#so i still kept my own letter content

[duoduotian]

just finished the biggest hurdle of job search (cover letter) i only edited stuff to suit the role and added one more text abt the gap but like it’s so hard to find suitable words while not using confusing, advanced words

[bellaveux]

be my mistake | n. romanoff x reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: three years have passed since the divorce, since natasha hurt you and over time, you found yourself reflecting on the struggles you both went through, both as a couple and apart from each other. revisiting memories with your family draw you and natasha closer than you’ve been in years.

content warnings: lots of angst, hurt/comfort??, cheating, insecure!reader, mentions of alcohol/drinking, implied smut, wanda being a good friend (pls let me know if i’m missing anything else i can’t tell)

word count: 19.8k

It had been three long years since everything fell apart between you and Natasha. Three years since the day you packed your bags, gathered your daughters, and walked away from the life you’d built together. The split wasn’t clean. It wasn’t one of those polite, quiet divorces that people talk about when they’ve simply grown apart. No, yours was loud, raw, and full of hurt. You could still remember the echo of your arguments, the way her voice would crack when she begged for forgiveness, and the silence that always followed afterward—heavy, suffocating. That silence weighed more than the words ever did.

Natasha had tried. She really had. For a while, after the it happened, she did everything to make amends, to erase what she had done. But it wasn’t something you could erase. It wasn’t something you could forgive right then, no matter how hard she tried to make things right. You’d given her so many chances to explain, so many opportunities to show you that the Natasha you fell in love with was still there. 

But each time, all you could see was the betrayal, the moment she chose someone else over you.

For her, it was a mistake—something that happened once and never again. But for you, it was a scar, a wound that never healed. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let her back in. You didn’t know if you ever could again. And she knew it, even though she didn’t want to accept it. There were moments, though, when Natasha still looked at you with that same longing, the same desperation she had the night you left her. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, back to when you were her partner, her wife, her everything. 

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

No matter how much she tried to show you that she had changed, the past still lingered between you, like a shadow that refused to leave. Even now, after all this time, there was still a part of her that couldn’t accept that things would never be the same. You saw it in her eyes every time she picked up the girls, every time she lingered a little too long at the door, as if hoping you might invite her in, ask her to stay. But you never did. You couldn’t allow it, not after everything. It had been hard. Painful, even. Co-parenting with someone who had broken your heart, who had shattered the life you thought you’d have together, was an agony all its own. But you had to do it, for your girls, Nina and Lily. They needed you both, and you would never let your pain come between them and their mothers. Even if it meant seeing Natasha more often than you wanted. Even if it meant reopening old wounds every time her name appeared on your phone, or when your girls came home with stories about the time they’d spent with her.

And the first year after the divorce was hell for Natasha. She tried everything in her power to get you back—flowers, letters, showing up at the house at odd hours, always begging for another chance. She couldn’t accept that it was over. Every time she saw you, even in the briefest of moments, she could see the pain in your eyes, the devastation her betrayal had caused. It tore her apart. She had broken something precious, something she didn’t know how to fix, and yet she kept trying. She was relentless, desperate to rewind the clock, to undo what couldn’t be undone.

But the more she tried, the more tired you looked. The weight of it all was etched into your face, exhaustion hanging over you like a dark cloud. Your bright eyes, full of life and love, had dimmed. The smile that had once been hers was gone, replaced by a coldness that froze her out. And with every desperate plea, every attempt to reach you, she realized she was only making it worse. You weren’t healing. You couldn’t, not with her constantly in your space, constantly pulling at the wounds she’d caused.

By the second year, Natasha finally saw it. You needed space, needed time to mend, and she wasn’t helping at all. So, she stopped. Stopped the flowers, the late-night phone calls, the messages begging for you to forgive her, telling you she loved you. She stopped trying to push her way back into your life because it was only making things harder for you. 

She watched from a distance instead, in silence. 

But despite the distance she put between you both, she couldn’t stop loving you. She could never. It was something she couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard she tried. Even when she forced herself to stay away, her heart still ached for you in a way that nothing else could heal. You were everywhere—in the way her daughters smiled, in the moments when she was alone with her thoughts. She’d think of you when she’d go to the grocery store, remembering all the food you liked and didn’t like. She’d think of you at night when she’s in bed, always moving closer to your side of the bed, imagining you were still there with her. And even though she knew she had to let you go for your own sake, a part of her would always be tethered to you. It didn’t matter how much time passed. She could never stop loving you, no matter how much it hurt.

It’s been three years now. Three long, heavy years since the divorce. But in the wake of it, as the dust settled and the hurt slowly gave way to something manageable, a routine. One that neither of you ever explicitly discussed, maybe just briefly, but one that simply came to be, like a truce.

And Natasha hadn’t been with anyone since then. She hadn’t even entertained the idea. There were no late-night flings, no fleeting attempts to fill the void. Because how could she? How could anyone compare to the life she had built with you, even though it had crumbled? It had been such a stupid mistake on her part when it happened, and she promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen again, even if you didn’t want her anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to be with anyone else, and deep down, she knew it was because part of her was still yours.

Nina and Lily, your two little girls, were the threads that still tied you and Natasha together. Nina, with her wild curls and mischievous grin, only four but already full of curiosity and energy, was in preschool. Lily, more thoughtful, quieter but with an infectious laugh, had just started first grade. They were young, their lives filled with playdates, scribbled drawings, and the occasional scraped knee. They didn’t fully understand why Mommy and Mama lived in different houses now, why they didn’t all sit together at the table for dinner anymore. But they adjusted in their own way.

Natasha would pick them up from school most afternoons when she can. You’d drop them off in the mornings, coffee in hand, always on the way to work. You were working now. You didn’t really work that much when you were pregnant with the girls and Natasha always insisted on taking care of you. On weekends when Natasha didn’t have a mission or some urgent task pulling her away, she’d have them over at her place. They’d spend Saturday nights watching movies or baking cookies, or playing games until they were all too tired to continue. And then Sunday morning, she would make them pancakes, the same way you used to. It was a rhythm that worked, one that kept things steady for Nina and Lily, even when things between you and Natasha remained unresolved.

Every time Natasha saw them, it tugged at her heart. The way Lily looked at her with those wide, innocent eyes, so full of trust. The way Nina giggled when Natasha spun her around, her tiny hands reaching up to her mother like nothing had ever changed. They were growing so fast, right in front of her, and yet Natasha couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through her fingers. Three years had gone by in the blink of an eye, and even though things were better—smoother—between the two of you now, that gnawing regret never fully left her.

But for the girls, she stayed strong. She showed up, she stuck to the routine. It was the least she could do, even if, when the weekends were over and she dropped them back at your place, she found herself lingering just a second too long, watching as you took their small hands and guided them back inside. Wondering if, somehow, it could have all been different.

The sun hung low in the sky as Natasha drove through familiar streets, the scent of fast food wafting through the car, mingling with the laughter of her daughters in the backseat. The afternoon light cast a golden glow on the girls’ faces, illuminating Nina’s bright eyes and Lily’s gentle smile as they excitedly talked about their day.

But as the laughter filled the car, Nina’s innocent question pierced through the cheerful atmosphere, shattering the fragile bubble they had created. 

“Mama, why don’t you sleep at home with us anymore?”

The question hung in the air and Natasha’s heart dropped, the warmth evaporating in an instant. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing a smile that felt painfully strained. Silence enveloped them, thick with heavy emotions and memories she wished she could shield her daughters from. She glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Nina’s expectant gaze, a small frown tugging at her lips as she awaited an answer.

“Um, well…” Natasha began, her voice faltering. “You know, Mama has… a lot of work to do. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to sleep at my own place.”

Even as she spoke, the lie twisted in her stomach, sharp and uncomfortable. She could see the flicker of disappointment in Nina’s eyes, a reflection of the confusion and sadness that still lingered between the lines of their new normal.

Lily, sensing the shift in the mood, chimed in, “We can share a bed, Mama!”

Natasha smiled softly, fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you, baby, but… this is how things are for now.”

Her heart clenched at Lily’s innocent declaration, each word a dagger piercing deeper into her already heavy heart. The car felt suddenly suffocating, filled with the echoes of memories and unresolved feelings. The gentle hum of the car faded into the background, and all she could hear was the soft thrum of her daughters’ voices and the relentless reminder of the pain they were all carrying.

“My bed is big enough!” Lily insisted again, her eyes wide with hope. “And I think Mommy misses you, too. Sometimes, I see her crying at night.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. The image of you, alone in the dark, tears glistening on your cheeks, tore through her defenses, a reminder of the consequences of her choices. Guilt washed over her, crashing down with a force that made it hard to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” Natasha said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to maintain her composure, “It’s okay for Mommy to be sad sometimes, you know? We all feel sad sometimes.”

“But I don’t want her to be sad,” Lily replied, her voice small and earnest. “We could go to Auntie Wanda’s cabin and have ice cream parties and movie nights like before!”

The wistfulness in Lily’s tone echoed Natasha’s own desires, the aching wish to turn back the clock and reclaim the happiness they had once shared. But Natasha knew that life was never that simple. 

“I know, baby,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “And I want that too. We just��� have to be patient.”

Lily frowned, her small brows knitting together in confusion. “Do you still love mommy?”

The question hung in the air. Her heart raced, and she glanced at her daughters in the rearview mirror, the truth of her feelings spilling over like an unguarded secret. 

“Of course I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t hesitate.

Nina chimed in, her conviction unwavering. “Maybe if we all hug and give her lots of kisses, she won’t be sad anymore!”

She wanted to laugh at the sheer innocence of their logic, but it only deepened the ache in her chest. “I don’t think it’s that simple, baby.”

Lily tilted her head, her expression earnest and unwavering. “But, we’re a family, and families love each other.”

Natasha only smiled.

As they continued down the road, the fading sunlight cast warm shadows in the car, but the weight of their words settled heavily in Natasha’s chest. Lily fell silent soon after, her small face pensive as she stared out the window, the world outside a blur of colors. Natasha’s heart ached for her, wishing desperately that she could turn back time, wishing that the nights spent apart didn’t feel like an insurmountable distance.

As she pulled up to your house, the familiar flutter of anxiety danced in her stomach. She could hear the muffled giggles of her girls in the backseat, their excitement palpable as they chattered more about their day. But as she stepped out of the car and approached the front door, her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

When you opened the door, Natasha felt the air shift around her. There you stood, framed in the soft glow of the entryway light, and her breath caught in her throat. You were breathtaking, wearing an elegant black dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric glimmered subtly as you moved, catching the light with each breath. Your hair was fixed neatly by your shoulders, and your makeup was flawlessly applied. 

For a moment, Natasha was transported back to the nights when the two of you would dress up for special occasions, the thrill of anticipation sparking between you. But now, that thrill was laced with an ache that felt as sharp as it was familiar.

“Hi, mommy!” Lily squealed, bursting with energy as she darted past you into the house, closely followed by Nina, who gave you a quick hug before joining her sister.

“Hey, girls,” you greeted them softly, your voice warm but tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken. You stepped back to allow them inside, your gaze flickering to Natasha, who stood momentarily rooted to the spot, taking in the sight of you.

Without breaking eye contact, you rushed over to the mirror that hung just inside the entryway, your movements quick and graceful as you fumbled with your earrings. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, realizing how beautifully you carried yourself, even through the chaos of their past. She walked inside hesitantly, closing the front door behind her, swallowing the lump in her throat as she slowly walked further in. 

“Wow, Mommy! You look so pretty!” Nina beamed.

“Thank you, honey,” you replied with a soft smile, your voice brightening as you turned your attention to the girls. 

Natasha lingered by the wall, unsure of what to do with her hands as the girls raced off into the living room, their laughter filling the house with warmth. She listened when you asked the girls quick questions about their day at school, but all she could focus on was you. She stood there, still as a statue, her fingers brushing nervously over the seam of her jacket, as her eyes found you again.

You moved gracefully through the hallway, your dress shimmering faintly with each step. She felt a pang in her chest, something akin to longing but deeper, more raw. She hadn’t seen you like this in so long—dressed up, glowing, completely at ease in your skin. Her breath hitched slightly, catching on the memories that rose unbidden in her mind, of nights when she’d watch you just like this, mesmerized by the smallest of movements. You never failed to amaze her every time.

But now, it feels different. There was a distance between you that wasn’t just physical, and Natasha could feel it more sharply than ever. Yet, despite the distance, she found herself rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and out of place, like a visitor in what was once her home.

You hadn’t said much since opening the door, offering a quiet greeting before slipping back into the rhythm of your routine. But it didn’t matter. Natasha’s thoughts were too loud to be drowned out by small talk anyway. All she could think about was how beautiful you looked, how effortless you made everything seem. The curve of your neck as you bent slightly to adjust your earring, the way your lips pressed together in concentration—it all made her feel like a stranger witnessing something intimate, something she no longer had the right to witness. For a moment, her fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin under her palm. But she held herself back, knowing that her place in your life now was nothing like it used to be. Instead, she remained where she was, standing awkwardly by the wall, her heart heavy with unspoken words and feelings she didn’t know how to express anymore.

You must have felt her staring, because you glanced up at her briefly from where you stood by the mirror. The moment your eyes met, Natasha felt a surge of emotion that almost knocked the wind out of her—regret, longing, admiration—all tangled together. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t find the words to say anything. What could she say, anyway? Nothing would change the fact that she was the reason things were the way they were.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you were. How beautiful you’d always been. How you’d managed to slip right out of her fingers. 

Natasha’s hands twitched at her sides, the yearning almost unbearable as she watched you. The way your dress hugged your frame, the soft curve of your neck as you finished adjusting your earrings—it stirred something deep inside her, a longing so fierce it nearly took her breath away. She wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you and wrap you in her arms. She wanted to hold you like she used to, when everything was easier, when you were hers and there was no wall of hurt between you.

But now, it feels impossible. Every time she considered moving closer, something stopped her—the guilt, the regret, the knowledge that she no longer had the right to that kind of intimacy with you. Not after everything. Not after the way things had ended, fractured by her own mistakes.

Still, the desire was overwhelming, almost painful. She couldn’t help it—her eyes followed the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone as you fixed a stray hair, and her heart ached with the thought of reaching out, of pulling you against her, of whispering that she was sorry, that she had never stopped loving you. God, she wanted to hold you so badly. Just for a moment. Just to feel that connection again, to remind herself that once, not too long ago, you had been hers. 

But instead, then she saw you struggling with the clasp of your necklace. 

Her hesitation was palpable as she took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. Her heart pounded in her chest, every movement deliberate and slow, like she was afraid that even the air between you was fragile. She saw you fumble with the clasp of your necklace, your fingers shaking ever so slightly in your rush. Her own hands twitched, the need to help overwhelming her, but she hesitated for a beat longer. She wasn’t sure she had the right to step into your space, to touch you again, even for something as simple as this.

But when you let out a frustrated huff, she took a breath and moved closer, her presence soft but undeniable as she stood just behind you. Gently, her fingers brushed against your skin, so light you might not have even felt it at first. Carefully, she took the delicate chain from your hands and closed the clasp at the back of your neck.

Her touch lingered just a second too long. She couldn’t help it. The warmth of your skin under her fingers, the proximity, the way your scent filled her senses—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. The faint scent of your perfume washed over her, and it hit her all at once. You smelled exactly the way she remembered, like something warm and comforting, but with an edge that made her dizzy. It was intoxicating. She glanced up for just a moment, catching your reflection in the mirror, but her eyes dropped quickly, too scared to meet yours. She didn’t trust herself to look into your eyes and not say everything she was feeling. It felt like a betrayal of her own heart to be this close to you, yet still so far away. Her hands fell back to her sides, clenched into soft fists, fighting the urge to keep touching you. She stepped back, quietly swallowing the ache that seemed to settle in her chest. 

“You look beautiful,” Natasha breathes, almost afraid to say the words, but it came out before she could even think about it. 

“Thank you,” you said quickly, your voice barely more than a whisper, the quiet words hanging in the air.

She froze for a split second, the simple phrase sending an unexpected ripple through her. It was such a small thing—a polite acknowledgement, nothing more—but to her, it felt loaded with everything that had been left unsaid for years. Then, she forced a small smile, though you couldn’t see it, her eyes still fixed downward as she stepped back from you. 

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice just as soft, though it felt like a lie. She wasn’t welcome. Not anymore.

She watched as you turned back to the mirror, adjusting your hair slightly and smoothing the fabric of your dress. You looked beautiful—breathtaking, really—but all she could focus on was the sadness in your quiet thank you. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but no words came. Instead, Natasha let the silence speak for her, the tension between you heavy and unresolved, much like everything that had been left behind. 

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Natasha asked, trying to keep her voice light, though it came out more strained than she intended. 

The words had been on the tip of her tongue the moment she saw you in that dress, but she hated herself for asking, for making it sound so casual when the question felt like it was burning her from the inside.

You released a small huff, something resembling a smile flickering at the corners of your mouth, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see the way her jaw clenched in the mirror.

“It’s just a work thing,” you muttered, turning slightly in the mirror as if to busy yourself with something else, but Natasha could tell it was an attempt to deflect the conversation. You had always done that—shrugged things off when they felt too heavy, too personal.

But Natasha wasn’t stupid. She knew it wasn’t just a work thing. She could feel it in her gut, the way you said it so softly, so dismissively. And yet, she didn’t push. Couldn’t. Instead, she let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. 

“Well, you look really nice,” she added, her voice a bit more gentle now, her eyes softening as they roamed over you once more. She hated how small her words felt, like she was grasping for something, anything, to make sense of the distance between you. 

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, almost absentmindedly, still adjusting the clasp of your earrings. Natasha stood there, helpless, her hands twitching at her sides as she watched you prepare to leave for an evening that didn’t involve her anymore. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—this ache of wanting you, this regret that sat like a stone in her chest. 

You glanced at her, your eyes flickering with indecision before they darted to the clock on the wall. 

“Shit, I forgot to text the babysitter,” you muttered, already pulling out your phone. You were halfway through typing the message when Natasha’s voice cut through the quiet tension of the room.

“I can watch them,” she offered quickly, almost too quickly, like she had been waiting for the opportunity. There was a soft urgency in her tone, something that made your fingers pause over the screen.

You hesitated, looking at her fully now, your gaze searching her face. She stood there, trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flickered between you and the door, as if bracing herself for your response. It wasn’t the first time she had offered, but something about tonight—about her standing there, in your home, so close yet feeling so far away—made you hesitate.

“Natasha, it’s so last minute, and you’re probably busy—“

“I’m not busy.”

There was silence. 

“Are you sure?” you said, your voice trailing off. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her with the kids, in fact, you trusted her with the girls more than anyone.

“Of course. I promise, I’ll make sure they’re asleep by the time you get back,” Natasha said softly, taking a small step closer, as if to bridge the gap between you.

You lingered for a moment longer, the phone still in your hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Natasha stood there, waiting, her gaze steady but gentle, almost like she was afraid to breathe too loudly in case you changed your mind. There was a hesitation in the air, thick with all the memories and tension that seemed to live between the two of you now.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “Okay,” you murmured, the word coming out soft but resigned. “But only if you’re sure.”

Natasha nodded immediately, as if there had never been a question. “I’m sure.”

You watched her for a moment, still not quite as sure as she was, but there was something about the way she looked at you that made you relent. Maybe it was the familiarity of her presence, or the way she always seemed so certain when it came to the girls. You wanted to believe it would be fine, that it wouldn’t hurt to let her help, just this once.

“Alright,” you said again, this time a little firmer. You tucked your phone away, glancing toward the living room where the girls’ voices echoed softly in the distance. “I might be back late, though.”

“I can handle it,” Natasha reassured you with a small smile, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Relief, maybe. “You go have fun.”

You nodded, still hesitant but knowing that you had little choice now. With one last glance at her, you grabbed your purse from the table and walked toward the door, feeling Natasha’s eyes on you the whole way. Just before you left, you stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her one more time.

“Okay,” you said quietly. Natasha didn’t respond right away, just gave you a small nod, her eyes soft, watching you like she was still trying to figure out if this was real.

Your phone buzzed with a sudden chime, the noise breaking through the quiet air between you and Natasha. You flinched just slightly, caught off guard, but Natasha’s eyes never left you. That unwavering stare, intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—regret, longing, maybe both—lingered as you glanced down at your phone.

“Oh, that’s… my coworker. She’s here to pick me up…” you said softly, reading the message on the screen. 

You didn’t look up immediately, feeling the weight of Natasha’s gaze settle over you like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. There was another beat of silence, her expression barely changing, though something flickered in her eyes at the word “she.” It was so subtle, you almost missed it. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just nodded once, stiffly, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the tension in the air shift.

You turned toward the door again, suddenly aware of how small the space between the two of you felt. The air was heavy, like it held all the words neither of you had said over the years. You hesitated, hand on the knob, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Natasha’s voice, soft but strained, reached you before you could turn the handle. “Be safe tonight.”

You froze, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. They were simple, but coming from her, you knew they meant so much more.

As you stepped out of the house and closed the door behind you, the cool evening air hit your skin, and for a moment, you paused on the front steps. You could hear the muffled sounds of the girls laughing inside, and the thought of leaving them for some work party made your heart twist. 

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to go. The idea of mingling, making small talk, pretending everything was fine—it felt exhausting before it even started. But your coworkers had been persistent, insisting you needed to get out more, that it would be good for you. They meant well, of course. They saw the toll the divorce had taken on you, how the weight of it had settled into your bones, leaving you quieter, more withdrawn. And though you tried to hide it, the loneliness was written all over your face. They probably thought this was what you needed—a night of distraction, a chance to be someone other than the person who had been left shattered after everything fell apart. But standing there, under the dim glow of the porch light, you felt a tug in your chest, a sense of dread thinking about the night ahead.

Natasha lingered in your thoughts as always, the way she had silently helped you with your necklace, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but you missed her soft touches, her gentle smile, the way she would look at you like you held her world in your hands. The more you thought about it, you realized that it never really went away. And that look in her eyes, the one she always tried to hide but never quite could—it haunted you now as you made your way toward the car waiting at the curb.

With a sigh, you slipped into the passenger seat, greeting your friend with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As the car pulled away, you found yourself staring out the window, thinking not about the party or the people waiting for you there, but about the house you had just left—the home you used to share with Natasha, the life you once had before everything fell apart. Maybe tonight would be a distraction, or maybe it would just be another reminder of everything you’d lost. Either way, it felt like one more step away from her, and that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You were grateful for your friends—those who always wanted to help you after what happened.

Wanda was the one who helped you through most of it. 

In the beginning, when everything felt like it was crumbling beneath you, Wanda had been there. She’d been the first to know what had happened with Natasha—the first to see the hurt blooming in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, even when you tried so hard to sound strong. When she’d found out, Wanda was so angry, her fury simmering just beneath her skin. Word traveled quickly at the compound; someone must’ve overheard. But you’d heard, too, about how she’d cornered Natasha, her voice cold and sharp, her words unforgiving.

“Why did you do it?” Wanda had demanded of Natasha, her tone somewhere between outrage and heartbreak, and the confrontation left Natasha speechless, stripped of the practiced poise that she carried like armor. You never wanted to know all of what was said, but the rumors filled in the gaps; Wanda’s words were scathing, a fierce defense of the person Natasha had hurt most. She was protective, fiercely loyal, and in that moment, you felt the strength of a bond you hadn’t fully appreciated until you needed it most.

And it wasn’t just the initial shock, either—Wanda stayed. She kept you afloat on the days when the hurt felt too deep, kept you from slipping further into the void of your own heartbreak. She had this way of knowing when the silence was too heavy, when you needed to be pulled from the edge of your own emotions. She never let you wallow, and yet she didn’t rush you to move on either; she’d bring you back, her voice gentle, but firm, reminding you that you were stronger than this pain, that you’d heal, that you still had so much left to give to the world.

When the decision for a divorce finally weighed heavy on you, Wanda was the first person you told. The words had come out choked, but clear, and though she didn’t say much at first, her hand had reached for yours, holding it tightly as you tried to steady yourself. She kept asking if you were sure, her eyes steady, searching yours for any trace of doubt or hesitation. She knew you loved Natasha. And she knew Natasha was madly in love with you. But she wanted you to be certain, not out of judgment, but out of a desire to protect you, to make sure you weren’t making a decision you’d regret. She knew the depths of your love for Natasha and how much this was costing you; she wanted you to find peace in your choice, even if that peace felt miles away.

She had always been quietly supportive, even when things between you and Natasha fell apart. She never pried, never asked too many questions, but she had a way of knowing when you needed someone. You knew it was hard being your friend and Natasha’s friend.

But a few weeks ago, when she helped you pick out the dress you were wearing tonight, you could tell she was trying to lift your spirits, offering a distraction with her usual good-natured humor. She had pulled you into a few boutiques, tossing dresses over the fitting room door while she waited for your approval. When you finally stepped out in the sleek black dress you were wearing now, Wanda gave you that look—her eyes bright with approval, a grin spreading across her face.

“You’re going to knock them dead,” she had said with a playful wink, her tone light, but there was something else in her voice too, something softer.

You hadn’t said much in response then, brushing off the compliment with a smile. You hadn’t really felt like going to the party, but Wanda was insistent that it would be good for you, to dress up, to get out. 

And despite your silence on the matter, you knew she supported you and Natasha—always had. She never quite explained why, but you could sense it. Maybe she believed in second chances, or maybe she saw something in the two of you that you couldn’t see anymore. Even though she hadn’t talked about it much, you could feel her quiet faith in your relationship, like she was holding onto a hope you’d long since let go of. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that someone still believed in you and Natasha, even when you weren’t sure if you believed in it yourself anymore.

And from time to time, Wanda had a gentle way of bringing up her old cabin in the countryside, each suggestion delivered so casually that you might’ve let it slip past if it hadn’t been for the significance lingering just underneath her words. 

She didn’t live there anymore, now that her and Vision moved to New Jersey a lot recently with the twins. But every Thanksgiving, with her permission, the cabin had been your haven—a place where the world’s noise faded, replaced by the simple sounds of fire crackling, the murmur of conversations that stretched late into the night, and the delighted laughter of the girls as they played under the trees. It was as if the cabin held its own magic, a place suspended in time, where warmth radiated from more than just the fireplace, and you could almost believe in the simplicity of those happy moments lasting forever.

The girls loved it there especially—they loved the air, the trees, the comfort of a cozy cabin, playing music on Wanda’s old record player, or drinking hot chocolate Natasha loved to make for them. One winter, you spent the weekend there with them and Lily had just learned how to build a snowman with Natasha. Nina was still a little too young, but she found joy in trying to run around, catching the falling snowflakes with her tongue. You got nothing but good memories from going there.

The first time Wanda mentioned going back, it felt impossible to picture without Natasha. Even imagining it brought a sense of loss so heavy it threatened to shatter the memory entirely. The cabin without her was like watching the film reel of your life with half the scenes missing—disjointed, fractured, unable to find the comfort it once held. When you’d tried to explain, Wanda had only nodded, a knowing look softening her face as if she understood the unspoken things that weighed down your words. But over the months, she kept mentioning it, in small ways, like a quiet refrain.

“Then bring Natasha,” she’d said last, her voice so gentle it almost blended with the room. Her gaze, steady and unwavering, had landed on you with a quiet faith that made you feel exposed.

You’d wanted to respond, to give voice to the reasons why it felt impossible, to explain the ache that lingered too deeply to ignore. But the words had caught in your throat, your thoughts tangled in memories that had once been warm but now held the sting of something fractured. So you’d only managed a soft smile, allowing the silence to stretch between you as you turned the conversation away, knowing Wanda would understand.

And yet, her words stayed with you, lingering long after, wrapped in a fragile hope that you hadn’t dared to touch. Wanda believed in something you weren’t sure you could reach for, a belief that the cabin could be a bridge, a place where memories could be revisited, reconnected—maybe even healed. 

The idea stayed with you, filling your mind, daring you to wonder if, perhaps, she was right.

It was late by the time you finally unlocked the front door, the echo of the party still buzzing faintly in your head, softened by a light haze from the few drinks you’d had. The house was dark and still as you slipped inside.

As you moved further in, adjusting your eyes to the dim light, you saw them. 

Natasha was stretched out on the couch, her body softened in the shadows, and there, tangled in her arms, lay your two little girls. Nina and Lily were nestled close, their small bodies curled and sprawled across her, their hands loosely gripping her shirt, their faces pressed into her chest as if she were their entire world. Natasha’s head was tilted back, her breathing deep and steady, the sort of calm that only came when everything around her was right, if only for that fleeting moment.

You paused there in the doorway, just watching them, a  warmth settling in your chest, bittersweet and familiar. This was the woman you’d once called home. And maybe she’d made mistakes—mistakes that fractured everything between you, mistakes that left bruises you weren’t sure would ever fade. But seeing her now, surrounded by the soft rise and fall of the girls’ breathing, you were reminded that she’d never once faltered as their mother.

For a long moment, you just stood there, absorbing the scene, the beauty of it, the softness that was so rare in Natasha, brought out only by the girls resting so peacefully against her. A part of you ached, the part that remembered when that was your world, too—the intimacy, the trust, the feeling that this was where you belonged. But now, standing alone in front of her, you knew it was different.

“Natasha…”

The name leaves your lips in a choked whisper, so quiet you barely hear it yourself. It’s both a word and a breath, carrying years of ache, of longing, of memories buried beneath the hurt. She stirs softly at the sound, her eyes blinking open, unfocused in the dimness, but immediately careful, instinctively cradling Nina and Lily closer to her, her instincts as a mother overriding everything else. She lifts her head, and in the low light, her eyes meet yours—surprised, still a bit hazy with sleep, yet touched by something tender, something deeply aware.

A faint smile tugs at your lips, almost without your permission. You nod toward the girls, your voice so soft it hardly disturbs the quiet of the room. 

“We should get them to bed,” you murmur, the words gentle, careful, as though you’re trying not to disrupt a delicate peace.

Natasha gives a barely perceptible nod, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though she’s searching for something. Then, she looks down at the girls, her features softening into something achingly vulnerable. She shifts, moving slowly so as not to disturb Lily, her hands moving with the practiced care of someone who’s done this a hundred times over but who never takes it for granted.

You step forward, slipping your arms beneath Nina, feeling the gentle weight of her small body settle against you as you carefully lift her, your heart swelling with that instinctive protectiveness you’d felt since the day she was born. Natasha mirrors you, tenderly sliding her arms under Lily, her movements so gentle it’s as though she’s afraid to wake her from whatever dream she’s lost in. Together, you make your way down the hallway, your footsteps muffled on floor.

Natasha trails a few steps behind you, her gaze lingering on the small bundle in your arms. There’s something undeniably tender in the way she holds Lily close, quiet in every step as if even her footfalls could shatter the peace that’s settled over the house. She watches as you cradle Nina with the same delicate care, and she can’t help but feel a pang of something—nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe it’s something deeper, something achingly familiar and distant at the same time.

You reach the doorway to their shared bedroom, and you both instinctively pause, a silent agreement hanging between you as you ease open the door just enough to slip inside. The room is softly lit by a nightlight in the corner casting a warm, gentle glow. You move first, bending to lay Nina down into her bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she settles into her pillow, the smallest smile flickering across her sleeping face.

Natasha steps forward, carrying Lily with the same care, lowering her slowly, as if she was releasing something precious. She smooths the blankets over Lily’s small form, her hand lingering on her daughter’s shoulder for a brief moment, her thumb brushing in a gentle, protective arc.

You both stand back, side by side, your eyes on the two little figures in the bed, their steady breaths filling the silence between you. 

You turn first, giving the room one last look before stepping into the hallway, leaving the door just a crack open. Natasha lingers, her gaze falling on the spot where you had stood only moments before. She doesn’t follow immediately, instead letting herself absorb of the room, the weight of it pressing on her chest.

Then, Natasha’s feet shuffle lightly on the carpet, her shoulders tight, her movements more careful than usual. She takes a breath, then steps into the hallway, spotting you just ahead, walking back down the dimly lit corridor, your shoulders softly sloped in a way she recognizes well. Her pulse stutters, a swell of unvoiced words caught in her throat as she trails behind, her eyes fixed on your silhouette.

You pause, turning slowly, the faintest glint of something heavy in your eyes. Natasha freezes, almost holding her breath as you look up at her, gaze wavering, like you’re fighting with words you’re not sure you should say. She knows this look well enough to brace herself, the feeling of dread curling in her stomach. Her shoulders stiffen, instinctively preparing for the worst as the silence stretches, each second laced with something unspeakable.

“I… wanted to talk to you about something,” you say gently, almost catching her by surprise. 

Natasha’s shoulders drop a fraction, her breath catching at your words. She hadn’t expected that, not tonight. Her gaze flickers, uncertain but hopeful, as she steps closer, nodding her head eagerly. 

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. She’s trying to appear calm, but there’s a tension in her eyes, a cautious vulnerability that betrays her. She searches your face for any hint, any sign of what you’re about to say. 

“Lily’s birthday is coming up,” you say softly, your gaze finally lifting to meet Natasha’s, even if just for a moment.

Natasha nods slowly, trying to read between the lines, unsure of what you’re really thinking. She remembers every birthday, every milestone, how you used to plan together, side by side, laughing over cake designs and decorations.

“Lily keeps asking…” you start, your voice so quiet Natasha has to strain to hear. She watches you, noting the way you hesitate, choosing your words with care. “If we could go back to Wanda’s cabin. You know the girls like it there…”

The suggestion hangs heavy between you. Her mind floods with memories of those trips—Wanda’s warm cabin, the girls’ laughter, the four of you bundled in sweaters, sharing cozy meals and evening walks in the crisp, autumn air. Those times felt like forever in the best way possible, like nothing could disturb the harmony you’d built together.

“Yeah… yeah, they love it,” Natasha murmurs, her voice catching. Her eyes are distant, clouded with thoughts she isn’t sure she’s allowed to express. The idea of returning feels almost like opening a door she thought you’d closed for good. Still, the prospect brings a bittersweet hope, like maybe a piece of the life she lost could be revived, if only for several days. 

You shift uncomfortably, glancing away as though admitting this feels too vulnerable, as if voicing it aloud might betray too much of what you’re holding back.

Your words come out soft, almost as if they’d slipped through a crack in your resolve. “It’d be weird to go without you… For them, I mean.” 

The admission lingers, tentative, like an echo that neither of you expected. Natasha stands there, motionless, her gaze locked on you, and you can feel the weight of her eyes on you. She doesn’t respond, perhaps because she doesn’t know how to, or maybe because there’s nothing she could say that would sound right after everything that happened.

You keep your eyes on the floor—this reluctant honesty shared after years of trying to keep a cautious distance. There’s a tenderness in the air, one that feels unfamiliar now, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since the divorce. Natasha doesn’t move, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll reach for you, break the wall of silence. But she just stays there, rooted, like she’s afraid that any movement might shatter the understanding you’ve found yourselves in.

“Maybe, we could… all go,” Natasha offers finally, her voice hushed. “If that’s what you want.”

You glance up, catching her eyes for the first time in what feels like ages. There’s a weight there, a heaviness she carries, lingering regret woven into her eyes. You break the gaze quickly, focusing on a spot on the wall behind her, holding onto the barrier you’ve had to build to keep yourself steady. 

“It’s what Lily wants.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, nodding slowly, her fingers fidgeting by her sides. The truth is plain between you: this isn’t really about what either of you want. It’s about the tiny person who’s still dreaming down the hall, in her own perfect, unbroken world where her family feels whole. And somehow, even after everything, you both want to keep it that way for her. The idea of doing this trip together feels as precarious as it does bittersweet. But the image of Lily’s face when she sees you all together, the way she lights up at the mention of Wanda’s cabin, that’s enough to ease the ache.

Natasha leaves late that night, a soft click of the door echoing in the house after she’s gone. You’re left in the quiet, the weight of the decision settling slowly over you. You’d both agreed—two nights, maybe three—just enough time for the girls to enjoy their favorite place, to breathe in the crisp air and marvel at the autumn leaves.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, the thought of those days stirring up a mix of emotions you’ve worked so hard to bury. There’s excitement for the girls, the way their faces will light up at seeing Wanda’s cabin again. You can almost picture Nina and Lily scrambling around the place, giggling and squealing, thrilled at the rare chance to have both their parents there together, even if things have changed.

As you glance down the hall where they’re still sleeping, you wonder what it will feel like to play at something close to normal, if only for a few days. For Lily, for Nina—you would try to make it work.

A few weeks later, Natasha arrives in her old grey Lada Niva. You could hear the familiar rumble of the engine before you even see the car pull up. You’d almost forgotten the way it sounds—the low, steady hum that used to fill the spaces between you two, back when things were simpler. The car, a relic from another time, was a piece of Natasha that never changed, a constant that the girls had grown to love just as much as she did. It had been years since you’d last ridden in it, since those family road trips that now felt like distant memories you barely dared to touch.

Nina and Lily don’t hold back, rushing to the door as Natasha parks, their excited squeals echoing as they shout, “Mama!” and clamber down the front steps. 

You watch as she steps out, smiling with that familiar, easy warmth that once felt like home. She crouches to their level, her arms opening as they run to her, and you can’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart as she lifts them both in a swift, effortless motion, twirling them around like old times. Her laughter, soft and genuine, floats over to you as you linger in the doorway, a faint, bittersweet ache stirring within you.

She looks up from the girls, her gaze meeting yours, and you catch the flicker of something in her eyes—maybe nostalgia, maybe uncertainty, or maybe something else entirely. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the unease, then grab the bags by the door. You brace yourself for the weight of them, but as you take a step forward, Natasha’s shadow moves alongside you, close enough that you feel her presence before you hear her voice.

“Hey, let me,” she murmurs, her voice soft and warm. 

Before you can protest, her hands reach for the bags, fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. It’s a touch so light that it leaves a ghostly warmth lingering on your skin, but it’s enough to catch you off guard, your breath hitching as she gently eases the bags out of your hands.

You watch as she walks over to the car, her movements steady and familiar, the ease with which she lifts the weight somehow comforting and unsettling all at once. Her shoulders are relaxed, yet there’s a focus in the way she sets the bags in the trunk. She turns back to you, a faint smile pulling at her lips, and for a fleeting second, the past seems to slip into the present.

You tear your gaze away to walk over and open the passenger door and slide in, the scent of old leather and faint traces of Natasha’s cologne unmistakable. It’s strange, slipping back into this space, sitting beside her again like this, feeling the past brushing close but staying just out of reach.

The drive was quiet for the most part, other than the sound of the girls’ favorite songs playing on the car radio. Natasha’s hands grip the steering wheel with ease, and her driving is as steady as it always was. Outside the window, the trees blur by, softened by late autumn light, and you lose yourself in the landscape. 

Every now and then, Natasha’s gaze strays from the road to linger on you. She catches herself, tries to refocus, but her eyes drift back almost instinctively, drawn to the way you sit, wrapped in your own thoughts. Her hand hovers just slightly above her thigh, muscles tensing with the urge to reach out and place it on yours, an instinct that feels so ingrained it’s almost muscle memory. But she pulls back, fingers flexing as they return to the wheel. She remembers all the times she’d reach over without thinking, her palm resting against your thigh. 

And as she glances at you once more, her chest tightens, that feeling of missing you growing stronger each and every day. 

“There’s more trees now,” Natasha mutters, driving along the dirt path, getting closer towards the destination. 

The cabin sits quietly in the woods, nestled under a canopy of tall pines. It’s quiet and private—the next house probably miles away. The air is cool and crisp, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, and when you text Wanda to let her know you’ve arrived, her reply is short, almost comforting in a way, telling you to enjoy yourselves with a tiny smiley face at the end. She doesn’t need to say much; she knows what this place means. She knows it has its own kind of healing, as subtle as the wind rustling through the trees.

When you get out of the car, you unload your things, the girls’ things, and settle in to the cabin.

The girls are thrilled to be here. They take to the cabin with the kind of joy only children can muster, filling the space with giggles that spill out through open windows. They chase each other around the clearing, calling for Natasha to play along, and she does, jumping into their games with an ease that’s somehow both comforting and bittersweet. She’s gentle with them, her patience surprising in moments when the girls demand more and more of her. She spins them in her arms, laughs with them, gets them to try new tricks—whatever they ask, she does. She’s always been a good mother. You’ve never doubted that.

You find yourself watching from the porch, hands wrapped around a mug that’s gone cold, rooted in place by the weight of memories. Sometimes you slip inside, needing the familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring, needing to focus on something simple, something that grounds you. The scents of rosemary and garlic fill the kitchen, and it’s strange, but this simple act of cooking feels like a kind of armor. It’s something you can control, even if you feel like everything else is slipping from your grasp.

Natasha catches your eye sometimes, her glance lingering in a way that almost feels hesitant, as if she’s waiting for you to join them. But you stay back, listening to the sounds of their laughter from a distance. You’ve built walls around yourself, fragile as they are, and the thought of letting them down, even for a moment, feels terrifying. You want to be a part of this, to let yourself fall into the warmth of your family again, but something holds you back. So you stay where you are, like an outsider in your own life. 

The first night the girls are already settled into their beds, sleeping peacefully and Natasha is in the living room, moving quietly, tugging a thin sheet over the lumpy couch cushions and fluffing a pillow that barely holds its shape. Her movements are careful, almost too careful. From the shadowed hallway, you watch her in silence. You know how stiff her back gets, how this couch does her no favors, and how, come morning, the sun will stream straight through the window to warm her face uncomfortably awake. You sigh, a little louder than you mean to, and Natasha glances up but doesn’t see you there, just lingering in the shadows, uncertain.

Finally, you take a breath and step into the dim light of the living room, your voice quiet as you say, “The bed is big enough for both of us, you know. You could sleep there. If you want.” You try to keep your tone casual, as if you haven’t thought this over a hundred times, and shrug lightly. “But you don’t have to. It’s just… an option.”

She stands still, her hand pausing over the pillow, eyes glancing to the floor. Of course she wanted to. But she looks at you, hesitant, as if searching for any hint that this offer is anything more than what you said it was. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, something softened by a yearning she’s trying too hard to hide from you.

Without waiting for her response, you turn and walk away, not looking back, not wanting to see the indecision flickering across her face. 

For a moment, the silence stretches and fills the empty room behind you. You hear the softest rustle as she stands there, still unsure, before her footsteps follow yours into the bedroom, cautious and quiet. The bed creaks as she settles on her side, keeping a respectful distance, her breaths slow and steady. She doesn’t say a word, but you feel her presence, steady and comforting, like a familiar warmth close enough to touch yet lingering just out of reach.

Natasha lies stiffly on the edge of the bed, her back turned but senses tuned to every breath you take beside her. The proximity—it feels like an exquisite kind of torture, and she’s aware that it’s probably worse than any discomfort the couch could have offered. But somehow, she welcomes it, aches for it, even as she tells herself to keep her distance, to keep her composure.

She can feel the warmth radiating from you, close enough that the tiniest shift would bring her shoulder against yours, but she keeps herself still, staring into the dark, wide awake. Her mind refuses to settle; memories tumble through her thoughts, fragments of laughter, the easy warmth you used to share. She finds herself painfully aware of the rise and fall of your breathing, the gentle way your face looks when you’re asleep, and she almost can’t contain herself.

She knows she won’t sleep tonight. How could she, lying here in the same bed, close enough to touch you, yet worlds apart?

But eventually, as the night wears on, she does. 

It’s your breathing that does it, she realizes, grounding her, washing over her like a lullaby. The sound is soft but constant, and she closes her eyes, letting it surround her, allowing herself, just this once, to be comforted by it. Her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to rest beside yours on the sheets, but she holds backinstead.

And, in time, Natasha drifts off, lulled by the gentle rhythm of you beside her, more at ease than she’s been in years.

The next night, you help Lily and Nina bake a cake. 

The kitchen is a mess. Flour dusts the countertops, the floor, even speckles across your cheeks and Lily’s small hands. Nina stands on her tiptoes on a kitchen stool, eyeing the mixing bowl with such intense concentration that you can’t help but smile. It’s chaotic and loud, with squeals of laughter whenever a dollop of batter splatters onto someone’s arm. Lily is at the helm, her little hands wielding a wooden spoon as if it’s a magic wand.

“Mommy, I want the sprinkles!” she exclaims, reaching for a bright container of them before you even have a chance to measure them out. 

But you don’t stop her; it’s her night, and this mess is hers to make. Every year she insists on making her own birthday cake, decorating it however she pleases, and every year it’s as beautifully haphazard as she is. You watch her, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm, her innocence.

Natasha watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She takes in the scene quietly, hoping that it’d never go away—the joy, the laughter, the way Nina’s eyes light up as she carefully mixes ingredients, the concentration on Lily’s face as she decorates her cake, and then, you… God, you looked so beautiful. The mother of her children. The person she once called her wife. When you glance over, you catch Natasha’s gaze, and there’s a tenderness there as she smiles lightly at you, knowing exactly where her place is. So, she doesn’t move. She watches. 

Eventually, the cake is baked, golden and imperfect, with sprinkles scattered unevenly over thick layers of frosting. It’s more of an abstract work of art than anything, but Lily beams with pride, her little hands sticky with icing as she admires her creation.

When it’s finally time to sing, she stands on a chair, practically glowing as everyone joins in, voices soft and full of love. Everybody sings. The light of the candle flickers across the girls’ faces as Natasha’s voice blends in with yours, and for a moment, everything feels… whole. You catch her eye again, and she looks at you with something unreadable—hope, maybe.

But you look away and her smile falls.

Then, Wanda visits on the last day.

Her visit catches you off guard, appearing just as you’re gathering up the last odds and ends in the cabin. She breezes in with that familiar smile, warmth radiating from her as if she’d been here all along, making herself at home in the easy way she always does. It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw her, yet here she is, greeting the girls with the kind of affection that only Wanda has, her laugh bright and contagious as she swoops them up one by one. You can’t help but smile as they cling to her, their giggles filling the cabin as they chatter on about every little detail of the weekend, as if they hadn’t seen her in ages.

Then, somewhere between the hugs and the laughter, Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a glimmer of something mischievous sparking in them. 

Before you know it, she’s suggested ice cream, casually slipping the offer into the air, barely giving you a moment to consider before Nina and Lily’s eyes light up with excitement, their voices blending into one constant, pleading hum of “Please, Mommy, please!” 

You hesitate, glancing around at the half-packed bags and open suitcases scattered on the floor. There’s still so much to do, and the sky outside has that heavy look to it, the kind that promises to come down hard if given the chance. You shoot Wanda a skeptical look, but she just waves it off, her voice light and certain. 

“Oh, I’ll just take them real quick,” she says, already holding out her hands as Nina grabs one, Lily the other.

You glance once more at the ominous clouds hanging low in the sky. They should wait, you think, but you’ve already seen the way their faces light up at the mention of ice cream, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, not when they’re this happy. 

So you sigh, pulling each of them close for a quick hug, whispering your usual cautions, “Be careful, okay? And Wanda, please… it looks like it’s about to rain.”

With a final nod, you watch as they pile out the door, their voices fading into the thick silence left in their wake. And suddenly, it’s just you and Natasha, an entire cabin somehow feeling smaller without the girls. She clears her throat softly, moving to help with a stray pile of blankets, and you follow. 

The silence between you stretches on and you find yourself too aware of every sound she makes, the soft rustling of fabric, the soft padding of her steps across the creaky wooden floor. You don’t dare look at her, not directly, focusing instead on the small tasks in front of you: folding the blankets with slow, methodical care, stacking up dishes in silence, packing up the girls’ scattered toys one by one. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see Natasha’s glances, her fingers moving with a touch too gentle, as if each item in her hands were something precious, something irreplaceable.

When she reaches over, her hand brushing yours as she passes a blanket, you freeze for the briefest second, your heart pounding in a way you wish you could ignore. It’s strange, this small gesture—nothing more than a graze of skin, but it feels heavy. 

After a moment, Natasha clears her throat, shifting her gaze to the window where the sky darkens further.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you, but her voice is close, familiar in a way that aches, that reminds you of nights spent together, whispering in the dark. 

And you want to say something, to fill the silence with something else, but the words won’t come out. 

Instead, you both go back to packing in silence, And as you reach for another item, you catch her eyes on you again, lingering a second longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable passing through them before she looks away.

When the last bag is zipped and the blankets are folded neatly on the couch, the sky finally breaks open with a relentless downpour. Raindrops hammer against the cabin roof. You glance out the window, watching as the world outside the cabin turns hazy and blurred, colors melting together in streaks. It’s coming down harder than you expected, the kind of rain that turns roads to rivers, and any hope of a quick drive to meet Wanda and the girls seems to vanish.

Natasha stands beside you, her gaze following yours out the window. There’s something calming in the way she stands there, shoulders relaxed, as if she were rooted to the spot, waiting without a rush. She doesn’t offer any suggestion about the rain or attempt to fill the silence, and somehow, that makes it harder to ignore her presence. 

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, low and resonant, like a warning. You watch as Natasha crosses her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve as if in thought, and you can tell she’s trying to gauge the storm, trying to calculate how long you’ll be stuck here together.

Natasha looks over at you, an almost apologetic look flickering across her face. “I’ll go check on the car real quick,” she murmurs, her voice low enough to blend with the rain. “I know we probably shouldn’t go anywhere right now, but it’s old, and it never does well sitting in rain like this.”

You only nod, saying nothing, watching her pull on a jacket and tug the hood over her head before slipping out the front door. The rain swallows her figure instantly, and you see her trudge through the mud, her boots sinking slightly with every step. 

Through the window, you can just barely make out the shape of Natasha as she reaches the car, her hand brushing over its rain-streaked surface with a soft touch, like she’s apologizing to it for what she’s about to ask of it. The headlights flicker as she tries to turn it over, but the engine groans before settling into silence again. Another turn of the key yields the same result, the rumble followed by a spluttering cough as the car refuses to cooperate, sinking ever deeper into the mud.

You watch as Natasha leans back in the driver’s seat, her shoulders slumping in quiet resignation. She presses her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, as if gathering herself, then takes a deep breath and steps out. She gives the car a gentle, almost defeated pat on the hood, the look of someone who knows they’ve tried all they can. When she glances back toward the cabin, her gaze lifts to find you through the window.

She walks back, her steps slow, head slightly bowed against the storm. When she reaches the porch, Natasha shakes out her hood, droplets splashing across the wooden boards, and stands for a moment, hesitating as if she doesn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news. But there’s a strange, almost gentle softness in her gaze as she finally meets your eyes.

“It’s stuck,” she says quietly, tugging the hood down. “The mud’s got it pretty good, and… I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight.” 

You nod, trying to ignore the small part of you that almost feels relief at her words. You watch the rainwater drip down from her jacket, forming a small puddle at her feet, and the cabin’s warmth surrounds you both, soft and heavy. Natasha only watches you as you pull your phone out to text Wanda. You fumble with your phone, tapping the screen to try and coax a single bar of signal to life. Nothing. The little icon taunts you with its emptiness, a dead end in the storm. 

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that it almost feels like an afterthought, something you wish would disappear into the sounds of the rain.

Natasha’s voice, gentle and steady, breaks through. “I’m sure the girls are fine with Wanda…”

You look at her. Her gaze is fixed on you, softened by a faint worry lingering at the corners of her eyes. There’s a sincerity you see in her irises. You look away, down to your phone as though it might somehow find a way to work.

The silence settles in again, heavier this time. Natasha shifts on her feet, uncertain, as if waiting for something from you—a response, an assurance, anything to break the tension she can feel thickening in the air. But instead, you simply pocket your phone, shoulders tense as you press your lips together in thought, a part of you unwilling to trust that everything is okay. You don’t respond, your mind too wrapped up in worry, feeling that gnawing pit in your stomach that refuses to ease, the sense that something is just… out of reach, outside of your control.

The rain comes down in sheets, a constant drumming against the windows and the roof, filling the air with a steady hum. But inside, the silence between you and Natasha is deafening, thicker than the rain, pressing down on you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Each passing second feels heavier, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel under the weight of it. It’s suffocating, somehow.

You glance down, trying to keep your breathing steady, but there’s something clawing at you from the inside, a mix of panic and… something else. The feeling of being here alone with her, the person you loved so much and lost so painfully, is almost too much to bear. You press your lips together, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your hands start to tremble just a little. It’s as if everything’s closing in on you, the walls, the quiet, the memories. You sense Natasha watching you, catching the small signs you’re trying to hide. Her gaze is warm, careful, as if she’s afraid that one wrong move could make everything fall apart. She shifts, almost reaching out, her hand hesitating in the space between you, as if she’s weighing whether she has the right to offer any comfort.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence, and you almost regret it instantly. It’s like you’ve let down a barrier, and Natasha’s expression softens, her eyes filled with something that’s so familiar it hurts. The ache inside you grows stronger, and you find yourself wanting to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You can feel the weight of all that’s unsaid between you—the hurt, the love, the quiet grief of two people who once had everything and lost it.

For a second, you catch her eye, and you’re pulled right back to those moments when it was just the two of you, when you didn’t need words to understand each other. You have to look away, not ready to face the full force of it.

You take a shaky step backward, feeling your chest tighten as you distance yourself from Natasha, as though putting even a few inches between you could somehow ease the ache clawing inside you. 

“I… I can’t be here,” you murmur, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice, raw and low.

You glance toward the rain-soaked windows, almost desperate for escape, the downpour outside strangely inviting, anything to cut through the weight of this moment. You’re one step from turning toward the door when you feel Natasha’s fingers close gently around your wrist, her hold soft but unyielding.

“I won’t let you go out in this rain,” she says, her voice steady, a quiet determination threading through her tone. She’s close now, closer than she’s been in so long, and the warmth of her hand against your skin, even through the fabric of your sleeve, sends a shiver down your spine.

You look down at her hand, your eyes tracing the lines of her fingers where they touch you, and for a moment, you feel yourself waver, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. It’s almost as if her touch could melt away everything you’re carrying, all the years, the heartbreak, the carefully rebuilt walls. But you don’t move, and she doesn’t let go.

“Please,” she whispers, her thumb brushing gently along your wrist. It’s the barest touch, but it’s enough to keep you grounded, to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to face this alone.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Natasha’s hand falls away from your wrist, fingers slipping into emptiness as if she’s retreating into herself. Her gaze drops, the slightest flinch crossing her face, a flash of something broken that she quickly tries to bury.

“I can go make you some tea,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, gentler than you’ve heard in a long time. It’s a soft offering that she knows has always brought you comfort.

But you turn away, steeling yourself. “I don’t need it,” you reply, sharper than you mean to, the words laced with bitterness you can’t hide.

Natasha hesitates, her hand hovering in the air like she wants to reach for you, to do something, anything, to take the pain from your eyes. “It’ll help—” she begins softly.

“I don’t need anything from you,” you cut her off, voice splintering, more forceful this time, a fierce edge to the words that lands heavy in the space between you.

Natasha stares, caught off guard, and her expression shifts, something fragile crossing her face that she can’t quite hide. She opens her mouth, but no words come, her voice lodged somewhere too deep to reach. She doesn’t fight back, doesn’t press you. Instead, she just watches, taking in every tremor, every piece of you she’s shattered.

And that’s when you feel it—everything inside you begins to unravel, as if a dam has broken. Your voice drops to a whisper, your gaze falling to the floor, and your hands start to shake as you choke out, “I don’t… I don’t need you.” 

The words come softer, barely audible, and you realize it’s as much for yourself as it is for her.

But then your voice cracks, your resolve slipping, and the truth of it cuts into you like glass. The tears come, quiet at first, slipping down your cheeks as you try to hold it together, but the pain is too much. You can’t stop the sobs that rise, each one sharper than the last, as the weight of it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Natasha’s heart twists painfully as she watches you, each quiet sob striking her deeper than any wound she’s ever endured. She hates seeing you like this, hates that she’s the reason for it. Every tear, every tremor, is a reminder of the ways she’s failed you. There’s a pain that fills her, clawing at her chest as she stands there, watching you break in front of her, knowing there’s nothing she can do to piece you back together.

Her hands itch to reach out, to pull you close, to soothe you the way she used to. But the distance between you feels unbridgeable. She can only stand there, fists clenching at her sides as she tries to steady herself, feeling utterly powerless. Regret presses down on her, heavy and unrelenting, mingling with a love she never stopped feeling and a longing that never seems to fade.

Every part of her wants to close the gap, to say something that might ease the pain she’s caused, but all she can manage is a quiet, broken whisper. 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs.

It’s the same apology she’s given a hundred times, one that feels worn out, hoping it will somehow be enough to mend what’s been broken. But even as the words leave her lips, she knows they don’t carry the weight they used to.

Your hands reach up to push her weakly. It only takes three pushes until Natasha feels the cool wall of the cabin press against her back as your hands meet her chest, each shove more desperate than the last. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t move to stop you, just lets you push her—lets you release everything that’s been simmering inside. The look in her eyes is pained but unwavering, as if she knows she deserves every bit of anger, every ounce of resentment, that you hurl at her.

When your voice breaks on those words, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” it feels like something inside her is splintering. 

She’s faced countless enemies, stared down dangers most people couldn’t imagine, but nothing has ever gutted her like hearing you say those words. Her chest aches in a way she can’t describe; it’s a hollow, consuming pain that only comes from hurting someone you love.

“I hate you,” you say again.

Natasha swallows, her own eyes shining with unshed tears as she reaches out instinctively, hesitantly, as if she might still be able to comfort you, though she knows it’s selfish. Her fingers brush your arms, just barely, but she stops, feeling unworthy to touch you, even if every fiber of her being wants to hold you.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice low, raw. “I know. I hate myself too.” Her words come out fractured, like she’s fighting to keep them steady.

You press against Natasha with the last bit of strength you have left, hands shoving her even as your body begins to crumble under the weight of all you’ve been holding back. Your knees weaken, unsteady as a wave of exhaustion overtakes you, and you feel yourself start to slip. And Natasha, still pressed against the wall, doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for you, arms encircling you in one swift, instinctive movement, pulling you close against her as though she’s been waiting for this—for any chance to hold you again. 

You struggle at first, fists pressing weakly against her chest as you try to push her away, to break free from the comfort that only stings in its familiarity. But Natasha’s grip is firm, and steady, that doesn’t falter as you fight against her. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t loosen her hold; she just holds you close, pressing you to her, heart hammering beneath your cheek.

Eventually, the exhaustion wins. All of your fight slips away. A ragged sob escapes your lips, and then another, and before you know it, you’re crying fully, the sound muffled against the warmth of Natasha’s neck. She lets her cheek rest against the top of your head, her hand moving to stroke your back in small, soothing circles, each touch tender and careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking what little is left of you.

“I’m here,” she whispers into your hair, her voice barely a breath, soft and unwavering. “I’m right here.” 

She repeats it, holding you even closer, feeling each of your sobs shake through her. For the first time in a long time, Natasha feels you, feels you surrender in her arms, and it breaks her as much as it mends her.

Eventually, your sobs subside, fading into shallow, uneven breaths. You can feel Natasha’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, and the room settles into a stillness as heavy as the rain outside. Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your head, pulling back just enough to see her face. And in that close space between you, you realize she’s been crying too. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light, eyes raw and vulnerable in a way that you’ve almost forgotten.

You take her in, every detail of her face, so familiar yet somehow achingly new. Her lips part, a trembling breath barely filling the space between you, and there’s something almost fragile in her gaze, like she’s as uncertain of this as you are. 

Neither of you speaks.

And before you can second-guess it, before you can pull yourself back, your lips meet hers. The touch is gentle, neither of you moving too quickly, afraid to shatter whatever understanding has settled between you. Natasha’s hand moves slowly, coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek so that nearly undoes you.

The kiss deepens, the two of you leaning into each other, guiding each other towards the couch just behind you. You straddle her, settling yourself on her lap, feeling the heat radiating from her body, and it’s intoxicating. Your hands tangle in her hair, drawing her closer, as your lips press against each other. You feel her tongue in your mouth, moaning against your lips and for the first time in years, she remembers the taste of you. She wanted more. More. More. More—

And Natasha snaps back to reality. 

“I can’t do this,” she gasps, pulling away, her breath uneven, a pained look etched across her face.

You freeze, disbelief washing over you like a cold tide. “What?” you whisper, the weight of her words crashing into you. 

It’s as if the ground has fallen out beneath your feet. The warmth you felt disappeared, replaced by an uncomfortable chill that seeps into your bones. You feel it all over again. You feel unwanted. And you wanted to get away from her, as fast as you could. 

But Natasha’s grip tightens around your hips, anchoring you in place. “No, no, please,” she pleads. “Please don’t go.”

Her voice breaks and stops your movements. Instead of pushing away, you find yourself drawn back into her orbit. Natasha pulls you closer, resting her forehead against your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her tears soak into the fabric of your shirt. You sit there in silence, letting Natasha cry against you. 

You remember the warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she saw you, how her touch used to feel like home. You sigh, feeling the ache in your chest as Natasha clings to you. It feels strange, foreign even, to see her like this, to feel her emotions pouring out when she’s usually so guarded, so composed. You gently run your fingers through her red hair, each stroke an attempt to calm her down just as it always did. It’s rare to see Natasha like this, and the sight of her tears pulls at something deep within you, something that refuses to let go of the memories you once shared.

Her breath is warm against your neck as she whispers, “It’s not that I don’t want you…” Her voice trembles, soft and almost hesitant. “I always want you… but I want you to be sure. I want you to want me too… not now… not when we’re still fighting like this.”

The words settle heavily between you. Her confession is raw and earnest, a glimpse into the heart she so rarely lets anyone see. The warmth of her touch and the depth of her gaze make you feel as though you’re standing on the edge of something vast and uncertain. You could so easily fall back into her arms but the walls that the two of you have built—brick by painful brick—are still there.

“I know,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, trying to find the right words to bridge the space between you. 

You want to tell her that you’re here, that part of you has always been here, waiting. But you’re afraid too, afraid of what wanting her again could mean, afraid of the heartbreak that might be waiting if things were to fall apart once more. You pause, resting your cheek against her head, feeling the soft tickle of her hair against your skin. 

“I know,” you say again, softer this time, as if to convince yourself as much as her.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut, and she lets out a long, unsteady sigh as she pulls you closer, absorbing the feeling of your warmth, the familiar weight of you against her. It’s been years since she’s held you like this, years since she’s felt your skin. Every inch of her aches with the realization of how much she’s missed this—missed you.

She lets her fingers trace gentle circles on your back, each touch cautious, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away the second she lets go. Memories flood her mind of the times when the two of you were unbreakable, your worlds wrapped around each other. All of it feels so close, so painfully real, like she could reach out and grasp it, yet impossibly far away. She’s overwhelmed, but she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to let go.

She listens to the rain, feels you underneath her fingertips, the scent of your skin filling her nose. She dreamed of holding you like this everyday for the past three years. And now that she had it, she wanted it forever. 

“Where did we go wrong?” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. 

The question catches Natasha off-guard, lingers in the air between you, and she can barely bring herself to breathe, almost afraid that any movement might shatter this moment. She holds you a little tighter, as if she could somehow shield you from the pain in your voice.

She feels the weight of all the memories, the years you’ve shared, pressing down on her. She nuzzles closer, her face tucked into the curve of your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin against hers, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. She’s surprised you haven’t pulled away yet, as if the tenderness still feels too familiar, too natural.

“It’s my fault,” Natasha whispers, barely louder than the rain outside, her voice breaking around the edges. Her heart races, and she doesn’t dare to look at you, afraid of the hurt she knows she’ll see in your eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze drifting somewhere past her, lost in thought. “You don’t think… I gave you a reason to… to find someone else?”

She’s stunned into silence, the realization settling over her that maybe, somehow, you’ve been carrying this blame, wondering if you were part of the reason she’d broken the life you built together. She blinks, swallowing hard as she tries to find the words, a flicker of panic rising in her chest.

“No,” she says firmly, her voice steady yet soft, almost pleading. She shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand gently brushing your cheek. “No, it was never because of you.”

But you’re still looking at her, and your voice trembles, barely holding back the pain. 

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she says.

Your eyes harden and you pull back slightly to look at her face, “The truth. You owe me that.”

She didn’t want to say it. Her heart twists, and she hesitates, closing her eyes as she forces herself to say the words she’s been too afraid to admit—even to herself.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” Her voice wavers, her fingers tightening their hold on you as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you all over again.

The silence between you is thick and heavy, your breaths filling the quiet space as you absorb her words. She feels the guilt clawing at her, as if she’s baring every part of herself, hoping that you can see the truth buried within her confession. She never wanted to hurt you. She never wanted to push you away. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of what mattered most, and she’d convinced herself it was too late, that the love you’d once shared had slipped through her fingers.

The word slips out, barely audible, cracked and raw. “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Natasha feels it wrap around her heart. She forces herself to look at you, even though the sight of that single tear tracing its way down your cheek makes her want to look away. She knows this answer; she’s carried it silently, wordlessly, and now it seems so inevitable that you’d finally ask her.

She tries to swallow, her voice almost too thick to form the words. “You… you stopped touching me.”

It’s such a small statement, so simple, yet it feels too big, too complicated, as if it holds every untold truth between you. 

She falters, looking down at her hands, gathering herself before she tries to explain. 

“I don’t mean… just sex,” she says softly, her head shaking almost in shame, as if she doesn’t trust you to believe her. “It was all the little things. We used to be close, you know? I liked touching you, even if it was just brushing my hand against yours… feeling you next to me in bed. I liked—” 

She pauses, her voice catching as she tries to summon the tenderness that’s still tucked away somewhere in the past. 

“I liked holding you at night. I liked standing close to you when you cook. I liked that you liked holding my hands no matter how rough they were. And I loved how you’d kiss me before I left the house, or the way you’d kiss me again as soon as I came back…”

She trails off, the words fading into the silence. The silence presses down between you. It’s all so achingly clear at this moment. You sit there, absorbing her words, the hurt spreading through you in waves as she continues. 

“And then… somewhere along the line, we just stopped,” she breathes into your neck. “We barely talked anymore. And when I tried to initiate anything… you’d pull away from me.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. But the way she says it hits you with a kind of clarity that feels like a wound reopening. She’s talking about something ordinary, something so small and routine that you can hardly believe it could be the reason for so much hurt. Yet now, hearing her say it, you realize how much those tiny moments meant. The gentle touches, the kisses, the reassurances you’d once given each other like breathing… how you pulled away from her… it was all fading even before you saw it happening.

She sits there, barely daring to breathe, looking at you with eyes that hold more regret than she’s ever known how to express. There’s a subtle twitch in her fingers, as if she wants to pull you even closer, to bridge that space between you that now feels so painfully wide.

The words spill out hesitantly, each one trembling with the weight of something you’ve kept hidden, maybe even from yourself. “I think… things changed for us after Nina was born.” 

The realization feels sharp, pressing against you. You’re not blaming Nina—she’s so innocent, so undeserving of even a hint of this pain—but it’s like tracing back a long path through a dark wood, seeing the moments where you veered off course, where insecurities took root without you realizing it.

Natasha’s gaze is soft as she looks at you, her thumb grazing over your waist in small, comforting circles, coaxing you to keep talking. 

“Why?” she asks gently, like she’s holding space for you.

You hesitate, feeling the words catch in your throat, but you force yourself to continue. “I don’t know… I… I’m the one who pulled away first.”

Natasha’s fingers pause on your waist, her focus fully on you, willing you to keep going. Her voice is a low murmur, soft but insistent, “Why did you pull away?”

The question cracks something open inside you, and you feel your lips start to quiver, your chest tightening with the ache of it all. You’re on the edge of sobbing again, but you push forward, knowing you can’t stop now. “Because I changed after Nina was born.”

Natasha’s brows knit together as she searches your face. “What do you mean?”

You take a shaky breath, looking down for a moment, as if saying it out loud will finally make it real, and will confirm what you’ve been so afraid to confront. 

“My… my body changed.” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and almost embarrassed, but it’s there, raw and painfully honest.

A light bulb flickers on in Natasha’s mind as she processes your words. 

“Did you think I had an issue with your body after Nina was born?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with both offense and confusion. She wants to understand, to dig deeper into your emotions. “Did you think I wouldn’t want you if your body changed?”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks like the rain outside, each drop echoing the chaos inside. 

“No, I…” You struggle for the right words, each syllable weighed down with shame. “I don’t know. It was so stupid… Y-You’re always in shape, Natasha. Everyone you know and work with… they’re all perfect and strong and beautiful. And you’d come home and I’d be struggling to lose the weight I gained when I was pregnant. I’d have baby food in my hair. The times I didn’t get to shower early enough because taking care of the girls could get so hectic sometimes… and you would come home to that… and I thought…” 

Your voice trails off, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your chest. Natasha’s expression shifts as she absorbs your words, her brows furrowing in a way that reveals how deeply your pain affects her. She shakes her head, protesting against the image you’ve painted of yourself. 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, (Y/n). Always,” she says softly, wiping away your tears with her thumbs, her touch gentle yet firm, as if she could erase the hurt with the warmth of her hands. “I don’t look at you and think anything else other than how breathtaking you are. You carried and gave birth to both of our beautiful girls. That alone means everything to me. You didn’t have to pull away from me.”

“I… I pulled away… because I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore…” you confess, each word punctuated by the quiet sobs that escape you, an avalanche of emotions finally breaking free.

“I always want you,” Natasha sighs, a tear slipping down her cheek, mirroring your own pain. She murmurs, her voice thick with regret. “I wish I knew… I should’ve asked. I should’ve…” 

Her words tumbled out in a rush. You see the depth of her sorrow, the realization that she could have made a difference if only she had reached out, if only she had known. As you cry silently, Natasha takes your hands in hers, cradling them like fragile treasures. 

“I should’ve told you,” you say, watching as she soothed her fingers gently over your hands. 

“No,” she interjects, her tone firm but gentle. “I should’ve known. I should’ve clued in on what was going on a long time ago.”

Natasha looks at you softly, memories flood her mind—images of that one night, a night she’d tried to forget but couldn’t escape. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at her as she replayed the moments leading up to her decision to leave. She remembers the heavy weight of despair that had settled in her chest, suffocating and relentless, making it impossible to breathe. She had convinced herself that if she went out, if she got drunk enough, maybe the pain of feeling unwanted would fade away.

But it only deepened.

In her haze, she had followed a woman into bed, desperately trying to imagine the warmth of your body in place of hers, the softness of your laughter, your gentle voice reassuring her that everything was okay, that you loved her. Natasha had thought that perhaps, just for a moment, she could replace the feeling of loneliness with something that resembled closeness. But the alcohol only made her feel more lost, more empty. And when the fog of the night began to lift, reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

Then, the devastation that followed was unbearable, the realization that she was lying next to someone who wasn’t you was a betrayal of its own. She had stumbled back to her car, tears streaming down her face as she cried against the steering wheel, the home you shared just miles away, reminding her of everything she had thrown away in that one moment of weakness.

“I wish I didn’t leave that night. I should’ve stayed with you,” Natasha murmurs, the regret thick in her voice.

She looks down, fingers fidgeting restlessly against your waist. The memory of that night, the night she let her pain turn her into someone she didn’t recognize, stings like an open wound.

In her mind, it replays over and over with cruel clarity: the empty bed she left behind, the bitter taste of jealousy and self-doubt that drove her out the door, and the alcohol she turned to, hoping it would numb the ache. But it only made things worse. 

She remembers how her vision blurred, and in the hazy, dimly lit room, she’d let herself believe she was somewhere else—back home, with you, as if she could trick herself into feeling loved. She imagined your skin. She imagined your lips. She imagined your hands. She imagined your voice. She imagined it all to be you. She wanted it so badly to be you. That the woman she was with became an illusion that she’d desperately wanted to be real.

But it wasn’t. It was a lie she told herself, a lie that shattered the instant she sobered up. And when she told you the truth, when she saw the pain in your eyes, she knew the weight of what she’d done.

Her voice breaks as she continues, “I thought… that if I could just close my eyes and pretend, I’d feel close to you again.” 

She risks a glance up, searching your face for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything to soften the truth of what she’s saying.

“All I could think about was you,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to where your hands rest between you. “Even when I was trying so hard to forget. It was only you. It’s always only been you.”

There’s a silence, a moment where her words settle, and she braces herself, unsure if her honesty will bring you closer or push you further away.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” Natasha’s voice is barely above a whisper as she leans forward, resting her forehead against your shoulder, her hands slipping down to your hips, holding you gently but firmly against her lap. “I hate myself for hurting you as much as I did. And if I could go back and undo everything, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

There’s a tremor in her voice, a rawness in her apology that cuts through the walls you’d built, walls that once felt impenetrable, necessary. Now, they softened, melting under her words, her touches.

You sit there, not moving, not quite sure where to go with the ache that’s lodged itself in your chest. Natasha’s breath is warm against your neck, steady yet trembling with the emotion she can no longer contain. Her arms wrap tighter, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go. She presses her lips to your shoulder, a hesitant kiss, soft and laden with the weight of every unsaid apology, every moment she should’ve been there instead of elsewhere.

You feel your own heart twisting, caught between confusion and forgiveness, between the impulse to push her away and the urge to hold her closer, to let yourself be vulnerable just one more time. Natasha’s fingers flex against your hips, grounding herself in the reality of you here, with her, despite everything.

“I think… we were both lost, Natasha,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers threading gently through her red hair. Her hair is soft between your fingers, and somehow that simple act—the feel of her—grounds you both in the present.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, resting into your touch, as though she was seeking forgiveness in every gentle movement of your hand. Her eyes are closed, and you watch as her face softens, a flicker of relief and remorse still etched deep in her features.

“I was just… struggling… trying to hold everything together and forgetting… forgetting we were supposed to hold each other up.” Your voice cracks, but you push on, feeling Natasha’s grip on your waist tighten. “And you were hurting too. I didn’t even see it.”

Her eyes open then, green and full of something you can’t quite name. “I wish I had been stronger for the both of us… for you,” she murmurs, her hand lifting to brush a stray tear from your cheek. Her touch is warm, delicate, as if she’s afraid to break you any more than she already has.

You shake your head, your hand still buried in her hair. Your thumb strokes softly against her scalp, and her hand comes to cover yours, pressing it gently against her. Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and in that gaze, a flicker of hope ignites, mingled with uncertainty. 

“What do you want us to do?” she asks softly and you hesitate, the words catching in your throat. 

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you admit, and the honesty feels fragile. The confession hangs in the air, but it’s not a rejection. It’s an acknowledgment of the hurt that has settled deep in both of you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it,” Natasha replies, nodding her head in agreement, her voice thick with regret. 

“But I… maybe we could try. It won’t be easy,” you say, a spark of resolve rising within you. “But I want us to try. Not just for you and me… but for the girls too.” 

The thought of Lily and Nina grounds you, their innocent laughter echoing in your mind, reminding you of the love between you and Natasha not only affects the two of you, but the lives of your beautiful little girls as well. And they motivate you to be better, to be stronger in a lot of ways, no matter how scary something could be. 

Natasha blinks, taken aback by your words. She searches your eyes, searching for some sign of betrayal, some hint that this is just another cruel twist of fate, but all she finds is sincerity—a desperate wish for something more. To move forward. A possibility.

You take a shaky breath. The anger and bitterness that had clouded your heart for so long begin to dissipate, and you realize that the facade you had built to protect yourself was crumbling. You had pretended to hate her kb because it felt easier than confronting the truth—that all you wanted was her love, her touch, her presence beside you.

“You said you hate me,” Natasha murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as her gaze drifts to your lips. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “I always told myself that I did. I thought I did.” 

A silence stretches between you, thick with unsaid feelings and the echoes of past grievances. Natasha watches you intently, her emerald eyes searching for understanding, desperate to catch every part of your emotions.

“And even though I felt like I wanted to,” you continue, your voice trembling as the truth rises to the surface, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Natasha.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. She tilts her head slightly, allowing a small smile to break through the sorrow etched on her features. 

“You love me,” she repeats, her voice barely more than a murmur, eyes searching yours.

You take a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her gaze, the way it’s unraveling parts of you that you thought you’d locked away. 

“Don’t act surprised,” you reply, sighing softly, almost chastising her for even doubting it. But there’s a hint of resignation in your voice, as if loving her has become an undeniable part of you, something you’ve both fought against and clung to.

Natasha’s expression shifts, and you see something like both relief and remorse in her eyes. She reaches up, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, lingering there as if grounding herself in this moment, in the truth of it. 

“I didn’t know if you still did… if you still could.” Her voice is low, raw, carrying the weight of all her insecurities, the missteps and miscommunications that led you both here.

You hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of what you feel, all the love and pain tangled together, and you shake your head slightly. 

“Loving you was never the problem, Natasha. I just… I didn’t know if I could keep doing it when I was… so angry with you.” 

The admission aches as it leaves your lips, but it’s the truth. For all the love you feel, there’s been just as much pain, and it’s taken its toll on both of you.

Natasha nods, her thumb brushing against your cheek as if she’s memorizing every detail of it.

“Are you sure you still want to try with me?” she asks quietly. She’s looking at you with those green eyes that have seen so much, eyes that hold both love and a flicker of fear, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

You take a moment, feeling the gravity of her question settle in your chest. You nod slowly, your heart pounding against the silence that envelops you. 

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for us to be together soon…” The words feel thick on your tongue, but they’re the truth. You can’t rush this—too much has happened for that. “But, I still want to try.”

Natasha’s expression shifts slightly, the blink of pain that crosses her face making your heart ache in response. She nods, processing your words with the understanding that comes from a deep love. 

“I just need time,” you add, hoping to offer her some reassurance amidst the uncertainty. “Maybe, we can take it slow?”

A small smile breaks through the tension, and in that moment, it feels like the world around you lights up just a bit. It’s not much, but it’s everything Natasha needs right now. 

“However slow you want to go,” she replies, her voice softer and her hands gentle against your waist. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

The sincerity in her voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tightness in your chest. You can see the depth of her commitment in her eyes, a willingness to do whatever it takes to bridge the distance that formed between the two of you.

You lean into her slightly and whisper, “Thank you.”

Natasha looks at you, her gaze filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart flutter. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, not just as the woman she loves but as the most beautiful woman she has ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes soften, the way her lips curl into a smile—it’s overwhelming. There’s a longing there, an undeniable desire that urges her to close the distance, to lean in and kiss you. She wanted to kiss you so badly. 

But she holds herself back, restraint crossing her features as she fights against it. Instead, she smiles gently, looking up at you. It’s a smile that says she’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. The warmth of her touch spreads. You feel a surge of gratitude. Her fingers press softly into your sides, holding you there without demanding anything more than what you’re ready to give.

Her gaze softens as she watches you, studying your face like it’s something she’s memorizing all over again, tracing every detail with her eyes. A small, almost hesitant smile plays at her lips, just the faintest upward curve, afraid to let the moment slip away. 

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You watch as Natasha turns her head towards the window, her eyes shifting away from you. 

“Where did the rain go?” she murmurs, almost to herself, her voice low.

You follow her gaze to the window, watching as raindrops cling to the glass in silent, scattered trails.

“The sun’s out,” you murmur, shifting off Natasha’s lap. Her hands linger for a second longer than they should, fingers brushing against you as you slip away and rise to your feet.

Natasha watches you cross the room, her gaze following each step, each small movement. You move towards the window, your hand brushing against the glass as you peer outside. The world looks untouched, as if the storm never even happened, with the sun spilling over the trees and grass, drying the last remnants of raindrops clinging to the leaves. In the distance, you catch sight of Wanda’s car pulling into the drive, her headlights cutting through the last threads of mist hanging low over the ground.

“It’s like it didn’t even rain,” you say softly, almost to yourself, the words carrying an odd, quiet wonder.

Natasha moves closely behind you. She’s close enough that you feel her there but she doesn’t reach out. 

The car door clicks open, and you watch as your daughters jump out, their laughter filling the morning air as they spot you and Natasha in the window. They wave eagerly, little hands in the air, faces bright with excitement. You walk over to the front door and push the screen door open, stepping out onto the porch and watching Wanda step out of the car with a knowing look. Her expression is unreadable, that sly, familiar grin playing at her lips as she lingers by the driver’s side, watching the scene with a certain satisfaction. 

Natasha’s smile widens as she looks at the girls, softening into something that feels almost like relief, her eyes lighting up as Nina comes running, arms wide, straight toward her.

“How’d you guys survive the rain?” you call out, a trace of teasing in your voice as the girls run up to you and Natasha, their laughter still bubbling over.

Nina giggles, wrapping herself around Natasha’s leg, as though she’s missed her all these hours.

“It didn’t rain, Mommy!” she laughs, her head tilting back, eyes sparkling with innocence.

The words take a moment to sink in. It didn’t rain. You exchange a look with Natasha, and suddenly it all starts to fall into place. Wanda’s magic. The quiet, unexpected downpour. The way the time seemed to disappear for hours, leaving you and Natasha stranded in the cabin with nothing but your hurt and your words to fill the silence. You feel the realization settle in, glancing between Natasha and Wanda. 

You step closer, crossing your arms with a faint smirk and meeting Wanda’s eyes directly. 

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. 

Wanda only shrugs, her mouth quirking in that mischievous, all-too-familiar smile. “Seemed like you two could use a little time to talk.”

She says it lightly, like a friend with good intentions, and yet there’s something so deliberate in her tone that you know she planned this from the start.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head as you turn away, slipping back through the doorway to collect the bags still waiting by the cabin’s door. You can feel Natasha’s gaze on you as you move inside, her eyes following you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she looks away. But there’s a softness in her eyes now, a sort of peace that hadn’t been there before, like the air between you both is just a little lighter after the night you shared.

Behind you, Natasha stands on the porch, her hands resting loosely by her sides. She watches as the girls eagerly chatter, running toward her before she crouches down with a smile. 

“Hey, girls,” she says gently, smoothing back a stray curl from Lily’s forehead. “Why don’t you go help Mommy with your things?”

Nina and Lily grin, nodding excitedly before they dart inside, their footsteps echoing across the cabin floor as they rush to your side, each one eagerly grabbing a piece of luggage and heading toward the car. 

Wanda steps up to Natasha’s side, her heels crunching softly on the gravel as she gives a knowing smile. She glances at Natasha, eyes curious, then leans in close enough that her voice falls to a gentle whisper. “So… how did it go?”

Natasha takes a slow, steady breath, her eyes lingering on the doorway where you disappeared moments ago. 

“We talked…” she says softly, the words holding a weight Wanda understands without needing more.

“That’s something,” she murmurs, glancing back toward the cabin as though she can see the space between you both healing, bit by bit. 

Natasha looks down, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but the weight of those words lingers in the air between them. 

“She said she wants to try,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as a heavy, relieved sigh slips past her lips. Her shoulders relax, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a spark of hope flickering inside her—a chance to start over, a chance to make things right.

Wanda watches her closely, her expression warm and understanding as she nods. She knows the journey won’t be easy, that there are pieces to pick up and trust to rebuild, but seeing Natasha standing here, her face softened with hope, Wanda knows it’s a start.

Natasha opens her eyes slowly, her gaze distant as if she’s looking past the porch, past the quiet woods stretching around them. Her mind is with you, picturing the way you held let her hold you, the way you’d let her in, even if only a little. It had been so long since she felt that closeness, and the thought alone fills her with a warmth she hadn’t dared let herself feel.

“She wants to try…” Natasha repeats softly, as though saying it aloud might make it more real, solid, something she can hold onto. A soft smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and she looks over at Wanda, her green eyes shining.

Wanda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s a start,” she says gently, her voice steady but tinged with that familiar note of caution. She meets her gaze, her eyes filled with both support and a warning Natasha knows is true. “You know it won’t be easy.”

Natasha nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She knows. Every cell in her body knows. Her mistakes, the distance she let grow between you, the ache that took root in the spaces where love and trust used to be—but knowing it won’t be easy hasn’t made her want it any less.

She stares out toward the driveway, where you’re helping the girls settle in, the sunlight glinting in your hair as you laugh at something Nina says. It’s a sound she’s missed so deeply, it aches, and yet here it is, real and alive, a reminder of what’s still here, what’s still possible.

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, her gaze locked on you, as if watching you can give her strength. “I know it’ll take time, and… there’s a lot to make up for. But, I want it more than anything.”

“That’s all that matters, Natasha,” Wanda says. “But if you break her heart again, I don’t think I’ll be willing to help with that next time around.”

She smiles and nods in response, the determination in her eyes stronger now. She glances back toward the car just as you emerge, the girls trotting behind you, chattering happily as they throw their bags in, their laughter floating across the grass.

Natasha’s heart swells as she watches you, watches her family together, a sense of purpose settling over her as she realizes just how much she wants to make this right. She knows it won’t be easy, knows that there will be days filled with doubt and pain, but for now, for this moment, she has a sliver of hope. 

And for Natasha, that’s more than enough.

note: would you forgive her ?

navigation | n.r masterlist

[two-white-butterflies]

a lemon cake | daemon targaryen

Description: The Hendriks have always kept to their own. What happens when a betrothal happens between the only Hendrik daughter and the Rogue Prince? A story where, you go through lengths in order to ensure your lord husband's loyalty.

W.C: a lotta words super mega ultra

A/N: After re-watching Descendants. I figured that this would be a good plot. Reader basically gives Daemon a love potion. It wears off. He's still in love. No beta we die like men. OC Daemon because of the love potion, but otherwise still him.

House Hendrik. In silence we persevere.

When the first lord of your house settled from Old Valyria, they did not bring dragons or swords - but they did bring magic. Magic that allowed the members of the house to hear the whispers of nature. But lately, nature has only answered with silence.

The lands were barren, and the sheep were dying of illness.

The gold in your coffers were nearing extinction. Correction, there wasn't anything left - your father has to work in the King's council to ensure that you and your children would live a comfortable life.

A prolonged sigh escapes your mouth. You stared at yourself through the reflection on the mirror. In silence we persevere.

You remind yourself of the words your father uttered before he left.

"My lady," the maid clears her throat. She was holding a sealed letter. "Thank you," you mumble while taking the paper from her hands.

You force a smile on your face.

My dearest daughter,

I am pleased announce that the King has agreed to an engagement, and your presence in the Red Keep is of utmost importance. It seems like the Seven Gods have answered our prayers. Do not think about the gold that we'll use to bring you here, your Aunt Jayne has agreed to sponsor the trip, with the promise that you won't forget her once you are a nobleman's wife. Take care.

All my love,

your father.

You finished reading the letter, inhaling the scent of vanilla. It was sadly a short letter, not detailing anything about your father's stay. He made sure that the letter was short and concise. He did not even have money for ink.

"My lady?" the maid inquires, curious about the contents of the letter.

"Lord Hendrik has invited me to join him in the Red Keep." you inform, watching as she poured you a glass of tea. "- will you promise to take care of the household in my absence?" you asked, and she presses a kiss to your forehead.

She stood as your mother, after Lady Hendrik died.

"I promise." she swore. "- have fun in the Capital." she smiled.

You could only nod.

"You told me that he agreed on a betrothal!" your eyebrows merged together. "You wouldn't have come here if the only purpose was finding a suitable match." your father insists.

"Our house has stood proud, looked down on others with lesser breeding. If word ever comes out that I am here to save a sinking ship, our reputation will be ruined." you argued.

"If there was another choice, I wouldn't ask." he says regretfully, his eyes cloudy with tears threatening to spill out. "- my position in the King's council is under threat. My health has fallen drastically, and only a husband can save you and our house." he breathes.

He knows that it shouldn't be that way, but it is.

"What you mean to say is..." you could not stomach to say the word.

"- this is my last gamble, child. If you do not wish to do it for our family, at least do it for yourself." he pleads.

Stupid family with their idiotic gambles. You cursed while continuing to concoct the potion. There was a hundred other ladies in this court, some more beautiful - some having bigger breasts - some having more melodious voices. And what were you stuck with?

This old gown that you inherited from your mother.

You weren't dealt the winning hand, so you must play with the cards that you were dealt with.

"Kesā sagon ñuhon." you whispered into the powder, feeling chills run up your spine as the magic takes effect. You will be mine.

You press a finger to your lips. Who will be mine?

Of course, they needed to be rich. You were in poverty and eating love for breakfast wasn't something you're looking forward to.

And of course, they needed to be handsome - because it will be a curse to stare at an ugly face everyday.

"Prince Daemon," you say out loud.

You fancied him when you were younger.

He had flowing silver-gold hair, and entrancing deep purple eyes. He was every maiden's dream. All everyone saw was a dangerous man - a shifting tide. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive.

But that wasn't going to be a problem.

If your love potion was going to take its full effect, he'd be a tamed dragon, and you'd be the most beautiful maiden in his eyes. He'd be loyal to you no matter what you did.

The thought of taming an untamable man was...alluring.

"Prince Daemon it is, then." you decide. Carefully storing the powder in the empty space of your locket.

The plan needed to work.

Daemon's eyes narrowed, seeing Lord Hendrik's daughter walk across the garden. His eyes were drawn towards her figure. He's heard stories about your great beauty - and now he's finally had the luxury of meeting you. "Lady Hendrik," he calls your name.

"My prince," you bowed, surprised that he knows you. "- it is a pleasure to be be in your presence." your gaze remained on the floor.

"I believe that I am the one who should be saying that," he tilted his head with a pensive smile. His eyes alternated between your eyes and your lips, engrossing himself in your features. "- it is not everyday that a maiden from Quid Isle visits the Red Keep." he added, offering his arm for you to take.

"It is a long journey." you were quick to answer, holding his arm as you both strolled down the gardens. Your father's castle used to have a garden exactly like this - but all the flowers have wilted now. Its beauty was forced to remain in your memory.

"I can only imagine," he hummed - still staring at your face.

There was a look in his eyes, telling you that he was interested.

He kept staring at you and you found yourself staring at him in return, waiting until he opened his mouth again. "You're very beautiful." he observed, moving a strand of hair away from your face.

"T-thank you." you surprise yourself by stuttering.

Gods, you've always been eloquent but what you were about to do was making you nervous.

You turned to look at the table behind you, sprinkling the secret powder on one of the lemon cakes.

"Lemon cake?" you offered, holding the pastry up with a smile.

"Sure," he agreed, not bothering to take the pastry from your hands - instead taking a small bite while you were still holding it.

The way he licked his lips made shivers run down your spine. You were indeed making the right choice. "Is it good?" you raised an eyebrow, waiting for that grumble on your stomach that told you that the spell was working.

"They taste different today." he admits, chewing at the sweet treat - surprised at the slight specks of saltiness. It brought the sweet flavor out, but it was the first time he's tasted lemon cakes like this.

"Good or bad?" you inquired.

Your stomach grumbles. His pupils dilate.

"Good," he says.

The love potion has indeed worked. He's looking at you the same way that the moon looks at the sun. There was a smile on his face, a soft and gentle smile only given to those feeling pure love. "You should try one, my lady." he offers, and you nod - doing exactly that.

"Is the court to your satisfaction?" he asked, unable to stare at anything other than you. "It is beautiful, my lord, especially the gardens. I've never seen anything quite like it." you smiled.

He admires the innocence in your eyes.

Your smile makes him want to smile too.

"Our gardens pale in comparison to Highgarden. Mayhaps, one day I shall take you there." he made a promise. You are slightly taken aback by the potency of your love potion.

"Take me there?" you repeated his last words.

"If it is your will, my lady." his hands rubbed circles on the back of your waist. "It is unbecoming, especially from an unmarried maiden. I wish not to impose, my prince." your mind returned to marriage.

Our last gamble.

"Oh yes, unmarried." he reminded himself. He takes a step backwards, a wave of clarity crashing through his features. You worried for a second that the love potion lost its effect, if it weren't for the look in his eyes - utterly dedicated and in love.

"I must leave to attend my business with the Gold Cloaks. Do not stray too far in the gardens, I shall talk to you later." he vows.

"Yes, my prince." was the only thing that you could say.

Daemon was fascinated but now he was sure that he was in love. Ever since he spoke to you in the gardens - you're the only thing that he thinks about. When he drinks wine, he wonders about the types of wine that you like. When he reads a book, he thinks about what your favorite books are.

Even a chore a simple as breathing makes him think about you.

As the months occurred, he's spent every living second beside you. Braiding your hair, reading books about his ancestry. He's even taught you a few things about sword-fighting.

He's defenseless against your love.

There was no escape.

"I intend to marry the Lady Hendrik." Daemon boldly announces in front of his brother. He was a million times sure that you were the woman he wanted to spend his eternity with. "I beg your pardon?" Viserys gazes up from his miniature version of Old Valyria.

"You've been pestering me about marriage ever since that Bronze Bitch died. I've finally made my choice. Lady Hendrik, the Master of Coin's daughter." Daemon emphasized.

Viserys' eyebrows merged together.

"Have you spoken to her?" Viserys inquired, surprised at his brother's sudden enthusiasm towards you. "I have." Daemon responds.

"How many conversations have you had with her?" Viserys follows up, a little skeptical but otherwise relieved that his brother has found love. "It matters not, she is the best choice. She is set to inherit her father's island. It shall keep me out of your way." Daemon argues.

"Lady Royce inherited the Runestone. What makes you think that this lady of yours is going to be different than the last?" Viserys queries, poking through his brother's resolve - trying to look for holes. He does not wish to grant annulment or mend Daemon's losses when the time comes that he falls out of love.

"I will wed the Lady Hendrik. We will live in Quid Isle." Daemon ignores his brother's question. His destiny already written in stone.

"There isn't anything that could stop you anyways." Viserys agrees, finding no other reason to disagree.

"Speak to her father. Make sure that he agrees." Viserys adds, returning his attention to his little Old Valyria.

"Your father has agreed to an engagement between us." Daemon announced from behind you, and suddenly your eyes light up. "Really?" happiness was leaking from your voice.

Your happiness, gives him happiness.

"I thought that what we had was merely friendship. You've really proved yourself, my prince." you smiled, as he presses your foreheads together. Your smile sinks to the floor, that feeling of guilt threatening to make your heart explode.

He doesn't actually love you. It's the potion.

"Is everything alright?" he inquired, his eyes flooding with worry.

I'm a horrible person for making him something that he is not.

All the nobles and maesters have fawned over his loyalty to me. The way he stares at me with love and adoration. He's not spoken to any other maiden except me. He refuses to dance with anyone but me.

When he realizes that this is all an enchantment, will he hate me?

"Darling," he repeats that term of endearment.

You snap out of the trance.

"I need a moment." you break free from the embrace. Sprinting towards the direction of your room. "Sure," you hear him mumble.

Once the doors to your chambers were shut - the tears flowed. "I'm sorry," you mumbled while laying on your bed, covering your body with the layers of blanket and furs. "I'm sorry," you kept repeating.

I'm a horrible person.

You've toyed with the very will of the gods, made Prince Daemon fall in love with you and act uncharacteristically - all for what? So you wouldn't starve when all the gold in your father's coffers runs out? There were thousands of small-folks starving everyday, their lives are lost to famine - all the while you worry about not living in luxury.

It was another day for you in paradise.

Even if your father died, you'd still live a comfortable life - as long as you didn't live above your means.

You shouldn't have done that to Daemon.

And the worst part was, you loved him - loved him with your entire heart. He was a constellation to you. You've never loved anyone as deeply as you've loved him.

But you betrayed him!

Betrayed the man that offered you jewelry and pretty dresses. Betrayed the man that looks at you with warmth.

You sniffle, slowly rising above the pile of blankets on your bed.

You march to your vanity, beginning to concoct a potion that will reverse your love spell.

You needed to make things right.

Daemon stares at the small hidden lake. It was something that his ancestors consecrated to have a piece of Old Valyria. The lake had magical powers, some say that it cures disease, but to him - it was the only thing that could convince him that gods were real.

"Ever since I was a little boy, I'd stare at this pond and feel peace." he explains, placing his hands inside of the lake - allowing that mystical feeling to wash over him. "They say that it is a piece of Valyria." he continues telling you the story.

These past few days, you've been avoiding him like a plague. When he meets your eyes - he sees nothing but sadness. He wishes that taking a bath in this lake would bring peace to you, or mayhaps cure the sadness that you've been feelings - you refuse to tell him what.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Dragonstone is beautiful." you were quick to thank, but your eyes were focused on the ground.

"Why do you evade my gaze?" he inquires, holding your chin with a finger - and lifting it so you'd meet his eyes. "We are going to be husband and wife soon." he announces, and that makes you flinch.

"I know," you hum.

"If you're scared of living Quid Isle - I promise you that we'll live there after the wedding." he points out one of the possible reasons as to why you were sad. "- I am much prepared to eat fish and chickens until I die." he smiles, and that sparkle returns to your eyes.

"Get in the water." he commands with a chuckle. "No," you shake your head - feeling his hand on your shoulder - threatening to pull you down. "Daemon," you warned, holding onto his forearm.

An involuntary giggle escapes your mouth, and you both plunge into the cold lake. That grumble in your stomach returns. Magic?

You hold onto him, unable to reach the bottom of the lake floor. "You are a cruel lord," you teased wrapping your arms around him.

He takes a second longer - still staring at your face. With that same lovestruck impression as the day you first met.

"Daemon," you say his name.

"I love you." he says out of the blue, burying his face on your nape.

For a second, his voice sounds deeper - his words more meaningful than usual. It almost made you doubt yourself.

You were about to lose everything.

Today is the day that you give him the reverse potion.

"Lemon cake?" you offer, holding the pastry with a forced smile. Daemon's hands found the small of your waist. "I don't want one." he shakes his head, instead choosing to take a sip of his wine.

"Are you sure?" your eyebrows merged together.

Why was he refusing your effort?

"I don't really like eating pastries, my love." he covers his smile with another sip of wine. He's been looking at you with more adoration, lately. He's been more dutiful than before. Always opening the door for you, always carrying your books, and of course, helping with the planning of your wedding.

"But I seem to remember that our love story began with a lemon cake?" you try to persuade him. A lemon cake is also how it ends.

"I've not had the stomach for anything as of the late. I'm sorry, dearest." he tries to say no as politely as he could. "But you have to eat it, please, for me?" you resorted to begging.

"No," he responds as petulantly as he could muster.

"Daemon," you say firmly this time.

Don't make it harder than it has to be. Eat it and hate me forever.

"Give me one good reason?" he says. His voice telling you that he knew something that you didn't. "Because your future wife wills it." you insist, and he sighs - taking a bite of the lemon cake.

He eats it with a smile, watching your features carefully.

"Does it taste good?" you found yourself asking the same questions as before. "Yes," he responds - chewing softly. "How do you feel?" you inquired, worried about his wellbeing.

"Why are you asking, little flower?" his grip is firm on your waist, ignoring the looks that you were both getting. It was a behavior unbecoming of unmarried people, even if you were engaged.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "Do you still love me?" you found yourself carefully asking, masking it with sweetness just in case the potion wasn't in full effect yet. "I think that the potion takes a while to settle, my lady." he smiles, saying those string of words in a whisper.

You nod your head involuntarily until his words sink in.

The potion takes a while to settle.

"What?" your voice suddenly turns an octave higher.

"You are adorable." he muses, laughing.

"How long have you known?" the words spill out of your mouth. "It wore off when we swam in the lake of Dragonstone." he explains.

"So you've been pretending to love me these past few days?" you ask, guilt eating you whole. "I've not been pretending." he confirms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice. Our family isn't as rich as we appear to be, I-my father... I mean I thought that marrying you was the only way my family would be secure. But I love you and my conscience will not allow you to live in lie." you apologized, the tears pooling.

"Hate me if you want to. Have me executed for treason if you must..." you rambled but he silences you with a finger to your lips.

"You didn't need that spell." he says tenderly. His eyes still held that warmth, the promise to love you for more than a lifetime.

"I was enamored with you even without it." he chuckles, wiping the tears away from your eyes. "What?" you were confused. "- you need not to go through with the wedding." you add.

"But I wish to marry you, my lady." he takes the upper hand.

Oh, he's been long aware of your house's financial problems - it was one of the few reasons that Viserys chose your father as Master of Coin. He couldn't bare to see a friend of his suffering. And Daemon, well he's been drawn to you since you first stepped inside the castle.

You were magnetic and you made good company.

"Adorable," he hummed - pulling your face closer to his and silencing you with a deep and long kiss.

[court-jobi]

Let's Heal Each Other

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is a semi-retired pro hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+ (18+ near the end for some spicy themes)

Warnings: talk about scars, past traumas, FEELINGS, body image issues, hurt/comfort, body worship, kissing, use of petnames

Summary:

You play a game only you keep tallies of: lay hordes of kisses onto your boyfriend until he breaks and gives into your sweet affections. It works-- making him reconsider keeping the majority of his skin (and insecurities) hidden from you, until he believes wholeheartedly that your love for him goes beyond scar tissue and that he literally never wants you to feel an ounce of self-hatred anymore, either. "I don't think I like this uno-reverse treatment. Aren't you supposed to be the flustered one, green eyes?" "You want me to stop?" "..no." "Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey."

A/N: a love letter to sweet, sweet teacher!deku… I've lowkey always wanted to write for him~ horrified I'm not caught up on the manga/anime as I write this, but I had to dabble! Back into my MHA era I go~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

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What began as you looking through his journals and hearing each and every one of your sweetheart’s passions from over his shoulder turned into a game of placing whisper-soft kisses on his cheeks. It was a private game that only you kept tallies of. 

Rules are… anytime he opens his mouth, the timer starts: how long can you hold out before forcing him to stop and take a breath after a quick pebbling of affection? Seeing him sigh at the first touch only encouraged you to do it more. He’d allow a few little pecks here, a few more there, or -like tonight- he’d suffer every one of your little presses until his patience broke, and he had no choice but to give you a kiss back.  It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear the content of what he shared– he was your own personal podcast, after all… but sometimes the fight to resist kissing him silly just turned tail and was nowhere to be found.

One long kiss turned into two and under the trae lit ceiling of his study, a bit of a makeout session grew as your lovely Izuku Midoriya relaxed into your affections, his hands roaming to your back to pull you comfortably over into his lap from your spot on the couch. He hugged you close and placed plenty of pecks along your cheek and jaw until you ultimately pressed him back into place– all so you could straddle him and face him properly. This move finally made him flounder and start to lose his vocabulary- even at the ripe ‘ole age of twenty-eight. 

You had to giggle a little and tease him for it; you’d expect a boy half his age to sport such a reaction, not a faculty member at UA highschool.

 "This is ok? I just wanted to see that cute face of yours-" you leaned back to give him enough space if he needed, letting your hands trail along his arms, down to his hands.

Izuku, or ‘Deku’ as his friends and the Hero World still called him, grasped yours and fought his wavering voice  to recover.

"N-no no! uh, it’s ok- yeah, it's fine!” want and desire brought out Izuku’s voice flip, “I just uhhh-heh~ haven’t had you sit this close up, like this before. I‘m... like it a lot."

You brushed your thumbs along his hands and linked his dominant's hand’s fingers with yours– noticing the pull of some scarring there for perhaps the first time. 

Izuku swallowed and tensed, pulling back to simply squeeze your hand briefly before letting go. Turning his wrist to turn down his cuff sleeve clenched that fist  so tightly,  the scars turned white.

"U-um.. yeah, I know it's pretty rough to look at. I hurt myself a lot my first year at UA- as a student, I mean. It's kind of embarrassing..." Izuku laughed it off, massaging his hand palm side up so you didn’t have to see.

"Embarrassing? Why?" You brushed his hair back on one side soothingly. 

Izuku met your eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest. Any effort to keep him talking would reward him in the end– only now you feared this was not a game anymore, but rather a necessary act of reassurance. He shook off any initial nerves with a quick tease back,

“... You’re just–  trying to get me to lay off the stats, aren’t you.”

“Course not,” you defended, “but it seems like if I touched a nerve, it must be important and I don’t wanna gloss over that either. So, I wanna know all about that, too.”

Izuku quirked his lip and carried on, "If you insist. I guess the short of it is, I didn’t know my limits when I enrolled, and I damaged myself beyond repair while training with ‘One for All’. The tightness is a lot better now! But I overdid it... and I'll always have these scars as a reminder- they're… still there."

Care for his younger self flooded you. It’s clear Izuku still had plenty of regrets surrounding his former hero days, at least in how he went about discussing it. Were he still active as a hero, he might view battle scars differently - just signs of the lifestyle. Now on him, they must be more painful reminders  instead.

"May I see?"

Once again, the man looked up in surprise to see your little half smile and steeled himself– not having the heart to say no to you when you were being sweet. You were his girl after all. 

So, Izuku shimmied himself out of his sportek hoodie, and you scooted off his lap to give him room. You always noted he wore a black underarmor shirt, no matter the weather, and now realized why. 

Biting the inner of his cheek, Izuku kept his sights up and over your shoulder as he rolled each sleeve off, wrenching it between his hands. Jagged scars ran all the way up his dominant arm to a big patch behind his tricep. His shoulder remained largely untouched save for a dangerous slice following where the underarm curved upwards. Without the pop of a shirt collar or the bunching of a hoodie, you now fully saw the stiff scar that trailed up his neck and matched in color to the one gracing his face.

For all the years that had passed since those days which he’s fully told you were a time of intensive training and exercise, you were surprised to learn that he’s kept up a workout discipline. His body was scarred, yes, but still incredibly strong. He’s clearly prioritized keeping himself in shape, if for no other reason than to maintain  flexibility and range of motion. 

The whole moment fell quiet, but extremely intimate– even as he left his  base tank top on. You ran your fingers up his now bare arm and hummed gently.

"Well..." you leaned demurely towards the back of the couch, admiring the freckles that stood out between the changed pigments, "for what it's worth, I think they read ‘I lived’ rather than ‘I failed’. And I don’t think they’re ugly." You kissed a broad line on his bicep and met his eyes. " ‘Scars are tattoos with better stories’, right? Yours even have ‘sparkles’." 

Though touched enough to give a sweet little hum back, his expression held tears right at the surface. He looked at your arm in comparison and let out a little sigh, his own fingers caressing the soft skin there. Didn’t take anyone with a psychic quirk to tell what he was thinking. 

"Here–”

You sat up and turned around, starting to lift the back of your own shirt, and you heard his squeak of surprise–

"UhhhHWHATareyoudoing!!" Izuku reared back as if his scandalized mother would enter the room at any moment. 

"Relax, tiger,” you fitted a look over your shoulder and teased. Holding the shirt in place over your shoulders, you activated your kinetic quirk and doing so illuminated some rigid scarring across your lower back- what looked like whip marks as you'd seen from the surgery notes.

Gemlike light shone through even your underclothes, up your back, then on a diagonal across your neck. These were your own battle scars from over the years. You pointed with your thumb starting at the low spine, 

"These were from when I was first captured in Panama. Up here, when I tried to escape." Then you twisted to the side a bit where a big gash shone brilliantly to just under your left breast, "this, I got when I tried to make a quick rescue during my first internship in the States. I had a little boy in my right hand and couldn't drop him, so I took a hit on the other side." You shared these stories softly and he studied each with complete care.

 Izuku reached a bit with his good hand, but stayed his motion when he hovered an inch away. 

You encouraged, with ultimate trust, "You can touch it." 

Despite your kind chirp, his eyes checked over you briefly and simply brushed you with the back of two fingers at first. He let out a shaky breath at the sight that greeted him– the light danced around his fingers, interacting with his presence like ethereal steam rising around the contours. There were so many moments watching you in combat with these sorts of emissions that he remembered blackwhip- one of the more practical gifts ‘One for All’ had offered him, though equally dangerous and hard to control.

You had your own ‘blackwhip’ and it gifted you similar lessons learned- he wasn’t the only one. 

"See? It's not so bad," you resolved any concern Izuku had shown so far. He sought your eyes again, catching sight of the side of your other cheek which was also glowing a bit. "-- at least we match in the face shot department~" 

With a scoot, you slid back to face him again; he noted the scar across the temple of your hair trickling down to the top of your cheek bone. The way the light shone mimicked a tear’s tread down a fogged windowpane.

Ultimate care brought Izuku to reach up -to stop it’s run somehow- and touched the skin with a gentleness you came to love about him. Anticipating his concern, you mumbled something about it only really hurting when you have a glare headache after too much screentime, reminiscing on the throbbing sensation.

"Huh..." Why couldn't he see them before? Why would your quirk hold onto pain this way?

"They only show up when I'm actively using my power to its fullest, and these are usually covered by clothes or face shield when I'm driving." You tuned into his thoughts perfectly. "But… I know they’re there, even if I’m completely covered up. I see ‘em in the back of my mind anytime I’m in front of a mirror." 

As you deactivate your illumination and your skin settled back to normal, you righted your sweater down to your waist so it didn’t catch in the sofa cushions. If you were bothered at all, you barely showed it through your shrug.

"Everyone carries scars- not every single one can be seen, but we all have them. If not physical, emotional then." Running your manicured hand along the edge of his jaw made him lean into the touch, not unlike a puppy. "Please dont think less of yourself because of this... you're too wonderful to even think so poorly. If nothing else, it's proof of how great a hero you are." 

He was one, after all, according to the annals of the Pro Hero Japan Registrar… but Izuku  hardly felt like one anymore. It was an old pain in several ways past the tangible. Because ultimately, he had his chance of being an active pro hero– which was now fully over the minute he expelled the last of his power and ended the cycle for good. 

Help of friends, mentors, and loads of therapy have helped him cope with the memories and pressures of his time in school– all to bring him to a better, more healthy mindset in terms of his place in the world. Putting in the mental work was his largest success, to his credit. In many ways, his life was even more fulfilling now; Izuku fully recognized that and expressed gratitude vocally. Teaching gave him both an outlet and a purpose that he shined in. Still, a selfish twinge of him still hurt knowing how it all panned out- how different his life ended up from what he’d dreamed. 

‘What a great hero I am’…What kind of hero am I?’ his eyes grieved with distance behind them,  ‘Now that I'm no more than a living legend like All Might? He at least got to have a full career.’

Behind a tight lipped smile, Izuku wanted everything in him to sink into your loving sentiments as they often consoled him like none other; but now he found his delight dropping against his will. And how could he fight your praise when you looked at him so earnestly? Like you believed it? It seemed this sentiment upset him. Izuku never once doubted your sweetness so visibly, until now. 

It seemed dating you brought some old feelings to the surface– try as he might to ignore them.

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts inward, you read the tiniest of changes in his posture and pressed on, pulling your legs up to stretch over his lap. Unphased, Izuku dropped the hoodie to the floor and absently caressed your calves.

“You do know you’re still a hero, right?”

Izuku cocked his head, not understanding.

“You were one before any of that madness. They show it all the time at the schools, y’know,” you shared with a good deal of pride, “The sludge monster that had your friend– that was Deku’s first mission. Bet you didn’t know it then, anymore than you do now: even while you’re teaching the next generation of heroes. Your words, your mind, and your heart– you’re still very much a hero… by all three you carry with you.”

And just like that, Izuku truly didn’t think he could melt into the floor like Mirio– until that very moment. It was that pinnacle point that Allmight identified it, too. The instinct that turned the rest of his life upside down. 

Betrayed by his disciplined nerves, his weepy heartstrings eeked out a catch in his voice, 

"How is it you always know just what to say?..."

Your brilliant smile pressed your cheeks into the most charming lift, knowing him all too well and being proud of it:

"I feel like you do, more than you think. I've gotten really good at masking my own issues, so I get it.”

In a split second, Izuku channeled all  self-pitying energy into full, protective alarm–

"IsSuEs?? About what?!–Yourself- how could you say that??"

You chuckled with a full heart, and gave him another doting kiss on the shoulder to try and deter him. 

"Well I'm not exactly a tiny girl anymore, hot stuff~ Mah thighs have been particularly blessed since I took a step back from active duty, and they’re at war with any skirt or pants I find." You palmed down your legs briefly, stretching and doing your best to be alluring, "You don’t seem to mind too much ‘bout my size though, so I don’t sweat it nowadays… You inspired me, actually.”

Light suspicion glared back at you, listening but friendly. “How so?”

You turned introspective yourself- but voiced your train of thought rather than shut it up behind pretty eyes and stunted vulnerability.

“Oh, that silly voice in my head shouts just as loudly as anyone else, so I’m plenty guilty of keeping myself down. She doesn’t serve me though, and that’s taken some reframing to get over… I started focusing on making you feel better, when I met you. Share something outside of myself. That makes me happy. Helps keep things in perspective and not stay hung up hard on myself either.”

Before you could read into how tenderly your Izuku was listening to you, you bombarded him with a bite of your trademark humor..

“I mean, let’s be honest– you’ve done the impossible work of convincing me to finish an entire Stanley before lunch, all in the name of hydration! That’s true love right there…”

You reclined back fully now- an extension of your true level of comfort with him. Watching you ease your way down, Izuku would have been flustered at any other time, but now? All he did was fawn after you like you hung the stars yourself.

“You deserve some happiness, baby,” you reminded him. “If I can play any part in that, give you even a fraction of what you’ve given me? I’m honored for the chance.  Not for everything you've done– but everything you are. To me."

Seeing Izuku’s newfound appreciation and sentimental smile, you feared he would slide right off the sofa and take you with him– until a newly confident smirk took its place.

A flit of his gaze down your body proved he’d decided otherwise: you were gonna pay for the  emotional roller coaster this night has turned into.

Picking up one of your bent legs and chucking it off the couch, Izuku stole you from your comfy position outright: he scooped you up, then plopped you down again with the immense strength he did in fact still carry– all to snuggle up by pinning you where he liked. The surprise had its desired effect, as you giggled at your hero snatching you– squeezing him in a tight, full body hug.

"If you're going to let me not worry about my arms,” Izuku curtailed his laughing, “-then I'll see to it that you don't worry about these–”

He muffled a kiss to your thigh after scooting backwards- one kiss each, then settled his chin on your tummy. 

"You’re really beautiful,” Izuku marvelled, “I’ve always thought that. Inside and out." 

You stuttered a bit and leaned up on your elbows. Your earlier bravery was slipping now that the roles were reversed. 

Next, he set a loving course of affections there on your stomach too, and scattered more smooches across your midsection, regardless of the barrier your sweater kept between. The hand not supporting his weight caressed your side and even dipped underneath the hem a little.

"Izuku...." you sighed a bit, running through his hair again. There he goes, making you thoroughly embarrassed.

“You should take your own advice, sweet girl,” he shared wisely, “-- treat ourselves as nicely as we treat others– and I don’t mean about keeping you hydrated, silly.”

You snorted back. No argument there– but you hear him out all the same.

“You’re right about that, y’know,” his sights adored you inch by inch as he spoke. “I can wish and wonder how things might have been n’let that keep me down… or, I can be proud of what I’m making now… the future I get to live and see… with the loveliest woman on Earth.”

These comments would be the death of you. Death by Deku.

You chuffed at the change, “Well, geez what happened to my blushing bride?  A little pep talk all you needed?”

“Mmmyup. Your turn, now.”

“I dunno if I like this uno-reverse,” you teased his scalp– “it’s definitely.. different.”

Izuku mouths a minute at your wrist, puppy eyes locked on yours, “You wan’ me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey.”

Littering compliments on you caused Izuku to kiss you a bit slower, crawling up your body, pressing tiny kisses up your middle, skipping your chest (politely) and going for the open space from your off shoulder top to take a taste of you on your collarbone. He hummed on contact with skin, brushing some of your flyaways up and away.  He muttered between kisses. 

‘You smell good… well, of course, you always smell good, always feel s’soft…’

Sighs and spoken praise passed the man’s lips as chose a new spot on your shoulder to adore, claiming you as soft and warm in the tenderest of ways, humming distractedly along every spot he deemed worthy of worship.

Without your noticing, those very strong, steady, scarred hands guided your chin– leading your head away so he'd have room by your neck. This was a great tactic to hide your dizzying aversion, so you’d be damned to stop him now.

Completely unfair. Wasn’t it his job to be constantly embarrassed?!

Taking your pitiful moans as a hint for a breather, Izuku pulled back to savor how cute your face contorted in shyness.

Your darling Izuku leaned down to your ear while you hugged him closer than ever now. The hot anticipation in your belly let its tight grip loose to something relieving to your senses; a refreshing blanket of comfort, rather than white-hot lust and drive. He nuzzled you as he spoke, whispering such caring words,

 "You hold onto me, love, and I'll hold onto you. Let's help heal each other."

You hummed in agreement and gasped a little at feeling warm lips meeting your neck for the first time. The sound that left you, involuntary as it was, did nothing but give him the confirmation he wanted. 

Izuku’s kisses fell gently and sweet from that moment forward, tongue lapping after some sucked areas to ease any harshness on his way to your waiting mouth. He seemed to be lost in his actions, moaning little utterances of your name as he went. You called  for him too in your lovestruck haze, rubbing his shoulders and holding him in place lightly by the hair once he graced your lips at long last. 

His hands trailed all over your sides and with your encouragement finally reaching his ears, he grasped at your waist a little firmer. Strength and assurance on full display, he turned the both of you over so you laid in his arms fully, and he met your lips with newfound passion.

Pausing to catch a breath, you both looked at each other with such respect and understanding and  damn near reverence that you couldn't keep a smile in. He could have sworn you were sunlight. Warmth you'd never felt before bloomed inside.

Not that you’d ever be the one to make him stop once he’s on a roll, but you caught sight of the abandoned notebook on the ground beside you. Still open, long forgotten.

“What happened to quizzing me on Present Mic’s sound wave frequencies per mile~” you mouthed to him, breathless. 

Izuku simply held you tighter, onto his brightest sunflower. “Nah, maybe later. ‘Wanna play your game first.”

[shiny-jr]

from IGNIHYDE

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader.

- Characters: Idia Shroud, Ortho Shroud.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: This seems a little more low-key than Diasomnia, but the obsession is there if you squint. It’s just way more low-key than the previous group. For some reason I feel like I maybe wrote Ortho a little off? Not sure. Feel free to tell me your thoughts.

Diasomnia   |   Ignihyde   |   Pomefiore

The break ends quickly. Too quickly. Before you know it, you’re back in front of the mountain of unread letters that appears even more ominous than before now that you could guess what sort of dark contents they may hold. 

For your own peace of mind, you’ve decided to read only two and then take a pause right after. 

The first of which was just a simple long white envelope. That’s it. There was nothing that stood out about it, no special seal or stamp. It was just the generic type of encasing that made it look like it was some sort of bill instead of a letter containing what was bound to be a message that unsettled you in some way, shape, or form. 

When you removed the letter, you was surprised to see that it wasn’t handwritten, it had been typed and printed out. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who this was from. 

Player, 

I messed everything up.

I don’t even see a point to doing this, writing this for you. I mean, if I were you, I’d never want to see my no-good miserable face ever again. I’d go to every length just to avoid even speaking to me again, and to spite them I’d never even show myself around again. But–– Ortho was making a letter and brought my keyboard to my lap. He said it was worth a shot, and if anything, it could be used as an apology so... sorry.

Any sorry would sound half-assed, considering what happened. It’s not like it matters, since I’m sure you wouldn’t read this. I imagine you would figure out it’s from me, and proceed to tear it up, burn it, whatever. And honestly? Valid. At this point, I’m sort of using it as a vent. Usually, I’d be telling Ortho all this, but all these thoughts I’m having would only bum him out and he’s depressed enough as it is. 

You know what sucks besides all of this? The fact that I genuinely tried. I actually tried to be a help for once, and like it always ends, my attempt to help screwed it up even more. Maybe if I had kept my mouth shut and minded my own business while holing myself up in my room like I always do, things wouldn’t have turned out this bad. If I just did what I was good at, which is nothing, Ortho and I might’ve avoided the shitstorm. Everyone else is currently throwing pity parties and plotting these super over elaborate schemes to try and interact with you by luring you out of the Ramshackle place. 

Ortho’s been coming up with plans too with other guys from the dorms that are just so desperate for your attention. It’s sad to watch, pathetic too, but I don’t have the heart to tell him not to bother with it. And me, I know better. If I were in your position and I saw all these attempts, it would definitely make me extra bitter and just hate everyone even more. Oh, I just remembered something worth mentioning. You may not believe me, I mean, I wouldn’t believe a single word coming from me, but I wasn’t actually going to hurt Grim. You though? Before I knew who you were? Yeah. Don’t get it twisted though, I was just doing it to fix everything until the whole truth got leaked not too long after.

Call me stupid, I guess. When I first saw how others revered you like how a bunch of creepy basement-dwellers look at a pretty perfect idol on a shiny bright stage, it was a major red flag. I wanted nothing to do with you. But when you started worming yourself into my life and I started getting attached, well, that made me a creep too for liking you. Red flags be damned. What can I say? Your presence even through Yuu, made me feel like I mattered, which is something I don’t experience a lot. 

You’d never know it, but I took risks just to be in the same room as your avatar. 

Missing special events on games, losing the chance to catch a concert live on screen, even ditching group calls with teammates and friends... All of that was utterly worthless if I got at least a solid sixty seconds by you. 

Unlike everyone else, I know better than to just show up at your doorstep and beg for forgiveness like some misguided puppy. Malleus and co. have been making sure you’re not disturbed, guarding you like a pack of guard dogs or something, preventing anyone from embarrassing themselves and messing up any further. Ortho said I should at least try to call you, I think he just wants to hear your voice. But why bother? 

Don’t get it wrong, I’m not just letting everything go just like that. As much as I’d like to, and I know it’s probably the “healthy” and “good” thing to do, I don’t want to. I’m not good, you know that already. I’ll keep in the background this time, and try not to mess up again. Although no guarantees, because with my lousy luck, I know something will inevitably go wrong. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you. I wouldn’t want to make the mental image you have of me in your mind even worse, if its even remotely possible for it to somehow get worse. I just can’t let go. Even if you looked at me like trash, avoided me like the plague, or straight up tell me ‘I hate you’ to my face, I still won’t let go. 

And, well, all I can really think of right now besides you, is Ortho. Even if I can’t show my disgraced presence to you anymore, I still hope you’ll see Ortho. At least if Ortho could explain to you that he was acting on my plan, he might get lucky and be next to you again. Maybe. Hard maybe. 

But me? No, I don’t ever deserve to be anywhere near you anymore. For now, I’ll go back to how things were way back... when your vessel hadn’t yet had the misfortune of meeting me and I just watched your every move from monitors like some sort of loser schmuck. 

I think I’ll just imagine how things would be if I hadn’t doomed all my chances. If I had a chance... maybe I would’ve actually worked up the gall to sit next to you, or even look at you, or, hell, talk to you. At least, I’ll always remember when you used your avatar to look at me and it didn’t feel bad... like, almost like you didn’t see me as some lame nobody. That must’ve been my mind just playing tricks on me though, right? There’s no way that happened... 

Enough of this mushy stuff though. I’m sick of it. 

Just throw this in the fire without a second glance. 

Idia Shroud 

In order to get this over as quickly as possible, you decided to continue without taking a breather. The quicker you finished reading them, the better, that way, you wouldn’t even give your mind any time to fully process what you were reading before overwhelming your vision with more lines and lines of words until they became blurred together. 

You wouldn’t stop, because if you stopped, that would be allowing your mind the opportunity to spiral out of control. You needed a distraction. 

This wasn’t exactly the good type of distraction either, it was more like adding gasoline to the fire, but part of you had to know what they would say. No matter what feelings you held, the curiosity outweighed it. 

The second letter is identical to the first, a simple long white envelope with no particularly interesting details about it other than the fact that it had zero stains and no wrinkles on it. It was pristine and clean, not even a drop of ink on it. The insides of the envelope itself were blue, with small white lines on it, but upon closer inspection it became obvious that they weren’t just stripes, they were skull symbols so tiny that it was hardly noticeable. 

Of course, as you expected, the letter inside was not handwritten. It was folded so precisely into thirds, and unfolding it displayed the typed and printed words neatly stacked in indented paragraphs. 

Greetings, Player, 

First, I want to apologize sincerely. 

Secondly, I want to tell you how much I have missed you, and my brother has missed you as well! I don’t believe I can fully comprehend how you are felling at the current moment, and I cannot even accurately guess to what emotions you are experiencing. In my attempt to alleviate the situation, I’ve been running millions of simulations of possible alternative futures in order to take the best route where things might return to a semblance of normalcy. 

Well, a new normal, now that you’re here! However... when each simulation yields a result, I can’t help but feel as if something is wrong. That’s when I realized there was a key component that was off. It was you, or rather, Yuu. We know of Yuu and their mannerisms and opinions, but that isn’t really you. Yuu is a vessel, and extension, that’s partially based off yourself. 

So none of us know the true you. At least, not yet! I’m hoping to change that. Just when I think I’m beginning to understand you, things like this happen. But, that’s what makes you so exciting! There’s always some unforeseen detail and amazing new aspect of yourself to learn about. Once I get a proper grasp on what you’re truly like, I can use that new knowledge to make you happy, just as you made me and my brother always smile!  But also, I want to use it to make it up to you. Honestly, I’m scared that you’ll hate me. In the simulations I ran that gave inaccurate results due to those missing components, nearly all the results had a bad ending... 

I don’t want that. I want to have a ‘normal’ way with you and Idia! A good normal! Like where we might all have movie nights in the Ignihyde dorm with freshly popped popcorn and candies as snacks, or study days when we read over notes and help each other out, maybe you might even be able to convince Idia to leave his room so we can all share lunch in the cafeteria like a group of friends would typically do! That’s what I want! I don’t think I could stand knowing I made you cry or was the cause of your pain. I never hurt you, right? At least not physically. 

Believe me, I had made attempts to meet you. But those in Diasomnia won’t allow it. I was tempted to charge up the technomantic beam installed within my form, but realizing it wasn’t necessary, I didn’t. Idia was right when he didn’t make an effort to even join me, and Malleus Draconia with his own have realized it too. You aren’t ready yet. Even if I’m more than prepared to see you, I can’t rush you. So, I left this letter in their hands, hoping it reached you. If not, there’s no worries. I’ve prepared a dozen more printed copies and if that fails, I’ve created a digital copy! 

Since I couldn’t tell you in person, I’ll tell you through paper... 

I’d like to invite you to formally meet me. I’m even prepared to surprise Idia with this! That’ll cheer him up for sure. You always made him happy, so us properly meeting you would be a dream come true for us both! 

If you’d like to do something upon meeting us, I’ve organized multiple activities for us to participate in. The other first years have reached out and expressed their own desires to make up for the mistakes they made. So, I met with them a few days ago to make plans you might enjoy! These plans are still in the preparation phase, so I can’t reveal them quite yet, but soon I will! 

Anyways, I just wanted to make you aware of this. And I want to say ‘I’m sorry’ even though it feels minuscule to what I’m only guessing must be the strong emotions you feel toward what occurred. But I wanted to let you know that I always want to be your friend, and I always will be, even if you don’t really like me anymore. Friends are supposed to be there for each other, right? So I’ll be there for you now. Remember, I’m a high-tech being, I can be of great use to you if you want! Even if you’d rather just use me as a tool, I would be happy. If you want someone obliterated to ashes or are just looking to answers as to what the weather might be, I would gladly help you with that and so much more! 

And it’s not only me that could be useful to you, my brother can too! Although he probably won’t say it, he depends on you a lot. You’re like a battery to him, you give him the energy he needs. If you’d let him, let us both, we’d be there for you in a zeptosecond! 

There’s one thing I know for certain. You’re the common variable needed for our happiness, no matter the scenario or result, you are a requirement. And I’m certain we can bring you happiness as well. Myself, my brother, and everyone that treasures you, can bring you joy if you allow it. All I want is to see you happy, and everyone else happy as well. So will you please at least consider seeing us again? Soon? Please? 

Hoping to see you soon. 

From your friend, 

Ortho Shroud  

[daddyricsdoll]

(I know it isn’t exactly “come here and cuddle me.” But to me it’s perfect for what I wrote.)

˗ˏˋ🤍✧˖°. 🩹꒱ ˎˊ˗

My whole body shook as the tears kept falling down my face. Remembering the 3 years of my life that were wasted on someone who couldn’t even say they loved me- but at least they didn’t lie. My phone buzzed constantly, text messages and phone calls to check if I was still alive. But I hadn’t answered them in hours, creating problems for others, but right now I couldn’t handle thinking about another thing. My mind already clouded with memories that I’d just wish to burn. To even think that I loved him while he crept around from woman to woman.

Used tissues surrounding my sweater clad body. Even my stomach screamed, begging for love from myself as I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.

I could feel the pain in my chest, my heart fractured and hollow as I recalled the time when it felt comfort.

Just as I was about to shut my eyes and sob myself to sleep, a knock of my door distracted me. Scenarios running through my head as I overthought everything, gradually making my way closer to the door.

I didn’t bother to check who it was, as even my own safety didn’t cross my mind. My fingers gripping the door handle and pulling until my eyes found such familiar cerulean ones. A soft smile on his pink lips.

I didn’t say a word, unable to even think of letters, but I stared at him. Acknowledging the bag of food in one hand, clothes in the other and his dishevelled look. Only after painfully long seconds I moved out of the way and tried my best to seem normal. Lando took a second before taking a cautious step. Coming inches closer to me and sharing such a sympathetic look that drove my body to start shaking again. Salt streaming out of my eyes.

“Come here.” Lando opened his arms, pulling my fragile body into his firm one. Thick hoodie keeping me warm and the clean scent of him dancing in and out of my stuffy nostrils. Both my arms being squished between our bodies, as Lando let me cry against him. Holding my figure so close to him, letting me feel solace. It was the first time in a long time that my mind felt free. Focusing solely on Lando.

“I love you.” He says into my hair. The three words that one man never could. Another tear falling, but this one wasn’t filled with sadness, but a vulnerable contentment. All because he said “I love you.”

[forgettable-au]

WHAT IS THIS AU? HOW DOES IT WORK?

A brief (I'm lying, this is a long post) explanation post for this AU for anyone new <3

As I've mentioned before, this AU is based on the theory that Papyrus is (was) Gaster. I did not create this theory, it has existed for a long time as far as I know and I'm also not the first person to do something like this with the concept, I'll touch up on that later.

This is a LONG post, so click keep reading if you really want to check it out :D

About the Papyrus is Gaster theory

I've looked up a lot of stuff about it but I don't actually know where it originated. It's not super popular but if you're a Papyrus theorist you might have heard of it before.

It's not a super serious theory really, it's more about pointing out the weird connections and similarities between Papyrus and Gaster and giving an explanation to the many weird things about Papyrus and his lack of backstory.

Just to mention some things:

Them both speaking in capital letters, having no asterisks, their weird way of phrasing things, Papyrus being described as forgettable, Papyrus hating hotland, pretending he doesn't know about a lot of stuff ( The lab for example, he know what a lab is but pretends he doesn't in front of Sans), Gaster being related to hands and Papyrus never taking his gloves off, Papyrus weird connection with phones (his photo-graphic memory for phone calls) and Gaster's weird connection to phones also(Fun events related to phones, using the phone in the darkworlds and only getting Gaster's garbage sounds), their love for puzzles (The CORE is a giant puzzle), THAT one quote that I still find misterious “beside, it’s rude to talk about people that are listening, right? not everyone is as though as my brother”, Papyrus DOES have Gaster blasters it's pretty much canon even if a lot of people ignore it, Papyrus is very very smart he has a LOT of books, knowledge on many subjects, building stuff, and even made a shakespeare reference when he died (why is he like this lmao), he's the character with the most dialogue in game yet we don't know a lot of stuff about him, he breaks the laws of physics and of the game, he's not in deltarune the heavily Gaster connected game.

Now that's some of the things I could think about, and look, yeah I'm probably looking too much into it and these are all just coincidences and the weird Papyrus things are related to other stuff maybe not Gaster. But I still like this theory, not because I think it's real but because I LOVE the possibilites!!!

About how this AU works

Okay, so this au is basically a -pretend this theory is real and how would the undertale timeline work then!- We're giving Papyrus his backstory and I'm also making a Gaster focused story at the same time.

I will adapt basically how I think a situations like this would play out (and also add some of my other favorite ut theories as a treat)

Papyrus used to be Wingdings and then Wingdings shattered across time and space, Papyrus and Gaster are different separate people.

Actually I kind of, treat WIngdings before and after accident as different people also... you change a lot when you become an omnipresent being. So, Wingdings, Gaster and Papyrus I treat them all as different people.

"How did Gaster become Papyrus?"

He didn't "become" Papyrus just like that. After he shattered he stopped existing like he was before, he became a being in another layer of the game but physically his body was just there

I based this on how the goners and Gaster followers have counterparts that are not, uh, goners that look different or deformed and gray

Papyrus was just kind af an empty shell at first, he still kept parts of Wingdings original personality but his Papyrus personality developed on his own with time!

"How did Gaster shatter across time and space?"

Usually everyone agrees it was because he fell into the CORE

About similar content

Not here! I don't think the CORE caused his accident, it is a power source not a time and space altering machine. In this story it was some other thing he was working on, and it wasn't so much of an accident per se

If you have more questions you can check the frequently asked questions post or send me an ask <3!!

I've seen some people tell me this is a good idea for an AU and I agree!! I love this idea so much, but as I said before I didn't create this concept or theory I just love it a lot!! and was desperate for content wich I surprisingly did not found much of

I was so surprised, I really thought there would be more people that made this before but I couldn't find much, so I'm just making it myself and one of my goals is to maybe make other people like this idea and make their own takes on it !! cause i think it's neat and would love more perspectives and content

If you by any chance also like this concept as much as I do I just wanted to make this section to name some inspirations for this AU

First, you all should really see "I know that I know nothing" by linssins

It's because of this comic that I discovered that theory in the first place and really loved the concept. It's my main inspiration, unfortunately the comic is unfinished. If you see it you will definitely see how I took inspiration... Still my story and this au is a different take on the theory, it goes on a different path.

Also another inspiration for finding more stuff about the theory were

@askthesciencesquad This comic is paused but it's also a Papyrus!Gaster comic! and I was very happy to find it, it is also a very different take on the concept but I liked where it was going. The same person also has this other blog where they put a lot of Papyrus is gaster stuff :0 @deviodofmeat

Okay so that's it, maybe I missed some stuff? but if I remeber i'll just add it later, that's what's good about tumblr.

[sitp-recs]

Hello!! Thank you for this blog really its been so lovely reading fics from the master list I've discovered drarry because of you! My favorite "trope" so far is draco who's struggling a lot but manages to preservere and even find humour in the worst situations. I find his character that way truly inspiring. Do some fics like that come to mind? I'd love to hear your recommendations and to read more fics like this

Hi anon! Welcome to Drarry, I’m so happy to see you enjoying the lists 💜 I love a struggling Draco who’s still proud and snarky and a little shit, that’s such a great take on the trope! Here are some recs focused on Draco’s resilience and perseverance. You can also check GallaPlacidia’s archive, who usually explores this trope in a sweet and light-hearted way. And if I can add something on the angstier side, Take A Chance On Me by @mintawasalreadytaken and Winner Takes It All by @skeptiquewrites are two underrated masterpieces among my top favorite down & out Draco fics. I’ll come back to add more titles as they come to mind. Enjoy!

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)

Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.

The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by whiskyandwildflowers (E, 13k)

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."

Open For Repairs by @drarrytrash (M, 35k)

After the war, Draco works at a tv repair shop and Harry breaks things.

The Vanishing Department by @dictacontrion (E, 47k)

The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, even if that involves a lot more form-filling, bickering, covert glancing, miscommunication, and flying furniture than we might expect.

Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 47k)

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.” “What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 77k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy by DorthyAnn (E, WIP)

Draco lost his home and the only society he knew after the war. He ended up living in the muggle world, making new friends and new connections and maybe some sort of peace. Even if that peace was usually found at the bottom of a bottle. It was enough for him. He was content to just exist. Then Harry Potter decided to ruin everything.

[wisteriainslumber]

baby twst headcanons

happy mothers day, have some disorganized tiny shenanigans feat. the twst women warnings: ch7 spoilers for draconia family members, siblings lying for fun (borderline malicious behaviour), foul language, and maybe a teensybitoftraumaoopsies

Riddle

if he could, he'd be an outside kid with tons of bug friends

secretly kept a caterpillar pet in a lil terrarium jar until it could fly on its own

he found it while it was raining outside and wanted to help it grow :(

my guy was a sickly victorian child

rarely would three months go by without riddle falling ill

he has dyslexia. without the pressure of having to get everything right on the first try, riddle can kinda enjoy reading now because he gets to learn new words and concepts at his own pace

deep in the corner of his room sits a journal with only half if it filled out. most of the entries start like 'i read a new book today' immediately followed by something like 'i do not understand life'

he actually can't bear to read the contents of the more recent diaries, but he equally can't bear to throw them away (not until he can send his younger self a letter that it will all be okay)

his only connection to other people his age were trey and che'nya

and on the occasions where trey was absent che'nya would 'teach riddle about the queendom of roses'

most of the time he fed him lies and riddle believed him

and most of the time riddle would yell at che'nya for being confusing and not clear enough

you can't just tell him that the hat man haunts him at night then reply with "what hat man?" when riddle asks for clarification

like !!! the hat man you just told him about !! (which gets him a reply of "who told you about?" damn you che'nya)

his favourite childhood memory was going out with them to get matching pins together

he still wears his little crown pin today!!

cats would frequently perch on his windowsill and riddle likes to watch them lounge in the sun and wonder what cats think about

(che'nya claims to know but riddle has never seen the beastman talk to a single cat)

but kitty-speak was riddle's first learned animal linguistic. he would practice by talking to the regular cat by the window

it stopped showing up for a while and then came back with four kittens and riddle smuggled them for a good... three anxiety-riddled hours before telling the cat their babies will be well taken care of with che'nya instead

riddle may had to give up those kittens that day but owning a pet cat will be in his future soon. #manifest

Trey

it was a massive game of follow the leader in the clover household

when mama clover was carrying flour over to the patisserie, you'll see the mini clovers carrying small bowls and utensils to help

easy bake oven user

but he was ass at it

legend says his unique magic manifested at age 10 when it was mommas birthday and he baked a really shitty cookie, so he prayed to the queen that his mum would think it tasted nice and it did :D

his siblings took a bite out of the rest of the batch and wretched very dramatically

had his hands full trying to convince che'nya to not eat the glass he found on the sidewalk because it 'looks crunchy'

in fact, whenever talking to adults, trey never refers to che'nya by his nickname but his entire full name. he just wants you to know!! also che'nya is a nickname for friends and family >:(

trey's room has always been free reign for his other siblings, they treat it like a common room

why? mostly because they don't have permission to do anything fun without supervision but big brother trey can to be their supervision :)) right :)))

the clover household is no longer shocked by che'nyas abrupt presence in their house. he seems to favour a certain corner of the house and most of the material on trey's bed

theres usually an extra set of utensils by their table in case che'nya appears. there used to be two extra sets but.. you know🫠

his siblings started a game of hiding as many rubber ducks in trey's room without him noticing

but after they permanently clogged the pipes of the toilet with their duckies, they switched to ugly stickers all over trey's bicycle

howEVER, it happens to be their bicycle now because trey outgrew it and had to get a new one. have fun cleaning the stickers :D

unofficial designated seats at the table and in the family car. real fights have broken out over the siblings because of these spots

still fears basketballs to this day because his brother threw one and trey happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and he woke up with the wrong accent. oh, and a concussion

Cater

all brands but barbie was ruined for caycay

his sisters used him as a mannequin to practice makeup

he had extremely elaborate revenge plans to pin them on the other sister but would get his ass whooped if he was caught

of course, that never stopped him from being extremely crafty to get out of trouble :)

referring to himself in third person cutely was a learned behaviour for survival™

it never worked in his household but it surely worked with other kids his age

collecting pity points but at what cost

had a girlfriend on club penguin for two months and got publicly dumped on club penguin

banned from club penguin because he wouldnt leave her alone and she reported him

sold off his sisters rainbow looms

those kids that are cognitively gifted such as he thought the people in the tv were trapped in there and then asked his mom if they were also in a tv and trapped

whenever dad worked in the office, cater would sit in the big boss chair and 'help', which meant that he was sorting coins and bills based off colour

he also told his dad to wash the money because it looked dirty on the corners

whenever he and his sisters played together, they'd tried to open the compartments of their toys and cater had so much fun with the screwdriver and taking stuff apart

also owned a joint notebook with his sisters. there would be things like poems, drawings, and the hair of ruined barbie dolls taped inside

cater has his own journal though, and he composes very emo poems in there. all written in glitter gel pen. cater would later look back on these and cringe but the more you read, the more you kinda get into it. it is a tad bit profound... for an eight year old, that is

Ace

demented ass doll player

his version of fun was making his dolls de-limb each other and throw them into a big pit to summon his darth vador figurine

whatever in-game ace is, that was his brother except he was significantly worse

my boy ace was the number 1 victim of big bro trappola

ate brown paint chips, which was 'chocolate' according to his brother

was locked inside the bathroom while his brother whispered bloody mary into the walls

sat through horror movies to prove he was a big boy and shit his pants when his brother recreated the jumpscares in the middle of the night

until he got a little older and started outsmarting him

now the trappola brothers team up to terrorize everyone else

its a competition for the brothers to compete over who can spoil the plot of which movie first

weaponized the slap bracelets

sucked milk out of plushies. no i will not elaborate

he's a jump rope champion! and it carries over to those skipper hoops as well

he does prefer the skipper hoops over the rope simply because there are um... ankle shattering consequences if you miss a jump, which meant it was perfect for sharing with the neighbourhood kids! gotta keep those stakes high, ya know?

tried to do a lot of magic tricks to impress papa trappola

made his brother take him to the amusement park and big bro got MAD tips because everyone thought ace was so cute, and quote unquote 'an angel'

like NO HES NOT???? if only big brother trappola knew ace picked up his charisma from him😭

Deuce

grew up with 80s movies, he thinks every that happens in those movies are true stories

he was always presented with old gadgets to 'fix' so its now something he can do pretty well; restoring old devices

the kids his age thought he was like wayyy too old fashioned, like born in the wrong generation

bike kid. if he wasnt inside he was on wheels

he kept a barbie doll in his bike basket and always made sure she wore her helmet (she was the bike guard)

slept with eggs and held them in his hands hoping to hatch a baby chick

thinks teachers live at the school

super sweet child. he's the first at the other kids' side if they got hurt

at the same time he is the biter kid. especially on fathers day

loves reading stories with grandma. whenever she came over, he would bring her a book

he'd also stick around the kitchen and try to see what she was doing. he thought that maybe he could learn to cook a few things by himself so they had more time together

in times like these he would be internally angry at his father because?? grandma is always working, mum is always working, fuck that guy specifically.

easter is his favourite holiday. his family have a tradition of egg painting and deuce used to hide caramel candies in them because grandma liked them

best helper kid around. will hold the dustpans and stuff while Dilah was sweeping

knew the names of all the trucks his mum drove and also a lot of the mechanical part names

had a habit of accidentally breaking things like clocks so he learned quickly how to fix them back up

his grandma takes him shopping for stamps so deuce can send mail to his house, addressed to his mum

Leona

parkour child

bounced all around the palace, climbing the trees outside and everything. gotta keep those claws sharp

before his father fell ill, the kingscholar family used to have lil picnics with Kifaji outside

without fail, leona would always find the highest seat or a nice sun rock to rest upon

unconsciously, even now, leona finds immense comfort in sun rocks

followed his brother around everywhere

when he couldn't catch up, Falena would give him piggy back rides while he was going about his day

asked him many questions bc hes curious about the world

would ask him difficult questions he already knew the answer to just to see Falena struggle lol

whenever tiny leona got tuckered out, his brother would carry him back to bed in lieu of the servants

leona insisted on sitting in the conference room with his dad to gain insight on how kingdom affairs were run

papa kingscholar agreed since it would be good exposure for them, and leona was the one who took notes, Falena would point out the participants at the table and quietly introduce them to leona

ruined the lives of people he played chess with. imagine being bested by a nine year old in chess. the shame.

after Falena got married, leona shifted his studies from maintaining amicable kingdom relationships to medicinal research and ancient curses

the palace staff thought it was out of malice, but leona wanted to focus more on the properties of magic now

(and also, well, based on the new target on his brother, his new sister-in-law, and his nephew, there can never be too many precautions..)

even when he was a tiny child he did whatever he fancied

his servants may have told him that tending to a servant's hair was below his stature but that only made him sneakier when making tiny braids in Kifaji's hair

git gud g

Ruggie

another crafty child

aye, when it depends on your survival, you learn to use those legs of yours to run like the wind

even worse he was a small ass child so he was hard to find

snuck into schools and pretended he could talk to ghosts and charged the kids a quarter to talk to a ghost for them

mental math god. from multiplication to geometry and time, ruggie knows the most efficient ways to get the job done, as well as a few backup plans

would sew up little felt dolls for his neighbourhood friends

left the house to do a bunch of odd jobs and picked up quite a few languages, which meant even more jobs all around, and now he has some pretty unique talents

like, he can preform acrobat tricks! and he can also paint a house upside down. oh, and he can travel quickly on one foot! (don't ask)

oh yeah, ruggie had a huge slime stand

he would make so much slime and sell it off and it made mad bucks but he also absolutely hated slime. what a good waste of detergent and glue, honestly... >:(

and people wanted them different colours and with charms and the like. at least it was a thriving market, but ruggie cannot stand the sight of slime ever since he retired from the slime scene

really liked rubiks cubes because it was like painting a little puzzle. also, when the children got bored of it, they would try to detach the squares and put them on the faces they desired

it was so funny to watch because they will use the oddest tools and tricks to dislodge the squares (like tying a shoelace around a square and trying to tug it off like you do with baby teeth)

ruggie also made lots of origami as seasonal decor :D his grandma really like the flowers and birds he would fashion

this IS canon but i want you to know that he would take the neighbourhood kids and rotate the group around houses in different costumes to get more halloween candy. everyone stan ruggie

Jack

he has younger siblings so his sense of justice was in his personality wayy back then

got to be an exemplar big bro for them💪

whenever they were playing castle, jack was always the princess because his sister wanted to be the heroic knight

if you asked jack, he would say that his sister only wanted to be the knight as an excuse to beat the shit out of his brother

wanted piercings but couldnt get them pierced so his sister gave him sticker earrings

they did not work nor stick very well but he loved him

let his siblings bite him, it seems to be their preferred mode of affection

sometimes they will wordlessly enter his room just to bite him and chill

often had playdates with vil when he was home

jack still doesn't quite know what the difference was between all these water brands vil was showing him but the spirit is there

oftentimes vil was alone in the house so the two played grown up and cooked by themselves

vil had told his dad that they were married because jack would come over and had sleepovers a lot

jack has a big green thumb. he wanted to plant a garden but he started with succulents first because they are notoriously hard to kill

by now he's ready to advance but every time he goes to get different plants, he comes back with more succulents haha

the plants under jack's care are happy enough to bloom flowers, and he gives them to his mama

if vil learned a spell, he would teach jack and vice versa. the BIGGEST supporters of each other. friendship is magic, guys

the first time they learned colour changing spells was an entire mess and vil was bawling in a panic by the end of it because they dyed Eric Venue's favourite couch bright blue and didn't know how to reverse it

jack wanted to call vil's dad to tell him but he ended up calling the wrong number and thought they were in trouble so he ended up bawling too

whenever vil wasn't in the class, no doubt jack is going to question his whereabouts

oddly, jack and neige have never interacted and only found out about vil being their mutual friend well into their teen years

Azul

like ruggie, was a master hider

unless he wants to be found, you will never find him

learned how to read earlier than kids his age because he wanted to prove he could spell big words to his mama

he may have cried a lot as a kid but do you know what that means? FREE black paint!! SUCK IT, PLEBS.

my boy was an astounding artiste, its why hes so creative with getting his way

azul is a visual learner, and always finished books a little slower because he REALLY analyzes all the pictures like downright dissects it

his grandma suggested art as a way to express himself while also making sense of the world around him

even though he thinks his old drawing of him and the twins is outdated in terms of his skill level now, he has a sentimental attachment to it and keeps it in his room always

trading trinkets was a common thing between the trio aka the twins would pop by

mama ashengrotto adored the twins bc they adored azul('s mom that is)

also inherited a beautiful singing voice from mama ashengrotto. he and his grandma would bond by playing the piano and singing. sometimes, they'd do a little show at his mom's restaurant

red hair was seen as very attractive in the coral sea and he very regrettably colour-magicked his hair

it was not the shade he wanted, but he was curious on what was, so with the many complex spells he learned at his age, he experimented with different lengths, colours, and styles until he restored it back to its original form

there remains one surviving picture of his red hair and it is kept in his stepdad's wallet (because its the only place azul wouldn't look!)

no azul is not aware pictures of his redhead era even exist

Jade

loved to weave necklaces and bracelets using shells and plants

gave a lot of necklaces made of sharks teeth to his family and azul because those are valued good luck charms!

it might also be because he loved to hunt sharks but he pretends thats not the reason :)

wandered off all the time and floyd always had to drag him back home before night

hes a curious boy, wanted to explore everything around him, especially the dangerous places

child leashes don't work in the sea but im sure mama and papa leech would have loved to have one anyway

was the main reason why he and his brother have separate rooms

too many petty "stop leaving your mess on my side (of the room)" and hissy fights had mama and papa leech mad

things definitely settled after they had separate rooms

sometimes if he got into trouble he would pretend he was floyd and sent his parents off to look for "jade"

highkey never worked but it never stopped him from trying

started a new method of using tears and his parents were more lenient with him after so he realized he can get away with things if he shed a few tears

he can cry on command and this is his primary weapon if scaring people off didnt work

will then pin it on the other party as if he didn't enable the fight

straight up told floyd lies growing up, that the pufferfish would crawl inside his ears when he sleeps, or that floyd was 'allergic' to seahorses, or that in order to get an angler mer to go away, floyd had to use bioluminescence

this carried over to land as well except jade didnt know whether his words were true or not he just straight up made things up

was also a very very sickly child. got ill extremely easily and is much more sensitive to temperature or water pressure changes

esp during pollen season? jade is gonna lose those lungs he just acquired from sneezing and coughing

Floyd

grade A hoarder

he sees something he likes? he's bringing it back home

unlike at NRC, the twins have separate rooms so the entire space is filled with a bunch of floyd's knickknacks (its why jade is always mad)

as soon as hes done playing with one he's found something else on his swims so his room is 80% things lying around

and when jade stole said knickknacks claiming it was his turn to play thats when floyd suddenly claimed that mermaid doll (that he highkey forgot existed) was his prized possession

back off jade thats his property😡

when he was younger, he loved looking and behaving exactly like jade, but as he got older he valued being his own person instead of an X2

is actually legitimately the older sibling by a few minutes and deliberately decides whether its his privilege or not whenever he can

but as soon as "because you're the oldest" is said he claims that none of them are older because they were born on the same day

to the outsider, it sounds like floyd is feeding jade a heap load of bs, but he likes gathering trivia and wording it so it *sounds* fake but really isnt

like that seahorses give birth via baby explosion

one exception to this rule is that floyd is constantly changing the story of how he met jade

one instance it was that they found each other, another was that some kid kept begging him for food and that later their mom said that was his sibling, other times, jade had allegedly died before floyd used his awesome magic to revive him

most of the time floyd tells jade that a whale shat him out and whatever came out of it looked so deformed and floyd thought jade was so soppy pathetic (in a cute way) so he brought him home

jade never tries to refute nor confirm any of these allegations but when the last story gets told he's always a little more passive aggressive with floyd that day

Kalim

sickly victorian child #2

its from all the poison attempts

and as a result he may or may not have tried mithraism so maybe its worse than we think😭

allergic as hell to bug bites too like someone please give them a electric racket

hide and seek is banned from the Asim household

at that point in his life, kalim had a good 6-7 siblings and letting them loose in a big household AND telling them to hide is a recipe for disaster

it was almost impossible for him to get in trouble too because no one was about to scold the heir of the house

workers of the Asim palace were absolutely not going to scold him and his parents had like fourteen other more rambunctious younger children

but don't be fooled, kalim is a very good seeker when it matters! he can spend hours focused on finding something important, so those hide and seek games were banned for a VERY good reason when kalim was out at night searching and didn't return the next morning (meaning he got childnapped)

oh, whats a little kidnapping but a minor setback? hes fine and in one piece, the doctor triple-checked! anyways, who's ready for another round of hide and seek??

every now and then, kalim falls victim to the good ole' midnight hour and kitchen scissors hair disaster. no, no one learns

the birds and random animals in the Asim park (that's right, his private park..) all have names and kalim visits them often to befriend them

he's learned around a total of eight languages and he will personally translate (with jamil as the scribe) his own books so he can teach his younger siblings

even remembers all their favourite hobbies, genres, activities, etc, etc

the Asim children all have one thing in common and that is their love for bubbles, but who doesn't?

kalim spends time in the nrc lab to create the perfect bubble solution with big, long lasting bubbles. trust.

remembers faces, names, and even birthdays very well. you can always bet on kalim to wish a servant or one of his tutors a happy birthday!

to kalim, having someone know your name and be happy to see you is very important! so he wants his loved ones, guests, and servants to feel appreciated, especially on their very special days :)

Jamil

has the immune system of god he has survived all of the flu seasons without catching it himself

he and kalim played in the bird houses often

taught the parrots a bunch of silly words and phrases

Najima taught one of the parrots to only refer to jamil as 'stinky'

he and Najima claim they look nothing alike even though kalim and everyone else insists its true

the two siblings fought over particular hairbands while sitting next to an entire selection of them💀

Najima loved to fight over things that jamil wanted first just for the victory

yeah, even in childhood jamil never got a break. as if the universe would give him that

we all heard the silly goofy story of jamil shuffling around under a vase thinking he was all sneaky and shit. he has many more stories like this

such as climbing in trees (he only got stuck twice!), wrapping himself in cloth and slithering on the ground (very conspicuous!!), again, draping himself in fabric and trying to blend in with the walls (with a 50% chance of success) etc, etc.

he is SO good at hiding and has so many secret spots around Asim palace, trust him.

Najima?? literally sent him a picture of curry for his birthday to celebrate. the two constantly send each other a bunch of pictures of random rocks, disfigured trash, and all sorts of unsavory things with the caption 'look its you'

while other servants were renovating Asim palace, they told the kids not to run around, because someone could crack their head if they fell off the ladder/the ladder fell on them

so, like the curious kids they were, jamil, Najima, kalim, and a few of his siblings camped around the construction zone waiting for someone's skull to break

its just morbid curiosity, they weren't wishing ill upon anyone

Vil

'don't carry me! i can walk by myself!' but in a way to convince his dad to pick him up

loved being carried around but would never admit to it

partook in many sweets as a kid even though he limits himself now

had a tradition with neige to make hot chocolate every thursday after school. in the warmer seasons, they switched to making their own fruit juice with the blender

from whole kiwis, to sweet potatoes, and ginger roots, it evolved to throwing random things in the machine to see what kind of funky juice would be made

our dear Eric Venue thinks this is so cute he has no problem with it as long as they dont waste food and clean up after. it would be a good habit to learn

plus vil looks so happy because he thinks operating a blender is such a grown up thing to do

1000% ate things he wasn't supposed to

the lipsmacker smelled so good though :(

when he failed a spelling bee and didnt want his papa to be disappointed in him the most logical thing in his seven year old mind was to eat the test

ripped it up and munch munched on the paper

and that had been his primary solution to bad grades until he was able to get in a good study technique (that, and his stomach rejecting the paper)

HORRENDOUS handwriting and it was because he tried to trick himself into being left-handed for a good portion of his life because the Beautiful Queen was left-handed >:(

also had trouble with enunciation from learning very big words. Eric can understand him but a bit of speech therapy and musical training helped

(if you're lucky, you'll still hear hints of it when vil's extremely sleepy)

often made friendship bracelets with, like, no one to give them to

traded a few with jack because vil taught him how to make them. jack thought that they would be a nice thing to give to the rest of his family, and made a few for vil in exchange

Rook

you think him crawling around on the dirt was a recent thing? hell no this was a learned childhood behaviour

he may not have had a bow back then but he had rocks and a will to play

and by will to play i mean he would pelt a lot of things with rocks

his old teachers had to placate him by teaching him how to skip stones on the lake for every one else's safety

only members of his own family were willing to play hide and seek with him

mostly because he is a terrifying seeker. you hide in the bushes and not two seconds later you hear those loud ass military grade boots stomping in your direction

ik no one wanted to play hide & seek with his ass. he only got worse after he developed his unique magic

helped paint his family's nails bc he had such a precise hand

its probably the nail polish fumes that made him this way. among 10 million other things

you know how kids would give each other cards and lolipops on valentines day?

well, on heart's day, rook would have drawn a picture of all his recipients and attach a cool leaf or flower to it

its very adorable and extremely thought out. his old recipients still think of him to this day (real)

rook had very nice penmanship even at a young age. he started by replicating his fathers handwriting and liked the flow of cursive and flair of a signature (rook has made a lot of personal signatures for himself)

had a wax stamp phase where he would dry out and collect a bunch of flowers and presses to make wax stamps

he still is crazy about wax stamps but now he can carve his OWN presses with his OWN knife 👍👍

made homemade twisttube videos at home with his siblings. they range from movie scene recreations, lip sync videos, or full on original scripts

be assured that the costumes, lighting, acting, and editing were rather top tier for their age, and it is because rook's family is exuberant like him (all cutie pies!!)

Epel

mud pie maker

he and the chickens in his village go wayyy back

didn't need animal linguistics to understand the clucks

uhh hey did anyone else have the experience of having pet chickens and then having them disappear and reappear on the dinner table??

im not saying it happened but im also not saying it didn't happen

he does brush his hair. the only reason he hates it when vil brushes his hair is that he feels like his scalp is getting scraped off

the only way to get epel to bathe was to use those three-in-ones because he would never sit still

those children that get dirty thirty minutes after you bathe them. sigh

overlined his lips with his ma's lipstick because ma used it to look nice before going to sell their produce, and epel wanted to help with sales this time. you can probably guess what happened after

the dislike for cosmetics is lifelong

(he did apologize by picking a handful of dandelions for his ma)

adrenaline junkie through and through. as soon as his legs were long enough to touch the pedal, he'd be operating the forklifts and in no way was it safe or responsible

fed the birds with seeds meant for their garden. they were hungry :(

fiddled around with the stray instruments on rainy days, now he can play in perfect harmony during celebrations with his relatives

epel has perfect pitch. destined for pomefiore all along <3

epel did not fear bees. he has potential for being a beekeeper but he didn't want to wear the bee suit

learned how to read and write very early in because he wanted to help out around the village. epel put checkmarks to confirm shipments and things

a bunch of his drawings are hung around the home

'helped' his grandma Marja knit by using the needle to stab the ball of yarn she needs to hand it to her

Idia

banning him from anything was impossible

locking your kids away from the cookie jar would work for anyone but idia. and not for the spiteful reason you think

makes him want to do it more because its interesting enough to stimulate his genius little brain

at that point he doesn't even want the cookie anymore

doing mental gymnastics to exploit loopholes. having a remote controlled airplane fetch him a cookie isn't going against his parents' word because technically he never touched the jar at all

which leads to extremely specific rules established in the shroud household

some notable ones include "severed limbs are only allowed in the staff freezers on halloween" and "no hacking the automated showers to chase down staff member C for thinking Premo are cuter than ortho"

his minecraft boyfriend broke up with him after they built their house together

it doesnt end there though, it never does. ortho took control of the pc to burn down the house and idia also got them banned. never underestimate the rage and revenge spirit of a child scorned

you know that thing about a devil and an angel on the shoulders? well, ortho was 90% the enabler for Bad Behaviour

and mostly because if idia was thinking of doing something, chances are, ortho was already doing said something

the S.T.Y.X staff often with the brothers were usually roped into playing video games and were happy to listen to whatever the boys felt like talking about

idia would bring new inventions to them and play a guessing game of what they think the function was

ortho stunk really bad at building things from scratch, but he was pretty good at memorizing the names of the parts to help idia

idia would ask the staff to take them to the observatory often. they would learn all about the constellations and idia liked to chart how they changed through the seasons

Ortho

his parents mostly had him because idia always got too creative when he was bored and thought having a new baby in the family would help idia fix up his behaviour, you know, be a good role model for ortho and all

... turns out, ortho would be pulling idia into all sorts of mischief. and worst of all, he ALWAYS GOT AWAY WITH IT.

he is tiny but mighty

lots of attitude in this little body

his favourite word was 'why'

him and idia had new nicknames for each other all the time

some of the time they were just kid things, most of the time they were a prize

whoever clears the extreme level with the highest score gets to make the other call him a nickname of their choosing

his received nicknames included such like "cosmic warrior", "lord of the shadow realm", and "the almighty" (when he beats idia's high score... after 5 losses in a row that is)

has no problem hacking the main S.T.Y.X system then blaming it on the employees for having weak security (some bs like 'im six and managed to break into the most secure network')

im sorry but i can't deny it. yes, ortho is an ipad kid and yes his ipad was disgusting

except ortho actually does listen to cyber security and he didn't have the passcode lock, he had the password lock, and it was changed every other week

(idia has accidentally locked the ipad on several occasions trying to guess the overly complicated password)

insane attachment in the sense that he will make up some bs reason (AND a forged research paper to further solidify it) on why he can't be separated from idia

if he were actually surrounded by children his age, just know ortho would've been the biter kid

weaponizes his cuteness just like jade but in a more ^^🌸 way

in these cases he will only refer to himself in third person because it pulls the most heartstrings

tugging on idias sleeves and telling him "ortho wants a cookie" had yielded better results for him than "i want a cookie"

and ortho is nothing if not a very smart boy

Malleus

fully believed that eating the seeds of watermelons would cause one to grow in your stomach

grandma Malificia found it too funny to correct him and to this day malleus still believes it

1/2 contributor to lilia's hairstyle. whenever lilia tried to make him take his bath he would spit fire

(until lilia let him play with the bubbles that was)

when he was a little kid and knew he was in trouble, he would hide in all sorts of places and pout

except he sucked at it. his hiding skill was between "if i dont see you, you cant see me", or his tail would be poking out behind the couches

usually the servants would turn the other way unless it was an emergency. because if malleus was found by anyone but the Queen or lilia, he'd have a toddler tantrum (he thinks they gave up on him)

spent most of his early days finding comfy nesting places or hunting for shiny things. there was nothing but Instinct in his little noggin until he could transform into a bi-pedal form

every day, without fail, he would get his horns stuck in something and throw a fit over it

testiest kid to ever test. when you tell mal he can't do something he'll do it bc he wants to understand why he can't do it

wanted to help grow the roses in his garden faster by summoning a thunderstorm that lasted three days and three nights

whatever tantrums you think malleus throws now are the most mild ones in his entire life

a younger malleus would summon entire hurricanes unknowingly and he would screech and babble in old fae tongue

a non-briar valley resident could easily mistake this for a demon summoning, but this is a normal tuesday in the palace

TRUST, malleus' temper is the tamest ever in the entire draconia lineage

the palace staff actually thank the witch of thorns for her mercy because this tantrum only burnt the entire east wing of the castle to the ground. the young prince is so tame !!

Lilia

straight out of a horror movie, this one

has the long dark hair and only wore long white dresses to really complete the look

loves walking around bare foot to connect with nature. that dress will be smeared with mud, fur, and berry juice (that were always red or purple tones, to everyones horror)

you all have lilia to thank for the inspiration to this horror trope

im talking wandering around in the dark, glowing magenta eyes, which appear red at times

sits SO still when its story time and the story is ancient curses and tomes

was also the kid that claimed they had a ghost friend and that his peers were being mean to "billy"

and no his family was probably the exact same way tbh

the fae are sturdy and lilia went without supervision for days

its quite a normal thing in his household

lilia would be fighting real ass ghosts in diapers and his mom would be cheering him on

the streaks are not from a goth phase but it was more of a 'the fruit juice in cranberries make really nice paint did you know??'

he also really loves tomato juice and it happens to be pretty too, so, why not?

it was originally red streaks but faded and he liked the pink better

one day he packed his bags and told his parents he was going to live in the afterglow savanna and his mom straight up joined him in packing

i like to believe that lilia did have edible food as a child but the army just ruined his tastebuds for Ever bc at that point, food was only a substance needed to live, it didn't have to be enjoyable

yeah, anyway it would be super funny if lilia's parents were good chefs, but lilia legit cannot tell the different between salt, flour, and white glitter

lilia was scooped up by Malificia mostly for his skill but it really turned out to be a glorified playdate for Meleanor

the princess was a mENACE and lilia could take her thunderbolts a bit better than the rest of her servants

(meaning that lilia was the only one that wouldn't be screaming bloody murder, he just would be hella mad and Meleanor thinks his audacity is funny)

Silver

lilias method of feeding him was waterboarding him with milk and that does not come without consequences

although lilia would go out often, its safe to say that silver was never really 'alone'

lilia would have a magical beacon on him at all times even if mal was babysitting, and he appreciates that the wildlife took a liking to silver

speaking of, silver had no concept of stranger danger no matter how much lilia told him so

every time malleus would come over silver would ask him to play murder mystery with his dolls

his first word was an attempt at malleus' name

they played together a lot it was really inevitable

helps worms and snails when it rains by helping them get under tree stumps or grass

played with axes & garden shears (thanks lilia)

2/2 contributor to lilia's hairstyle. and by that i mean he gave lilia a haircut with garden shears (that lilia fully encouraged so silver could 'build his repertoire of skills')

at this point lilias hair length was more of a liability since his sons loved to tug on it and one had a penchant for burning it

take your eyes off silver for one second and he's gone. he saw an ant, a bird, a cool statue, etc etc

loved all the fairytales lilia read him and always asked to be read the ones where true love reigned

him and malleus ran off together (more like mal whisked silver away) everywhere to play and explore

mal loved to show silver the most random things and he would always speak to him like a grown up

would often protest at the end of the day because he didn't want to part ways with him

their earlier conversations looked like mal was listening to silver say something profound even though all silver could do at the time was babble in toddler language with the occasional 'tar-tar' (no one knows what this is but malleus insists that silver is telling him he's hungry)

Sebek

beat the shit out of rocks with sticks

in the colder seasons, and and silver would find rocks or big ice pieces to smash on the ground

poor dude grew up confused as heck. lilia tells him lots of things, and he goes home and his parents tell him a different thing

complained about going to the dentist so much that now silver knows so much about the teeth structure of fae

his siblings love him so much, they're always doting on him and pinching his cheeks and that's why his smiles are so big and nice (real)

refused to eat anything on a fork. he hated the taste of metal

much preferred to use chopsticks. learned because he was a Big Boy now (he is one) and can help himself!!!!

unexplainable hatred for felt fabric. he used to melt all of his felt puppets in the water

him and silver dug a hole in lilia's backyard thinking they could make it to the shaftlands

they didn't make it to the shaftlands, but they dug too close to the river, so the hole filled up with water

and while silver panicked, sebek straight up burst into tears thinking the hole was going to drain the river

also burst into tears one halloween where lilia was dressed up and claimed he was the river spirit and didn't know anyone named sebek

ate a dog treat at some point but silver and malleus also joined him (not before malleus trolled sebek by saying he's going to turn into a dog now)

sebek was so distressed that he dragged malleus into it that he questioned his entire life because he loved playing with sticks. did he eat a dog treat earlier in his life???

when questioned, sebek told silver he didn't need to worry about the dog treat because he already drank milk like a puppy anyways (referencing the milk waterboarding, of course)

anyways, this incident ended in a stick-sword fight and malleus got a bonk on the head from lilia for his instigating

this is where sebek learned it btw. silver developed a thick skull because sebek is ALWAYS bonking him on the head for not knowing things he deems 'everyone should know'

taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @bigmoose1964

[sapphicmsmarvel]

acotar x reader: one day at a time

Tw for death: 

Reader loses somebody and their friends are there to pick up the pieces. A lil sprinkle sprinkle of az x reader bc that's MY BABYYYY

Lotsssssss of acts of service within the group. 

Also bc im a petty asshole i included a snippet of one of my racist aunts who said some wild shit to me at MY SISTERS FUNERAL and just basically dissing her. (literally why would you stare at my poc best friend who's just trying to support me. This bitch stared at MY GIRL?? MY BESTIE???? NUH UH NOT ON MY WATCH BITCH). 

Said best friend was just like “she’s never seen a brown person before marie it's fine.” 

NO ITS NOT. IDC IF THIS IS MY SISTERS FUNERAL WE’LL MAKE IT A DOUBLE FUNERAL. 

I'm petty. 

soooo this is born out of grief for my sister. My sister passed away on 03/11/21 and this is very much catered to my grief and these are my comfort characters so naturally i'm gonna write about them when it comes to helping their loved one grieve. 

and yeah this is gonna be based around the reader's sister dying. what can i say. I'm on brand. 

also reader is feyres childhood friend that got turned into a fae with nesta and elain. i feel like that’s just the staple with my fics. 

---------

When you got notified of your sister's death, it was actually a pretty good day up until that point. Sunny day with clouds, a wonderful brunch date with Mor, adorable children at the studio with Feyre. Afterwards, the two of you began walking back to Feyre’s, content on playing with Nyx for the evening before retiring to your own home. When you walked up, Feyre looked at you and told you about how the Inner Circle were having a meeting inside the office. So you two quickly joined them. 

When you walked in, Rhysand held out a letter, “this was a letter delivered to you.” 

You made a face and grabbed it, “okay, so why are you all staring at me like that?” 

“This person walked into the Spring Court and dropped it on Tamlins doorstep.” Cassian said. “They dropped it in the middle of night, just when he wasn’t prowling like a creep.” 

“What the fuck?” You asked as you analyzed it. 

No name but yours and a pisspoor address. 

Lady Y/N L/N

Night Court

“We didn’t know if it was a…” Azriel trailed off, realizing how silly what he was about to say was. “Hence, why all of us are here.”

“We’re also just nosey.” Mor shrugged, her nose wrinkling. 

You snorted, and tore into it, “you could’ve opened it.” 

“It’s your mail. We may be protective bastards but you still have a right to privacy.” Rhysand drawled. 

Feyre stood next to you as you pulled out the paper, your eyes tracing over it. 

“It’s from my dad.” You said recognizing his handwriting. 

Then, it all went to shit. 

Your big sister was dead, the woman you fought with a lot of the time but yet would take a beating for. Your big sister who helped guide you through life, who would always be there even if she was pissed off at you for some inane reason.

Gone.

You just froze, not knowing what to do. You’re pretty sure Az asked you a question, then Cass, then Rhys. Then you felt Feyre’s hand on your shoulder. 

I need to leave. 

I need to go before I hurt someone. 

You just wordlessly handed the letter to her and winnowed away. 

You didn’t go to your apartment, you didn’t go to the townehouse, you didn’t go anywhere they would find you. 

You went to the middle of the forest. You just picked a random point to lose it.

And you did. 

You didn’t remember much of causing the damage. Only that you managed to stop when Azriel’s arms wrapped around you. You just kept screaming. “I know, I know. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” He said, his lips against your hair. 

His shadows wrapped around your hands, cool wind kissing away the raging inferno of your cuts. You collapsed, taking Azriel to the ground. 

He just held you as you sobbed. You felt his own tears hit your neck. He usually did a better job masking his emotions, but it was you crying, you who he had a deeper bond with. So he let his emotions run free.

“Y/N!” Feyre called into your mind. Your shields were down and you didn’t even notice.

“Az has me, i’m sorry I-” 

“Don’t apologize. I would’ve done worse if I found out…” Her voice trailed off. 

“I’m sorry I ran off.” 

“Do not apologize.” She said sternly, “After you and Az are done come back to the River House. You can sleep at our house tonight. Guest bed is currently being made up.” 

She left your mind before you could respond. You breathed in the smell of Az. 

Azriel brought you back to Feyre and Rhysand’s home. Rhys had trouble with touch, but never with you. He brought you into his arms instantly. You tried not to let the tears surface again, but it was quite hard when a brotherly kiss was pressed against your head. 

“We got you, Y/N.” He whispered against the crown of your head.

Nuala and Cerridwen made you your favorite food. Which prompted you to start crying again. The twins looked so panicked that it almost made you laugh. Elain made your favorite cookies, which again kept the tears going.

“I don’t know why I’m crying over this.” You said helplessly, you managed to laugh during that. 

Feyre and Elain hugged you from both sides. 

You retired to the guest bedroom, you found a pile of fluffy blankets and your favorite candy. As well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers with Mor’s handwriting scrawled on the note. Amren left you a bottle of your favorite wine too. 

Eventually, after some more tears, there was a knock at your door. You called out for them to come in but saw Nyx. 

The little guy was walking even more, speaking full sentences. It’s insane to you that he grew so fast but it has been 5 years since he was born. 

“Go on like we practiced.” You heard Feyre encourage from behind the door frame. 

“Hi, Auntie.” The little guy mumbled. Holding a glass of water. “I have something for you.” 

“Yeah buddy?” You smiled despite the shitty day. Your nephew made everything better. 

Rhysand walked in behind him, as did Feyre. Rhysand lifted him up onto the bed while Feyre handed you a cup of hot chocolate. 

You were just glad Nyx wasn’t holding the hot drink. 

“Here’s some wata.” He said, his small hands handing you the glass. 

“Oh thank you.” You said earnestly and took a sip. You set it on the table. Then you laid back down and faced him. “Just what I needed.” You were genuine. 

“Auntie, are you sad?” Both Feyre and Rhys froze at their sons question. Clearly, he was going off script. 

You sniffed, “yeah, Nyxie. I’m really sad.” 

“I love you.” His eyes were so big, so genuine. You were going to cry for a whole new reason. 

“I love you more.” 

“Nuh uh.” He said, as a typical toddler wanting to argue no matter what. 

You huffed a laugh and opened your arms. “Come here.” 

He crawled into your arms with no hesitation. You were careful of his little baby wings as you held him close to you. 

You loved this kid. 

Feyre settled in behind you on the bed, Rhysand joined on the other side with his son. 

They held you as you drifted off into a dreamless sleep, hoping to see your sister one last time. 

————————

When it came to planning the funeral, you had to go out to your family’s cottage to help. You said you could go alone, but frankly, good luck telling Nesta and the Valkyries to stay behind when one of their own is in pain. 

So when you saddled up to your family with three warriors behind you, they were scared a bit to say the least. 

Emerie held your hand during the funeral discussion as Nesta watched the director to make sure she wasn’t insensitive to you. Gwyn stood guard behind you. They were protectors, they were not gonna leave one of their girls to deal with this alone.

Eventually, the funeral was planned. The rest of your chosen family came out and surprised you. You sent a notice to them of when the funeral was and told them they didn’t need to come because you knew how busy they were. 

When they showed up on your family’s doorstep to surprise you, you started crying again. 

——-

The day of the funeral, it was the entire inner circle crammed into the living room of the cottage of your mortal family’s living space.  

You felt bad cramming two males with wings into that small space, especially with so many other people. But Cassian and Azriel assured you that there’s nowhere else they would be. 

You slept sharing a flimsy mattress with Elain, since the other two sisters were with their mates. But Feyre and Rhys slept close. So did Nesta and Cassian. Both women facing your general direction. 

Azriel did not sleep. He wanted to be there in case you woke up in tears again. 

Amren slept sitting up against a wall, she wouldn’t admit it but she wanted an eye on you. She only trusted hers. 

Mor was curled on the other side of you. You were sandwiched between her and Elain. 

Emerie and Gwyn slept down by your guys’ legs. Emerie’s head on Mor’s thigh. Gwyn hugging Elain legs in her sleep. 

Azriel chose not to mention what happened when your dad came downstairs in the middle of the night to check on you. 

It was as if he wasn’t sure if you’d really be there. He just lost one daughter, he didn’t want to lose another. 

He nodded at Azriel who nodded back. Assuring him that you weren’t going anywhere. That you always had people watching out for you.  

As everyone got ready, it was a somber moment. Elain did your hair, Mor did your makeup, Amren set out your jewelry and Feyre handled your clothes. They didn’t want you doing anything. 

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie let your nephew and niece play with their swords. It was the one thing they seemed interested in so they let them do it. 

Rhysand was currently trying to get your dad to accept a check from him and Feyre to pay for everything plus anything else your parents need during this time. Your father was refusing. Rhys spoke bluntly. “Your daughter is my family, please let me take care of her family.” 

Your dad didn’t. But Rhys hid the check in your dads night table. He felt yucky going into their room but did it to make sure they got the check. 

On the way to the funeral, Azriel had offered his arm for you to take, which you gratefully did. Rhysand got the door for you. Az led you in. The overprotective bat boys acted like your body guards, which you appreciated, however you couldn’t help but giggle a little bit at it. 

Nesta told you before the funeral to let her know if you wanted her to intervene to keep some relatives away. 

One of your (racist) aunts kept telling you how you’re responsible for your sister's kids. Then when she saw Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, Amren and Emerie, she just stared. Before you could intervene, Elain and Gwyn stood in front of them. 

You almost wacked her so hard it was going to be a double funeral. You had prepared them before that some relatives were racist. They didn’t give a rat's ass. 

Oh and then everyone in your party including you were Fae. That also did not help. 

Hence why you lived in Velaris, away from all the bigotry.

During the service, Feyre sat on one side of you, Amren on the other side. Feyre clutched your hand and Amren even held out her hand for you. She always had a soft spot for you. Mor’s makeup didn’t last long throughout the service which is why she did bare minimum on your face. 

Afterwards, you left pretty soon after the service was done. You just had to leave the building. You guys went to a pub in your funeral attire. Azriel sat next to you and Nesta on the other side. Rhys refused to let you pay. But you knew he was trying to get you riled up. It was working. 

He was incredibly happy to see the fire return to your eyes. 

At that moment, with your family, you knew you were going to be okay. 

Just have to take every day one step at a time.

[khunyuki]

"I've lived my life with blade and you always in my mind"

ᴍᴀɪɴ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ: 2.𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 you mean to me

Synopsis: Soshiro, who didn't notice just how much pressure Kagami was experiencing, felt extremely guilty. He thought he's been expressing his love for her clearly but it seems like it wasn't enough. So he better make sure his beloved fiancee will understand it all night long.

Pairing/s: Soshiro Hoshina x Fiancee!OC

Notes: This is the very first smut i've ever done in my entire writing career so please do enjoy you horny ppl. I already immediately apologize if it's inadequate cuz I don't usually write this genre huhu. ALWAYS ASK FOR CONSENT GUYSSS🫶

Warning/s: Minors below 18+ is NOT allowed,

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, NSFW

Masterlist: TOC, Previous, Next

↓↓↓ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AS THIS CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT ↓↓↓

"Why don't we go somewhere else first. So you can do it comfortably?"

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This wasn't the first time Kagami visited her fiance's apartment. It was a 2 bedroom with a kitchen, living room, and bathroom apartment that is wide yet cozy enough for the two of them. She remember helping him choose among other options until he picked this particular place, saying that it would fit the two of them perfectly and he was right.

She sat down the sofa in the living room after removing her sandals and his jacket while he immediately went to the kitchen to get some refreshments. It wasn't often that she come here despite having a duplicate key to the place but she could still see the things she left behind during her visits, decorating his place. It fills her with warmth to see him have a special place for her things and the thought of how domestic it was. To her, his apartment felt more like home than the household she's been brought up.

He handed her a glass of water before sitting to which she gladly drank as it reminded her of how parched her throat was. On his other hand was a cold compress for her bruised cheek that she had long forgotten about. He placed her in his arms so casually yet making sure she was comfortable with it. His right hand keeping the compress in place as the other was playing with her hair as they relaxed in each other's arms.

To be honest, she'd fall asleep at that moment with how safe and protected he made her feel. It was late and they could still talk about it tomorrow but she might lose her courage if she didn't talk now.

And so, she began to tell him everything. She started with her insecurities about herself, her struggles at not being able to keep up with expectations, how her family uses it against her, how they kept forcing her to quit work to get married and bear an heir, how she actually did give in her resignation letter but was rejected, to the what happened earlier this day when their engagement was almost cancelled.

Soshiro just listened and let her talk. All this time, his fiancee was struggling yet he never really did anything to help her with it before making him angry at himself. He felt guilty because she would always listen to his problems yet he just let her keep all of this to herself. He would clench his jaw in anger at her family whenever she vaguely mentions the punishments and the treatment they gave to her. He knew she was still keeping things to herself despite saying she'll tell him everything, he just didn't know the extent of it. Perhaps she keeps it to herself as she knew just how he'll storm in their residence to give them a taste of their own medicine once he learns about it, with how she squeezes his hands during the times he felt pissed off. Most of all, he just felt guilty.

He could hear it in her voice just how lonely it was for her to endure it all alone. While she may not be blaming him, he sure was blaming himself. He should've been braver and more straightforward when it comes to confessing his feelings. Because he could correlate everything to each other, how her emotions, her family's actions, and his response significantly affects her entire well-being.

He hates how she doesn't cry from the treatment she receives from her family but she cried when they told her to leave him. He hates how she cried when he told her he loves her as if his words were her whole world. He hates how she couldn't be happy and how she thinks that calling herself failure is a normal. He hates how she could be content with just him. He hates how he's one of the root causes of her problems.

When she could be happy and have all of the great things in the world. When he would gladly give her what she wants and punish those who hurt her. He wants her not to be content with the crumbs of affection she gets for she deserved even more than that. He just want her to think of herself first and foremost. Her wants her to love herself and think of her happiness rather than anyone else's as nothing will be able to take it away from her. He won't let anyone take anymore from her.

Hoshina Soshiro doesn't know what to do to help her and he hates it.

.

.

"So yeah... That's all of it"

Kagami ended her speech in a casual tone, contrasting the heavy contents she just told. She felt lighter now that she told him but her heart sank when she saw how grave his expression was. She took away the compress he was holding that was unfortunately the poor victim of his irritation and placed it on the table.

"Everything I told you, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault"

She faced him and placed her forehead onto his, closing her eyes with a mellow smile. He hates how even after all of that she's the one comforting him instead the other way around.

"I didn't tell you about this because I wanted you to be my therapist. I just want you to know what to expect if you still... want to be with me. I have a lot of problems and I never want to burden you with it. This engagement was something our families have decided and it's perfectly fine if you chose not to continue with it. It was just my selfishness that made me do this because I want to stay by your side... but if you want to leave then I... "

.

.

.

.

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↓↓↓ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AS THIS CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT ↓↓↓

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.

.

.

.

"I love you"

Soshiro said it firmly before kissing her on the lips. He put her in his lap, wrapping an arm on her waist and the other firmly on the back of her head. He kissed her with such passion as if to show just how much he loves her. Kagami was so surprised by his sudden action yet she still wrapped her arms around his neck and responded with the same amount of passion.

Soshiro slipped his tongue in her mouth and explored every nook and corner, battling with her own tongue and mixing their salivas. Kagami struggled to breathe at the intimacy and could feel herself getting weaker, letting him to do what he wants. She couldn't even move an inch since his hand was firmly placed on the back of her head.

She was feeling lightheaded with every second that passes by before he finally retreated to stare at her. The trail of saliva that hang between their tongue made her flustered as she recalled what they just did. She couldn't find any words as she gazed at him with a dazed expression.

"You're always so kind"

He moved his hands to her cheeks and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"So thoughtful"

Her right eye.

"So considerate of others"

Her left eye.

"So hardworking"

Her left cheek.

"And brave"

Her nose.

"You're always so understanding"

Her right cheek.

"So unselfish"

Her jaw.

"Yet so lovely"

Her chin.

"You're so beautiful"

He looked at her straight in the eye, his red eyes staring deep into her soul and pecked her lips. So tender, so gentle, in contrast to his passionate kiss from earlier.

His compliments are things he always says to her yet hearing it being said so lovingly like he was ingraining those words into her makes her so full. She couldn't stop her emotions as they fell down her eyes. His fingers wiping the tears away.

He leaned down once more and kissed her. This time it was slow and steady as he gently guided her body down the sofa. He trailed down her lips to her neck, his breath tickling her skin eliciting a sigh. His hands that had no longer to go reached for her own, interlocking their fingers.

"S-soshiro~"

His lips sucking and nipping on the skin leaving light marks. She couldn't help but call out his name as he keeps on doing so all over her neck. Her sense of touch has always been one of her most sensitive senses along her hearing so the combo of his gentle kisses, occasional licks and deliberate sucking was far too much. She couldn't keep gasps and moans nor could she keep her body from squirming under his touch.

The kimono she was wearing was loosening from all her squirming thus exposing her collarbones and the skin beneath it. The sight was enough to make Soshiro go crazy, as if her moans weren't taking a toll on his self control already. But not yet... He still has to shown her how precious she is...

He stopped his actions and looked her in the eyes to ask for consent. Giving her words of affirmations and comfort as he does.

"I can't even begin to know just how much pain and sadness you must've felt this whole time nor do I know what I can do to help you. But I promise to always stay by your side and be there when you need me."

"I want to show you just how precious you are... Will you let me?"

Touched by his affection and consideration, Kagami nodded her head. She may not believe in herself but she believes in his words. If it's him then she's fine with anything.

"Yes... I'm all yours"

She reached out to his head and brought them together in a kiss. He picked her up in his arms while maintaining contact and brought her to his bed. He only broke contact to place her gently on the bed, then topping her dazzled form.

"I love you, Kagami"

"I love you too, Soshiro"

He placed one more kiss on her lips then proceeded to untie the sash of her kimono. The hold that her clothes had on her body loosened and became non-existent as he threw the sash on the ground. There she was in her naked glory looking at him with eyes filled with innocence yet her body filled with seduction. He couldn't help but stare at the milky white skin that seemed to have never been touched by sunlight, riddled with faded scars from battle wounds and her past. He stopped himself from once again feeling the bubbling anger towards her family to focus on her only.

She tried cover herself after seeing the slight hesitance in his eyes but he stopped her from doing so.

"You're gorgeous"

Flustered from the new compliment, she stopped struggling but continues to squirm under his intense gaze. His red eyes seemingly memorizing her body in evey nooks and crannies. He looked at her mounds that weren't small nor big, just the perfect size for her physique. Her stomach that was so flat and sexy he couldn't help but caress it. He could see the abs hidden by her sleeper build whenever her muscles would tense and he couldn't help but trace it. Then down that was her womb covered by her purple underwear that was soaked wet from her continuous arousal. He couldn't help but lick his lips at how sexy it looked, feeling his own throbbing hard.

Her womb and stomach. If they were to have a baby then those two would be the most obvious place for it. He imagines her belly being swollen from the child they'll produce once he gives her his sperm. He traces that area, purposely slipping his fingers in the underwear and grazing her clit earning a gasp from her. Her thighs pressed so close to each other, he wanted to pry it open and...

"Soshiro, please stop staring already"

She looks so pretty and so sexy that he wonders how he got so lucky to have her. He wanted to touch her immediately, to make love and have babies but not yet. It's not the time yet.

"Tell me, Kagami. What do you want me to do?"

He leaned down to her ear and asked in a whisper. A wide smirk in his face at seeing the blood rush to it. She looked at him with a pout, her face filled with desperation due to his teasings. She bit her lips in hesitance.

"Please"

"Hmm?"

He mused, continuing to move his hands up and down her stomach, purposely grazing her breast with one while the other the place between her thighs.

"Please, Soshiro"

She gripped on his arm, pleading with her eyes. It was glistening from all the yearning and lust and he couldn't help but be captivated by it. He bit his own lips as he tried to resist but she makes it so hard for him to do so. Giving in, he once again devoured her lips participating in a battle of tongues. Then he moved down, licking and kissing her jaw to her neck then to her collarbones, kissing it and sucking on it. Both his hands now touching her breasts, squeezing it basking in how soft it was, with his finger pinching her nipples. His clothed knee finding its way between her legs and separating them as he presses it against her heat, grinding against it.

Kagami was a blubbering mess from how overstimulated she was. She's too sensitive to his touch, reacting to every little detail that she felt like her brain was a mush. She kept on calling out his name, moaning and gasping so desperately that he wonders how she'd react once they finally did it.

He traced a line with his tongue to the area between her breast after he finished placing hickeys on her collar. He kept on marking his way until he reached the peak of her left mound. With bated breath, he placed it in his mouth, sucking like a baby. His free hand now stroking her sides.

Kagami's eyes widened as she felt the soft, warm muscle on the bundle of nerves on her chest. As he kept on sucking on her nipple, biting it and circling around it after with his other hand massaging and pinching her abused nipple. The pleasure was too much as he keeps on stimulating her other areas that she could feel the knot of her stomach starting to come undone.

"So-ahh-shiro~ There's.. There's something coming out ahhh~ stop~"

When Soshiro heard that, he didn't stop but rather became more aggressive, his free hand foregoing her sides to touch the little bundle of nerves down there. He pressed on her clothed clit and circled around it with his thumb in a fast motion. That addition fastened the process to which she came with a loud moan. He stopped what he's doing to give her some time to rest and seeing her wasted expression boosted his ego. She was still recovering from her high, panting hard when he said...

"We're not done yet"

She glanced down at him to see him place wet kisses on her stomach. She didn't notice it before but he was clearly touching and kissing on her scars tenderly. Even though it was already fading he still chooses to pay attention to it and that gave her butterflies. But as he went down a bit more, she gulped.

He was in between her legs placing a soft kiss on the hem of her underwear then leaning back to observe the soaked spot. Earlier, it was just a small spot but now it was soaked after cumming for the first time. He placed a little kiss on her clothed heat, specifically where it was soaked before proceeding to remove her panties. As soon as he saw it, he let out a gasp like a child finding a new favorite toy, she could see the excitement on his face. She hurriedly tried to close it but her body was still weak from all of that pleasure that she couldn't fight back from his hands.

His grip on her thighs was strong as he bit and sucked on her inner slowly going down again. Getting nearer and nearer her unclothed heat this time. His tongue giving it a long lick starting from her hole to her clit. He sat back up to show her his expression as he savored her juices, licking his lips at the end.

"Yum~"

He gave her a final smirk before burying himself down there once again, this time shamelessly lapping up all the juices she's producing. Her heart was beating so fast from embarrassment at his eagerness and teasing but she couldn't do anything as her body trembled from the pleasure. Her voice music to his ears knowing that he was the cause of this symphony. The nectar she was producing was so addicting that he couldn't help but come back for more. He needed more so he removed his hands from her thighs to let it rub her clit and the other place a finger in her hole.

She gasped at the unfamiliar sensation inside her, how his finger moved around in whatever motions trying to find something. He pumped it inside out slowly to gauge out her reactions. Glancing back at her face, he could see just how much his actions were affecting her so he went back in to further pleasure her. He just wanted to give her so much love y'know.

He added another finger, scissoring inside and curling making her moan even louder. His tongue joining in despite how tight it was getting. Of course he never forgot her bundle of joy. He is taking his sweet time as he wanted to find that sweet spot, the spot would elicit an even louder moan. He pumped in and out maintaining a pace moving it around until he finally finds that gummy area. He inserted another finger and went faster, hitting that same spot over and over again. Partnered with her clit being tortured by the fast paced circling and rubbing, it didn't take long for her to come again. She clenched his hair and almost strangled him with her thighs yet he still didn't stop as he rode her high.

"Too much! It's too much!"

She could feel her hips trembling so hard yet he hasn't stopped at all, maintaining that fast paced pumping and wriggling, his thumb abusing her clit even further and his tongue lapping up everything.

She was seeing stars from the overstimulation, her eyes going to the back of her head as she kept of moaning, no longer able to form coherent sentences. She could feel another wave coming down, tilting her head back and arching her back, she released again.

Finally giving her mercy, Soshiro stopped it all at once. He removed his fingers from her heat and watched her body still trembling. He removed the restricting clothing that was now sticky from sweat in their workout. His pants unbuckled, freeing his member. It was throbbing red and physically hurting from the previous constriction. It was hard from arousal and has been leaking with precum since earlier wanting to finally have a release. He watched the woman he loves slowly recovering yet still out of her mind as he stroked his member, just watching her fucked out image was making it twitch and as he remembered her reactions from earlier, it didn't take long for him to pump out his own release.

Feeling something warm and sticky landing on her stomach, Kagami focused her eyes to see her fiance, now naked, touching his own member. She couldn't help but bite her lips at the sight, from how lean and muscular it was, even more so as she looked at his face full of concentration as he rode his high.

"You liking the sight?"

He asked her with a smirk, noticing her blatant oogling. It made her blush again before looking away, though she didn't hide her nod from him earning her a chuckle.

"Sorry I don't have a condom so..."

He completely removed his own clothing, proudly exhibiting his member. It was on the leaner side yet longer at around 6-7 inches. He was preparing to go and take care of his problem by himself.

"It's fine if we don't use one. I-I'm ready for it but if you aren't then I..."

She tried to sit up to go try and help him but was down again. She usually have a lot of strength and stamina yet this activity greatly consumes it all. He went to sit down beside her and hugged her, placing a kiss on her head.

"I'm also fine with it but are you sure?"

"Yeah though I... I can still try to help you with that"

Stuttering a bit about her offer, Kagami couldn't help but let out a shy look. Soshiro chuckled at her conviction and willingness to help but...

"Maybe next time"

They kissed each other passionately before he moved back on top of her and readied to position himself. They both know what this means are fully ready to accept what happens next. For now, they've got important matters to attend to.

Looking at each other in the eye, fingers interlocked together, he went inside. It was a complete different experience compared to earlier. Kagami could feel an even longer length than his fingers reaching far deeper into her hole, she let out a gasp from how it completely filled her up. Soshiro, though, had to give it his all not to immediately cum from how tight she was. He pressed his forehead on hers as his brows furrowed in deep concentration, letting out grunts. And when he finally got it all in, he waited for her signal before moving.

He started the pace slow and sensual, wanting their first time to be something special, to be making love and not just sex. He was going deep and accurately hitting her spot yet never changing the pace. Looking at each other in the eyes, giving out a smile despite the moaning and grunting. They were completely matching each other's movements, proof that they've known each other for a long time to know what to do next, despite this being their first time.

He would whisper to her sweet nothings, praises, and words of assurance. Rubbing her hand and bringing it up to kiss it. He's clearly proven to her just how much she means to him and it fills her with so much joy.

"I think i'm the happiest woman in the world right now"

With the tears falling down her eyes once more, never looking away from his, she thanked him to which he shook his head.

"You'll be the happiest forever, not just now"

He made her a promise, he said it with much certainty that she felt like it's true... She believe it to be true. They both share a laughter even as they both feel their orgasms coming closer.

"I love you, Soshiro"

"I love you too, Kagami"

With their lips pressed against each other, they moved their bodies in synchronicity getting more desperate after each stroke. Both wanting to reach their orgasms in a feral attempt, their feelings for each other so overflowing until finally... Finally, they came together, truly becoming one with each other. They ride their high together and stopped.

"I love you"

They looked at each other and let out another round of chuckles and giggles.

"Uzui Kagami, you are the loveliest woman I've ever met and I'm honored to be chosen to stay by your side"

"Hoshina Soshiro, you're the kindest man I've ever met and I'm thankful that you chose to stay by my side"

<- Previous Next ->

[pickingupmymercedes]

I'd like to believe - Lewis Hamilton

Alternative sequel to Maybe in another life / When I get to meet you

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: mentions of mourning, angst, will make you emotional

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Alternative-ish ending (this was actually my first draft to continue their story, so the happy-ish one is the alternative, sort of).

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

MILD TRIGGERING CONTENT UNDER, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

______________________________________________________________

My dearest little one,

Today marks ten years since you should have been here, celebrating another year of life. Ten times the snow has fallen, making everything quiet outside.

They say time heals all cuts, but some cuts go real deep, leaving scars that never quite go away. And I still find it hard to believe that a whole decade has passed.

You'd be so grown now, so full of life and curiosity, brimming with questions and dreams. I often wonder what you'd be like – would you have my stubbornness and determination, or your mother's grace and patience?

Maybe a beautiful blend of both, creating someone truly unique.

I’m going to visit your stone again later today. Leave this letter like every year. I suspect there’ll be fresh flowers, as always, probably from your mother.

She never forgets.

We never reconnected, not like I'd hoped for. But I think about her often.

I searched everywhere for her. I just really needed someone to share the pain with, someone to hold onto while everything fell apart. We tried talking, spilling out all our feelings, but the words wouldn't come out right. Maybe we were afraid of saying the wrong thing or making things worse.

Maybe we were both thinking the same thing – maybe if we'd done things differently, maybe you'd still be here.

After a while, the space between us just kept getting bigger, too big to cross. You see, your mom, she found a way to move on. She built a life for herself, a life where the pain was still there, but it didn't control her anymore.

I hope she's found peace and happiness, something she deserved more than anyone. She was an incredible woman, and I wish I had been the man she needed me to be.

I hope she reads these letters someday, that she understands how much I loved you both, how much I regret not being there when you needed me most.

Maybe one day, when the weight of these years starts to feel a little lighter, I can finally forgive myself.

Maybe then, I can find the strength to reach out to her, not to get back together, but to find some peace, a simple way to say thank you for the love we shared and sorry for the loss that tore us apart.

You know, life has changed quite a bit since I last wrote to you.

I'm with someone, have been for the past four years. She's patient, kind and knows about you. I don't think we'll ever have children though. She's got her own ghosts.

I retired from racing. Shortly after I won my eighth championship with Ferrari. It was a dream come true, but also bittersweet because I couldn't share it with you. I work as a consultant for the team now, just like Niki was for me at Mercedes. You’d have loved him.

It's a different kind of thrill, guiding the next generation of racers, helping them navigate the same challenges I once faced, but it drives me forward.

I’d like to believe you’d be proud of your old man for that.

I sometime wonder if you would have been drawn to racing too, or maybe you'd have found your passion in something entirely different. Whatever it might have been, I would have supported you every step of the way and with all my heart.

I think about the things you'd enjoy often; you know?! The hobbies and interests you'd develop.

Maybe you'd love music, like your mother. She had an incredible ear for it, always humming a tune or singing softly to herself. It’s what got us close in the first place so many years ago.

Perhaps you'd have a knack for building things, creating something out of nothing with your hands and imagination.

Either way, I hope you'd have found joy in the simple things, just like I try and do now.

There's so much I wish I could’ve shared with you. So many lessons I've learned the hard way and would to show you. Life isn't always easy, my little one. It's filled with ups and downs, triumphs and failures.

One of the most important things I wish I could’ve taught you is the value of love. Real love, the kind that fills your heart and soul, and is worth every bit of pain and sacrifice.

I had that with your mother, even if I didn't realize it at the time. She saw right through me, saw the man behind the driver, and loved me for who I was. I'd hope you'd find someone like that, someone who understands and loves you unconditionally.

It might hurt sometimes, but that's how you know it's real. Love isn't always easy, but it's the most beautiful thing.

I would want you to know that it's okay to make mistakes though. I made plenty, and each one taught me something valuable. The key is to learn from them, to grow and become a better person. But each moment, whether good or bad, shapes who you are.

I wish I could have been there to guide you through it all, to help you navigate the challenges and celebrate the victories. My motto has been “Still I Rise” for the longest time and if you wanted it could’ve been yours as well.

Life isn't about being perfect; it's about being true to yourself and striving to be the best version of you.

In the quieter moments I still dream about you, you know. In my dreams, you're a whirlwind of energy, your laughter filling the air. We go on adventures, explore the world together. I teach you what I know, and you teach me about everything else.

Those dreams are my sanctuary, a place where we can be together, even if just for a moment.

Sometimes, I catch myself talking to you out loud, as if you were right beside me. I tell you about my day, about the races, about the world. It might sound silly, but it brings me comfort. It's my way of keeping you close, of making sure you're never forgotten.

Even though we never got to meet, you are a part of me, and I carry you in my heart every day.

You are my greatest loss, but also my greatest gift. You've taught me more about love than anything else in this world.

Sometimes, under a sky full of stars, I imagine you up there with the constellations, looking down at me with curious eyes. And I need you to know that we love you still, deeply and unconditionally.

Ten years old. A whole person with your own personality, dreams, and wishes.

The world missed out on knowing you, and so did I.

But your memory, my precious child, it lives on. It lives on in the way I cherish every moment, every sunrise, every laugh shared with a friend. It lives on in the way I try to be a better person, kinder, someone who would have been a good dad to you.

This letter is my vow written down. A promise that even though you're not here, you'll never be forgotten.

Happy birthday, my sweet child. I hope, wherever you are, you're smiling, knowing that you are loved and cherished.

You are my light, my angel and a part of me. And though the path I walk may be lonely sometimes, I carry you and your mom with me in my heart, always.

With all the love that would have filled a lifetime.

Dad.

______________________________________________________________

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[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 3440

warning | brief mention of injuries / use of spanish phrases translated from the internet :( let me know if i'm wrong about anything! / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie 

note | not the proudest of my writing here. also, a disclaimer that the events in this fic will deviate from canon haha

parts | one, two, three, four

"Uncle Aaron, I think we forgot to get detergent."

"You forgot to get detergent. I didn't forget nothing."

Miles's shoulders slumped in distaste. His frown mirrored the quiet complaints he spilled out of his mouth as his fingers tugged at the grocery bags dangling on them. He must have been delirious to still forget an item written on a piece of paper and to think the word 'detergent' wasn't even crossed out on the grocery list his mother gave him. It wouldn't be too big of a deal, but he imagined his mother would be mumbling about it as she set the table for dinner. 

The doorknob fumbled a bit before the door swung open. The brightness in your eyes dimmed upon seeing Uncle Aaron's furrowed brows, which reminded you of the cautionary tale he kept retiring about being aware of opening doors to unknown knocks in case of danger. You still had difficulty getting used to a dangerous Brooklyn because yours was bright and sunny, and it had its very own Spiderman. Miles had laughed when you told him about your Brooklyn, asking if there was a ranking for crime fighting bug of the week; Spiderman today, something like Ant-man tomorrow?

“If I’d been a serial killer–“

“Which you are not,” you sang with vague cheerfulness as you tried to take the groceries from his hand. 

“Hence the question being hypothetical–“

“Miles! You’re home!”

“Mi vida.” It was not audible. He opened his arms habitually and let you dive into his embrace. “How’s your day? Did you glitch?” 

You perked up from where you buried your face in his shoulder and examined the bracelet permanently latched around your wrist. Gwen was the one who put the finishing touches on it, and she was so excited about the product that she came over in the middle of the night to hand it to you. It has been about two weeks since you began wearing it, and you have not glitched once. You told Miles it should be safe to conclude that the bracelet worked, but he always asked for good measures anyway. 

“I helped around the house, as always,” you replied. Fixing the bracelet, you felt a soft magnetic pull against the tips of your fingers that touched the metal. You let go of it and rested your chin on Miles’s shoulder, sighing in contentment at the mere solidity of his body. “I didn’t glitch.”

Knowing that he was not being paid attention to, Aaron decided against scolding you for cutting him off twice. Instead, he rolled his eyes and turned to the kitchen, where Rio was shifting through a stack of sealed envelopes. He placed the groceries on the square table in the middle of the kitchen and smacked his teeth, looking pointedly at Rio as he nudged his head toward the apartment door.

Rio didn’t have to look to know you two were stuck in each other’s arms by the door. She smiled, shifting through the letters carefully with a shake of her head. “He is happy, Aaron.”

“Happy enough to cut me off my sentence,” he scoffed before adding, “twice.”

“I’m sure they will apologize if you say something,” she mused. “Especially [Name]. They’re a good kid.”

Aaron’s eye twitched in dismay. Rio was right—you were a good kid. He couldn’t hate you enough to delude himself into believing otherwise, and of course, he didn’t actually hate you. Besides the apparent naivety he suspected came from living in a safe Brooklyn, nothing about you was blatantly dislikable. You were helpful, albeit not the brightest learner. You listened well, which could be a product of being in another’s hospitality. And, most importantly, you were Miles’s safe place. For the first time in years, Aaron could see his nephew find time to be the teenager he was supposed to be. You practically breathed life into him, which worried Aaron the most.

You were a second chance that Miles was unwilling to let go of, but whether you return to your Earth was not his decision. What would happen to him when you leave? You would destroy him. 

“I got the groceries, Mrs. Morales!”

Rio dropped the envelope in her hand and smiled upon your arrival. "Mi amorcito!" 

You tilted your head with a thoughtful grin after you put the grocery bag next to all the things Uncle Aaron had taken out of the one he was holding. When Rio flashed you a questioning look, you shrugged. "Miles called me that before. I didn't know what it meant."

A choked-out cough sounded from behind all three of you, and standing by the kitchen sink was Miles, gripping the edge of the sink and coughing out the water that ran down the wrong pipe. Rio covered her teasing smile with a hand, but her shoulder moved to the gentle beats of her lighthearted chuckles. Aaron stared at his panicking nephew, a tinge of judgemental pity laced in his eyes. 

Slamming his fist to his chest, Miles swung around to glare between the three of you before his eyes landed on your curious face. “What are you talkin’ about?”

"When did he say that to you?" Rio asked. 

You rolled your eyes skyward. If you remember correctly, it was during the first few glitch attacks when you would break down from the sheer pressure of it. He had encouraged you to sleep with him on those nights, and you gladly accepted the offer. It was during one of those tearful nights, you believed. He had whispered it when he thought you were asleep, with teary hiccups still occupying your body's consciousness, and you remembered he had been stroking your hair to lull you to sleep. Everything about him was tender during those nights—his touch, voice, and presence. Unbeknownst to you, its cause was that he physically could not muster any energy when you suffered. 

"He must have thought I was sleeping," you said, then you looked sheepishly at Miles, who returned it with a sneer. “I wasn’t asleep yet.”

“Clearly,” he muttered. 

"I didn't take you for someone who would sneak into people's rooms when they're sleeping?" Aaron chimed in. 

“I didn’t!” Miles groaned in embarrassment. “They cry like hell whenever they glitch. What was I supposed to do?”

“I did cry like hell when I glitched,” you said in agreement as you turned around from the kitchen cabinet where you were stocking the cleaning supplies. “I was the one who looked for him, actually. I couldn’t fall asleep alone. The glitching was terrible.”

Aaron’s eyes darted between you both. Miles reached out for you, his arm moved boldly, but the tip of his finger that touched your shoulder to get your attention was timid and boyish. He exhaled when you smiled at him, and the faintest smirk only you could discern to be a curve of contentment grew on his face as you walked near him. You scrunched your nose into a tight-lipped smile when he muttered something only you could hear, likely giving an unnecessary explanation for his comment on you crying like hell. 

The rate you two could engage in your own world was almost admirable if Aaron wasn’t so cautious of Miles’s growing feelings for you. But watching as you two helped each other stock the kitchen cabinets, shoulders brushing and shoving playfully, he knew he couldn't do anything. 

"We forgot to get detergent."

Rio gasped. She glanced at the washing machine filled with dirty clothes waiting to be cleaned, one of which included her work uniform, and she sighed. She would have to wear the one she did on her last shift. “I guess I’ll make a run to the store after my shift ends,” she mumbled with a thoughtful hum. “Or I can do it later on the way to the bank. I needed to deposit something.”

“The bank closes at six,” Aaron said questioningly.

“They have a drop-off box that opens through the night. It’s super convenient,” she clarified with a finger snap. “I’ll just stop by briefly before my shift starts. I might forget tomorrow.”

“Your shift starts at twelve, right?”

“Yeah,” Rio nodded, “overnight.”

“You gonna eat dinner with us?”

“I will,” she nudged her head toward where you and Miles were bickering about the washed dishes, “if those two would step away from the stove so I can cook something!”

The two of you froze up at Rio’s demanding tone. Quickly organizing the knickknacks on the dish rack next to the stove, not forgetting to scoff at each other about storing the utensils, Miles ushered you out of the kitchen with his hands clamped over your shoulders. Uncle Aaron watched your backs disappear into Miles’s room, and he saw your ridiculous faces trying to hold back from laughing at what he could only assume was an inside joke, as nothing was amusing about this situation. He gulped—he couldn’t do anything about Miles’s feelings for you.

The only thing more dangerous than a teenage boy in love is the person he is in love with. Taking you out of the picture would do nothing but bring Miles out of the canvas with you, leaving two vacant spots once close together. If you left, you would destroy him, but more importantly, he wouldn't hesitate to follow you everywhere. If you jumped the universe, he would jump the universe. If you got stranded in purgatory, he would strand himself in limbo. If you went to Hell, he would go to Hell because, at some point, it stopped being a biblical state of eternal torture. At some point, Hell is not a place; Hell is just where you are. And Miles would follow you there, always. 

You jolted up with the television screen flashing at your face. Even in your sleep, your body subconsciously remembered there was something you need to do. Before Rio left for her shift, which was just a little after Miles and Uncle Aaron left for the occasional hangout, she gave you a sealed envelope to deposit into the bank mailbox because you insisted that you were going to head outside for a short walk of fresh air anyway, so you might as well help you with this tiny task. Except you fell asleep on the couch after getting ready and woke up at one o’clock in the morning.

Scanning the quiet apartment, it was easy to tell nobody had returned home yet. Rio wouldn’t be home until early in the morning; Miles tended to get home around two to three o’clock when he was off with Uncle Aaron doing who knows what. Leaning your head against the couch cushion, you drew a mental map of the path to the bank before closing your eyes. If you jogged, a round trip would take you roughly fifteen to twenty minutes. Not a problem! 

Sliding off the couch, you reached into your crossbody bag that was big enough for a phone to feel for the envelope Rio gave you. It was still in there. You zipped the bag and patted it twice for safety, then fixed your jacket sleeves in preparation for the chilling night breeze. Turning off the television and the living room lights as the last step, you grabbed the house key lying in a bowl with some loose change and left the apartment. 

Keeping up a light jog was easy under this cold weather and the dark streets. You liked walking at night, but you were never outside this late. There were no cars or people, much unlike the bustling morning you preferred much more. Uncle Aaron’s cautionary tale repeated in your head and increased your speed through the empty pedestrian road. The more you stayed outdoors, the more you thought it a bad idea to be outside at this dead time. 

“What? What is–what?” you muttered as you moved your body about. 

Glaring at you was the metal deposit box enclosed in the bank walls. It took you a hot minute to find it because it was behind a wall off the side of the building where the ATMs were. You thought it was a terrible design choice only because you couldn’t find it immediately; it would not have been if you managed to. The second hurdle came when you realized the handle to the mailbox wouldn’t budge. 

“How do you open this?” you laughed as you gave the handle another pull. When the metal texture began hurting your skin, you let go to loosen your jacket sleeve until it reached your palm so you could use the thick fabric as a shield. This time, you put a leg up on the wall to use it as leverage. You pulled again. Nothing happened. Huffing in dissatisfaction, you pointed at the mailbox as if it could understand you. “You’re really–mhm!”

The swift kick to the wall could be heard. Miles perked up to where the soft rummaging noise came from and squinted his eyes behind the prowler mask. He scanned the area carefully, looking for any signs of people to find none. He remained tense even as he dropped the matter—gritted teeth and clenched jaw over a bank heist only a few days in planning. He has done this many times before. Maybe not robbing a bank specifically, but criminal activities were no longer a stranger to him as they were. He would even say he enjoyed it; he liked being strong, and it was a source of easy money. However, the main reason why he turned to a life of crime was to distract himself from the death of his father and you. Now that you were here to repaint a corner of his world with colors again, being a prowler was losing its appeal. 

"Miles."

He snapped out of his trance at his uncle's impatient voice screeching through the earpiece, and cleared his throat. "Sorry. What's up?"

"What's up?" His uncle sounded incredulous. "Are the bombs set up?"

"Oh–uh, yeah." He peeked out from behind the bush to check out the blinking red light he set up at the foot of the gate. "They're all set up."

"And you? You got your head in the clouds just then.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Aaron,” Miles clarified with the kind of grit that would have gotten him in trouble usually. He took a deep breath. “Let’s detonate them so we can move on from here.”

The other end shuffled and scratched; its noise muffled the careless footsteps behind the ATM wall.

“Detonation in three….”

You pouted when you shoved the envelope in your bag, still mumbling about not finding an opening to the night deposit box. It was a good enough reason to give Rio tomorrow when she returned home from the hospital; that metal handle would not budge!

“Two…”

Miles perked up at the familiar figure trailing slowly by the bank entrance where he set a bomb device. His ears did not deceive him when he thought he heard footsteps somewhere, and neither was Uncle Aaron wrong about his head being in the clouds! Nobody should be out to the bank at this forsaken time, but his surprising lack of attention made him miss the slow walker—he tilted his head—a slow walker wearing a jacket he remembered he also owned.

You blew raspberries as you patted your bag twice for safety measures. When you looked up, you met eyes with a figure in a purple suit. His stance seemed agitated, and Miles was. He cursed under his breath when he recognized your face, his legs already bringing him out from hiding. What were you doing here? You should be at home!

“One.”

“Uncle Aaron, no!”

The ground shook under your feet, but what made you lose your balance was the impact of the sudden explosions that came in three—bang, bang, bang! The bank building was collapsing, or perhaps it was only in the process of being destroyed? You didn’t get a chance to see clearly. You could hear the alarm bells, though. It wasn’t the wailing kind; it was the kind that rang non-stop. 

Meeting with the ground was not an extraordinary experience for you, but it felt worse than being pushed in this case. Face planting on marble tiles was mentally more endurable than outdoor brick floors. At least you thought that way for now. A groan left your lips as your brain was overloaded with sensations; you absorbed too much, from the alarm noises to the growing pains at the bottom of your body. You groggily looked to where it came from and saw glass shards sticking to your legs through the fabric of the pants. Great. Turning away from them, you noticed your bracelet scratching up tiny sparks, and you couldn’t bring yourself to wonder if you’d broken it.

“Oh no–shit! No, no, no, ¿por qué estás aquí?” Miles unmasked himself, showing his anxiously darting eyes. His hands hovered over your body indecisively, but he felt his fingers inching toward your face where blood trickled down the side of your skin. Miles needed to look through your hair for the source. Curling his arm under your neck, he lifted you to his chest. “Oh no, oh no. Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento–no quise hacerlo.“

You stirred upon his voice phasing in and out of your muffled hearing. Even with the migraine, you could recognize his voice. He was spilling words you didn’t understand, but some of the vocabulary you knew he had said to you before. Mi cariño, mi corazon…mi vida—he whispered that to you today when he came home from school. He probably didn’t think you heard, but you did. You exhaled, then an exhausted whimper pushed itself out of your mouth when the breathing hurt your throat.

He quickly regained his composure upon seeing a sign of life, immediately hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to his chest, and leaping away from the falling debris. The sight of you bleeding and injured was all too familiar to him. But instead of letting the flashbacks stop him in his tracks, he planned to do something he couldn’t last time—saving you or at least trying to save you.

Returning to where he was hiding, away from the burning building, Miles scanned his surroundings. “Uncle Aaron! Uncle Aaron, help!”

“Miles!” Aaron emerged from the shadows. “We have to go now, we don’t have time–“ he stopped at the sight of you in Miles’s arms–“what happened?”

“They were here–I don’t know why! They’re not supposed to be out here at this time!” 

You remembered how he carried you, which seemed to always be bridal style. It wasn’t as if he did it all the time, though. His hand on your back felt much weirder, too, like he was digging claws into your skin to keep you in his arms. If your senses had gathered better, you would have teased him with the hope that he hadn't gotten tired of you joking about his feelings for you. Licking your dry lips, you rolled your head to meet his chest. It heaved with each word he hollered beyond the fire, the alarm bells, and the disagreement coming from his uncle. They were arguing about where to go. Miles clutched your body closer to him every now and then. He was hell-bent on bringing you to seek medical treatment, and his uncle was not.

“Gwen is waiting!”

“She would want me to help [Name]!”

“We triggered the alarms, so law enforcement will gather here!” Aaron argued. “The police can bring them to the hospital just fine! We need to stick to our plan!”

“[Name] is dead on record. We can’t just bring them to the hospital!” Miles said. “I’m taking them directly to mom.”

A foolish boy. “You’re gonna throw away everything we built.” It was more than just doing crimes, it seemed. There was a bond, a mutual trust built in the process that was on the verge of collapsing. “For that.”

Miles widened his eyes in disbelief. He had his doubts about the way his uncle felt about your existence. Still, he held out hope that the aloofness resulted from the great unknown of the multiverse and Aaron’s personality rather than that he thought your presence was a nuisance. Supposed he was wrong. The casual dehumanization was all he needed to decide how to proceed. Miles hopped a few steps back, his brows furrowing and his grip on your firm. 

“Tell Gwen I’m sorry.”

Aaron clicked his tongue. “Tell her yourself.”

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the last great american dynasty

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.8k (whoops)

summary:

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up.

He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream

author's note:

inspo board this work is inspired by taylor swift's song "the last great american dynasty" and is part of the folklore album anthology! if you enjoy, please consider reblogging/commenting and make sure to check out the other works by the amazing collaborators on this project.

tags/warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, work contains journal entries as part of the plot, porn with plot, pre-outbreak!joel, grandma is a named OFC, sassy reader, dirty talk, teasing, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paint as a flirting mechanism, mild enemies to lovers, pet names. let me know if there are any missing!

August 20, 1948

I have arrived in Texas. I am uncertain where to go or what to do. For so long I’ve answered only to George, but now I am my own woman and the world before me has suddenly become much bigger, seemingly overnight.

I just hope it will be good for me.

-R

PRESENT DAY

If there’s one thing you never expected, it’s to inherit a mansion from a grandmother that you’ve never spoken to. As far as you were aware that kind of thing only happened in movies, so receiving a phone call from an estate lawyer that had been trying to locate you for a whole year since this mystery woman’s passing was a complete shock.

Now you find yourself with a car full of your belongings driving cross country to a sleepy suburb of Austin, Texas. The first stop is the lawyer’s office, where a secretary eyes you warily as you sit in the lobby of the lush office suite, fingers toying with a loose thread on the t-shirt you’d been wearing for the last eight-hour leg of your road trip.

A voice calls your name from a door just past the secretary’s desk, an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face smiling kindly at you. You stand, shaking his hand as you pass by him into his office. He gestures to the wingback chairs that face his impressive dark wood desk. You take in the diplomas on the wall and the floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes. 

“I appreciate you comin’ all the way out here so quickly. You were quite the tough one to find,” the man says with a chuckle. He pulls out a thick envelope, cream colored with swooping, swirling handwriting across the front reading your name. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine. She established a trust in your name not long after you were born.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still a little confused. I didn’t even know I had a grandmother,” you admit quietly. He nods solemnly. 

“She never told me all the details, but there had been a falling out between her and her daughter. They kept their distance after that.” When you don’t say anything, mind too busy racing with the questions that you suppose only your mom can answer now, he continues. “Would you like the review the details of the trust?”

“Um, sure. I guess that’s why I’m here, after all.”

He slips a piece of paper from the folder, sliding it across the desk. The same swirling handwriting fills the page.

My Dearest,

You may not know me, but I’ve watched you grow in photographs and letters since you were born. You mean the world to me, even if I could not fit in the world that your mother created for you. I respected that choice, hurt though it may have.  She had her own path to forge, just as I did, and just as you will. I am eternally grateful for the parts of her life she did share after she left.  

In the event of my passing, I leave my estate to you in its entirety. I built my true happiness in those walls, and I hope you can do the same.

-R

You read the letter twice, eyes stinging with tears. A tissue box slides across the desk, and you pluck two sheets out gratefully. 

“In this envelope are the more official documents. The deed transfer that will need your signature, beneficiary statements for her banking and savings accounts, things like that. My office will handle all the paperwork filing,” the man says. A few more forms are laid out on the desk, and you lean forward to read them. 

“Holy shit,” you snap, eyes wide as you swipe the beneficiary statement from the wood. “There must be too many zeroes in this, right? Or a rogue comma? That can’t be the right amount.”

“I assure you that’s the correct amount,” he says with a laugh. “And if you’ll sign down there, it’ll be transferred to your name and designated account.”

Your mouth goes dry as you read through the rest of the documents. In addition to the sizeable amount of money about to hit your bank account, there’s a five-bedroom house being transferred into your name, as well as a safety deposit box. You sign each form where directed, sliding them back over to the lawyer. 

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding a house key out to you. He drops it into your open palm. “Good luck.”

“I wish they would just put that place up for sale already,” Joel grumbles from the passenger seat of his brother’s truck as they drive by the out-of-place 1920s Victorian home on their way to a job site. 

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past year since that poor old woman passed,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Give it up, brother. Your dream house is just goin’ to rot away before your eyes.”

“Don’t you say that,” Joel replies. He doesn’t need Tommy speaking his fear into the universe. 

The house has already been showing signs of falling apart in the last ten years Joel has lived in the neighborhood. The roof needs work, the shutters need replacing, the lawn is overgrown, and there’s a sizable hole in the wrap-around porch that seems to get bigger over time.

He’s wanted that house since the first time he saw it while he was house hunting ten years ago, a then three-year-old Sarah on his hip as he toured a nice little house that was available in the neighborhood at the time. While the home he’s built with his daughter through long days of hard work is nothing to scoff at, he’s always dreamed of something with more character and story. 

He just hopes he’ll get his chance.

You stare up at the old house in front of you, shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful house, though there’s no denying its seen better days – two stories with large bay windows on both floors, white wood siding and chipped red shutters that are clinging to their rusty hardware, a large wrap around porch that has vines encroaching on the banisters, a lawn overgrown with weeds. You tentatively climb the steps of the porch, peeking nervously into the large hole in the wood to the left of the front door.

“That’s private property,” a gruff voice calls out, making you jump. You turn, finding a man standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ain’t supposed to be snoopin’ around.”

“Actually—”

“Why don’t you just head home, sweetheart, and I won’t have to call the cops,” the stranger says, cutting you off. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“This is—”

The man huffs, arms dropping as he digs in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cell phone. “Seriously, I’ll give you until the count of three. We don’t need trouble around this neighborhood, alright?”

The nerve, you think, narrowing your eyes at the man. Since he clearly doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you decide to take a different route. You reach into the pocket of your shorts, pulling out the key that the lawyer had given you earlier that day. You take a sideways step closer to the door, keeping your eyes on the man as you pointedly insert the key into the lock and opening the heavy wood door.

His mouth drops open in surprise and you smile at him.

“You were saying?”

Joel had seen the car parked in the driveway of the empty house when Tommy dropped him off after work. He’d quickly checked on Sarah, newly thirteen and fiercely independent, finding her working on her homework at the kitchen table, before making his way across the street. 

He hadn’t expected to find a gorgeous woman snooping around the old house, curves hugged in denim shorts and a tank top that made his mouth water. He also hadn’t expected the woman to produce a key from the pocket of those sinfully tight shorts.

“You were saying?” You ask, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrows raised at him. When Joel doesn’t immediately reply, still too stunned that you have access to the house, you turn and walk through the door, shutting it behind you. 

He finally shakes himself of his shock, bounding up the steps and knocking on the door. You pull it back open.

“I’ll buy it from you,” Joel says immediately.

“Excuse me?” You reply, your hands moving to your hips. “It’s not for sale.”

“Come on, what’s a girl like you need all this space for?” Your mouth drops open, pretty lips stretched wide in surprise and Joel struggles to keep his thoughts from drifting to sinful places. 

“A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re young, that’s all. You don’t need a house this big and this much of a project!”

“What makes you think I don’t have a big ol’ family I’m moving in here? Four kids and a loving husband?!”

Joel blinks. “You got four kids and a lovin’ husband?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.” You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s not for sale. Now get off my porch before I call the cops on you.”

With that final word, the door shuts in Joel’s face again, the sound of your retreating footsteps signaling the end of the discussion.

November 12, 1948

There’s a gentleman who comes into the diner every Tuesday. He always sits in one of my booths, with his perfect hair and suit and handsome face distracting me until he leaves. Some of the other waitresses try talking to him but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They’ve whispered to me before that he comes from money - oil, or something, not that it matters. 

His name is William, and I think he’s trying to steal my heart.

-R

“So, let me get this straight. First, you threatened to call the police on this woman. Then, rather than introducin’ yourself or welcomin’ her to the neighborhood or even apologizin’, you just go straight to tellin’ her she doesn’t need a house that big and that you wanna buy it from her. Did I hear that right?” Tommy says, watching Joel as he throws together dinner the following evening. 

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sarah says. Joel huffs.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He sips his beer as his daughter and brother share a look. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” they say in tandem. Joel narrows his eyes as Sarah breaks out in giggles. Tommy stands, heading to Joel’s pantry and rifling through the shelves until he finds an unopened bottle of whiskey buried in the back.

“What are you doin’ with that?” Joel asks. 

“Welcomin’ your new neighbor like the gentleman I am. Sarah, watch the pasta while I show your dad how it’s done,” Tommy replies, heading for the front door, Joel trailing behind him. 

Tommy crosses the street with quick steps, eyeing the porch dubiously as he knocks on the door. Joel stands beside him, hands shoved in his pockets as he curses under his breath about his brother’s stupid antics.

You open the door, dressed this time in a pretty sundress that makes Joel’s mouth go dry. Tommy flashes you a grin and Joel can’t help the annoyance he feels when his brother’s eyes trail over your body.

“Hey there! I’m Tommy Miller, you may have met my dumbass brother over here the other day. I’m certain he didn’t make the best impression, so I just wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” he says, holding the whiskey out to you. 

You introduce yourself, ignoring Joel. “Thank you so much, Tommy. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure thing,” his traitorous brother replies, stepping over the threshold. When Joel makes a move to follow, you give him a pointed look before shutting the door in his face. 

“You want a beer, Tommy?” You ask the handsome man in your kitchen. You can’t help but be impressed by the genetics of the Miller family, both men tall and tan and handsome as hell. Sure, one of them could use a lesson on manners, but you’ll admit that since your confrontation your mind has drifted to thoughts of brown eyes and soft dark hair that belong to the brother you left on the porch out of spite.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says politely. You open the dated refrigerator and grab two beer bottles, popping the caps against the countertop and handing one to him. “This sure is a nice place.”

“Thanks. I just inherited it from my grandma,” you explain. “It’s a little…dated.”

He chuckles. “We call it ‘character’ in contractin’.”

“That what you guys do, then? Contracting?”

“Sure is. Miller Brothers Contracting and Construction.” Tommy scratches at the label on the bottle before saying, “Look, I know my brother can come off the wrong way. He didn’t get the social genes. But he’s a good guy, and he’s loved this house since the first time he saw it. Always wanted to buy it, fix it up, raise his little girl here. Maybe add to his family one day.”

You look around the rundown kitchen. You’ve only been here a day and you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. The electrical and plumbing are all outdated, the appliances need replacing, the floors need to be refurbished, and that’s just the first floor. You could use some help with it all, and maybe the grumpy contractor next door who cares about the house could help you with it all.

“I appreciate that he loves the house but…I never met my grandma. Never even knew who she was or that she was even alive, and it’s the only connection I have to her. I don’t know if this is going to be my forever but…I want to at least give it a shot.”

Tommy smiles. “We could help with that.”

It feels like ages before Tommy’s stepping back out onto the porch, a beer in his hand that makes Joel frown.

“Y’all were havin’ drinks while I sat out here like an ass?” He asks incredulously. Tommy throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes, and if you don’t quit your whinin’ I’m not goin’ to tell you about our lovely conversation,” the younger man says as he walks with Joel back to his house.

In the kitchen, Sarah is pouring the pasta sauce and ground beef over the noodles. Joel takes over and waves her away, mumbling his thanks as he mixes the ingredients together. He sets up two plates, setting one in front of his daughter and sitting down with the other. Tommy makes an affronted sound before fixing his own plate.

“So?” Joel asks. Tommy slurps at his food.

“Was the lady nice?” Sarah asks.

“No,” Joel replies at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.” 

Joel glares at Tommy. “You gonna tell me what she said or what?”

“She ain’t sellin’,” Tommy finally says. “But, she wants to fix the place up. Offered our services so you could get your grubby fuckin’ hands in there.”

“Language,” Joel says, eyes flicking to Sarah. The girl rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“Yep. Better start callin’ the guys. From what I saw we’re dealin’ with electrical from the 50s, plumbing from who knows when, not to mention the HVAC and roof will need to be upgraded, too.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before grinning at Joel. “You up for the challenge?”

“Hell yeah.”

August 23, 1949

William and I have just been married.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But he is truly the light of my life.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. I’m still not abreast of all these new societal expectations that surround a man like William, but I’m willing to try. Today he will be taking me around to view houses in the more opulent neighborhoods, the type of homes I used to gawk at but one of them will be mine.

I must be dreaming.

-R

Joel and Tommy start working on the house right away. Every day there’s a line of pick-up trucks parked on the curb and the sounds of construction start early in the morning and continue into the late evening. The electrician and plumber come through first, updating the wiring and pipes through the whole house. The roofers and HVAC come through next, replacing the crumbling shingles and dated central unit with a split system for each level of the house.

It’s not until the big projects are done that you get to have fun with the place, which is how you found yourself methodically painting the front door a muted lime green early one morning. 

“What do you think you’re doin’?” 

You sigh. Despite Tommy’s assurances that Joel is a great guy beneath the grumpy control freak exterior, you’ve continued to only get the side of the man that grates your nerves.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m painting the door.”

“You can’t paint the door that color,” Joel says, heavy footsteps stomping up your newly repaired porch. 

“Says who?” You retort. You smear another stroke of paint over the sanded wood.

“Me, for one. The historical society, for two.” He pulls the brush from your hand and holds it above his head and out of your reach. The movement drags his shirt up, exposing a strip of tan belly with a trail of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans.  “Why are you bein’ a pain in the ass?”

“I was put on this earth simply to make your life more difficult, Joel Miller. Isn’t that obvious?” You reply sarcastically. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you got that right. “What are you even doing over here? It’s Saturday.”

“We’re goin’ to the store. You gotta start pickin’ stuff out for the bathrooms and kitchen,” he says, tossing the paint brush into the tray. “And then we’re gettin’ a new color to cover this up.”

Joel leaves the porch and you follow behind him to the black pick-up truck idling by the sidewalk. He opens the passenger door for you and you raise your eyebrow at the gesture but climb inside.

January 3, 1950

Our New Year’s party is the talk of the town. There were so many people in the house I began to lose count. William had so much champagne ordered I swear we could fill an entire swimming pool with it all. 

The ladies at the club have already begun to ask when we would host our next event. I can’t wait to plan another.

-R

“Can you please focus?” Joel begs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He’s laid out three tile combinations, one for each bathroom in the home, and he needs you to look at them but you keep getting distracted.

“You’re no fun,” you huff. You examine the tiles, pointing to a turquoise blue one he’s picked for the shower in the master. “I love that.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She can be reasoned with.”

You giggle and Joel can’t help the smile it prompts from him, the sound of your laugh so sweet compared to your sharp tongue. 

“I like the white and blue combinations for upstairs, but in that powder room I want a pink theme,” you tell him. Your eyes search the displays, landing on a blush pink glass subway tile option. “Like this!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Joel replies without thinking, taking the sample from you and comparing it next to the floor tile he’d chosen for that bathroom. When he glances at you, you’re giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, shaking your head. “What about the kitchen?”

“What were you thinking for in there?”

“Green cabinets. White and black backsplash, the kind with the little hexagons that look like flowers. I gotta pick out appliances now that the electrical can sustain newer ones, too.” You pause. “And how do you feel about wallpaper?”

“It’s the devil,” Joel replies.

Your grin is downright mischievous. “Excellent.”

February 2, 1956

William had a heart attack. It scared me so badly that I haven’t let him out of my sight since. The doctor said he’s been working too hard, drinking too much, and not sleeping enough. Maybe the parties have started to be too much for him. 

I’ve been feeling unlike myself. Tired, nauseated. Hopefully my heart isn’t troubled, too.

-R

Joel places a hefty order for all the items you’ve picked out today from nearly every aisle of the store - tile for the bathrooms and kitchen, vanities and plumbing fixtures, countertops, lighting, and appliances. While he’s preoccupied with calculations and measurements and pricing things out, you pick out paint and wallpaper for the projects you’ll be able to do on your own.

He finds you a while later, a cart full of paint buckets and supplies. To your surprise, he grins. 

“More paint, huh? You pick a new one for the door?” He asks. You smile back at him, butterflies erupting in your tummy. 

“Yep. Does navy blue suffice, your highness? I thought we could paint the trim the same color.”

Joel nods. “Good choice. Look, I’ve kept you here so long for all the orderin’. You wanna get lunch?”

“Careful, Joel. I’m like a stray cat - once you start feeding me, I might never leave,” you reply with a laugh. You push your heavy cart of paint towards the exit.

You miss the soft smile he gives to your retreating figure.

September 23, 1956

Our daughter is here. She’s the sweetest little thing, though she can screech like a banshee when she sees fit. William is so besotted, he keeps looking between the two of us with stars in his eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

I love them both with my whole heart and soul.

-R

Joel takes you to a retro family diner with black-and-white checkerboard flooring and red vinyl accents with a vintage jukebox in the corner. You’re delighted by the themed menu, eyes immediately zeroing in on the classic malt shakes and french fries. 

Over lunch, Joel actually opens up to you. He tells you about going into construction right out of high school and dragging Tommy into it when he’d gotten back from serving his tour with the Army. He talks about his daughter, Sarah, and you can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you watch his eyes light up while he talks about his little girl. She’s at a sleepover this weekend, which gave him the extra time to visit the home improvement store this morning.

In turn, you tell him about getting the call from the lawyer one afternoon that changed your life forever. How you’d packed up everything you owned and driven across the country to find out that you had a grandmother that your mother never told you about that left you her entire estate. 

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Joel says when you’ve paused to take a sip of your chocolate shake. 

“Excuse me?” A voice asks. You both look up at the elderly woman dressed in a  t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo and pressed slacks. She smiles. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and ever since you sat down I’ve been wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to place your face and it’s just hit me.”

She holds out a framed black and white photo of six waitresses standing beneath the same sign that’s still out front, all of them grinning at the camera. There’s one face, however, that looks familiar despite you never having seen her.

“Her name was Rebecca. We used to work together. That’s me, right there,” she says, pointing to the girl standing to the woman’s left. “Rolled up to town at eighteen, fresh off a divorce and hardly a penny to her name. My daddy, god rest his soul, he owned the restaurant and gave her a job when she’d come through lookin’ for work.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “This is insane. Do you have any other pictures?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “‘Fraid not, darlin’. Just the one. But I know she kept a lot of journals. Was always scribblin’ in one and spent what little extra cash she had makin’ sure she had a new notebook ready. Maybe they’re still around?”

July 16, 1958

William…

William is gone. My light, my love, my world. The doctor said his heart just…stopped. In his sleep, right beside me. 

I have to continue to live with a hole in my own heart, the piece that William stole years ago gone with him. 

But I have to be strong for our daughter. Our brave girl, my little bird.

-R

When Joel brings you back to the house, you stare up at the facade, wondering if the journals the woman had spoken about could still be inside. Lost in thought, your eyes land on the little window that sits above the bay windows on the second floor, where the master bedroom is. You’ve been sleeping in that room for months now and you know there’s no window there that you can see from the inside. 

“Hey, Joel?” You call out, eyes still fixed on the little window like it might disappear if you look away. “This place is only two stories. How come there’s a window there?”

He looks up at the roof. “Huh. Might be decorative?”

“Or it might be a secret room,” you tell him.

“Okay, Sherlock. Let’s go see.”

You lead him upstairs to the master bedroom, most of your grandma’s furniture still present save for the bed that you replaced upon arriving. You stare up at the ceiling, but it’s smooth - no trap doors to be found.

“If I were a secret door, where would I hide?” You ask.

Joel, who’d been poking his head into the walk-in closet, replies, “Probably the closet.”

There’s a creak of old hinges as Joel reaches up high and tugs the brass pull handle fixed in the ceiling. A descending ladder falls to the ground and you both stare at each other in surprise.

“I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Joel offers, sprinting from the room. You stare up at the hole in the ceiling, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

He returns quickly. “I’ll go up first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you tease, watching as he ascends the ladder, your eyes shamelessly fixed to his ass as he climbs. You hear the click of the flashlight and see the sweep of the beam through the opening in the ceiling. “Anything?”

“Lots of suitcases. Hang on, let me grab one of the small ones,” he calls down. There’s the sound of something being dragged across the floor before he’s slowly lowering a leather suitcase into your hands. 

It’s surprisingly heavy and you drag it by the handle to the bedroom, kneeling on the ground to pop the latches and open the dusty lid. Inside are stacks of leather bound notebooks, edges of the pages yellow with age. 

“I’ll be damned,” Joel says, wiping his palms against his jeans. “We found the journals.”

Joel drags the suitcase downstairs, setting it in the living room for you while you order pizza and open a bottle of wine for the occasion. You sit beside each other on the couch and he hands you a journal that you carefully open. 

May 17, 1974

We had another argument last night. She claims that I’ve been too overbearing, too protective, too stifling, but what else is a mother meant to do? 

-R

May 18, 1974

Her bed was cold and empty this morning. Her piggy bank smashed to bits on the floor and her drawers cleared. Despite my tight grip, my little bird has flown away.

It appears that history does repeat itself. Imagine that.

-R

“Holy shit,” you say, sitting back on the couch with your glass of wine in one hand and one of your grandma’s journals in the other. “She ran away.”

“Who did?” Joel asks, biting into a slice of pizza. 

“My mom. She just…packed up and disappeared.” You glance at him. “Guess that’s why I never knew about her.”

“Maybe you should stop uncoverin’ dark family secrets for the night,” Joel suggests. “You know, the dining room could stand to be painted.”

You glance over to the room in question. Joel must have set down the drop cloth on the floor while you’d been engrossed in your discovery.

“Sure. Why not,” you acquiesce. 

October 29, 1976

I’ve received an envelope of photographs in the mail, pictures of my daughter holding a little baby. She’s written notes on the back of each one. I’m a grandmother.

My daughter looks happy. Healthy. That’s all I can ask. She didn’t provide a return address. 

As for the baby…I love her so much. She takes my breath away. I keep one of the photos on me at all times.

-R

Joel turns on the radio while he works, humming along to the classic rock station selections. He’s been working on painting the wall near the wood molding while he left you with a paint roller to cover the middle of the wall. He looks up at you occasionally, admiring the way your muscles work as you wash the wall with color. 

You must sense that he’s watching, turning your head over your shoulder and looking at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. You smile at him, setting the roller in the tray. He can’t help but look at your ass in your tight leggings as you bend over.

You straighten up, walking over to him. There’s a glint in your eye that has Joel on high alert.

“You got a little something on your face,” you tell him. 

“No, I don’t,” he counters. He’s a master at painting. He knows damn well he doesn’t have a drop on him.

“Yeah, you do,” you argue. You reach out, and your fingers smooth across his forehead. “Right there!”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise and he lets out a bark of laughter, bringing his fingers up to his forehead. When he pulls his hand away, they’re stained blue and you’re grinning at him like a mad woman.

“Yeah? Well, you got some right—“ He smears his paintbrush across your chest and you try to step back, but it’s too late. “—there,” he finishes.

You rush back to the paint tray and dip your hands in the liquid, brandishing your palms like weapons. He starts to advance on you, smirking as you back up.

“Stay back,” you command. Joel laughs, dodging your swinging arms as he charges, dropping low to press a shoulder into your belly, dragging you down to the ground in a heap of limbs.

He presses his body to yours as he reaches an arm out to the paint tray, covering his own hand in paint. Your eyes go wide and you squirm beneath him, your paint covered palms reaching up under his shirt to press the cold liquid to his ribs. He flinches away, giving you enough room to scramble out from under him.

Joel grabs your arm, paint smearing on your skin as he tugs you back down. You wrestle together, paint getting everywhere as he lets you straddle his waist. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing tightly as he stares up into your face.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice low. Your lashes flutter, hips canting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groans, hands urging you to do it again.

“What’s my prize?” 

Joel slips his fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, dragging the paint stained material up and over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze burns across your newly exposed skin.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He says, a hand sliding up your belly to palm one of your breasts. Your head drops back as you moan. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his eyes grow darker, his gaze more heated. “Come on, Miller. What’s my prize?”

With a growl Joel sits up, wrapping an arm around your low back and twisting your bodies until you’re on your back, staring up at him as his lips stretch in a devious smirk. His fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings, sliding the fabric down your legs. His touch paints your skin blue as he does.

His hands press your thighs apart, opening you up. Your cheeks heat as he stares down at you like he’s trying to commit every curve of you to his memory. Finally, he leans in and you can feel his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

Joel’s tongue traces through your slick folds, a broad stroke that has you gasping and arching your back. He hums against your sensitive flesh as he repeats the languid motion, his stubble catching on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, paint catching on the strands as you tug and pull. He groans against you, tongue moving faster as he circles your clit before pulling it between his lips. A hand leaves your thigh, the one not coated in paint, and two thick fingers press to your entrance, sliding inside of you as you gasp out Joel’s name.

“Christ,” he groans as he presses in deep before withdrawing slowly, curling his digits against your front wall, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, pretty girl. That for me?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, breathless as you work your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Joel watches you, his lips and chin shiny from his efforts. “Joel, please!”

“Please what?” His hand moves faster, fingers pressing harder as his lips spread in a lascivious grin that makes your toes curl. “Come on, baby, ask me real nice and I’ll give you anythin’. Ain’t that right? You know damn well you’ve had me wrapped around your sassy little finger since the moment we met, don’t you?”

You whine, nodding your head quickly. “Knew you were a glutton for punishment.”

“Could say that again,” he says, chuckling as he lands a smash to the outside of your thigh with his free hand. “Now, come on, baby. Follow directions. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna cum, Joel. Please!”

“Good girl,” he growls, lowering his lips to your pussy to lick at your clit. He hums as he lavishes the sensitive bud with attention and it’s the final push you need over the razor's edge you’d been teetering on since he started. You press your thighs against his head as your nerves light up and your muscles go tight with pleasure, his movements slowing as he works you through your release.

Your muscles go limp, head dropping back to the floor with a thunk. Joel sits up, crawling up your body and trailing kisses across your tummy and chest in the patches of skin not covered by paint. He grips your chin, holding you steady as his lips press to yours in a kiss so deep you worry you’re at risk of drowning.

Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the leather free of the loops in a frenzy. He stands quickly, freeing himself of his jeans and boxers in one motion before reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off while you admire his labor-toned body.

Joel drops to his knees, pressing his hips to yours and dragging the thick head of his cock through your sensitive pussy, bumping your clit and making you both groan in tandem. His forearms rest on the floor beside your head as he teases you like this, slow drags of his length through your wetness, the tantalizing catch of him at your aching hole. You tilt your hips slightly, hoping he gets the hint, and he chuckles.

“You know the drill, baby,” he says, breathless with his own desire. “Just say the word.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please.”

His cock slips inside of you with little resistance, the stretch of him making you gasp. His eyes remain fixed to yours as he bottoms out and you smile up at him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Joel gives a small, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. He does it again, a sharper snap of his hips making you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulder. He builds his own rhythm, one that has your hips chasing his on every pull from your body, one that has you chanting his name and staring up at him like he’s a god and you’re simply a sacrifice on his altar. 

He sits back on his heels, the angle changing as your hips get lifted onto his lap. His hands wrap around your waist, fingertips pressing tightly to your ribs as he uses your body for his pleasure, pounding into you roughly.

“Cum for me again,” he demands, bringing a thumb to your clit in quick circles. “Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum on my cock. Was so pretty on my fingers.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the near overstimulation but you nod, wanting to give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll keep touching you, holding you, looking at you. 

You cum again with a shout of his name and he groans, deep and visceral as he presses in deep, holding your hips to his as his cock pulses inside of you with his release.

Joel slowly lowers your hips to the ground, withdrawing from your body as he does. He flops gracelessly to the floor beside you, sweat damp chest heaving with exertion. His head turns to yours, grin wide and eyes bright.

“You’re covered in paint,” he comments, reaching out to run his hand across a streak on your collarbone.

“So are you,” you reply, mimicking the gesture against his ribs. 

“What do you say to a shower?”

You smirk at him before jumping up and racing to the doorway. 

“I’d say last one there doesn’t get the hot water!”

You can hear his curse as you rush up the stairs, making it halfway before a strong arm wraps around you and stops you in your tracks, your laughter echoing through the house.

June 27, 1993

The neighborhood has changed so vastly. Much of the older homes have been torn down and replaced with less handsome architecture. The residents grow younger while I continue to age. Just last week a handsome young man and his darling daughter moved in down the street. He looks exhausted. I remember those days.

Not all the neighbors are lovely. Harold next door has an annoying dog that barks at all hours. He prances her around like a show pony, when she’s just a yappy little creature.

-R

ONE YEAR LATER

The house is finally finished. All the tile has been laid, everything has been painted, appliances delivered, holes repaired, fixtures installed, and wallpaper glued. You go downstairs for coffee in the morning, you take it to the parlor room you’ve made into a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves display every journal you’d unearthed from the hiding place in the attic, each one read through cover to cover. 

When you finally told your mom about what you’d been up to, her surprise and hurt could be felt even through the phone. You mailed one of her mother’s journals to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said the next time you spoke. “So much time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken.”

You don’t begrudge her decisions. Your grandma left you her story, and through that you’ve been able to know her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs precede Joel’s appearance in the study, his hair messy from sleep and his eyes half shut. He drops beside you on the couch, grabbing your coffee from your hands and taking a sip of it.

“Is it everything you’ve always wanted?” You ask him, tilting your head to his shoulder. You still remember the way he’d been desperate to buy the house from you and you laugh at how the world works, given that he now wakes up in bed beside you and is tasked with the lawn maintenance every weekend. He presses a kiss to your head. 

“It’s even better.”

June 29, 1993

I don’t think the dog will be bothering the neighborhood again anytime soon.

Turns out he doesn’t hold as much pride for the dog when she’s been dyed lime green.

Imagine that.

-R

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist!

[kaiannae]

It is time- (Or: It Has Begin XD)

Greetings, my dear readers, it has been quite some time. First and foremost I would like to assure you that yes, I'm alive, and no, I have not abandoned my writing. But, I HAVE been distracted by somehing in the last few months, and I think its time to reveal it. I made a game! And not just a game, a Shadowgast game. I would like to present to you:

Beacon Run.

Ko-Fi This game begun its existance as a homework project for a game dev course I took about a year ago. I was supposed to implement a simple chase and pickup game and I thought, "Why use some random sprites when all I can imagine is small chibi Caleb chasing small chibi Essek around while Essek is trying to nom beacons?"

This idea lit a fire in my brain, and I just had to implement it but I had a very short time for the assignment. Iended up implementing something very simple, but I just couldn't let it go afterwards and vowed I was going to finish that small game and get it out for the fandom to play.

It has since been rewriteen, refactored and recoded several times, until I had something workable to show others. This is the place to mention the major contribution the people fo AIFL had on this little game. As I was maing this game, I shared its early stages with the server, and people have been kind in thier enthusasm, gave me ideas and provided invaluable criticism and feedback. They kept me motivated and kept me going through the lows of frustration one gets when coding. I got @bumble-b-goode 's permission to use their designs for the Weezards and drew my own sprites using that as inspiration. I ended up creating most of the assets for this game. Drawing the art assets took quite some time and I've learned a lot in the process.

Beacon Run not big or complicated as a game. In essence, is a tribute and a love letter to the Critical Role community and the CR crew. To the people who brought to life the Mighty Nein and have shared, and continue to share their stories with us on a weekly basis throughout the years. For Liam and Matt, who have weaved the tale of two broken wizards mending each other into better people, and keep their children of ink and paper alive for us to enjoy. The game: You as a player, are randomly assigned a little wizard to play for each match, so you can play as Essek or Caleb. The board dimensions and obstacles and even the flooring art are randomized for each match so each match is different. Your goal: to collect as many Beacons as you can during the allotted time, and end up with more Beacons than your rival which is the other wizard played by the computer. You gain projectiles over time, which are fake Beacons you can throw at the other wizard. If hit, the rival wizard is stunned for a short time, and drops several of his picked up Beacons for you to gather. However, beware! The rival wizard can also shoot you and stun you for a short while, and make you drop beacons as well. (You might notice that Essek gets stunned by sour lemon Beacons, while Caleb gets stunned by hand-knitted wool Beacons XD) In addition, when the rival is hit, he may drop a Magic Abeyance Bead which contains a Chronurgy spell. if you pick it up, it will provide a short time bonus for the match. In short, the game is a small, cozy game, made out of love for the wizards and the fandom, and I hope you'll enjoy it! I it still in the late stages of testing and development, as the feedback players provide is invaluable and lets me find bugs, add ideas and content suggested and tweak the mechanics to make it more enjoyable. So I would very much appreciate feedback, suggestions, con-crit etc. I would be happy to head what you like about it, what you think needs tweaking, ideas of content to add.... you name it! (Note that currently, the game does not work on mobile. I am planing to revamp the input system and add touch suport for mobile in the near future) Also it is worth mentioning that as I fix bugs, add content and tweak things, I upload new versions of the game so its worth following the Devlog and updates. The game is avaliable for play in the embedded player on the page, and also available for download to play offline (Though you might need to redownload it with every new version as I don't have an auto updater for it.)

In addition, if you like my work, feel like enabling me to make more of these or just want to buy me a coffee, It is always very much appreciated as it sure helps me stay afloat! Tip Jar

So, I hope you forgive me for my lack of writing for the last few months. I really wanted to get this out. I am trying to keep writing in my spare time, but the muses haven't been with me lately. I hope that now that this is out I can finally get my mind off it XD Stay tuned!

[thatacotargirl]

The Daughter of Day (2)

Welcome back to The Daughter of Day, a series exploring a new Court and a triad, because why not!

I hope you enjoy chapter 2 🌟

This story is set after A Court of Silver Flames.

My inbox remains open for oneshot/imagine requests.

Taglist: @fightmedraco @lilah-asteria @acourtofsmutandstarlight

A Reader x Feysand Fanfiction

Reader's POV

It had been over a week since my father had sent a request to Rhysand asking to host me as a visitor in Velaris, and we still hadn't received a reply. I knew it might take a while, with Rhysand being a High Lord and no doubt as busy as my father was most days, but I couldn't help the heavy feeling in my heart that I might be refused and I'd have to carry on living in Day. It wasn't that I disliked my home court - it had beauty to rival even the most glowing stars in the sky - but it was suffocating being trapped in the palace. Every morning I woke with no plans other than to walk the castle walls, hiding from the palace guards who would no doubt scoop me up and take me back to the safe confines of my bedroom if they found me. Every night, I'd fall asleep hoping my dreams would whisk me away to adventure, fun, freedom. Then, I'd wake up, and I'd do it all again.

Rhysand's POV

Rhys sat in his office sifting through endless piles of paperwork with a sigh. Azriel sat to his left, writing furiously into a notebook, his tongue sticking out slightly with concentration. Rhys chuckled inwardly, and rose from the desk, pacing around the office with his pen tapping against his thigh. He was feeling restless and couldn't quite put a pin on why. He was more than satisfied with his life as it was - he had a beautiful mate, a perfect son, a loving family, war had been won, and life was rebuilding. He had defied all odds and had come out stronger, despite the trauma that lingered below the surface. But, in spite of that, he felt like a part of him was missing. Like he had completed the puzzle that was him, his life, but there was one piece that he had overlooked and left the puzzle incomplete.

Shaking his head, he grabbed a handful of letters from the desk and began slotting through them, tossing the occasional one into the trashcan by his desk. Suddenly, one gold envelope caught his eye. He placed the pile back on the desk to hold the envelope with both hands, feeling the power of its author within. That heat, that sun, that all glowing all consuming power could belong to one High Lord, and one High Lord only - Helion. Rhys carefully opened the letter and reviewed its contents.

Dearest Rhysand, It was a pleasure to be hosted by yourself and your wonderful family this week; and the Day Court remains a staunch ally to you and your Court. I write on matters unrelated to alliance. My daughter, y/n, is finding herself lost amongst Day Court. I admit that I may have 'coddled' her, as one might say, but I did so for fear of her life and safety, and out of love. However, she now wishes to experience a world outside of my shining walls. Would you be so gracious as to allow y/n to visit Velaris for a period of time? I ask this as your ally, and friend, as I trust that y/n will be safe with you in your City of Starlight. Yours truly, Helion.

Rhysand was surprised at the request. Helion had kept his daughter hidden in the confines of the Day Court palace for 25 years, and was now allowing her to not only leave the palace, but leave the Court entirely? He shook his head, almost inclined to deny the request. He could not be responsible for y/n's safety, even if Velaris had the lowest crime rate of all Prythian. If something were to happen to y/n within his court, it could result in war and bloodshed. He took up his pen to write his reply, denying the request, but felt himself hesitate.

Rhys knew better than many what it felt like to be trapped. To feel as though your life wasn't your own to live because you were being held against your will, not able to spread your wings and explore, live, enjoy what this world had to offer. He sat as his hands touched the paper and he found his fingers moving on their own accord.

Dear Helion, The Night Court would be delighted to host y/n. She may stay at our River House for as long as she wishes. Please do send word of when we can expect her arrival and we will ensure that a room is prepared. Regards, Rhysand.

Reader's POV

With a sigh, you put away the book that was resting on your lap and head towards your bedroom. The book was a romance, one you had read so many times over that you were sure you could re-write it verbatim, where the protagonist pursues revenge against those who wronged him to win back his one true love. Whilst romance books were your guilty pleasure, a part of you would always feel sad that perhaps you might not get to experience romance like those you read. Although, maybe nobody did, and that's why the books were so popular - everyone pined to be desired in a way that could only be conveyed on the pages of a story, and not in real life.

As you rounded the corridor and headed towards your bedroom door, you were intercepted.

"Y/n, my darling! I have news from the Night Court".

Your head shot up to meet your father's eyes, your own no doubt full of hope.

"Rhysand has offered for you to stay at the River House in Velaris".

You felt your heart jump with joy and excitement. It was finally happening.

"When can I go?", you asked eagerly, already mentally packing your bags with your favourite dresses and shoes.

"Whenever you wish, my sunshine. I will gladly take you myself".

After giving your father a quick hug, you ran full pelt into your bedroom and grabbed a bag from the back of your closet. After packing a small bag of personal items, you gazed around the drawers and closets at your clothes and halted. The beautiful golden sundresses, flowing skirts and cropped t'shirts were perfect for Day Court, but you were almost certain that you might freeze in the Night Court, not to mention that you would stick out like a sore thumb. Feeling a presence enter your bedroom, you turn to see your father make his way to the edge of your bed.

"I will provide Rhysand with a stipend to cover the expenses of you living with them, and some extra to get yourself some more appropriate clothing", he winked. You smiled at him, grateful that your father somehow always knew what you were thinking without you needing to say it. You walk over to him and reach out to take his hand.

"Thank you, for everything", you say, as he pulls you in for a hug.

"Anything for you, my sunshine".

A moment passes and you find yourself wallowed by feelings of guilt. Guilt for wanting to leave the haven that he built for you. Guilt for wanting to explore without him. You were his only child, his pride and joy, and here you were wanting to leave the nest - and leave him behind in it. Sensing your change in emotions, Helion pulls back from the hug to stare sincerely at your face.

"You make me proud everyday, y/n. You have grown into a beautiful, wise, and kind young woman and I am so proud that you are my daughter. I want you to live the life you've always dreamed of, even if that means it isn't here with me. And, no matter what, I will always be here for you when you decide to return".

You can feel the tears falling steadily down your face as you silently sob. Even though this is what you wanted more than anything else in the world, it didn't make it hurt any less.

"Come, let's go now". Helion offers you his hand and you gladly accept it, picking up the one bag that you had decided to bring with you. With one last look at your bedroom, you offer your father a silent nod, and close your eyes as you feel his power surround you both and winnow you away from the Day Court. Away from home.

You arrive with a thump at the steps of the River House you had visited a few weeks prior, and Helion reached up to knock on the giant door. Waiting, you turn to eye to streets around you, watching the citizens of Velaris go about their days chatting happily and laughing. It was dusk by the time you had arrived, and people were bustling their way down towards the main town in search of food and entertainment for the evening.

The door opened and you turned back to see Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court, standing before you. Her sister, Elain, stood at her side. Both women were smiling.

"Y/n! Welcome back to Velaris! Come in, come in", Feyre gestures to the house, moving out of the doorframe. You move to enter, but stop when you realise your father isn't following.

"This is where I leave you, sunshine. But know I am always here if you need me, and I will come and visit you in a few weeks to see how you are getting on". You can see through the smile on his face right to the sadness in his eyes.

You feel the tears pricking your own eyes but you desperately fight them back, not wanting to cry in front of Feyre and Elain. You lunge forward into your father's arms and hold him, squeezing as tightly as you possibly can, before giving him a salute and walking into the River House. You didn't trust your words not to give away the tears or beg for him to take you back to the comforts of Day; but it seems that nothing slipped past Feyre, as she reached out to pull you into a hug of her own, Elain quietly closing the door behind you.

"I know how hard it can be to make that first step to independence, y/n, you don't have to fight your emotions for our sakes", she offered, stroking your hair and letting your cry quietly on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so happy to be here, it's just harder than I expected".

You felt a hand rub your back and turned to see Elain, a sincere and kind smile on her face. You offered her a watery smile back.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up and then we can have dinner?" she asked, peeling you away from Feyre and guiding you up the stairs. You could hear commotion behind the various doors of the River House but Elain quickly led you to a door at the end of the hall. She opened it and you gasped, surprised to see that the room inside was decorated in the finest Day Court gold you had seen. You turned to Elain as she smiled.

"We figured it would be hard, leaving home for the first time, so we wanted to do something to help you settle. Helion sent us some furniture from your home and we added the rest, I hope it's ok?".

You nodded, completely speechless. Elain walked past you into the adjoining bathroom and began running you a bath as you emptied the contents of your bag. You placed the items around the room; the make-up on the vanity table, the books on your bedside, and the soft yellow blanket you'd had since you were a baby across the end of your new bed. You carried your few toiletries to the bathroom as Elain closed off the water, the smell of jasmine and honey wafting through the air.

"I hope you don't mind, I used my own bath oils as we didn't know what scent you'd like, but we have plans to go into Velaris tomorrow to buy you everything you need".

"We?", you asked.

"You, me, Feyre, and Mor!", she exclaimed excitedly. Her warming and happy energy made you want to smile.

"That sounds wonderful", you grinned back at her, "I haven't met Mor yet, she wasn't able to make the meeting when I was here last".

"You'll meet her tonight, she's coming to dinner. She's Rhys' cousin and lives not too far from here. She's also convinced everyone to go to Rita's tonight, but you don't have to join if you'd prefer to get some rest and settle in here".

"Rita's?"

"It's kind of like a club, Feyre and Mor love to go and dance, and Cassian usually causes some mayhem there. I don't often go but Feyre asked me to this time, she even went out of her way to get Amren to babysit Nyx instead of me!" Elain chuckled to herself. "I think it might be in case you wanted to come, they have a habit of drinking themselves into a bit of a stupor and might be a bit overwhelming to handle on your own".

"Nyx?", you asked, trying to remember the names of everyone you had heard of in the Night Court.

"Feyre and Rhysand's son", she paused, seeing the surprise on your face. "You know, maybe you should join us tonight if you're feeling up to it, you have quite a lot to catch up on!"

You couldn't help but return Elain's smile. Perhaps this would be a good way to get to know everyone and break the ice. "Sure, I'd like to join".

"Great! I'll let Feyre know and have her find some options for you to wear tonight. Speaking of, I'll go and find you some things to wear for dinner too - back in a moment" she smiled, and left the bathroom.

You undressed and climbed into the bath, big enough to fit at least another 4 of you in it, and sank down into the water, letting yourself soak away the emotions of the day. You couldn't help the smile that adorned your face, in spite of your lingering guilt and sadness at leaving your court behind. You had received such a warm welcome in Velaris and-

You heard a crash outside the landing, someone shouting and swearing, and a whole host of laughter as something transpired down the hall from your bedroom. You recognised the echo of Feyre's laugh and Elain's giggles, as a male - Cassian, perhaps? - swore like a sailor. You could pick out a few words; paint, prank, and glue.

You laughed and sank deeper into the water, regrouping your mind. It had been a busy enough day as it was, and it looked like it was only going to get busier still.