raw emotion in his words, speechless for once. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he took a shaky breath before smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I’m sorry for breaking your heart, and I’m sorry that my insecurities and panic took control. I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, let alone even having you here right now, but I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I mean it. I love you. I love you and I miss you,” he murmured.

He loved you.

He loved you and he missed you.

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks at the honesty in his words, every ounce of him genuine and soul-destroying. A whimper tore from your throat at the very thought of him still loving you, and it was all you could do to clutch at his shoulders as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in the gentlest of kisses, barely able to catch your breath as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” you managed to choke out.

William smiled sadly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaning backwards to look into your eyes properly.

“Is there any chance that you can forgive me, and give me a second chance? Even the slightest sliver of hope?” he asked, chewing his bottom lip.

“I don’t know if I could cope with that kind of heartbreak again,” you said hesitantly.

He let out a shaky breath but nodded. “I understand.”

If ever there was a time to trust your gut, now was it.

“It would take a lot for me to trust you again.”

His lips parted, a stunned expression seeping across his face.

“And we shouldn’t sleep together until I feel like you won’t break my heart again.”

“You mean…”

He trailed off, eyes wide as he ran his hand over his hair.

You winced. “If that’s a deal breaker then-”

“No no no you’ve given me hope, don’t stop now,” William grinned, making you huff out a laugh, “It’s your birthday next week right? Do you have any plans yet?”

“I don’t have any plans yet, no. Why?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Where was he going with this?

“Let me take you out for dinner. There’s this great Thai place that’s just opened up. They use seasonal produce and I’ve heard their fall menu is incredible. There’s no-one I’d rather go with, other than you. So let me take you out for your birthday, please?”

“You want to take me out for my birthday?” you asked, surprised.

“I want to take you out on a date. It just so happens that I can spoil you for your birthday at the same time. I want to treat you just like you deserve, käraste, just as I should’ve always treated you. And you deserve the world.”

How could you say no to that?

“You only get one second chance,” you warned him, unable to stop the smile that spread over your lips.

“That’s all I need. I’m going to make this up to you, I promise,” he grinned.

[sectumsempraaa]

Being coworkers w/ the Slytherin boys (headcanons)

feat. Draco, Mattheo, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo

this one’s for the working folks bc you KNOW these guys would make work so much more fun!! :)

Draco:

- extremely punctual

- judges you for how you write emails

- picks you up in his car before your shift every day

- has a kettle plugged in AT his desk for maximum tea drinking

- will often leave you a cup on your desk too without you asking for it

- writes 95% of paperwork by hand

- kisses ass to your boss but vents to you later about how much he hates them

- overdresses even on casual fridays

- takes his lunch break with you every day and has your meals delivered (doesnt even ask what you want, he’s just good at this)

- gets turned on when you sit on his desk and look down at him

Mattheo:

- consistently 5-10 minutes late but everyone’s just kinda used to it

- takes mass transportation bc he keeps failing his drivers test

- stops to get you both coffee before work (thats why he’s late!!)

- will respond to emails you’re too scared to answer

- similarly will pick up the phone when you don’t want to

- office pranks galore with this guy

- calls you from his desk (it’s next to yours) to ask you to meet him somewhere so y’all can makeout

- also calls you when he sees someone he KNOWS you hate trying to talk to you at your desk to get you out of it

- post-shift treat several times a week

- most likely to pleasure you from under your desk 🤭

Theo:

- gets distracted easily and falls behind on work

- is so quiet no one really even knows he’s there

- bribes the office manager into making you his secret santa

- has a private email thread between the two of you that goes on and on all day with complete nonsense and memes

- visits your cubicle and sits there for like an hour at a time

- holds your hand under the table during meetings

- “ugh can we go home now” “theo we haven’t even clocked in yet”

- hacks the system to change the schedule around so you always have the same shifts

- cooks your lunches at home and brings them to work for you

- 100% takes naps under his desk when you’re out sick and he’s alone/bored

Blaise:

- gets along with everyone

- often leads meetings and presentations bc everyone trusts him

- winks at you from across the office several times a day

- has everything in his desk from stain remover to first aid kit to microwaveable ramen

- checks each paycheck (and yours) to make sure y’all get paid RIGHT

- hugs you from behind your chair like 1000 times a day (ft. neck kisses)

- flies paper cranes into your cubicle with cheesey pick up lines

- knows how to get your fav snacks from the vending machine without paying

- will randomly do some of your tasks bc he’s so ahead on his

- LOVES a business trip and gets you two ALL the travel upgrades

Lorenzo:

- does not give a fuck about getting anything done

- but somehow is pretty much always caught up/in good standing

- does the bare minimum but makes up for it by being extremely charming

- faxes you (yes, faxes) memes when he is extra bored

- steals people’s things off their desk if he doesn’t like them

- never abides by the dress code

- lies to your boss to get you out of meetings and leave work early

- convinces you to call out with him so you can spend the day together

- has a keycard that opens every door in the building, don’t ask how he got it

- switches nametags/IDs with you and thinks its the funniest thing in the world

- headphones in 24/7

ALL of them love to say “if you ever leave i have to quit too. i can’t work here without you” and they MEAN it!!

[crystlizabeth]

TwinDad!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley with his girls!

The twins are OC’s!

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

- dad!Simon who was left with his twin girls while his wife was at work.

- dad!Simon who had to tell Zhuri her mama will hurt him if he took down her hair because she wanted to wear it a different way.

“Zhuri you cant take your hair down love.”

She gave him a hard glare a glare that seemed a little familiar coming from her face, she was his after all. “Why not” she huffed her arms crossing looking up at her father with a dirty glare her hip popping out in a sassy manner.

He Tsked at his daughter his hand coming to his hip “Because your mother will hurt me.” He answered simply.

She uncrossed her arms dramatically her little foot stomping as she threw her head up, “but I d’ wanna wear pigtails daddy!” She huffed.

“Zhuri ila, drop the sass.” He spoke trying to sound stern but couldn’t help at the helpless kid.

-dad!Simon who honestly had no trouble with his other daughter with her hair but with her shoes…

-dad!Simon who had to comfort little Sa’diya as she cried because she couldn’t tie her shoes laces now but could do it when her mommy was home.

“Sy sweetheart let me help you..” Simon said crouching down next to the little girl who wiped her teary eyes.

She shook her head, “Nuh uh I can do it! Mama show me yesterday.” She snuffled her little lip quivering.

Simon who hated seeing her this so he talked her through tying her lace Sa’diya telling him she knew what she’s doing every time he point a to her shoe.

-dad!simon who deals with his hellion Zhuri as she tries to start a WWE match with him as he helps her twin sister. But it end with the girls getting at eachother.

“Stop it Zhuri!”

“Your not the boss of me ‘Diya!” Zhuri shouted hanging on her father trying to pull him back.

“Did you brush your teeth I can smell your breath from here smelly.” Sa’diya said glaring at her sister.

Zhuri responding by blowing a raspberry at her.

-dad!Simon who thought okay maybe breakfast will be easier wrong. leaving them to eat as he collected their school bags the twins began to argue again.

-dad!Simon watch Zhuri show her sister her chewed food and Diya threading to throw her scrambled eggs at her and ruin her hot pink hello kitty shirt.

“You wont.” Zhuri said.

“Bet I will.” Sa’diya replied.

“You wouldn’t.” Zhuri dragged on.

Simon watched as the oldest twin grab some of her eggs in her hand getting ready to throw it as her sister “Sa’Diya Jovonnie. Put. The. Eggs. Down.” Simon spoke sternly from the kitchen counter, knowing if he let this go on he would be cleaning up egg and have a crying child because her favorite shirt had egg on it.

He watch as she dropped the egg back on her plate glaring at Zhuri who sat across from her with a cheeky grin on her face. “Listen ya little shit keep at that with ya sister imma let her have it at ya.” Simon spoke out knowing Zhuri was taunting her sister.

“What! I’m not doin anything daddy!” Zhuri protested turning around in her chair a grin still plastered on her face her little dimples popping out.

He hummed in response.

-dad!Simon who finally got them him his truck in their booster seats. The girls for once this morning not arguing but talking about a little art project they had.

-dad!Simon who had to walk his girls to their class because no is never an option with them. Carrying both pink and purple backpack on his shoulders his hands being held by the two girls at the walk him to the front of the school.

-dad!simon who watches Zhuri look up at him telling him to stop before they get all the way up knowing how he is with his face.

“Daddy if you want your mask you can put it on.” She whispered smiling at her father.

“It will be alright darlin’ it doesn’t bother me like that love im with you two alright.” He smiled lightly at the girl pulling her into a small hug in his crouched down position.

Simon giving her a kiss on the side of her face causing a fit of giggles.

-dad!simon who knew this was not ‘Diyas favorite place once he got to her classroom he little hand griping on to her father’s jacket.

-dad!simon who watched her eyes fill with tears because she did want to be here.

“Do I have to go in..” she mumbled.

Simons hand who tilted her head up looking down at her with a reassuring expression “it’s alright love, I promise. I’ll be here to pick you up this afternoon as well,”

She nodded lightly “will mommy be with you?” She asked. Sy was a mamas girl for sure not that she didn’t want Simon around but Zhuri was the same way with him. He leaned down kissing her forehead “that’s from yer’ mama she loves you lots and we’ll see her tomorrow morning okay luv?” He spoke softly.

A small sniffle and she nodded “you got this Sy, your strong, confident girl, you can do it right.” He said still looking down at her little brown eyes her lashes wet from tears.

“I can do this, I’m strong and confident.” She said. Simon chuckled.

“Atta girl.” He kissed her head once more watching her as she walked into her classroom.

-dad!simon who now had to deal with his hellion and her teacher who liked him. But Zhuri always shut her down.

“Why are you talking like that to my daddy?” Zhuri crossed her arm’s sassily looking at her teacher who had started lightly flirting with Simon.

“My daddy doesn’t like other girls besides my momma, and me obviously.” She grinned.

Her teacher got quiet but let Zhuri know that she should say goodbye to her daddy, Zhuri who gladly tackled her father hugging his torso Simon who laughed picking her up “you’ll get points from your mama with that one.” He chuckled kissed Zhuris cheeks setting her back down.

“Bye Daddy!”

“Bye ya hellion don’t cause trouble.” He said.

“Cant promise anything!” She grinned.

-dad!Simon who always come back to the thought that he would never have children or family but now he stood here with his girls. Learning to do their hair. What foods they like and dislike. Going through a phase where he would call them each others names to the point they started playing tricks on him on who’s who. Now he sat at gymnastic meets, softball games and whatever those girls wanted to do may it be soccer, basketball ball, swim. Simon was right there, he would sit with them playing tea party and doctor. He would let the girls color in his sleeve when he needed them quite.

-dad!Simon who when her first held them his whole world lit up. And he knew that he would do anything for them. He would kill for them.

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

[letorip]

i heard your name [iii]

“your lips were divine and you said that you’d be mine, i was yours for a time, now everything is alright”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after finally opening yourself up to hope, everything comes crashing down in a fiery mess.

warnings: being used, references to sex, really really really bad emotional stuff and lots of conflicting emotions, GASLIGHTING*** so yikes

word count: 4.5k

A/N: i’ve altered the timeline a bit so that there’s more of a gap when miller and cairo kiss and when she cries about miller hating her story.

===+++===

===+++===

Even with your fingers sliding out of Cairo, placing her hot slick on your tongue like the sweetness it was and watching her shake, eyes rolled back to the ivory bed frame, you found yourself preoccupied with other thoughts.

From behind her, on the green of the walls as if there were an HD projector there, you caught a glimpse of the scene from a few days before, splashing with rain and the view you had from behind the bush, the greens bursting from the grey sky. Mr. Miller and Cairo. Cairo and Mr. Miller. Why was he driving to her house? What did he need late at night from his teenage student? Even in the rain, you definitely saw him, right?

“—Helllloooo?” came the voice from underneath you, jolting you from the waking nightmare. You looked down to where she was splayed out on the sheets.

Mascara blotted her cheeks from where the sweat had run, and Cairo shuddered, attempting to right herself. She sat up on her elbows, dark pupils blown out and staring at you in wonder. "Are you even on the planet anymore?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at you.

You managed a weak smile, guarding the real memory that was on your mind like clockwork again. Cairo's hands crept up to your unbuttoned shirt, grabbing each side and tugging you down on top of her, her hands threading themselves into the soft hair at your neck. She held you there, for a moment, resting her nose against the side of your face and nuzzling into you.

It was sweet and it was earnest, and had you not seen what you did, your heart would have done catapults in your chest and squeezed her right back. Instead, you wondered if your disgusting writing teacher had been here too. To what extent was Cairo breaking school policy? To what extent did she care? It was suddenly decidedly less sweet to be in her sheets.

"I should go," you muttered into the bed.

"Hm," hummed Cairo, but she didn't let you go, instead tightening her grip and holding you against her. "That was good," she whispered after a moment, right into your ear. You didn't reply, breathing in slowly and finding yourself consumed by the scent of her perfume. It smelled less like flowers.

Your hand went to the mattress, pushing yourself up and off of Cairo, rolling over. Outside the sky was fading to a languid purple colour, and you stared at it, frowning. From behind you, you could hear a rustling in the sheets.

"Is something wrong?" She asked. Her voice was a sickly sweet wave, stirring the pool of conflict in your gut. You swallowed, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. You're being quiet again," she said, scoffing.

"How are you so sure?" You asked. Your eyes flicked towards her and then back to the garden outside. Cairo was sitting up now, crisscrossed against one of the bedposts.

"Sure of what?"

"Sure you know me, or what I'm 'being.'" You looked back at her. "You talk to me sometimes like you do."

"Well...don't I know you?" She challenged, playing with intertwining her fingers. “What don’t I know?” You squinted a bit to see her dark eyes, in the dim lighting of Cairo's lamps and candles. She absolutely refused to use the bright ceiling fan light, and the shadows hid the shine of her dark brown eyes from where you could study them.

You shrugged, unwilling to answer. "I'm not sure either of us know each other, at this point."

She blinked at you, and then a smile crept out like she thought you were kidding. "Oh, are you mocking me now? Are we back to that pretentiousness thing you ramble about? The Mr. Miller and poetry speech?"

You stared at her, unable to reply. See, there was a certain part of you that hoped she was being taken advantage of— a very cruel part of you. And then there was the exceedingly real possibility that came from knowing Cairo Sweet. The that you couldn't help but give you pause.

The thought that she knew and was doing it on purpose. The thought that she was the one seducing him, and not the other way around. The thought that she was far from brainwashed, and was instead choosing the more insidious route. It was wrong, but it also wronged you, and the thought made you sick to your stomach.

Was that selfish? To want something so terrible for someone just to spare your own feelings? To want that for Cairo? Such thoughts had run through your mind several times for the past several hours, and each time you felt like a worse and worse person. Sometimes when you were with her you felt that way.

"You're being quiet again," She said. "Seriously, I'm going to start thinking you're sick if you don't tell me what's going on," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

When you didn't reply to that either, she crawled towards you, laying her head on your chest and wrapping her arm around your torso. "I want you to tell me everything. We're close enough for that, right?” Above you in the ceiling, at the edge of the popcorn thread veins that weaved through the plaster like a map was some dark embossing that rich people had. You stared at it for a while.

"...I saw you and Mr. Miller," you said finally. The grief that came with it was unstoppable. It was quiet, but not quiet enough.

Cairo jolted up, yanking her head away from you and scooting a whole foot away as if a snake had bitten her. Eyes wide and wild, jaw slack, tears already starting to form. You watched her go.

"What did you say?" She asked, but not because she hadn't heard you. You repeated yourself anyways.

"I saw you two a few days ago. Together."

She nodded, but her cheeks were a flushed, angry and agitated red. "He dropped off my phone. I left it at sch—"

"—No, Cairo. I saw you guys kiss." She furrowed her eyebrows, looking...confused? This was when it was impossible to read her. Maybe she'd cry and tell you it was all in your head and you’d know your mom’s condition was genetic, or she'd punched him afterwards and she was going to the school board to raise hell and you could proudly stand behind her in support.

Instead, she simply said. "No?"

You stopped. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"We hugged," She replied, shrugging. "That was it. I don’t know what you thought—"

"—Cairo, I saw you."

"(Y/n), that’s illegal and disgusting. We hugged because of stuff with my parents I talked to him about."

"You guys were in the rain. Kissing."

She reached out a hand, putting it on your knee and staring right at you. “I promise. I don't know what you think you saw, but it was rainy and it was getting dark. All we did was hug.”

"I— I saw you. I saw you two," you shook your head, the disgust at the image starting to work its way into your voice. But when you looked up, Cairo was glaring, looking concerned for you and a bit angry at the same time. Maybe you were crazy, after all.

"We hugged. God, how could you even think I would do that??? Is this what you meant by ‘the knowing each other’ bullshit??”

“I saw him here after hours, Cairo. I really don't want to believe it, but I don’t know how to really trust you…”

“Well whose fault is that!? You’re the one who insisted on being a celibate fucking monk for weeks because you didn’t want any semblance of a string attached. So sorry, maybe you don’t know my childhood pet, but I would hope you’d know me well enough to not think I was sleeping with my teacher!”

You scowled right back at her feeling your previous sheepishness roll over into a boiling resentment within you. “You have a bad habit of jumping into the pants of people who you deem good at writing, y’know.”

Cairo’s eyes widened in surprise, and she scoffed at you like she couldn’t believe it. You couldn't believe it either. "Is that what this is? Do you feel inadequate?” She questioned. "You think I'm just going to run off and onto the next person when I'm done using them?"

“No!” you insisted, cheeks flushing. Cairo threw up her hands.

“I can’t believe I have to sit here and convince you to not be jealous of our fifty something writing teacher of all people. Are you seriously that insecure?”

“I’m not insecure!”

“And I’m not some manipulative mastermind!"

"Then why are you lying?"

"God, are you on something?" She snapped, rolling her eyes. She wandered on over to her underwear, pulling them up her legs in frustration. "Normal people don't just accuse someone of a literal crime, (Y/n)," she spat, but the edges of her eyes had begun to water again.

"I saw you!" But your tone was weaker.

"Bullshit! You didn't see anything!" Cairo yelled, crying now. Gentle tears had begun to wash down her cheeks, taking some of the already splotchy mascara with it. She still looked beautiful, crying like that. "You're trying to blow up whatever good this was with your stupid insecurity! Why can't you just let things be good for once?! I was finally starting to have things be good for once!”

You stopped, feeling her words connect with your chest and sink directly into your heart. That hurt more than you wanted to admit. Once more you were wondering if it had really all been in your head. Was this all self-destructive?

You had sworn at seven to never do some of the stuff your mom always did, but the longer you looked at Cairo's tear-streaked face and sad, brown eyes, you began to wonder if the cycle was repeating itself and it was out of your control.

"I-I need to go," you shook your head. Get away.

"Are you seriously leaving again??" She asked, sounding incredulous. You didn't even look at her, grabbing your jacket and your phone, right when it buzzed in your hand. You looked down, seeing there were over twelve missed texts from your mom.

You threw it in your pocket. Now the warning light in your head was really going off. "I really need to go."

"We're not even done here! What is going on with you, and why are you accusing me of bullshit!?”

"Later."

"No, no way."

"Yes. Goodbye Cairo," you ended, throwing it over your shoulder before you fled her bedroom and down the stairs. When you reached the foyer, you heard her yell from the landing, watching you go.

"For a writer you communicate like such a child!" And then she slammed her door.

===+++===

It was remarkable, just how dull the white walls of your room looked now. In the past several weeks of having lived there, you had barely noticed just how blank they were. All of your walls were like that, ever since you had started moving around. People didn't usually bother to paint the walls of newer modern houses after their construction.

The very reason you had this new outlook was hard to ignore, and every single time you replayed the memory of seeing her and your writing teacher together on the porch of her house, the image became less and less cemented in your mind.

There had been a few branches, and the rain was very thick, and her porch was kind of far away, and maybe it was the wrong angle. Maybe you had seen it wrong, and it was all innocent, and Cairo was just getting support from her teacher that she idolised. Maybe she was right: maybe you had just ruined everything.

Of course, then there was the possibility that it was for the best. The overwhelming reality that you would probably be whisked away again in a month, and it was the realisation that you had stopped thinking about it that made you realise you had lived and loved like you’d be staying with her forever. More specifically, you had been a fool again.

You stood up from the ersatz desk, fashioned with a few cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, and headed down the stairs at the end of the hall. It had begun to get darker outside fast, and the sky was fading from a faint purple to the lighter black of the blanket of night.

On the couch, your mom had splayed herself out, legs thrown haphazardly over the armrest and hands dangling from the seat cushions. Against the far wall was your television, with the big old crack right down the middle from when your mom had accidentally thrown it the week you had first arrived in town.

She didn’t say anything when you walked right past her, and you knew better than to talk to her when she was in one of her moods. It wouldn’t make it any better, it would make her cry. If you just waited a few weeks she would get up from the couch and want to go outside again. You walked right past her instead, going into the old kitchen and rooting around to find something to eat.

“Hey, kiddo,” she called quietly, and you had to stick your head out the doorway to make sure she had even really made the noise.

“Yeah mom?” You asked, a bit hopeful. Talking again was a good sign.

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “Why are you sorry?” There was suddenly the very real possibility that she would announce right there and then you were leaving again, and you were still kind of mad at Cairo and at yourself, but you didn’t want to leave. It didn’t feel over. But then again it never did. “Are we going?”

“For all this bullshit I put you through.” She sat herself up on the cushion and you could see in the dim light of the TV she had been crying, eyes raw and red. “You deserve the world, and not someone who’s just…this.”

“Hey,” you said softly, coming up behind her. “That’s my mom you’re talking about.” She gave you a weak smile.

“Nah. Moms are supposed to be there,” she said, looking up at you. “You deserve to not be alone,” she said. You didn’t know what to say back.

It wasn’t a new line of thought for her. The mournful look she gave you and the saddened apologies for your lifestyle happened usually once a month, and whatever connection you thought you two had would be immediately forgotten by an immediate period of high energy, and your mom trying every hobby in existence.

When she got in her moods like this, you could do nothing but watch her rake herself over hot coals like she was the worst person in the world and not your mother, who you were proud of, and who you knew was trying.

But that thing she said, about being alone. It sunk deep into your chest. There was Cairo’s face, eyes streaked with tears that you had caused over something you hadn’t even been sure of.

Maybe you didn’t want to be alone more than you wanted to confront what was so clearly in front of you. The red flag had been given and you had the hard choice of wether you wanted to step right over it or not. You didn't know what to say to your mom, so you said nothing at all, grabbing your dinner and trotting back up the stairs to stare at the wall a little bit longer.

===+++===

"Okay," Winnie clapped her hands together, slamming them down on the end of your table and glaring right at you. "Tell me what the hell is going on."

"What do you mean?" You asked. She put her hands on her hips and looked quite cross.

"Nuh uh, none of that. You and Cairo. Now." You cringed.

It had been about three days since you and Cairo...fell out? It was strange to describe. Class was class and was just as boring and forgettable as it had been before you had heard Cairo's name and knew she existed. She seemed unaware you were even around, any sort of relationship you two had was just washed down the imaginary drain.

Winnie had been miffed beyond belief. One day her two friends were inseparable and then the next, they couldn't be further apart. You weren't especially surprised she had come demanding answers, but that meant Cairo probably wasn't talking to her about it.

"We just have different views," you shrugged. It wasn't technically a lie. Since you had less time to wonder about Cairo, it had become all the more clear how you were irrevocably fascinated and in love with her, and it only made your own fuck up a bit more painful when she walked past you but refused to meet your eyes.

"I'm calling bullshit, kid," said Winnie. She had her eyes narrowed at you, like she was trying to read your face.

"Kid?" you tried to joke. "I'm older than you." Winnie was having none of it, glaring dismissively.

"Then why are you both acting like children?"

You frowned. Would Winnie tell Cairo? Would Cairo even care? Part of you thought she might have been totally done with you. If it was really just a hookup, there was the underlying possibility she hadn't even really cared that you were no longer fucking. Maybe she had moved onto better things.

"Winnie, take your seat," Mr. Miller called, from across the classroom. Winnie spun back around, giving him her best smile before turning to you.

"Later," she insisted. From the front of the room Cairo was watching you both, her eyes focused and sharp.

===+++===

Being back at Cairo's house was definitely strange. The clouds had come back to sit over her roof, hiding it from the sun and the entirety of your walk, it had started to drizzle, soaking your hair and splattering onto your clothes.

You weren't entirely sure why it had to be that day, but Winnie had been less than helpful, and instead just looked at you like you were a kicked puppy, refusing to say more when you told her what was going on between you two.

"That makes sense," she had said, with a weird sheen of guilt. The whole conversation had felt weird, as if there was some unknown truth being held from you, that only managed to make you feel worse. Did she mean it made sense Cairo needed help with her parents? That was what you thought at least. It made the most sense, what with her needing comforting from Mr. Miller.

The whole ordeal had only managed to make you feel worse about confronting her about it and not leaving it up to Cairo to set her own boundaries. You decided right then and there that it meant you needed to apologize.

You weren't even sure she was home, now that you thought about it. The house looked a bit dark from down the green, but it was a rainstorm, so maybe that was normal for Tennessee.

You wandered right up to her door, dripping onto her porch with the expensive real wood and feeling a little bit bad about it. The lights were all out except for the one at the top of the stairs where you knew her room was. She was definitely there.

Your finger went to ring the bell when you stopped, noticing the crack in the door from the frame. It was propped open with a sandal from the nearby shoerack that sat in the mudroom and you frowned, feeling your mind jumping towards the worst possibilities. She seemed to leave the door unlocked all the time, but having it cracked it open was new.

There weren't any instructions for what to do in this kind of situation, and even if there had been, you had failed to ever come across a similar situation anyhow. You did the best thing you could think of, pushing the door open and calling out Cairo's name over the threshold.

No response. Fantastic. You shut your eyes and sighed deeply, before stepping inside. It was normal for the most part, but then your eyes saw the smashed plant pot right there on the table in the foyer, and you started to get worried again.

You raced up the stairs as fast as you could, stopping on the landing and bending over to catch your breath. That had been a terrible idea.

When you were finally no longer about to have a heart attack, you called out to her again.

"Cairo?" You said, loudly towards her shut door. From under the small gap between the door and the floor, the soft lighting from her bedside table lamp bled out into the hall. You lifted your hand, knocking.

"Who is it?" Came her voice, with a slight tremble to it. You frowned, pushing your ear against the door to hear.

"It's, uh— it's me. (Y/n)," you muttered.

"Go the hell away," she replied.

"Right, yeah, I was just gonna—"

"—Leave!" she cut you off. "Get the fuck out of my house. Why are you even here??"

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling awfully awkward. "I came to apologise about a few days ago...the door was just kind of open and I thought...well, I don't know what I thought."

"You know I leave it open," she said back, but with the same weird shake to her voice. You blinked. If you hadn't known any better, it sounded like she'd been...

"Cairo, have you been crying?" You asked, worry filling your voice and your mind, too. "Did something happen?"

"Why do you even care?" She asked. Her voice had even more of a quiver to it now. "You think I'm some weirdo." You winced, figuring you probably deserved that.

"Can I come in?" you titled your head to lay against the door.

"No," said Cairo, but it was closer this time, like she had wandered closer to it.

"Um, okay," you nodded, sinking to the floor outside instead. Even if she didn't especially want you back in her life whatsoever, you figured she could have probably used someone to just listen. Sometimes that's what your mom wanted when she was upset and locked herself away. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Why?" She mumbled, her voice a bit muffled. You shrugged.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

She didn't say anything for a moment, and you could feel her thinking it over. "I was...disregarded."

You frowned. "Is this about your parents?" When she didn't reply you continued. "It's just, I know you have a rocky relationship with them, so..."

"It's not a rocky relationship," said Cairo. She seemed to have stiffened at the subject, and you figured you had gotten it in one. "Leave it alone." You winced again. A period of silence fell over you both, and your eyes went around the landing, looking at the stacks of books, debating something within yourself.

You remembered her crying that one night, and you remembered pushing her away, and you remembered how painful that had been and how hypocritical it was now that you were bugging her to share. So you swallowed hard and did something you had never done before.

"Cairo," you said softly. "My mom is bipolar."

"What?" She asked. It was clear she was on the other side of the door now, like you were, probably sitting on the ground. Maybe not having her in front of you made it easier to talk.

"Yeah. It's part of why we move around so much. It's just been me and her for the longest time. She doesn't like the medication and stuff...says it makes her fuzzy and my dad was an asshole about it and she thinks one day he's gonna steal me for himself, so we just kinda go from place to place when she feels like it."

"Oh," she said.

"Some days she's invincible and wild, like a hero or something. And then other days she doesn't move off the couch, and sometimes I have to leave food out for her to make sure she eats. I don't know if it's going to be an up or a down day." The confession sat in the air between you for a moment, just out in the open, and it felt like a weight had been lifted right off your chest. The information now lived and died with Cairo Sweet.

"I don't even know where my parents are," Cairo said after a minute. "Somewhere probably in Europe, getting drunk and living life. I can't be mad at them, I'm afraid. I can't call them shitty parents when they're not around to be shitty."

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter how crappy of a parent they are. It still fucks you up when they're not around."

"Maybe," Cairo said softly. "At least they're having fun." It sounded bittersweet, and you wanted to reach through the door to place an arm around her or to stroke her cheek.

"So why were you crying?" you asked.

You heard a thud against the wood, and she must have leaned her head back. "I got a message...they're staying in Europe for a couple months. So they won't be at graduation." It was a clever lie, one that saddened you and filled your heart wit pity.

"Oh," you hummed. Neither would your mom, anyhow. You had glazed over it too, but probably neither would you. You had no idea what you would say if your mom decided to pack you up and move you again before the end of the year. Maybe this time you'd cling and stay. "Cairo?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I accused you of that with Mr. Miller."

She went silent but finally said, "I still don't know how the hell it could've looked like we were kissing."

"Yeah, I don't know.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, (Y/n).”

"I believe you."

"I know."

You two just sat there for a moment, separated by the door but together.

"I'm scared by all this."

"I know," she said.

"You keep saying that."

"I know," Cairo laughed. "You can open the door now, you know."

"Can I?"

"Mhm."

You clambered to your feet, reaching out to the railing to steady yourself. You opened the door and there she was. Against your better judgement and by the sheer sparkle of her warm honey eyes, you forgot every little comment from Winnie or question that was suspiciously dismissed.

And for what it was worth, Cairo looked at you— really looked at you, for the first time since you had met, and decided maybe she liked clinging to your chest.

===+++===

before anyone feels the need to say this, it'll probably be continued in a super messy fourth part that i'm already starting to work on. it may take a while to come out though. anyways thank you all so much for 300 followers and over 2.5k likes on my work. it means so much.

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times. 

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity. 

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment. 

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated. 

“Rough night, dear?” 

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt. 

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?” 

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?” 

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered. 

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?” 

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?” 

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.” 

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke. 

He did what?? 

“Are you alright, dear??” 

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.” 

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply. 

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door. 

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox. 

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed. 

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back. 

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on: 

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that. 

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael. 

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you. 

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her. 

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation. 

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did. 

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears. 

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in. 

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side. 

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice. 

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview. 

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so. 

“Thanks, appreciate that.” 

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?” 

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.  

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.” 

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He  could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves. 

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…” 

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.” 

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-” 

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.” 

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called. 

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over. 

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.” 

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens. 

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake. 

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special. 

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.” 

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.” 

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about. 

“Rae? You busy?” 

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in. 

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?” 

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?” 

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts? 

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.” 

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good. 

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.  

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways. 

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer. 

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?” 

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless. 

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.” 

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.” 

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”  

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?” 

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.” 

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.” 

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.” 

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.” 

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.” 

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.” 

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.” 

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.” 

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.” 

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.” 

“She is… and I hope she knows that.” 

“So tell me about…” 

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into. 

There has to be more than this, right? 

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully. 

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes. 

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.” 

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.” 

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name. 

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?” 

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.” 

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?” 

“Too many…” 

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”  

“It’s not that simple and you know it.” 

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.” 

“Tiff…” 

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear. 

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.” 

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly. 

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?” 

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.” 

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem. 

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves. 

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold. 

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back. 

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.  

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside. 

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home. 

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster. 

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space. 

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him. 

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence. 

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.  

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.” 

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak. 

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat. 

“Why what?” 

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?” 

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.” 

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell. 

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?” 

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet. 

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.” 

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely. 

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice. 

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?” 

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”  

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it. 

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.” 

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her. 

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door. 

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back. 

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home. 

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence. 

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember. 

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up. 

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together. 

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept. 

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box. 

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s. 

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious. 

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope. 

To Raven on your 18th birthday 

To Raven on high school graduation 

To Raven after your first love 

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation 

To Raven on your wedding day 

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom. 

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three. 

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one. 

To my sweet darling girl, 

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did. 

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it. 

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you. 

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things. 

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved. 

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter. 

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it. 

Happy Birthday. 

Love, 

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it. 

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word. 

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all. 

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about. 

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen. 

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with. 

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards. 

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.” 

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?” 

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family. 

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.” 

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.” 

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words. 

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for. 

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.” 

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter. 

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.” 

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack. 

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.” 

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??” 

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff. 

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.” 

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at. 

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early. 

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be. 

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world. 

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on. 

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.” 

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.” 

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?” 

“Yes. Is it too late?” 

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone. 

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.” 

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."  

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?” 

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

[urfavnegronerd]

agape- nicholas britell

summary: miles is takin down ur braids 

published: july 27, 2023

warnings: Grammarly hates me, the patriarchy, a dash of toxic masculinity, miles being a product of that grrah grah boom type masculinity, aave (no im not translating shit for you yall got access to urban dictionary and its not really a warning), i edited it myself so lmk if there are any mistakes

sueñito- little dream, bonito- handsome/ pretty boy, no me importa- i don't care/ it's not important to me

w/c: 1.5 k

reader's black coded cus im black so deal w it <3

i think this something every black boy be needin deep down

“Stop movin, ma” 

“It’s knotty,” 

“You had these in for how long?” 

Silence. 

“There's your answer right there, mama,”  

“Sorry,” 

“Nun to be sorry for, just hold still,” 

Currently sitting on the bathroom floor criss-cross apple sauce, Miles was sitting on the toilet, your head between his knees, while he was taking down the frizzy lemonade braids that barely hugged your scalp anymore. 

“Miles?” 

He hums in response, rat tail comb in one hand, a tub of coconut oil in the other, threading the tail of the comb through the extensions down your back  

“You’re the prettiest boy in all of Brooklyn,” 

“Shut up” 

“Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” 

“Nuh-uh,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? The little freckles all over your cheeks? Cutest things I’ve ever seen, especially how they’re all slightly different shades, like lil polka dots all over your face, gives me a map a’ where to kiss. The little tiny dimple on the left side of your face? Adorable, 10/10, no notes. Also very kissable." He's still now, staring at the back of your head, using bundles strewn over his shoulder, mouth agape. “Them thick and long ass eyelashes? I could stare at ‘em all day, they look like teeny tiny butterfly wings when you rest your eyes.” 

“Shut up,” he whispers, still unmoving, the little dab of coconut oil on his fingers slowly dribbling down his wrist 

“Your mind pretty as hell, too, I like listening to what you have to hear when you let me,” you mumble, pressing tiny kisses into his cargo pant–clad kneecap. 

“Stop doin that shit, ma” 

“What?” 

“Talkin all crazy like that,” 

“I’m not talkin crazy, miles I’m being honest,” 

“You makin me out to be some weak ass lil boy,” 

“Miles.” you turn around abruptly, staring at him dead in the eye. “I’m jus being honest wit you. What's going on?” 

“It’s nothin, ma, turn around”  

“Sueñito. Lemme know what's up,” 

“It’s nothin,” 

You huff, turning around to face the bottom of the sink again. Silence bellows throughout the bathroom, Miles rubbing oil on your braids to detangle them to later drag the comb in once again and throw the discarded hair extension over his shoulder. The only sound between the two of you is the Marvin Gaye spinning on the record player, rooms away, dull basslines thrumming through the apartment. 

“Ion like this,” 

“What?” 

“Whatever jus happened, we talk about what's bothering us,” 

“Ain't nothin botherin me, ma,” 

“Then why you start buggin' the second I get to complimenting you?” 

“Cus ian wit all that girly shit,” 

“Fuck you mean girly shit, I’m jus tryna love up on you Miles,” your nostrils flare as you stare ahead of you.  

“Baby, I’m all for that but–” 

“Miles, did someone tell you boys can't get that?” 

A silence. 

“Baby.” 

“What?” 

“Jus cus you a boy dont mean you don't deserve love,” 

“Aint nobody say allat–” 

“Shut up Ian done,” you say, swiftly turning around and snagging the oil and comb from his hand “jus cus you a boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel shit miles. Ion know what it was like wit your last girl, but Ian her. Okay? You allowed to be a person wimme, you know that right?” 

“Ma–” 

“Shut up I still ain't done yet. Miles I’m real, I’m right here. real like you, I promise you I’m not goin nowhere right now,” 

“You done?” 

“Yeah,”  

“C’mere,” he motions to his lap, taking the comb and oil out of your hands and setting them on the tiled floor, laying out the discarded bundles.  

“ ‘s oil all up on my hands” 

“No me importa ma, come up on here,”  

Obeying and wiping the excess coconut oil off your hand, you do. Straddling his lap, and looking into his eyes, examining the twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Talk to me, mama,” 

“I want you to know that you deserve love and that you’re allowed to feel some typa way. I want you to talk to me, Miles. I care about you so much and I wanna make sure you’re good. I love hearing you talk, but Ion like havin to beg you to talk to me. I love jus bein in your presence, but I hate feelin like that Miles. I don’t know who told you whatever's going through your head right now but they dead wrong. I wanna know how you be feelin, I wanna know.” 

“Why you even talk like this to me?” 

“Cus I’m your girl, n I like to kiss up on you and love all up on you,” 

At this, he averts his eyes, trying to escape your gaze, his breath audibly speeding up. 

“Mm mm, don't do that Miles. Please breathe,” 

You plead, subconsciously pressing your middle three fingers under his jaw trying to measure his heart rate. Almost as a reflex to hide from you, he shrugs your hand away from under his jaw and pulls his hoodie over his mouth.

“Nah nah, don't hide from me neither,”  

“Ain’t nobody hidin from you,” 

“Jus cus you a boy don’t mean you don't deserve them random ass cuddles, or someone to tie up your durag or wash your hair. It don’t mean you shouldn't get flowers or hugs or them lil hickies behind your ear. Don't mean you not allowed to be sad or mad or wanna cry. Now Ion know who told you or made you feel that way but they dead wrong Miles. You allowed to feel with me,” 

“Ian some lil boy runnin around though, that shit ain't for me,” 

“If you wasn't supposed to feel and acknowledge your feelings, why would you be able to feel them? They there for a reason,” 

Still straddled on his lap, he looks up at you with the tiny leverage you have on him. His eyes are big and doe-like, almost as if he’s scared to make this next step, say this next sentence.” 

“Ion know why,” he mumbles, voice soft and scared. suddenly he’s kissin up on you, gripping anything he can get his hands on, like he’s making up for lost time, lost feelings. It's urgent and a little rough, though his lips are soft and velvety, a twinge of menthol chapstick on them.  

“Yo yo yo, slow down. Ian goin nowhere” you whisper into his mouth, nails gently raking across his neck “ ‘m right here Miles, see?” you ask, guiding his hands to feel on the left side of your chest, right above your heart. “ ‘s my heart under there, I'm right here okay? I’m real, Miles I swear,” 

“You’re real?” he whispers, breath shaky and uneven fisting the thin fabric of your camisole under the evergreen zip-up, in an attempt to feel more of your heart. 

“You allowed to feel your feelings the same way you feel my heart,” 

He still looks astonished, scared, and frozen. suddenly it wasn’t him you were talking to anymore. it was the scared little Brooklyn boy who had all these feelings stored away inside him, unsure of what to do or who to show them to.  

“ ‘m sitting right here miles. I’m your girl, okay? This is real, and you are real,” 

“I’m real?” tears begin to swim in his eyes. 

“You’re real miles. and those feelings in that big heart of yours? Those are real too. And if you let me, I wanna hear all of 'em.”  

His body stills once more against you, a small tear gliding down his cheek. 

“I love you,” 

And then he’s sobbing. 

“Sshh, hey it's okay” you whisper, holding him close to your chest. “I love you so much I can’t hardly breathe when I'm around you. It’s okay and you're okay, Miles. I’m real and this is real and you. You are real.” you mumble into his braids, holding him with the protectiveness of a mother with a small child. 

He just sat there, his head buried in your chest as he cried quietly, letting everything out. You just sat and let him cry and vent through his tears. All the things he had bottled up, discouraged to show to anyone. Sooner or later the tears slow to a stop, his face puffy and hot. 

Gently tugging the ends of his braids, he looks up at you. 

“You feel better sueñito?” you ask, dragging the cuff of your sweater to dry his face and pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks in its wake. He did nothing but nod lazily, seemingly lighter, and nuzzling his face into your chest. 

“Lemme finish wiping up your face n then you can be all up on me, bonito, okay? 

He just nodded, dropping his head back to rest against the bathroom wall, the half-taken-out braids on your scalp no longer th task at hand. Reaching behind him you grab a baby wipe and swipe the tears and snot off his face, leaving his skin with a glossy finish. Holding his chin up, you look dead in his eyes. 

“You so beautiful Miles.” 

And this time, he nods. 

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

[novthewolf]

HII IS THIS A NEW BLOG ur theme is so cute giggles 💕💕

*drops request about jinx w a fem or gn reader doing her hair*

Knotted hair, knotted mind

(Thank you very much anon ! ^^)

Pairing : Jinx x GN!Reader

Masterlist : Here

Warnings : foul language, depiction of schizophrenia, english isn't my first language.

Words : +1,3K

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The huge metal structure groaned the more footsteps you took. You hated it here for the sole reason that it was incredibly deadly, and you didn't trust your feet to not betray you and make you fall to your death.

But for Jinx, you were more than willing to face your fears. Once again, she suffered from a breakdown in the middle of a mission, and the moment you got back to the headquarters, she bolted towards her room.

"Jinx ?" You call out, only to be answered by the echo of your own voice. Taking baby steps across the bridge, your eyes scanned the whole room. She could literally be anywhere. Really, she never ceased to amaze you, but this time, you just hoped she didn't hide away.

The deep void was pulling your eyes down towards it. A stream of curses targeted at your brain poured out of your mouth. Thankfuly, you could see the clumped counter in the centre of the giant room coming further. You rushed the last steps and totally leaned on Jinx's workshop, some of her makeeries falling to the ground. "We should really put fences around here." You whined.

A struggling sob resonated within the terrifying open space. Your eyes shot up, and you searched for your friend. She sat there across, her deeply blue hair totally discoloured on her head, as she pulled on it with concerning hatred. You gasped audibly and rushed to her side.

Kneeling down beside her, you hushed her to scout away from the edge of the plateform. Normaly, she wouldn't risk anything, but in her state, you didn't want to tempt the devil. You tilted your head to catch the expression on her face. "Jinx ?"

In the depths of her crisis, Jinx's expression was a haunting portrait of anguish and confusion. Her eyes, once bright and full of life, now mirrored the chaos swirling within her mind, haunted by unseen spectres and twisted visions. Lines of tension etched her brow, and her lips trembled with unspoken words, unable to articulate the torment raging within her soul.

Each fleeting emotion flickered across her face like shadows dancing in the dim light. Though her features were drawn and haggard, there remained a flicker of resilience in her gaze, a glimmer of hope amidst the storm that raged within her.

"Jinx, hey, listen to me." Her eyes snapped to yours, tears falling down her 

As the shadows of evening draped themselves over the room, you sat beside Jinx, whose once bright blue eyes were now clouded with fear and confusion. Her hands trembled as she clutched her long hair, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

With a gentle touch, you reached out, her hand finding Jinx's quivering shoukder, offering a silent anchor amidst the storm raging within yourriend's mind.

"I'm here, Jinx." You murmured softly, your voice a soothing balm against the tumultuous backdrop of young women's thoughts.

Jinx struggled to make sense of the fragmented and distorted whispers of her dead family that echoed in her mind. But you remained steadfast by her side, a beacon of unwavering support in the darkness.

"You're here too. Just you and me." With patience born of love and understanding, you guided her through the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

Together, you navigated the turbulent currents of Jinx's inner world, untangling the threads of reality from the tangled web of hallucinations and delusions.

"I didn't mean to fuck it up... I-It's just those fu-fucking blue firework thingies !" She gestured violently, and you had to duck your head to avoid getting slapped in the face.

"I understand... We should have been more careful. But we made it back; we're here. You are here." You smiled softly, not meeting her eyes, knowing it would only overwhelm her more.

She exhaled loudly and threw her head back, her legs bouncing rapidly. In the quiet sanctuary of your shared presence, you became the blue-haired lifeline, anchoring her to the present moment and gently guiding her towards the light. With each passing moment, the storm began to subside, and a sense of calm descended upon the room like a gentle rain after a tempest. Her small hands finally let go of her long hair and slid down her sides.

You felt her calm down gently, her eyes finally meeting yours. Your caring smile reassured me immensely. After her sister had abandoned her, Jinx kept seeking that loving and patient presence she lacked. Silco offered her the patience and structure she needed, but you brought her the unconditional understanding she craved. Something that could actually help her untangle her mind when the voices came nagging.

She hummed when your fingers brushed through her hair, smiling when she heard you chuckle. "Your hair is all messy..."

Jinx rolled her eyes but looked down bashfully. "Do you want me to brush them?" You offer quietly. The last thing you wanted was to cross her boundaries, though you knew she deeply enjoyed your touches and care.

"Okay." She nodded.

"Okay." You mirrored with a soft smile. Standing up, you offered her your hand, which she gadly took. You guided her towards her work table and sat her down on the chair.

You sat behind Jinx, who still bore the remnants of the storm that had ravaged her mind. With tender care, you began to gently comb through her tangled blue locks, her touch as light as a feather against Jinx's scalp. You put extra care into not pulling her hair or the knots in them.

"Can I braid your hair ?" You whispered softly, your voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room. She nodded wordlessly, her eyes flickering with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion, her head tilting back, leaning into your touch.

As you deftly wove Jinx's hair into intricate plaits, the tension that had gripped her features began to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility.With each twist and turn of the braid, your fingers worked their magic, creating a rhythmic dance that seemed to lull your friend into a state of peaceful surrender.

As the braid took shape, you spoke in hushed tones, sharing stories and memories from their shared past, each word a gentle caress against Jinx's troubled soul.

"I was terrified of heights as a kid... well, still are." You chuckled, continuing the long braids, her hair seeming endless. "Which is, y'know, quite practical when you live in a city with mostly flying structures." Your joke earned a small giggle from her.

With each tale, the invisible barriers that had separated them began to dissolve, replaced by a sense of intimacy and connection that transcended the confines of their physical surroundings. And as you secured the final knot of the braid, Jinx's beautiful blue eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting yours with a newfound sense of clarity and gratitude. In that fleeting moment, as they sat entwined in each other's presence.

You blushed slightly as you made her chair spin around. "There. Even prettier than before, I didn't think it could be possible." You winked, trying to come out confident.

She scoffed half-heartedly and nudged your leg with her own. Her gaze dazed at her inventions lying around. "Thanks for being there for me." She couldn't meet your eyes, but her voice carried all the thankfulness she felt.

You chuckled breathlessly and caressed her soft skin with your knuckles. "It's nothing, love. I got your back." Her cheeks heated up at your words, and she played with the newly braided hair.

As the night wore on, you remained vigilant by Jinx's side, offering comfort and companionship until the first light of dawn. From this moment on, she knew that no matter how fierce the storm raged within her, you would always be there to guide her and brush her worries away.

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[slocumjoe]

How do you think Nick's questline could have changed if all he found at the end was a skeleton inside that room?

lets go boys more reason for me to go off about

Nick and his purpose

So, Nick's purpose is to finish off the last thread of the guy he's a ghost of. It isn't, actually, but he thinks it is. He thinks he must tie up Valentine's loose ends so the guy can rest knowing that someone carried out his revenge.

Nick is not a man who cares for revenge. He isn't that cold, or eye-for-an-eye. This is not a moral he carries. Nick is not a "get them how they got you" kind of person. But Valentine is someone he feels he wronged by existing, fundamentally. This cop gets abused by the system he thought was supposed to protect him, which he thought was protecting others, and then they violate him further by scanning and copying his brain. Nick is the result of this ethical violation and betrayal. Nick could not exist without this. This is a guilt he carries.

Nick doesn't care for revenge, but he does believe in doing right by people. Valentine is someone he wronged; when Valentine died, he died never getting what he wanted, in a time of extreme hurt and trauma. He didn't get his revenge. So, Nick, a walking freeze-frame of all this pain and probably discomfort (Valentine was in a sketchy university, undergoing a sketchy procedure he didn't want to do), and he thinks this is what he has to do. This is what Valentine wanted, and he owes it to the guy.

Some people like to think Nick is an exact copy of Valentine, but I think circumstances, context, and experiences are what make a person. If I was put in different circumstances, I wouldn't be the me I am now. Valentine was not a robot in the post-apocalypse struggling with identity issues. Nick and Valentine cannot be the same. Valentine was the baseline Nick was built off of.

So, all this to say, Nick probably doesn't have the best, clearest idea of what he's meant for, or what he owes to the world. His idea is built off how he knows Valentine felt. But Valentine was going through it when his brain was scanned. His ideas of morals and justice were skewed. That's how anger and grief work.

Considering this, Nick walks into the bunker, and no, Eddie wasn't a ghoul. Just a guy who died God knows how long ago.

There is no thread for him to tie up.

There is no way for him to make it up to Valentine.

This is a wrong he has no way to right.

I think Nick is a lot more emotional than people give him credit for. He just keeps it all inside. Emotion you don't see is still emotion. Pain not expressed is still pain. I think in the moment, he'd try making it a joke. "Well...would'ja look at that. Something did the job for us and didn't even leave a note to save ourselves the trouble. I guess courtesy went out the window long before the bombs."

If Eddie Winter is already dead, Nick has nothing to do, functionally. He thinks that was his ultimate goal. His goal was done long ago. It was never something he needed to stew over. Valentine got what he wanted even if it wasn't by his hand or the ghost of it. But the thing with revenge is that it has to be you. If the person you hate most, who hurt you most, tripped on a weed and ate shit, is that revenge? Or is that just life not playing favorites?

Is it enough if life goes on?

Is it enough to say you don't have any obligations and can live despite someone else? Whether it's someone you feel you owe, or someone who owes you? Moving on without that gratification is not satisfying. You want an answer. You want "It's okay" or "I'm sorry."

Nick sees he has no end. There is no Eddie Winter. Valentine's only mark on this world, the only person who remembers him, is Nick. Nick is the only one to grieve him, or know his pain, or what he would think of all of this. Maybe, deep down, Nick wanted to find Eddie Winter not just to kill him, but to prove to himself that he isn't the only ghost. That it wasn't just him, keeping a good man from a good rest. That Eddie was what was really keeping that book open.

But if Eddie is dead, it's just Nick. Nick is all that's left.

You go in the bunker and Eddie Winter is dead.

From here, Nick has a different goal, whether he likes it or not; move on. Be Nick. Figure out who Nick is and accept himself as such. See that he is more than a copy of memories because he's made his own. That looks like a lot of things. Finding family in Ellie and the Survivor.. Finding community in Diamond City. Finding purpose in helping people. Finding himself in what he does now, how he does it, what he thinks of it.

Before he can do any of that, he has to accept that Eddie is dead, and so is Valentine, and just because they are doesn't mean he has to be..

His only path is to accept that he has no answers, and owes no answers. For someone who holds himself so responsible, who thinks he has to fix whatever he comes across, who hates that someone had to hurt for his existence...this seems impossible. To accept that he doesn't have to fix anything.

That there is nothing he can do for what he has of Valentine. That he can't take a dead man's anger away.

That he has nothing of the man he remembers being.

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

Welcome Home : Hobie x fem!reader

This is my first fic for @the-kr8tor 's Octobie event! I'm really super excited and I hope you like it :D

Synopsis: Everything sucks and then you get cat distribution systemed to Hobie.

Tags: Hobie/reader, Hobie/fem!reader, Reader is from another country, I just assumed she was american, American reader, Supposed to be in the 70's?, Just pretend it's an au if anything sounds funny about it, Hurt/comfort, wee bit of angst, crying in the rain, etc.

Note: I tried my best to write it as a hurt comfort, but I'm not sure if it turned out that way. First snippet of a series of oneshots about an American immigrant reader and Hobie! das it :)

It was a dark, but not very stormy night. London, always a gloomy one, this city was. Not that I’m any better. Through a series of events, I found myself in this here alleyway, looking for answers. Riddle me this; how does one find a man, who is a spider, who is a man? You call me, that’s how. The dame came into my office, just wanted to know who her saviour was, she said. Told me she would hand over a handsome sum of cash if I could find him. Money makes the world go round, after all. Course I agreed, I was tight-strapped this month and something had to pay that rent.

The first step to knowing about the wanted is to know about the wanter. In this case, that would be me. In reality, there was no damsel bursting into a private eye’s office, there wasn’t even a large wad of cash. Just a girl, a masked hero, and a handwritten thank-you note. 

London was nowhere near the pearly and refined city it was advertised to be, especially not in this soot stained, half muddied alleyway. As for why I was found in said alleyway, several days ago, I had gotten into some trouble with some sort of crooked cop, but before anything extraordinarily unsavory could happen, I was saved in one fell swoop by a man in some strange costume. I believe that living out of hotels was taking a toll on my mental state, and living at all was taking a toll on my wallet. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to find who he was and thank him. A simple thank-you, that’s all, and maybe I would ask him if he was hiring.

My search took me from one end of the city to another, and eventually into this alleyway. They called him ‘Spider-Man’ or ‘Spider-Punk.’ Strange names, but I’m not too sure what I expected of a man who runs around dressed like such. At some point in my thread of conversations and inquiries, I was led to Camden, then to this very alley. Supposedly, he shows up here often, but apparently not today. That’s fine. It’s okay. I had only started my search because I had nothing better to do; I was just taking a break by doing this. Against my will, this spot made me start to think of… everything. My moving here, my lack of a job, my lack of a  house, that awful place that I had left behind, my dwindling visa, it all seemed like too much; it all was too much. I leaned on a dusty hvac machine, back heavy with worries, listening to the quiet shrills and screams of some not-so-far away concert. The music had deep, billowing bass and a powerful guitar. It was like no other music I had heard before, and it called to me somewhat. Unfortunately, the rotten worms in my head were louder than the music right now. Barely overshadowed by the crackling of my thoughts was a low rumble curling in the clouds above. I sighed when I heard a clap of thunder. The  muffled concert in the distance began to stop playing its heavy and low tones when the mouselike droplets evolved into a storm. I hated the rain. Not all rain, just this rain; this rain that marked the demise of my journey; this rain that reminded me I was only ever stupid and naive; this rain that told me to give up, pack my bags, and go back home; that I should have never left my country in the first place; that was the rain that I despised with all my heart. This wretched rain had gotten on my face. Yes, surely, it was the rain that was ruining the makeup I worked so hard on this morning. It was ripping up that stupid letter of mine and causing me to dig my face into my hands. All of this was blamed on the rain, who was innocent of all save for soaking my hair. 

I stayed like that for a while, next to the smoother gray wall, huddled over, soaked in mostly my own misery. My own waterfalls made the rain feel like a light shower. If nowhere else, I felt allowed in this alley. That I could cry and sob and be angry and scared and cold and nobody would care because they don’t expect to see sane people in an alleyway to begin with. I most certainly do not. The tears and rain that coated my palms made them almost suction to my face, but in the midst of my dolor, I heard a voice from somewhere beside or near me.

“What’s wrong lovie?” My head dragged up from my hands after the sound of a limoncello voice hung itself in the air. After a lousy wipe of my eyes, I was able to properly see the man who cared enough about a stranger’s tears to stop and ask what they cried for. That dingy street lamp flickered its light around him like a halo. It took me a moment to register the man, his dewy chocolate skin and glossy hazelnut eyes. His face was studded with silver stars, and despite his sharp expression, he held a certain softness about him. He held a bright red umbrella, funny, he didn’t look like the type. He was a tall man for certain, craning over so he could cover me. His presence made everything stop for a moment, a still, small, and quiet recognition fell on these two strangers in this back alley of London.

“Who are you calling lovie?” My voice was like a crisp, wobbling paper. I stood up to speak with him, but by the time I was at my full height, my waterworks were, once again, in full swing. He panicked a little, holding his free hand out in the way one would to try and calm a dog you’ve never seen before.

“Woa, woa, what's the matter with you? ‘s  everything alright?” I’m not quite sure what made me do it, maybe I’ve lost my mind since coming to this place, but I stood there and sobbed out everything that happened to me during my time in London. Words, and feelings, and thoughts and actions kept spilling, tumbling, out of my mouth like bricks collapsing through the bottom of a broken forklift. That whole time, he listened, actually, truly listened to the ramblings of a stranger who he’d just met in some shady back alley while it was raining. Once again, I held the feeling that everything about him glowed. 

“Well, have you got any place to stay tonight?” He spoke very softly to me.  

“If I did, I wouldn’t be hanging around here, would I?” I shivered like a wet rat, parts of my hair stuck to the nape of my neck. He laughs through his nose before shrugging off his studded black leather jacket and placing it around my shoulders. The lining was warm. 

“Well, let’s get you washed up. You look a bloody mess.”  He gave my shoulders a light tap.

“Am I bleeding?” I tapped my face a little, checking for anything warm. He gave me a funny look in response.

“Th’ name’s Hobie by the way. Hobie Brown.” I did my best to wipe my face off before telling him my name. I reached out my hand, and he gave it a quick shake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

I followed him around the streets like a lost puppy, clutching the coat he gave me like it was a lifeline and occasionally looking at his silent face. The pavement we passed on was glossed over with the continuing rain. We passed building after building, some separated, some connected, and others so close they might as well be. I was certainly very close to someone who could, within reason, be mistaken for a building. If I ever began to wander too close to the edge of the umbrella, a steady and gentle hand would kindly guide me back to my spot beside him. We made our way to a canal style river thing in the middle of the city. He pointed my gaze toward a houseboat floating and rolling on the water. It looked like somewhere a retired pirate would live. 

The interior was surprisingly cozy despite its somewhat bare furnishings. Various knicknacks and things nestled themselves in unassuming spots around the place. The moment I set foot in the door, I felt right at home.

“Leave your shoes at the door, ’ll take that too.” Hobie. Hobie waited for me to unlatch my shoes and stand straight before taking his coat from my shoulders. I never noticed him put the umbrella away, but it’s gone, and his shoes are neatly set to the side on a not-so-neat towel. I don’t know what to say as I watch him take my shoes and line them right next to his, so I stand in the doorway and watch him wander out of view then right back in with some dry and clean clothes. He hands them to me with both hands, so that’s the exact way I receive them as I try to unclog my throat for words to flow through. I look back up at his face. He’s waiting so patiently for me to find my words, with that same sternly soft expression.

“Thank you.” The words came out a little too quiet, so I said it again. 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even though we just met and I-” My voice broke again when I started tearing up. 

“Oh no, no, come on, love. You on’t have to cry.” Quickly, He thumbed away my budding tears, his palms warm on my face.

“I know, but I’m just- I’m so grateful, you know?” He did. He knew. I could see it in his shining gray eyes that he knew. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have waited for me to stop my crying. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have wiped away every stray tear himself. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been so quick to open his home to me. If he didn’t, he would have never lent me that coat of his. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have handed me these clothes that I’m holding.

Once I got myself together, I was directed to the bathroom. Surprisingly, (according to him), there was warm water to shower with, and I did so happily. When I stepped into the living room I felt like I had on brand new skin. Hobie had the stove on and open while he stirred some milk into a second cup of tea. He turned around before I could even properly enter the kitchenette, as though he already knew that I was there. 

“Feelin’ better yet?” He handed me the cup he was holding with a smile, a deep and pretty blue. I held it and relished in the warmth of the cup from both his hands and the tea. 

“Wasn’t sure if you liked sugar, so I didn’t add any.” I wanted to cry again. He was overwhelming in all the best ways possible, but I had already put him through enough of my tears tonight, so I sucked them back in.

“I don’t” I smiled at him before taking a sip of what could very well be the best tea of my life. 

“If ‘s not uncomfortable, you could stay ‘ere till you get your own base of operation.” He was leaning on the counter, index tracing the edge of his own cup while speaking. Instead of this tea, I wish I could drink the color of his eyes as they’re looking at me. I'm suddenly smiling a lot right now.

"I will, if you'll have me."

[qqtxt]

[🌸] at ease w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / fluff 🌸 / idol!txt / non.idol!you / minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) / mentions of food and eating / reader is depicted to be a university student ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 500 words for each member / altogether, word count: 2463 words ✿ in the moments of stress, this is what he does to... ✿ a/n: i’ve been a teeny bit mia lately and it’s... this is a small piece that reflects what’s going on in this mind :”) (being told i need to rewrite parts of my dissertation is making me :”) so this is me trying to take my mind off of it a little! ✿ 🎧: ease by troye sivan ft. broods [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut! / @kflixnet​ ☁️

[🐰] soobin soobin looks at you for the umpteenth time and decides okay, now’s the time. past the scrunched-up papers, a discarded cup of tea that was once hot that remains lukewarm, swimming in the deepest of sighs and worries that line your forehead, soobin moves from the sofa and down to the floor where you’re hunched over the coffee table. he tries to be discreet but he knows you know he’s right next to you when he brushes his arm by yours and it makes you turn the cheek to see how his face has a look of worry that makes your features soften; not realising how hard you had been squinting at the white screen in front of you. he tests the waters by gently nudging your laptop away and when he sees how you’re partially reluctant, he knows you can’t ever push him away with the way he’s making the effort to reach out to you; as if a hand threads past the deep waves of uncertainty, gripping onto you, unwilling to let you drown in your worries alone. “could we... watch an episode on the television together?” he watches how you’re debating and the way you want to but can’t as the answer clogs your throat as your mouth opens and closes. “s-soobin, i just–”the way he presses his lips to a thin line, dimples showing out of worry more than endearment is what gets you to stop speaking, rephrasing your words. he hates how the breath you let out trembles his bones, pinches his heart distastefully at the amount of worry you’re shouldering. “i... i really need to get this done and i’m just...” your voice trails off the longer you look into soobin’s eyes. it’s like he speaks to you without speaking at all and... maybe it was time for a break after hours of getting a crack on this essay that feels like it’s not going anywhere. “...okay. just an episode or two.” the excitement bubbles in his veins, inflating through his features when you see how his eyes sparkle and he’s tugging you to follow him up on the sofa where he cuddles you in, tucks the blanket around you and doesn’t hesitate to press play. to you, it was a sweet gesture of your partner trying to reassure you and provide you comfort during a tough time of trying to get work done. to soobin, it was a relief having you in his arms and knowing despite the difficult moments, you won’t shut him out completely and instead, allow him to hold you through moments of it. and sometimes, that little distraction in between was more than enough.

[🦊] yeonjun yeonjun’s unable to hold himself back when he hears you sigh for the possible billionth time. each time it happens, it elicits a debate in his mind if he should comfort you now or wait until you’re done. but when it appears like you’re nowhere near done, he decides that now’s the perfect moment the second he hears another sigh echoing into his ears, spiking straight through his chest. you flinch upon feeling arms curling around you from behind. you had built a workstation on the dining table, a couple of steps from the living room where yeonjun was situated on the sofa, peering at you every now and then to remind you to drink some water or do a bit of stretching. he finds it amusing that you’re still sucked into your work, not tearing your eyes from the screen but still obliging to give in to his requests in small sips of water and light movements of standing up from your seat to twist your body here and there before you sink back down to the chair. “at this rate, you’re gonna turn into a turtle with the way you’re curling over this table,” yeonjun murmurs into your ears, nuzzling the side of his head along yours with a smile. you can hear his smile without seeing it and you’ll be honest, it was nice feeling him hug you like this after hours of trying to nail this piece of work. you lean back into his embrace and shake your head, eyes closing shut and feeling that pleasure of being able to rest for a split moment and not strain your vision with lines of words against a white document. “i’d rather be a turtle swimming in a pond than go through this list of bullshit,” you tilt your head back where you feel yeonjun shift back, now hovering his face above yours and you’re proven to be right as you peel your eyes just a bit to catch a glimpse of his frown as he uses an arm to hold you, the other reaching up to cup the side of your head, brushing the hair from your face. “i quit. i’m going to leech off of you for the rest of my life.” he grins, leaning down to brush his nose on yours, “it’ll be my pleasure,” he leans back, tilting his head, "but you might kill me in the process for allowing me to let you drop out when you specifically told me to never let that happen,” he chuckles when you groan loudly and try to push him away, which makes him stand his ground further. “what you need is a food break. let’s go out for some ramen?” he sees you coming down from your mini-outburst, only to debate if you should but he knows you too well when–”c’mon, you have to eat whether you’re studying or not. so just give me an hour to shower you with love and affection and feed you before you go back to your battle. deal?” you look at his outstretched hand lingering above your face. the answer is sealed when you reach up to hold onto his hand, giving it a grip, “deal.”

[🐯] beomgyu to be fair, beomgyu thought he was being “cute” with his advances when he remains on the opposite end of the sofa, having your feet tucked by the side of his hip as he nonchalantly strokes your ankle from time to time despite you having your laptop on your lap as you tried to get work done. when he hears your phone going off in tiny charms of text notifications, he thought you’d be checking it so you could see his adorable (if he does say so himself) ways of trying to coax you to take a break with him. but the reality is that you’re a bit annoyed with the distraction without seeing who it was. even the small prompt of aren’t you going to check that? isn’t a good hint when you shake your head in response, refusing to look up from your screen your eyes have been glued on for hours. he decides it’s better to be more direct with his approaches this time. the small pat he gives your feet only makes you think he wants you to move so you curl your legs back and he groans, now finally capturing your attention when you look up with a raised brow. “sorry, should i move away?” you ask, body turning to look like you’re about to get off and he–”augh, no!” he makes the quick move to get up first before you can and gently (with a tiny bit of force) takes your laptop to put it on the coffee table next to the sofa before he diverts his attention back to you. he grabs your phone and unlocks it with the passcode with ease; as if it was second nature. then, he hands you your phone where he’s pulled up your text thread with him to reveal the string of texts: [🐯 beomie] baby [2:12pm] [🐯 beomie] :(((( [2:12pm] [🐯 beomie] you look tired [2:13pm] [🐯 beomie] should we take a nap together? [2:13pm] [🐯 beomie] just a short one? [2:13pm] [🐯 beomie] ok fine [2:14pm] [🐯 beomie] i just wanna hug you [2:14pm] [🐯 beomie] c’mon pls look at your phone [2:14pm] [🐯 beomie] PLS JUST ONE GLANCE [2:14pm] he sees that at least his efforts can bring a smile to your face when you chuckle at it, shaking your head. when your eyes trail back to him kneeling by your side with a small pout, he spreads his arms out. you lean away from the sofa to put your arms around him, giving him a squeeze as you feel his arms curl around your waist, his face buried in your neck with a sigh. you hate to admit it but it’s working. whatever bitter feeling of spiralling in your mind feels like it’s melting away the longer you sink in his embrace and allow your eyes to rest. this is one of the moments beomgyu doesn’t say anything and instead maintains the silence by stroking your back in small circles and resting a hand by the nape of your neck to keep you close to him.

[🐿] taehyun taehyun tries not to bother you when you’re ‘in the zone’, knowing very well of that feeling himself when he’s trying to get things done. but... the longer he sees you hunched over the table while he’s in bed, book in his hands and you feeling so near yet so far away, it... does things to his heart. this uneasy feeling that sinks within that makes him unable to relax properly when he sees how hard you’re pushing yourself. the second he sees you burying your face in your hands, refusing to look at the screen for a moment, he utilises this opportunity to sneak out of the bedroom to the kitchen. he returns a couple of minutes later and he makes his presence known to you when he places... you look up from your hands to the side where there’s a small steam wafting in the air. the familiar scent of chamomile soothes you, with the hint of sweetness you know taehyun’s put a spoon or two of honey in. it does nothing to replace the sweetness oozing from his eyes as he kneels by your side, gently pushing the cup towards your way with a small smile. he grabs ahold of your hands when you turn to face him, looking down at him slightly due to the height advantage you have of being seated on the chair. “you wouldn’t be able to help me write this damned thing, would you?” he scoffs a laugh and shakes his head almost too quickly, “not a chance. unless you need me to write a song that accompanies your entire essay, maybe we can turn it into a musical,” you laugh, even though you sound tired, taehyun knows you appreciate the light humour he brings without trying. in the silence that engulfs you, taehyun places your hands by the cup of tea as he watches you take a sip. then two, then a third tiny one before you wrap your hands along the cup with a small, contented smile. you still look like you have a lot on your mind, which taehyun would be more than glad to help dissect later but for now, he remains kneeling by your side, one hand rubbing your thigh, the other snaked around your waist to his best ability as he quietly recharges with you. it might not look like much, but the silence and being able to sit in tranquility despite the havoc you know you have to go through was the bit of relieving heaven you get with kang taehyun by your side.

[🐧] kai kai knew he had to do something the minute the third-hour clocks by and you haven’t moved an inch from your spot apart from going to the bathroom and mini water breaks. he knows it’s... it’s tough. it’s not easy. and he doesn’t quite know what he can help with... other than... you hear your name being called from a distance. you look over your shoulder to see kai standing by the bedroom door, peering his head through with a small smile. “oh, come in.” you motion to him, before your eyes go back to the computer screen. he pushes the door a bit wider for him to step through, hands behind his back as he walks in. when he stands behind you, his hands rest on your shoulders, gently pressing his fingers along your shoulder blade. “could you... do me a favour?” he asks carefully, looking down at you to subtly gauge your reaction. “i’m a bit busy now...” you mumble under your breath, eyes scanning through the research article you have pulled up on your screen that kai doesn’t know if he should press on further but... he can’t walk away from you without trying at least a couple more times. “it’ll take less than thirty minutes, promise.” he coaxes you, a gentle nudge to look at him and when you do, you notice the look of anxiety hinting his features that lets you know he’s just worried. you gape upon noticing his expression, tearing your gaze from the computer screen to turn around slightly in your seat as kai steps around your seat. he reaches for your hands and gives you a small sway, so you keep your eyes on him as he asks: “go on a walk with me? it’ll do you some good to clear your mind a bit...” he gets a bit shy when you call him out on: “you know that’s a lie,” you snort, squeezing his hands as you lace your fingers between his, “we’ll both go for ice cream on our way back and then take another thirty minutes and then we’ll have to get those sparkling juice drinks and boom, another hour gone altogether.” he doesn’t deny it but instead doubles down and: “but then we’ll be able to get something in your system and you can continue working for a few more hours when we get back and then we can go for dinner after that. all things considered, i think this is a good idea,” he nods at the end as if he’s persuading himself. you try not to laugh but it’s difficult when kai sounds and is so genuine that you’re unable to reject him. not when you’ve considered the fact you had been cooped up by the computer for hours on end. “do i get to buy a snack with the drinks?” you ask, already rising to your feet as a promise you’ll take a break with him. the smile that grows on his face is what makes your heart swell, along with the cheekiness of his answer: “for today? you get to buy two snacks.” ((”well i’ll be damned, that’s an offer i can’t deny.”))

[xappetites]

this was supposed to be a little Price thought but it got away from me and it's 1112 words

warnings: fem!reader who's decided kids aren't the best idea for her, mentions of sex and breeding kink, brief mentions of a disordered relationship w/food

“Are you still planning on children?”

It takes John a minute, in the post coital haze, to understand the question his wife whispers from the bathroom doorway, naked in the easy way of years together.

She stands there, skin reddened in the places he was just holding onto like a lifeline, and she looks at the towel in her hands instead of him. It’s steps, between them, but they turn to ice for John, a little Siberia in the middle of South East London.

“Loaded question, isn’t it, love?”

“You brought it up,” she breaks the frost, moving to settle on the edge of the bed, right next to him. Her towel is warm, he realizes, as she works it over where he’s drying itchy with sweat and cum. Barely wet and gentle on his skin.

And John knows what she means, can still feel the words on his tongue: I’ll fill you, love, fill you ‘till it takes. He doesn’t regret them, doesn’t want to regret them because it gets him there in record time, does the job so well for him that just thinking about them has his cock hardening again to the warmth and the wetness and the subtle pressure of her hands.

But that’s all it is, a fantasy that ends here, when he cums. He doesn’t spend his days imagining his wife pregnant in his daily life. In fact, now that he thinks about it, the thought’s strange, leadens his stomach with an irrational sort of anxiety. He spends too much time away, too far removed from this unstoppable woman, to think of her vulnerable and not feel a certain kind of madness tugging at the threads of his self control.

“Do you want children?”

He counters, buys time, though he knows it’s unfair to twist the question on her. They talked about it, once, before the marriage, when they felt younger and the future seemed so terribly malleable. John said it might be good to have a couple. But he didn’t want to be a Christmas dad, seeing his offspring every four to six months and have them cry in his arms because they don’t recognize a man who’s more thought than father to them.

He’d planned to retire, cut back at least, before he’d consider any children. And now he can’t, not with so much to do. He couldn’t sit by a desk and watch other people forced into the kinda shit only he —and Kyle and Soap and Simon— will voluntarily sign up for. So it’s looking more and more like it might not happen for him, and he’s comfortable with that.

But they’d agreed, back then, on an indefinite but small amount of kids. And now his wife, the one with an actual life and a home where she welcomes him, is not looking at him as he refuses to answer. Not until he hooks his fingers in the crook of her knee and smooths his thumb over her thigh. She sighs at the touch, leaves the towel in favor of drawing nonsense patterns over his stomach.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to have children, John”

He frowns, but waits in silence. There’s something sad hiding behind the fleeting smile she gives him, something guilty that makes him brace himself for movement. The impulse he’s felt since the moment he fell in love with her, to fight for her, against the world. Like he’s an attack dog, built for violent resistance in her name.

“My body feels off, some days, like I don’t belong in it. I skip breakfast sometimes, I leave the metro a station back, for the walk.”

Her voice is soft, but her eyes are unrelenting, now that she’s started. And she rushes through the admission, makes it a simple stating of facts, like making the shopping list.

“I don’t think I can survive having someone else in this body without hating them, and a baby doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

John’s heart balloons in the quiet of the moment. He can’t help the lopsided smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, which he realizes isn’t a reasonable reaction. But it’s this, the clarity and the unflinching honesty, why he adores her so completely.

Whatever ache is in the confirmation of closing this particular door, outweighed by the pride of knowing she trusts him with the naked, uncomfortable truths of her. And that, John supposes, is what burns at him and he doesn’t know how to put into words when he talks about filling her up, when he thinks about breeding, in the most primal, basic sense of the kink. He just wants to make himself a part of her, wants to know her to the last little cell and live in the spaces between them.

“So if you want to have children, I think we would have to consider other options.”

That comment brings John’s focus snapping back to her hands, to the way she spins her wedding band, tugs on it until it hits the speed bump of the knuckle, a gesture he isn’t sure is conscious but that telegraphs exactly where her head is at.

“You’re all I want, love. No hypotheticals.”

“John—“

“No,” he catches her hand, pulls it back to his chest. He uses it to anchor himself, sitting up to kiss away whatever objection she’s cooking up. “I don’t say what I don’t believe in, right?”

“Right,” her stance slackens and her body tilts forward so her torso slots against his, a perfect fit.

“Won’t bring it up again, love.”

“I like it,” it’s a mumble against his neck, his jaw, that turns into kisses that follow the line of his beard. “Just wanted to let you know, in case—“

John simply hums, keeps the groan in his throat, the one she likes best; because however tempting her sweet weight is on him, he’s weighing his options for breaching the other touchy subject this impromptu conversation raised, on a cold morning in the middle of his first week home in a while.

“About the eating—“

“I have it handled,” she says, stretching and twisting until her legs end up on each side of him again, "I'm trying."

"Ok. But you'll let me know if you need something from me, right?"

She nods, pulls back from him just to grin like she's misbehaving, or just about to.

"Could I have another round for now?"

And John laughs against her until she's squirming at the feeling of his whiskers on her skin, 'cause how could he ever deny his favorite girl.

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 6

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 4893

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

It was nearly noon when Aelinor awoke, the sun peeking through her curtains and disturbing her peace. She had lain awake for several hours after her night with Aemond, unable to think of anything else but him. How he had held her hand, how close they had been to kissing. It seemed almost childish to be thrown out of sorts by something as simple as a kiss, and yet she was unable to push it from her mind. Alas, when she had finally fallen asleep, it had been a deep one.

Someone was pounding on her door. “Aelinor! Mother wants you.”

It was Jace, and he took her answering groan as permission to enter the chamber. “Why are you still asleep?”

“I’m not asleep, am I?” She rolled over, wincing as she stretched her muscles. “What does Mother want?”

Jace poked her foot through the covers. “We need to begin getting ready for the festivities.”

“We?”

“Well, you do. You have to do your hair and…other things.” He looked genuinely baffled, like he couldn’t fathom what kinds of preparations a woman might have to do to get ready for a royal banquet and ball.

Aelinor heaved herself out of bed with a sigh, accepting the heavy dressing gown Jace handed her to cover her nightgown. 

“Is she up yet?” Luc poked his head through the door. “Oh, good morning Aelinor. Or should I say afternoon?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, knotting the dressing gown at the waist.

“Why are you so tired?” Jace asked. 

Aelinor shrugged. “Not used to the bed, I guess.”

“I, for one, found the bed and chambers quite comfortable.” Jace said, moving out of her way as they moved into the corridor. “Far less drafty than Dragonstone.”

She searched for an excuse in her sleep-addled brain, unable to come up with anything believable.

“We stayed up late playing cards,” Luc said. “Aelinor wouldn’t let us go to bed until she beat me.”

She thought her younger brother a grateful look, appreciating that he was covering for her. 

“And did she?” Jace asked, believing the excuse.

“No, she gave up.” Luc laughed.

Aelinor yawned loudly. “You’re both impossible.”

They stepped into the main room of their family’s chambers, and were immediately met by a throng of people. Maids bustled to and fro, unpacking garments from bags, some already set up with needles and thread to make necessary alterations, and others opening boxes of jewels. Aelinor held her dressing gown a little tighter to her body. 

“Aelinor!” Her mother was seated at the small breakfast table, watching two of the maids entertain the small children. “Are you just waking up now?”

“Yes, Mother. I feel rather like the walking dead this morning.”

“Why? Are you ill?” Rhaenyra reached out to touch her daughter’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

She shook her head. “I just stayed up too late.”

“Losing at cards.” Jace teased. 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing Aelinor’s hand. “As long as you’re well. Did you have a good evening, card games aside?”

Aelinor hated lying to her mother. Part of her just wanted to tell her the truth, admit where she had been and who she was with. Her mother had always humored her more rebellious side, and likely wouldn’t be as furious as she was imagining. Not to mention, things would be infinitely worse if her mother found out from whoever had been spying on them in the library.

But still Aelinor was not able to admit everything. “I had a good evening. It’s nice to be back.”

“It is.” Rhaenyra agreed. “Now, we must begin getting you ready. Starting with that hair.” She teasingly pulled on a string of Aelinor’s tangled mane. She had gone to sleep without braiding it, and it was looking quite unkempt.

A maid was waved over, and Aelinor dropped into the seat opposite her mother, reaching for a half-empty plate of biscuits. She chewed slowly as the maid ran a brush through her hair, combatting the tangles one by one.

“The fashion seems to be to wear one’s hair up now,” She said absently. “Perhaps with some braiding throughout?”

Rhaenyra gave her a small smile. “I think it’s best that you wear your hair down, darling.”

“Why?” Aelinor couldn’t see how dancing all evening, getting all sweaty and letting the scent of smoke and cooked meats seep into her hair, could possibly be a good thing.

But then she saw her mother’s eyes dart toward the couch, where Jace was polishing a spot off one of his boots, and she understood. In this fight for her brother’s legitimacy, she was her mother’s best weapon, and her hair was the most obvious way to wield it.

“Unbraided, then.” She acquiesced.

Rhaenyra nodded. “Oh, but we have a circlet for you, darling. You will look beautiful.”

Aelinor offered her mother a sincere smile. It had been years since they had had the opportunity to prepare for an event of this size, and it reminded her of far simpler times. 

“I assume you have a dress for me, as well. Can I see it?” She winced as the maid yanked on a stubborn knot behind her ear.

Rhaenyra grinned. “Even better, I have three. We shall have to try them on to see which suits best.”

“Good gods,” Lucerys threw his head back in complaint.

“And you boys shall remain here,” Rhaenyra said quickly. “To help your sister choose.”

Jace glared at his brother. “Is Driftmark worth this, Brother?”

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

Aemond was called to his mother’s chambers only an hour before the ball. He had been awake with the dawn, throwing himself into training bouts to while away the time and distract his mind. The night with Aelinor had been more than he had ever dreamed of, and waking up just to remember that she was betrothed to Jacaerys of all people, and that he would have to attend this cursed ball in the evening was enough to drive him into a fury.

None of the visiting nobles were willing to spend the morning on the training grounds, and so he grabbed several young squires and put them through their paces while he worked through his rage. Afterwards, he had returned to his chambers to bathe and dress. The small box inside his writing desk just made him think of Aelinor, and so he had spent more time pacing the halls until Ser Criston came to summon him.

When he arrived at his mother’s chambers, he found it deathly quiet. His brother was reclined on the sofa, head thrown back and eyes closed. Helaena sat quietly at his side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. His mother stood in front of the window, her fingers playing with the Star of the Seven that hung at her throat, worry lines creasing her face. 

“Aemond,” she barely glanced his way when he walked in. “Where have you been?”

“Training,” He answered. 

“Don’t you look nice,” Aegon slowly rolled his head to the side, eyes lazily scanning him from head to toe. “Did you oil your hair?”

Aemond resisted the urge to smooth his hair. He had, in fact, run some oil through it before pulling it back in his usual style. It was more effort than he would usually put it for a court function, but he had found himself overly concerned with preparing for this event. Even his clothing — a relatively simple green and black tunic and matching trousers — had been freshly washed and pressed. 

“Anyone in particular you might be doing that for?” Aegon prodded.

Aemond stiffened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His mother dropped her hands, turning to stare at him. “Aemond, you cannot be serious. We spoke of Aelinor. She is not your friend.”

No, she was far more than a friend to Aemond, though he couldn’t blame his mother for trying to lessen it. He didn’t reply, just placed both hands behind his back and waited expectantly.

Alicent walked toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Aemond, she is betrothed. Rhaenyra has betrothed her to Jacaerys. Everyone knows it, and it has only to be formally announced. You must distance yourself before you are made a fool of.”

He already was a fool. There was no way he could distance himself, not now. And though each reminder that she was promised to Jace felt like a stab in the gut, he kept his face passive. “And what if she does not wish to marry Jacaerys?”

Alicent shook her head in exasperation. “And who would she marry, Aemond? You? Her mother would never tie her family to ours, and we must not tie ourselves to her’s.”

“Aren’t they our family?” Helaena spoke up suddenly, surprising all of them. 

Alicent barely spared a glance to her daughter. “The only family we must concern ourselves with are those who live righteously, who honor the gods and the Seven Kingdoms with their actions. Us.”

Aemond bit his tongue. He did not disagree with his mother’s sentiment toward the Princess Rhaenyra, and her sons. They were bastards, and Rhaenyra, though she had been kind to him when he was young, had stood by Lucerys even when he cut out Aemond’s eye. Had not punished the boys when Aelinor was permanently maimed by a fire. He had no love for any of them.

He just considered Aelinor to be something different.

Aegon groaned loudly. “Can we just go? I don’t give a shit which bastards are marrying which whores, and—”

“What did you say?” Aemond demanded, crossing the room in a second. Aegon flinched back, pinned between the couch and his wife. Aemond itched to strike him, his hand curling into a fist.

“Aegon, that talk is beneath you.” Alicent said, though she did not correct it. “And Aemond, leave your brother be. The fool is drunk.”

Aemond sneered in disgust, able to smell the reek of ale off of his brother. His mother was right, Aegon was a fool.”

“The banquet will begin shortly,” Alicent said. “We must be there to receive the guests. And we are all expected to attend, and remain there, for the duration of the evening.”

From her tone, it was clear that there was nothing she wanted to do less than spend a night in revelry and celebration over the return of Princess Rhaenyra.

With exaggerated groans, Aegon peeled himself off the couch, stumbling out the door without waiting for his wife, who trailed meekly after him. Alicent caught Aemond’s arm before he could follow.

“I mean it, Aemond.” Alicent said quietly. “Remember who you are, and who she is.”

“I will, Mother.” He hesitated as he studied her face. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her complexion appeared more sallow than usual. “You don’t look well, Mother. Is there something wrong?”

She sighed, giving his shoulder a quick pat. “I did not sleep well. Your father…he was restless all night.”

How many years had it been, that Aemond watched his mother slowly waste away as she cared for his father, as she tried to hold the Kingdoms together? For the King to have an ill night was the last thing she needed, especially with their visitors and all the activity to come in the next few days.

He gave a curt nod. “Then I shall be on my best behavior. And I shall endeavor to keep Aegon contained as well.”

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

The banquet was in full swing by the time Aelinor made her way to the hall. The dress they had chosen had required a few alterations to fit, and so she had told her family to go on ahead. Now she was regretting that choice, as it meant she would be entering the room by herself, instead of as part of her mother’s house.

Perhaps she could sneak in. It was always possible that, if the festivities had begun in earnest, she might sneak through the doors and find her way to her mother’s side without anyone noticing her. But alas, when she rounded the corner, the doors to the hall were shut firmly, two guards stationed on either side.

Muttering a curse under her breath, she slowed to a walk, barely managing to compose herself before the doors were being heaved open and a loud voice was proclaiming “The Princess Aelinor Velaryon!”

Three hundred faces stopped to stare at her, and she found it a little hard to breathe. Stepping through the door, she tried to scan the crowd for a familiar face. There, seated at the front of the hall next to an empty seat, was Queen Alicent, with Lord Otto Hightower at her side. Neither of their expressions were particularly welcoming. She could not see her mother, not among the dozens of people paused on the floor, clearly having been in the middle of a dance, nor could she see her or any of her brothers at the long tables that framed the room. She was on her own.

With a deep breath, she clasped her skirt in both hands, the black silk of her skirt crumbling beneath her fingers as she dipped into a small curtsy. Enough to show respect for the Queen, but not so much as would be owed to the King. She rose without wobbling, and then descended the steps as quickly as she could manage. There seemed to be an awkward pause, before she heard the sharp note of a fiddle and the musicians resumed.

Keeping to the edge, she tried to pick her way past the dancers as she searched for her family. Everywhere she turned a noble she did not recognize was offering a bow or a curtsy, usually with a quietly murmured “Princess”. She returned their greetings, but did not linger. Only hours ago she had been excited for the ball, for her chance to attend for the first time. How many times as a child had she hidden up in the rafters with Aemond, dreaming of joining the dancers down below? She glanced up, wondering if there were any young faces doing the same as she had once. But not it seemed only to be a crush of unfamiliar figures, and she longed for a spot of quiet. 

“Princess Aelinor,” Someone stepped into her path. He was a small, spindly man with a cane at his side, and an unsettling smirk on his face. “You have much changed.”

His fingers twitched out, nearly catching the crimson chiffon of her sleeve. She took a step back, but was pressed against another stranger, this one ensconced in a conversation and unaware of how he was entrapping the princess.

“Forgive me, Sir.” Aelinor cleared her throat. “But have we met?”

“When you were very small, Princess.” He tilted his head. “And as I said, you have grown much.”

She did not like this man. “Might I have your name, Sir. I don’t—”

“Lina!” She could have wept to hear Aemond’s voice at her side. He emerged from the center of the dance floor, pushing through a dancing pair and coming to stand at her side. “I have been looking for you.”

“I’ve only just arrived. I was speaking to…” She turned around, only to find that the spidery man had vanished back into the crowd. “How odd.”

“Was someone bothering you?”

“No, it was only strange.” She tried to shake the interaction from her mind. “My, don’t you look every bit the handsome prince.”

Aemond shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment. But it was the truth. Aelinor could not recall ever seeing him look so fine. His tunic was embroidered with gold thread, the rich green so dark that it was nearly black. His silver hair was smoothed back, falling over his wide shoulders.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked.

Aelinor glanced around, well aware that every person around them was only pretending not to eavesdrop. “I just arrived. I have not even—”

“Little Aelinor!” A hand landed on the small of her back. “I knew I would find you here.”

“Uncle.” She greeted Aegon with a polite curtsy, resisting the urge to shuffle away from his touch. “I trust you are well?”

His eyes drooped slightly as he appraised her. “All the better for seeing you.”

“Brother, I—” Aemond tried to cut in.

“Darling Niece,” Aegon continued. “Care to dance?”

There was no polite way to refuse an offer from a prince, especially not when it had been made so publicly.

“Of course, Uncle.” She set her good hand in his, shooting Aemond a look of apology. “Perhaps I shall see you later?”

“Oh, I’m certain he will make sure of it.” Aegon tugged her away, leading her right to the center of the floor.

Aelinor could feel the eyes following her as Aegon stopped them in the center of the floor, assuming the position for a quick four step, a dance she knew quite well. When she glanced to the side, she saw the Queen standing from her seat, disappearing into the crowd just as the musicians struck up a new song.

This particular dance was quite easy, involving two partners who moved around each other in a circle, occasionally clasping hands or jumping. It was ideal for chatting with a suitor, but unfortunately, Aelinor had no interest in chatting with Aemond, not when she could smell drink on his breath.

Aegon, for his part, did not seem overly interested in conversing. He moved through the steps lazily, clearly too drunk to execute them gracefully, but also too familiar to make a complete mockery of himself. Twenty couples moved around them, all of them completely silent, waiting to catch wind of what Prince Aegon and her might be discussing.

“How is Helaena?” Aelinor began, remembering her mother’s request to behave as if nothing was wrong. “I have not yet had the chance to speak with her.”

Aegon shrugged. “I’ve not seen her tonight.”

“No?” Aelinor frowned, before plastering a smile back on her face. “Well, then. Your children, how are they?”

“I have three of them.” Aegon said, clearly not overwhelmed with fatherly affection.

Aelinor tried to drum up some sympathy for her uncle. As long as she had known him, he had never thrived in the spotlight, nor had he been enthusiastic about wedding Helaena. But as someone who had never been drawn to the drink, Aelinor could not quite bring herself to forgive his inebriation.

“My brother,” Aegon drawled. “Seems unable to keep his eye off of you.”

Aelinor ignored the jibe. “I’m sure he’s just observing the dancing.”

“Or he’s fueling his obsession with you,” Aegon leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, Niece. What do you see in my brother?”

His hands had curled almost painfully into her waist. The music ended and Aelinor snapped back, putting space between them. 

“For one thing,” She hissed. “He’s not a drunken lech.”

Bobbing a curtsy, she left him on the floor. Unfortunately, she did not see Aemond in the crowd. Intending to resume the search for her mother, she moved toward the front of the room, only to nearly walk directly into the Queen.

“Your Majesty,” She curtsied, feeling like she had spent most of the evening bobbing up and down. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

Alicent held both hands in front of her, her red hair shining against the emerald of her gown. “Aelinor. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Aelinor nodded gratefully. She would not pretend that she had ever been friendly with Alicent, but the Queen had always been kind to her as a child.

“Did you enjoy your dance?” Alicent asked.

“I did,” Aelinor said too quickly. “It was…nice to see Aegon again.”

“Hm,” Alicent looked like she did not believe her. “Well, I’m glad. I think you’ll find it difficult to source another partner.”

“Your…your Majesty?”

Alicent leaned forward. “You look beautiful, Aelinor. But no one wishes to dance with a cripple.”

Aelinor recoiled, her mouth falling open as the Queen walked away. That was…that had been cruel. Overcome with shame, Aelinor adjusted her long sleeve so that it fell over her injured hand. She knew her hand unsettled people, but it did not make her a cripple. And she would never have expected something so malicious to come out of the Queen’s mouth.

“Aelinor! Are you alright?”

The crowd this evening just seemed to keep throwing conversations her way. Thankfully, this time it was Aemond, who placed one hand on her elbow. 

“Aemond,” She said quietly.

“Was that my mother?” He asked. “Are you alright, you look pale.”

Aelinor shook her head. “I’m quite alright.”

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked, looking a bit nervous. “If you…if you would like to.”

Aelinor glanced up at him. “I would love to, Aemond, But I should really find my family. I promised Jace a dance and I—”

Aemond frowned, and she remembered how he did not like to be reminded of her near-betrothal to Jace. 

Two courtiers moved past, whispering as they did. Aelinor hid her hand further in her sleeve, the Queen’s jibe stinging sharply through her veins. “I can find them later. Let us dance.”

Aemond smiled, and she thought she heard someone nearby gasp as he took her hand and led her back to the floor. They took up a spot on the edge, and Aemond grasped her waist with one hand as the musicians began. This was a slower set, allowing them to whirl between other couples in time with the music. Aelinor was a bit lost in her thoughts, her mind swirling with the music and her conversation with the Queen.

“You’re hiding your hand,” Aemond whispered. “Why?”

“What?” Aelinor looked up. He was so much taller than her, so much that she had to tilt her head back to see his face.”Oh, I just…it looks better this way.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to care very much how it looks.” Aemond said. “After all, you are—”

The music stopped suddenly, and Aelinor spun a few more steps before they stopped. The guests were all turning to the dias, where Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, and their children stood in a neat line. 

Aelinor tilted her head. “What are they doing?”

Queen Alicent was standing at the foot of the dias, her eyes wide as she stared up at the princess. It took only a few moments for the hall to fall completely silent, all eyes on Rhaenyra.

“We are grateful to everyone for being here today,” Rhaenyra said. “It has been wonderful to see so many familiar faces.”

The crowd murmured in approval. 

“I think she’s just thanking the court,” Aelinor whispered, conscious of how Aemond’s hand still lingered at her back.

“And,” Rhaenyra continued. “I would like to take this opportunity to impart on the court an announcement that is sure to bring great happiness to us all.”

Jace stepped up to his mother’s side, and Aelinor felt her blood run cold. This was it. They were about to announce it to everyone, and then her fate would be sealed. She felt a few eyes turning her way, the rumor mill no doubt assuring that most courtiers could predict what this announcement may be.

“It gives me great job to announce the betrothal of my son Prince Jacaerys—”

Oh gods, here it was.

“And my son Prince Lucerys to the Princesses Baela and Rhaena. This joining of two great Valyrian houses will no doubt be a triumph for the realm.”

A thousand emotions flooded Aelinor, the foremost of them being shock. Jacaerys was betrothed to Baela? What did this mean? Her mother had never wavered in her intention to betrothe her two eldest children, and yet…she had just changed her mind before the entire court. 

Jace held out a hand to Baela, both of them beaming as they descended to the floor for a dance.

Queen Alicent climbed the steps quickly, speaking in hushed tones to Rhaenyra as the room slowly resumed the party. Things made a bit more sense to Aelinor, then. The trial addressing Luc’s succession would take place the following day, and Rhaenyra had just assured that the Velaryons would support his claim. It would now be Vaemond standing against his own family, almost certainly guaranteeing them success.

But people were whispering, casting looks her way as they moved through the room. The dancing began anew, and yet she just stood there, Aemond by her side, trying to process what was happening.

“Cast aside—”

“The bastards are—”

“...betrothed to a cripple…”

It was all too much, and Aelinor turned quickly and rushed from the room. She shoved through the crowd, around one of the tables and out through one of the servant doors. She was barely aware of someone following until she felt Aemond’s hand on her arm.

“Lina, are you—”

A servant moved past, carrying a tray of sweetmeats, and he gave the Princess a concerned look.

Aemond turned to him and roared. “OUT! Now!”

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

The evening had not taken the turn that Aemond had expected. He had expected to endure a night of endless political preening, perhaps stealing a dance with Aelinor or his sister, and now he was huddled in a servants’ corridor, while Aelinor hid in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” she held a hand to her mouth. “I just….everyone was talking and I…I just couldn’t…”

“Take all the time you need,” Aemond assured her. “No one will bother you.”

In truth, he was seething inside. For a split second, he had been overjoyed. To know that Aelinor would not be marrying Jacaerys…if he were devout it would have been something he prayed for. But then he had watched the bastard lead his new betrothed into a dance, and he had seen how Aelinor’s face had fallen.

That bastard had cast her aside, her entire family had opened her up to scorn. As if the bastard even deserved Aelinor at all. No, he deserved nothing, but Aelinor certainly did not deserve to be publicly rejected in front of the court like that. 

Aelinor was shaking her head. “Gods, she could have told me.”

“You did not deserve that,” Aemond hissed. “For him to gloat and—”

She held up a hand. “He was not gloating. He and Baela are well suited, and I am happy for them.”

She was too kind. Too generous. She would forgive them, she always would, just as she had forgiven them when they maimed her as a child. This was what happened when he wasn’t by her side, she was coerced into accepting this treatment from them, when she deserved far better.

“Perhaps I’ll get to go back to Dragonstone in peace,” She gave a small smile. 

“You cannot allow—”

“Did you want me to marry Jace? Is that it?” She demanded. “Because after last night, I rather thought that you…that we…”

“That we were what?” Aemond stepped forward until her back was against the wall.

Aelinor sighed. “I don’t know, Aemond. Tonight has been overwhelming, and there are so many people here who I do not know. I just need to go back to Dragonstone, to people who understand me, and it will—”

Aemond reached up and ripped off his eye patch. “I understand you!”

Her lips parted as she stared up at him, at the blue gem that flickered in the torch light. Aemond’s chest was heaving with some kind of craze, and he knew he should step back. He had to, before he did something that both of them regretted. But nothing in him was strong enough to move away from her.

Slowly she lifted her injured hand, silk sleeves falling away as she let her fingertips trace the edges of his scar, inching closer to his eye.

“That’s my sapphire,” She breathed. “You…you actually did it.”

“Of course I did,” He lifted his hand to grasp hers. “How could you think that I don’t understand you?”

“I…that is not what I meant.” She whispered.

“I know,” He nodded. “And…I don’t mean to force your hand. You deserve better than your brother, and I won’t pretend that I am a better option. I only wanted you to see that I…that I have always…”

“Aemond…” She leaned closer.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Aemond wrenched himself away just as a servant came through carrying pitchers of wine. They waited until the servant had passed into the ballroom before speaking again.

“Thank you, Aemond.” Aelinor said, kneeling to the ground to pick up his eye patch. “Thank you for always being there.”

He couldn’t find the strength to speak as he took the eyepatch from her. Sighing, Aelinor stepped past, “And Aemond?”

“Yes?”

She gave him a small smile. “I do not think you should have to hide, either.”

Aemond watched her disappear through the door before retying his eye patch, making sure to cover his eye entirely. When he stepped back into the room, he saw Aelinor making her way toward her mother, but his eye sought out another.

On the dance floor, Jacaerys spun Baela in what must be their second or third dance. Aemond felt his blood boil. Aelinor might be willing to forgive, but he was not so generous.

Before the night was out, the bastard would answer to him.

[dira333]

Through the eyes of others - Sasuke x reader

part three - 7297 words (I got a bit carried away) - there’s some angst in there, beware. Also pushing rare ships in here that I once read about and fell in love with.

Kakashi likes to take credit for being the first one to notice. Yamato doesn’t care. 

Because while he wasn’t the one insisting that the Fox should stay in rotation for the whole time Sasuke was supposed to be tailed, he was the one calling her name when it was time to pick the members.

Kakashi hadn’t known her like he did, when he signed that mission. Hadn’t seen how perceptive she was to the pain of others. Maybe he didn’t even believe the extent of her talent when he gave the okay, like most people didn’t. As the Hokage and as a fellow Sharingan User he probably knew what they all knew - they needed someone good to follow him.

And the fox did not disappoint. Neither in her thorough work nor in the way her heart caught on his, like a loose thread likes to find the one nail jutting out of a doorway. 

-

Ino liked to call it her sixth sense, but it was probably just dumb luck that she spotted them. 

She was looking for Sai, originally, believing that he’d walk down the street any minute, coming back from his mission and seeing her in her prettiest outfit yet. She’d believed the same yesterday and the day before but today she’d be right.

The light caught in inkblack hair and she startled, moving to pose as naturally as she could while keeping an eye on him - only to realize that it wasn’t Sai walking towards her, but Sasuke.

And he was laughing.

Well, as much of a laugh you could usually get out of him. She’d never seen him belt out a laugh like Chouji could or howl in laughter like Kiba liked to do, but she’d seen him snicker or cough to cover what must have been a laugh in the first place.

She stepped aside, eager to investigate but less eager to be spotted. Who was he talking too?

At first it seemed like he was talking to air but then she noticed the woman walking next to him. She was a Shinobi, that was clearly visible even when she tried to cover it with a hideous Kimono in a terrible colour mix of bright orange and muddy green. Her face was bland enough that it could be forgotten immediately and her hair didn’t stand out either. But her hand, that Ino saw clearly, her left hand was curled around Sasuke’s elbow in a way she’d never seen someone touch him before.

Huh, that was interesting.

“Ino.” Sai’s voice so close to her ear startled her from her inquiries. 

“Sai.” She breathed out his name and nodded in the direction she had been staring. “Do you know her?”

“Oh.” He nodded, surprisingly. “Not her name, though. But she’s the Fox. She was part of Sasuke’s tail with me.”

“What’s she doing with him?”

“Maybe they’ve become friends?” He asked and blinked at her like he was trying to tell her something. “Like us?”

“Friends don’t hold onto each other like that.” She told him as she did, in fact, put her hand right where the girls had been. Well, on Sai’s arm, to be correct. It felt good to hold onto him, almost as good as it would feel to hold his hand, but it was daytime and they were Shinobi and she knew he hated it when he didn’t have both hands free to fight at any given moment.

He smiled instead of answering but with Sai that was one and the same.

-

“Sasuke? Dating someone?” Sakura looked perplexed for a moment before she nodded to herself. 

“Now that you’re asking me, I do remember him mentioning something when we brought up the possibility of a prosthetic arm.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Ino’s voice was both annoyed and excited. 

“There wasn’t much to tell.” Sakura neatly folded another bandage and put it away. “He mentioned he wanted to talk to someone about it and when I asked who that was, he mumbled something that sounded like girlfriend. And when I asked about that, he shut down and told me she did not see him that way.”

“Well, she was seeing him that way very much today. And Sai told me she’s Anbu, she was with him on the group that tailed Sasuke.”

“You don’t think he was flirting with her just so she would hide something shady?” Sakura bristles and Ino shrinks a little into herself.

“You don’t think that-”

“No, I don’t.” Sakura cuts her off. “Honestly I thought he wanted to talk to Naruto about the arm, because he’s already got one and maybe he doesn’t want one but doesn’t want to disappoint his best friend? Boys can be stupid like that. It’s none of our business if he’s dating anyone anyway if he wants to tell us, he will.”

“So you’re totally fine with that? You’re not jealous.”

Sakura could feel herself blush but not for the reasons Ino was probably thinking.

She hadn’t been thinking about Sasuke like that in a long time. He hadn’t been around when she was lonely or made her laugh when she was sad and while she recognized him as her friend and her teammate, he’d also grown into something like a brother and she wasn’t into undoing that change.

“There’s someone else I’m interested in.” She said instead, pointedly, to get Ino of Sasuke’s tail. It worked. Now she only needed to tell Kiba about that before Ino ran her mouth and his mother found out about it before he had the chance to tell her herself.

-

Surprisingly, she met Sasuke on her way back home. It was warm out and she took the longer route, taking her sweet time through the market to gaze at the goods still up for sale. 

She might have missed him, had he not stepped away for a moment to hold something up to the sun to glare at it. Sunlight caught in his hair and she’d know that haircut anywhere.

“Sasuke.” She called out his name and watched him hastily put back whatever he had held in his hands.

“Sakura.” He greeted her calmly. “Are you on your way home?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “How have you been? Haven’t seen you since the celebration and that was almost two weeks ago. Naruto’s keeping you busy?”

“I’m fine. I do train with Naruto three times a week but I’ve also been able to go on small missions.” He gifts her a little smirk. “Saving a cat from the tree and things like that.”

She laughs in memory of their Genin-missions but moves back to the topic at hand.

“Did you get the chance to think about the arm? Genin-missions are one thing but you might want one when you move to Chunin Level.”

Instead of answering, he stretches out his arm, his hand pointed to the side. It’s a weird gesture and Sakura stares at it, her mouth to slow to ask before someone steps out from the shadows.

She’s wearing a standard Shinobi outfit but Sakura doesn’t have to spot the Anbu Tattoo to know who she is, her Chakra Signature is something else. But then she walks the short distance between them and links her hand with Sasuke’s and Sakura knows exactly who she is.

“Hi.” Sakura smiles at her, trying to look the least bit nosy. “I’m Sakura.”

“I know.” The woman doesn’t smile, doesn’t offer her name and for a moment there’s an awkward silence between them until Sasuke squeezes her hand, the movement so tiny, Sakura could have missed it.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is smooth and soothing as she speaks and Sakura can’t help but think that any man would be a fool not to fall for that. “I think I just got a bit jealous right there.”

Sakura laughs, startled by her honesty and even more amused at the thought.

“God no, you can have him. Now that I have you here, are you guys free on Sunday? We could do a double date then.”

There’s another squeeze of hands between them but this time it’s her hand that squeezes his and Sasuke nods awkwardly.

“We will see.” He tells her. “Depends on the mission roster.”

She doesn’t put much hope on seeing them there, realizing that Sasuke managed to pick a partner that’s just as much an introvert as he is. 

But she still can’t help herself and leans forward with a wink as she makes to leave.

“Just so you know, Sasuke. I’d take the earrings you just put away. They will look lovely with her eyes.”

-

Hinata is pretty sure that she’s gotten the time right, but as she reaches the training field, Naruto’s already there. 

“I-I hope I-I’m not late.”

“No, Sasuke left a bit early, he wants to pick someone up before.”

“O-Oh.” She didn’t know Sasuke would be there. She’s still a bit unsure around him, his usual mode of quiet observation reminding her too much of her father to be comfortable. She tries to see him the way she sees Shino, but so far he hasn’t proven to be as awkward as her teammate.

“H-How was your day?”

She blinks in surprise. In all her life, she hasn’t heard Naruto stutter once. They’ve been spending more time together lately, training or talking or sitting together when she’s made some food for him that isn’t Ramen, so this isn’t different, is it? Just going out to eat with him after training.

He smiles almost sheepishly, rubbing his neck in the way he always does when he’s ready to admit something embarassing.

“Ah, Hinata-chan, I have to tell you… Well, Sasuke told me to get myself togeth- No, I mean.” He takes a breathe and laughs, wide and open like she knows him, before he turns and throws her one of those smiles that make her knees all wobbly.

“Sasuke said he’s dating something and it’s serious and I should get my shit together and admit that I like you too. Like, really really much and I…” He’s started fast and loud but his voice drops down now as his fingertips touch hers as if he’s trying to take her hand.

“I’d like to take you out on a date. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

She nods, unable to say anything, not trusting her voice. His smile blows up like a firework.

Rustling in the trees saves her from dropping to the floor in shock even though Naruto must have noticed something and taken her arm to stabilize her.

Sasuke steps out of the trees, face as passive as ever, a woman holding onto his arm in a simple gown. Hinata’s not sure she’s seen her before but she touches Sasuke with an ease she’s a little envious of. She feels like she might go up in flames just at the thought of touching Naruto.

As the two step closer, sunlight catches on little drops of glass hanging from her ears, the earrings glowing a red almost as bright as the Sharingan.

Somehow, Sasuke has managed to get them into something that Hinata can only describe as a dance party. She’s never been to a place like this where you can drink or eat or just dance, so many couples holding each other under soft lights, swaying to slow music.

He must be a romantic, she thinks, as he pulls his girlfriend towards the dance floor, giving Naruto a little push as they walk past.

Naruto is a clumsy dancer and so is she, but it’s fun with him and he manages to get her out of her head, to think about something other than the people around her.

But then she catches sight of the red earrings again and she sees them, Sasuke swaying awkwardly with only one arm slung around her shoulder, somewhere at the side where there aren’t that many people.

He catches her eye and she blushes but he winks at her, puts a a finger to his mouth and disappears in the crowd.

It takes her embarrassingly long to realize what he’d been doing, even as Naruto himself blushes over the realization.

Sasuke, who Naruto always calls a bore who’d never leave the house if he could, had gotten them here for their sake, playing along just long enough to get them to losen up.

She wonders if he did it for Naruto or for his girlfriend, but whenever she catches sight of the red earrings catching the sun, she can’t help but smile fondly, exchanging a knowing look instead of words with two people who share their silence like a warm blanket.

-

Temari doesn’t know much about Sasuke but what she knows doesn’t impress her much.

He’s had a bad childhood, but so did she and she did not betray her village over that.

He’s a genius - or so they say - but so is Shikamaru and he’s the one she can count on any day, even if he moans about how troublesome it is.

But she supposes, for all of his faults, Sasuke’s pretty darn good at picking his girl.

She’s quiet when they’re all out and about but when she offers a comment it’s either hilarious or insightfull, often leaving her stunned over the sharp humour of the other girl. She reminds her of her brother Kankuro’s wit, just softened where it needs to be and a hell of a lot smarter.

And she’s a great fighter too, something she only connects when she notices the blood red earings dangling on a chain around her neck, the only thing betraying the anonymity of the fox mask.

It wasn’t her first mission with the fox but the first one since both their wedding dates were official. With her family in Suna and herself still pretty much living there, there was still so much to do and plan that she didn’t appreciate being thrown into a last minute mission somewhere near Kirigakure. Shikamaru could figure it out if problems arose but he’d be the last to push forward on annoying tasks. Well, he’d do a little because he loved her but she’d be able to do so much more…

But when the Hokage had looked her in the eyes and told her he needed her expertise, she couldn’t just tell him no, especially knowing she’d be living in Konoha soon.

“How’s the wedding planning?” She asked instead, trying to get her mind off of things. 

The fox shrugged, the mask barely showing her eyes.

“We don’t have much to plan. We’ve got the house and will probably get married at the Uchiha lake.”

“Yeah but dress, maid of honor, flowers?”

“Sasuke will figure it out while I’m gone.” She explains flatly. “Sakura is taking him out for planning every day since she heard of his proposal.”

“Well, expect it to be pink, then. She’s your maid of honour?”

“No. I’d like to ask you, if you’re free.”

Temari almost drops from a tree at that comment, barely catching herself. The medi-nin that’s been trying to catch up with them for hours almost reaches her until she picks up speed again.

“I’m flattered, but… why me?”

“Sakura and Ino talk too much and Hinata would be too overwhelmed by all of it. Tenten and I aren’t close and I haven’t been able to speak to Karui since she moved here a month ago. Also Anko would kill me if I’d ask her, she hates dressing up. She’s only going to come for the alcohol.”

“Ah…” Temari’s silent for a moment.

“Don’t feel pressured to say yes. It was just a suggestion.”

Well now she can’t say no. But she also doesn’t know if she should say yes. It’s just a bad timing, she doesn’t really know her that well and it’s just…

“I’ll think about it.” She promises and the fox mask gives her a firm nod.

They’re still prepping for the actual mission tomorrow when the fox stumbles into the room, foamy white substance dripping from her chin and dropping to the floor in a coughing, wheezing heap.

Temari has seen enough deaths by poison to know what she’s dealing with but she’s not a Medi-Nin.

She calls for the one that she thought unnecessary when they left Konoha, removing the fox mask - which she actually isn’t allowed to do, but that’s just bullshit right now - to look into eyes so wide she can see herself in them. There’s no fear in them, but a lot of pain.

“What happened?!” She demands to know but the fox shakes her head, her hand clenching and unclenching around her fingers. Temari hadn’t even realized she’d taken her hand.

“Just nod or blink if you can’t nod. Blink twice for no, once for yes. Was this part of your mission?”

One blink.

“Does it affect our mission? Do we need to get up and fight?”

One blink. Two blinks. 

“Do we need to leave?”

One blink. Well, shit.

“We can’t leave.” The Medi-Nin who Temari never bothered to learn the name of, is astonished at her plan. “We’re on a mission.”

“There’s no mission anymore. She’s Anbu, she’s our team lead. If she says we need to go, we go.”

“I don’t know if I can stabilize her enough to move.”

Temari turns back, fear now gripping her own throat.

“Do you know what kind of poison this is?”

Two blinks. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Do you have any general antidotes. I’ll get our stuff, we’ll travel with my fan. It will take a lot of Charka but we’ll cut down on days of travel. You’ll have to keep her alive.”

The fox slips into unconsciousness not long after they leave the town they’d been staying in. 

Three hours into their move, the Medi-Nin starts crying, complaining about how painful it is to keep healing and healing and healing, that the poison is running havoc and she’s scrambling to keep up with it.

Temari looks down at him as she asks: “Do you want to tell the Uchiha that you couldn’t save his wife’s life because you were too weak?”

They feed of soldier pills and water and Temari’s Chakra’s running so low they almost crash into the wall surrounding Konoha but the messenger Hawk was worked wonders, Sakura’s waiting at the doors, her hands already glowing green.

She knows she’s supposed to leave for the Hokage, give a report, defend her decision, but she can’t. She can’t just leave her now, her hand still wrapped in hers. 

At the hospital, Sasuke waits with a face made of stone. He’s silent but his eyes beg for answers that Temari doesn#t have. She tries to explain nonetheless, unable to think anything beyond “If it were me, I’d want to know.”

Shikamaru comes to get her, a gentle hand on the small of her back, worry etched into his face.

The worry runs deeper when she insists on going back to the hospital righter after their - brief - meeting with the Hokage.

There’s only one with the information necessary to understand what happened and that person is currently in a coma.

Temari can’t do anything but watch. 

How Sasuke is a quiet presence, seemingly never blinking, just there. He’s by her side, holding her hand, but he’s also at the side, a still presence near the windows, not in the way but never leaving. She didn’t know what she expected him to be like in a situation like this but she realizes that she’d thought him louder, threatening the world over the pain he’s experiencing now.

But he’s quiet, set in stone, never once muttering a word even when Sakura comes to give them the news.

-

Shikamaru has never been a fan of Sasuke. 

Not during academy days, not after and certainly not when he left Konoha and all the time that followed.

He likes to think that he’d been of the hardest critics to convince to let him stay and becom a Konoha Shinobi again - but he knows that’s a lie because he’d never be harder than the elders.

He’d wished him to stay away in his youth, to find whatever he was looking for and never come back bothering them when he grew a bit more empathic.

Now, that he knows what love is and what loss feels like, he wishes for someone or something to ease the pain. 

As Shinobi they are trained not to fear death. They encounter it everyday, wether they kill or get killed. Or, even worse, survive the death of those they love.

But this is different.

The fox isn’t dead. Yet. Temari had relayed everything to him that day, after being awake for more than 24 hours, after traveling such a distance, Chakra almost depleted, uncertain about the status of their mission. But Temari had not even a scratch on her and her teammate was fighting for her life, a poison still unknown on a warpath through her body.

Shikamaru can’t help but to think that it could have been Temari who’d been hit. None of her teammates can travel such a distance in the same time. She would have died far away from him without the help of Sakura and Tsunade and he would have been none the wiser.

It makes him go out and sit with the deer while Temari rests, makes his brain go through book after book that he’s read, through mission reports and plans.

He comes up empty handed but that doesn’t stop him.

Sasuke will never know that the reason there’s a second bed in the room now, positioned just right so that he can rest while holding her hand, is because of Shikamaru.

He will never know that Kankuro rushed to Konoha with a group of poison experts because he told the Hokage he would leave Konoha if he didn’t call for him.

He doesn’t have to know. 

Because when those eyes open again and Sasuke’s face finally relaxes, like a stone wall crumbling under the weight of relief, Shikamaru understands.

He’s never been a fan of Sasuke, he’d never do the things the other man did.

But he understands, the way he feels, the way he loves, even. 

And when a black eye flickers back to him, Shikamaru doesn’t dare to roll his eyes and mutter about things being troublesome. Because he knows, should their places ever be reversed, Sasuke would do the same for him.

-

Shino has never understood the appeal of alcohol.

It’s poisonous to him and it certainly is poisonous to others, just in a lesser degree.

Why anyone would willingly consume something that makes them change so drastically in their personality - he’s heard about Lee and it made him swear off it even more - is beyond him.

Why they serve it on occasions as happy as a wedding is even more of a mystery to him.

Don’t they want to remember this happy occasions?

He glances over to the table where Temari is downing another sake, her now husband leaning into her, flushed and relaxed from either the alcohol or just being himself.

It had been a great party, a happy occasion that had both the Hokage and the Kazekage bless them with their presence.

Now, after the food, most people were either drinking and telling stories or drinking and dancing and with a glance towards the dance floor where Kiba was twirling Sakura around with more force than strictly necessary, he directed himself towards the tables. 

Surely there was someone not drunk around who he could sit with now that his table had been turned into a make shift arm wrestling tournament by Lee and, surprisingly, the Kazekage.

He found them in the corner, almost completely hidden by a giant flower arrangement that looked like Temari - no doubt Ino’s work. Sasuke and his fiance, Shino was still trying to remember her name as everyone seemd to call her the fox anyway, sat with their faces towards the dance floor, hands joined on the table, seemingly deep in thought.

That’s right. She wasn’t allowed to drink so soon after being released from the hospital.

And wasn’t their own wedding next week? He hoped there would be less alcohol if she wasn’t allowed to drink it anyway and he hoped even more that she’d be stronger by then, less pale as she appeared to be from where he was getting closer.

“Do you mind the company?” He asked and the fox shook her head.

“Too much noise for you?” She asks him and he nods, thankful for her understanding.

Before he can say anything, however, Sasuke leans towards her, his nose brushing her temple.

“Your voice is so beautiful.” He tells her and, Shino has to look a bit closer, he blushes.

“Thank you.” She addresses her fiance flatly and smiles at Shino. 

He blinks, unable to say something else before Sasuke speaks again.

“You’re really beautiful. Your hair smells so nice.” He dips his nose into her hair and inhales loudly, followed by a sigh.

“He’s a bit tipsy.” The fox explains and uses her free hand to gently pat Sasuke’s arm.

“We’re going to go home soon.”

“You’re so lovely.” 

It’s Shino’s turn to blush, realizing belatedly that he’d judged Sasuke wrong all these years. 

Where he had thought the other cold and uncaring, he seemed to be a lot like him, his emotions shielded from the outside. But while the Aburame could do that with a coat and an army of bugs, the Uchiha weren’t given that ease of mind.

He wanted to say something to explain his understanding but dark eyes flicker to him, telling him not to. Red drops of glass twinkle in the lights as she shakes her head softly.

“I think you’ll have to excuse us, Shino.” She tells him softly. “He needs to get home.”

“I’ll see you-” He stops himself when he doesn’t know when that is. Is “soon” a good term here?

“Tomorrow?” Theres something like a smile on her lips as she stands up, Sasuke’s head now heavy on her shoulder where he gazes up at her with lovestruck eyes.

“We’d love to have you for tea if you’d like. We’re a quiet bunch and I think you wouldn’t mind.”

He nods, surprised at the sentiment. As far as he knows, there have been only four people been invited to the newly built Uchiha household at the lake and two of them, Sakura and Naruto, have bursted through the doors on their own accord.

“I’d love to.” He tells her and opens his mouth again to ask for the best time when a strong arm moves around his waist and a head drops onto his shoulder.

“There you are.” Tenten blinks up at him like she’s a cat that’s found a mouse. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He wonders if he can blame his blush on the alcohol and looks to the other couple for help or at least a moment of calm to gather himself but they’ve disappeared, not a trace left of them.

“Want to go to my place?” Tenten asks, her voice nowhere near the whisper she was intending it to be.

He wants to say no, that they shouldn’t leave a wedding early but he also thinks of Sasuke’s cool demeanor cracked by someone who knows him so well they don’t mind how weird he might get and his hands find hers.

“Let’s go to my place.” He says instead, “I want you to get to know me.”

-

When they find out that Hinata’s pregnant, Naruto thinks of the two people he wants to tell. Iruka’s going to be away for the day, teaching yet another class the importance of chakra control, but Sasuke’s probably home, training or repairing the wooden deck overlooking the Uchiha lake. 

Naruto’s right, but Sasuke has gotten predictable lately. 

He’s also gotten more open to help, which means nothing more than to be ordered about and called Teme more or less affectionately when Naruto narrowly misses his thumb as he puts a nail deep into the dark wood.

“Why are you here anway?” Sasuke asks at some point, “Doesn’t Hinata want you around when you’re off mission?”

Naruto opens his mouth and closes it, looking out the lake for a second. He’d been bursting with the news when he arrived, stalled by the apparent need for help and now there’s something new, a feeling like being in a chokehold, fighting for life.

Kyuubi’s not really helpful there, telling him that he’s afraid in the same tone one would tell off an idiot.

“Do you think I’d be a good father?” He asks instead, the question slipping out of his mouth like a snake out of hiding, ready to bite.

Sasuke halts, hammer in the air. He drops it slowly and turns, a feeling in his visible eye that’s so out of place there, Naruto needs a moment to recognize it. It’s fear.

“How…” Sasuke clears his throat awkwardly. “How far along is Hinata?”

“Estimated birth date is at the end of march. Why?”

“Ours too.” 

Something clatters to the ground and Naruto belatedly realizes that he’s dropped his tools, the impact leaving a dent in the wood in the form of a smile. He dips his fingers into it, lets it ground him as he thoughts run through him.

“Boy or girl?” He asks, his voice raw.

“We don’t know yet. The kid’s pretty stubborn and refuses to move.” Sasuke lets out a laugh, the sound almost shivering in the air.

Silence falls between them until Naruto speaks, unable to process his thoughts quietly.

“I’m so freaking scared.”

“Shitless, yeah.” Sasuke admits as well. “My father wasn’t…” He winces instead of ending his sentence and Naruto nods.

“Mine wasn’t even there”

“But Iruka?”

Naruto furrows his brows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you have Iruka as a role model? Wouldn’t he be like a granddad as well?”

“And you’re taking Itachi as your role model?”

It sounded like a great idea at first, remembering what Sasuke has told him about his brother since he’s came back to Konoha. But as the words leave his lips he realizes how wrong the sound.

Sasuke chuckles lowly. “Yes, I’ll kill and betray to show my love…” He hesitates for a moment before laughing softly again. “But I guess he wasn’t the worst role model. And if either of us fucks up as a father, we’ll have each other to keep us in check.”

Naruto smiles, can feel it crack open the cast that fear has left him in. 

“And we’ve got our wifes, too. You will be a great father, Dattebayo!”

Sasuke throws him a look and rolls his eyes for a moment before nodding. 

“So will you. I won’t let you be anything else.”

-

Chouji had been running errands when he’d seen them hurry towards the hospital, Sasuke’s face paler than his wife, rushing through the streets like there was Barbeque waiting for them somewhere.

He wasn’t one to be worried easily but he still remembered that mission too clearly not to be worried. Besides wasn’t her due date around the corner?

Chouji put the vegetables away and raced after them, reaching them just as they entered the hospital.

“Everything okay?”

“No.” Sasuke pressed out, “She’s going into labor.”

Chouji blinks in surprise and looks at the woman in question who seems a bit flushed from the brisk walk but otherwise not that worried. Just a little in pain.

She flinches and Sasuke calls for Sakura, his voice so much louder than he usually is.

“Relax.” Thin, scarred fingers weaves themselves in between his and squeeze.

She throws Chouji a smile, pulling his eyes from their intertwined hands up to her eyes and keeping her there.

“How’s Chouchou?”

“Oh.” Chouji turns to show them the sleeping bundle tied to his back. “She*s knocked out from lunch. And soon you’ll have your own bundle to hold. Have you come up with a name yet?”

“Sasuke.” She turns to him, squeezing his hand again, head knocking against his shoulder when he’s still as stiff as a board. “Everything will be fine. Let’s talk to to Chouji a bit while we wait.”

“You’re in pain.”

“Yeah.” She smiled, “But that’s normal. We’re at the hospital. They know what they’re doing.”

Chouji stays with them. 

At first it was a bit of curiosity. He didn’t have any other plans for today but buy groceries and keep his daughter happy until his wife returned home.

When Couchou woke up and demanded her bottle he considered leaving them but by that time Sasuke had been pushed out of the examination room and he seemed too much a worried wreck to be left alone.

“Can you hold her for a moment?” Chouji plopped his daughter onto Sasuke’s arm, fully trusting the power of her big golden eyes to work magic on him. And he’s right.

She grabs a hold of his shirt immediately, pulling herself up to examine his pale face and dark hair. 

Chouji doesn’t waste the chance he’s been giving, prepping yet another bottle and pulling a few bags of snacks for both him, his daughter and maybe Sasuke, if he can convince the man to keep anything down.

“You wanna give her the bottle?” He holds it out for Sasuke before he realizes that the guy can’t, by all means, hold both the baby and the bottle with only one arm.

“Shit, sorry.” 

Choucho solves that problem before Sasuke can even answer, his little genius daughter grabbing the bottle from Chouji’s hands and going ham on it, leaning back in Sasuke’s arm to drink easier. 

Sasuke looks down at her and there’s something in his eyes that Chouji knows so well. 

As if he’s just realized that the world turns just for that, for the little girls and boys that they’re allowed to hold.

Someone clears their throat behind them and they turn to look at Sakura, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“It’s gong to take a bit, but you’re allowed in now. Just stay calm, please.”

“You’re working already?” Chouji asks, surprised.

“Kiba’s looking after the puppy.” Sakura jokes. “I’m just here for Sasuke. He’d call me either way.”

“Thank you.” Sasuke tells her with his usual seriousness before turning to Chouji. 

“Do you want to stay?”

He doesn’t but Sasuke has never asked him something like that before. And with all the snacks and games he has in his bag he’s sure that even Chouchou won’t mind staying for a few more hours.

And when Sarada is born, the tiny body placed on her mothers chest and Sasuke curled around the two of them like a giant black blanket, Chouji steps outside with a smiling Sakura, the two of them definitely not misty eyed.

Who would have known, he thinks, that loving someone allowed Sasuke to become human, imperfect, open to the possibility of others being there for him..

-

“What’s my favorite grandchild doing?” 

Kakashi’s voice rings through the house and Sarada giggles loudly as she hides behind her father.

“Aha!” He pokes his head through the door, locating her easily where her small hands hold onto his trousers. “Found you.”

“Noooooo!” She whines and runs off for another hiding place, presumably somewhere behind her mother.

“What brings you here?” Sasuke’s dipping his paint brush in, careful not to drip as he pains the wall a light blue.

“Ah. Can’t I come in for a surprise visit?”

“You can, but since when do you do that on business hours?”

“Do you need help?”

“Hm…” Sasuke glares at him before nodding towards some boxes in the corner. “You can set up the bed. Shikamaru delivered it but he refuses to build it back together.”

“Oh, you got Shikadai’s old bed? You sure the genius and laziness won’t transfer?”

“I don’t think Itachi will let himself be manipulated by a bed but thanks for the input.”

“Oh…” Kakashi halts over the open boxes to look back at Sasuke. 

His shoulders are relaxed as he paints, the name dripping from his mouth like it’s no longer blood but something sweeter.

“You’ve decided on a name already?”

“We knew it would be Itachi when we had Sarada. He’s just nice enough to show us his gender right away.”

“Huh. You could have called him Kakashi, you know. That would have been noble, to name him after the Hokage.”

Sasuke laughs, a sound so open and unreserved that Kakashi has to watch him again,.

“People will talk.” He says dipping his brush again. “But I don’t really care how other people see us.”

“Yeah.” Kakashi nods as he resigns himself to the fate of building that darned bed. “It’s more important how you see yourself.”

And he guesses that he’s right about that but he’s always been better at judging others than himself.

But as he watches his former student paint, only interrupted by Sarada running through the rooms from time to time, calling for her Papa or her Grampa, as she calls Kakashi affectionately, he decided that there’s no real need to mention what he really came for.

He can ask Shikamaru tomorrow if that six month mission is really that important for Sasuke to miss the birth of his second child.

And if it is so important to send a Sharingan user, there’s still him to send. He could take Guy with him, annoy Tsunade with having to be back up Hokage again or even let Naruto try his hand at the business.

He looks back to Sasuke again, considers the words and swallows them back down again.

He doesn’t have to tell the boy that he considers him his son. Sasuke already knows.

-

Through their own eyes…

“Papa?” Sarada comes into the room carrying her snuggle blanket.

“Yeah?”

“Is Mama back yet?”

“No. You wanna sit with us? Itachi got hungry.”

“Okay.” She climbs up on the upholstered bench overlooking the lake, cuddling into his side in the coolness of the night.

“Are you worried, Papa?”

“Mhm, a little bit. But I’m always worried.”

She's quiet for a bit until Itachi lets go of his bottle to take a breath and the bottle slides down his soft belly towards his legs. 

Sarada giggles, takes the bottle and brings it up to his lips again. 

“Here, otouto.”

“Can I hold him, Papa?”

“Sure, but gently.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Of course.”

“Come here Itachi.” She pulls him from Sasuke’s arm, the little boy immediately settling into her warmth.

Sasuke could be content like this, watching his kids love each other so effortlessly. But there’s another presence missing his perfect moment. 

He’d been a worrier before but ever since that fateful mission he’s been so much worse at waiting for her to return.

Something shifts in the air and he can see the shiver running down Sarada’s back as she feels it to.

He smiles. “Mama just came back.” He tells her softly just as someone drops softly on the deck behind them.

Sasuke doesn’t have to look to know but he looks nonetheless, drinking in the body peeling itself out of the dark, the fox mask giving way to a familiar, well-loved face.

“Hi.” 

She looks tired and Sasuke’s at her side immediately, fingers roaming over her body to look for injuries.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” She laughs into his kiss, smells like cold air and the dampness of a forest.

He releases her and she squeezes his hand one more time before side stepping him to get to Sarada.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, lovely?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She giggles as her mother drops a kiss on her forehead. “Itachi is hungry.”

“That he is and it’s so nice of you to feed him. If he’s too heavy I can take him and then we get the both of you back into bed, what do you say?”

“Are you gong to be home tomorrow when I wake up?”

“Absolutely. We can swim a bit if you want.”

“Really?”

“After training, yes.”

Sasuke watches them leave for the bedrooms, knows that Sarada wants her mother for herself for a minute.

He’s gotten progressively more tired by the time his wife walks back outside.

“I need to deliver my mission report. Temari wanted to check in on Shikamaru and Shikadai too before we meet up for the report.”

“No one got hurt?” 

She eyes him warily before opening her coat to reveal a bandage on her side.

“It’s just a scratch.” She reassures him when he takes a deep breath to ground himself. “No poison. We checked three times.”

“You’re going to the hospital…”

“Tomorrow, okay?”

“No. right away. I mean after the mission report. I’m serious.”

“Okay, serious.” She leans forward to peck his lips. “Don’t hit me in your sleep again, there’s only one woman crawling into your bed while you sleep.”

-

As she walks the road back to their house with a fresh bandage on, she thinks about the difference between what they are and what they seem.

The Uchiha’s are known for being cold and conniving, but Sasuke is caring, ready to defend his friends, ready to loose a night of sleep or an hour of work to help, even when he hasn’t been asked for it.

The Uchiha’s are geniuses, known for their hard and intense training regimen and brutal teachers.

But as she walks up the step towards your door, there’s a multitude of signs that Sasuke has painted with Sarada, each representing a different job she was aiming for.

There’s the bright red “Future Kazekage” sign from when she had a crush on Gaara and the deep purple “Future Academy teacher” she made after being babysat by Shino and Tenten.

Never has he told her that her wish is too outlandish or got sad over the choice of her day - not even when she declared that she’d marry Boruto one day. 

The Uchiha’s don’t show weakness, know no pain.

But there’s Sasuke, who’s built up this house himself to repent, who cried when he put up the Uchiha sign, who’s named his son after his brother.

There’s Sasuke, who’s okay with the fact that the whole hospital has seen him cry when his children were born. Who keeps the light on when she isn’t home, who touches the little dent in the wood that Naruto made everyday to remind himself that he’s here, this is real, he’s loved.

There’s Sasuke who’s still awake as she steps into the bedroom, even though his eyes are only half open now and he groans as she settles against him.

His hands find the bandage on her side and he probes it carefully.

“I’m fine.” She tells him again, “You’ll probably die before me.”

“We’ll die together.” He tells her off. “After we’ve gotten like, one hundred years old.”

“Sure. You’ll be so cute when all your teeth fell out.”

“Hush.” He kisses her softly, tentatively, as if still asking for permission.

“Anything that I missed?” She asks when he drops back into the pillows.

“Sarada’s  currently obsessed with Chouji again. She wants to learn cooking.”

“Not against that. Did Iruka say something?”

“Mhm. They’re going to be discussing Clan’s soon.”

“Ah.” She smooths his furrowed brows. “Don’t worry. She’s smart. She’ll understand.”

A fond smile stretches over his mouth and she waits, knows that he’ll elaborate on his own when he feels like it.

“I am so glad I fell in love with you.”

She rests her head on his chest, listens to his heartbeat and knows.

It doesn’t matter what others think about them.

They know the truth.

-

If you find any mistakes/typos, you can give them back to me, it’s not my first language and I’m happy if I can correct anything.