#the more and more distance I have from that part of my life the more I'm like wow actually what happened WAS kinda fucked up huh

[theoretically-questionable]

I'll go further: lots of (white) people *do* listen to rap. They just don't call it rap, and they actively distance themselves from anything too 'rap'-like until it gets popular — at which point they take pains to draw artificial distinctions between it and 'actual rap'.

I'm Australian. A lot of my peers growing up listened to Hollywood Undead, Hilltop Hoods, Bliss n Eso, Kerser, Limp Bizkit, and those two or three popular songs from Rage Against the Machine's discography (as did my internet friends in Canada and the USA: i'm leaving the UK out of it because their landscape around mainstream music and black rappers is different in kinda complicated ways imo).

But none of these bands were thought of as even close to 'rap' to my peers — HU and LB were just "rock/punk", Kerser was just "hardcore electronic", and (most egregiously of all) BnE and HH were just "hip-hop". They didn't listen to rap (bad, black), no! It was hip-hop (good, white)! (and of course, any Australian indigenous music, rap or otherwise, was fringe at best — the most 'indigenous politics' band was Midnight Oil (very white), and actual contemporary Indigenous music only got passed around as a joke (see Petrol Powered Goon Bag Holocaust going semi-viral amongst high-schoolers, for example).

The cognitive dissonance required to say a band isn't 'rap' because it's actually 'just aussie hip-hop' is... incredible, sure, but it's real. There's a... reflexive refusal, i guess, to engage with black art, to instead preference white artists in the genre, and to split parts of into 'less-rap' genres to make it more palatable.

Plus there's a persistent difficulty engaging with the actual themes of black art when it does get mainstreamed (see the focus on Lamar v. Drake beefing that skips over a *core* part of the feud, namely "you a fuckin' colonizer") (F.D Signifier's 'I'm What the Culture Feeling' is invaluable here for anyone looking to get their bearings on the context).

And there's this... weird shame that a lot of (again, mostly white) rap-combo-genre artists seem to feel about being rap-adjacent, now? It either trickled up from fans, or down from the bands, but it's everywhere. It's cringe, it's immature, it's juvenile masculine anger, it's not tasteful, it's not properly political. All the same patently incurious (at best) shit people say about black rap and culture.

"For anyone born before 1995 or so, the mere mention of the term “rap rock” is likely to produce reflexive shudders. The cultural imagination is littered with the unlovely offspring of attempted copulation between the styles; if, at some point, you made a name for yourself through combining rap and rock, chances are you either distance yourself vigorously from such efforts now or have learned to adjust to life as a walking joke."

—Jason Greene, 'The Unlikely Resurgence of Rap Rock', Pitchfork

Which is stunning, really, because bands in these 'hybrid' genres have been some of the most influential in the last two decades of the western popular musical landscape (and as OP said, probably less directly for the last forty plus years)!

These are bands that aren't just 'musically influenced' by rap, but bands that outright lyrically rap in their songs (regrettably, Lonely Island counts — "i don't listen to rap, unless it's a 'parody' band" was a huge genre for a while, christ)! But it's never 'actually rap' to the audience (who view rap as 'bad') and it's almost never non-white artists.

Everything from the edgelord-electronic scene (stemming out from MSI and similar bands which held an ongoing fascination with the 'shocking' aspects of black culture and rap) to straightforward nu-mental, rock, and punk, and even fucking Christian Rock/Metal, are all genres full of bands that explicitly started out directly engaging with 'rap' and were explicitly inspired by black rap artists.

Like, I don't cite Greene above just to support the idea that this reflexive shame around liking anything rap-like exists; the article also shows the writer straightforwardly leans into the 'cringe' these rap-combo genres apparently inspire. It's completely at odds with the actual trajectories (in terms of fame, subject matter, and political engagement) of the bands he's talking about. He even explicitly buys into the old canard that rap rock (as a rap offshoot) is/was predominantly misogynistic.

(The conversation around white artists extracting and popularising elements of black music culture for their own careers and musical expression, and their music's misogyny/aggression stemming from uncritical interpretations/reproductions of the more nuanced and culturally specific source material, is a whole other kettle of fish.)

rap has probably been the most consistently popular and influential genre of music for the past 40+ years but your average person on tumblr is less willing to listen to it than a random white teenage boy in the suburbs or a 4channer who lurks on /mu/ every once in a while

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 ; words: 0.4k

"What do you mean you've never given a kiss?"

Sitting so close to him, you're surprised to see him so serious about such a topic. In your head you had often imagined who knows what things about RINDOU HAITANI, but in none of these you imagined him as someone who had yet to have his first kiss. He's a delinquent, who knows how many girls have fallen at his feet all these years... and he still has to kiss?

He looks down, a light pink blush coloring his pale skin "I'm not as desperate as my brother. I wanted to wait, that's all" he says taking your hands in his, squeezing them gently as he begins to massage your knuckles. You observe how your hands seem intended for his, how together they almost look like a painting, one of those you often saw in the art galleries you visited together. Maybe all the thoughts you've had about him so far are wrong, perhaps more than you care to admit

"But you told me you wanted to kiss me" you say unsure, still with the words from earlier echoing in your mind. Rindou looks up not letting go of your hands, but his sudden boldness is betrayed by his tense shoulders and the way he breathes, almost as if he's out of air "So what? I'm tired of waiting"

"It's strange, I thought..." you say stuttering, but he interrupts you "I know, the usual story of the delinquent with all the women at his feet, who kisses them and even spends the night together. No, I'm not exactly that kind of person... plus, I spent half my life in prison, let's say there weren't many women there" he says, and you can't help but chuckle a little at the last part of his sentence "Maybe I just thought wrong"

"I can prove the opposite to you, that there is a part of delinquents who if they love a girl, only her exists" he says, his hand leaving yours as he shyly cups your chin. Two purple amethysts study your soul, as you slowly relax under his touch, the distance between your lips slowly reducing to zero

You have always been used to toxic loves, decent guys who however had no intention of treating you as you deserved. Yet, since you met him, he who has always been the opposite of them at least in appearance, has given you everything you deserved even before actually being in a relationship. He, a delinquent, who would get the whole Roppongi beaten up if you asked him, just to see you smile for a few seconds

"Can I, then?" he asks softly, his breath beating against your cold lips, divided by only one millimetre "You can"

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[cutielando]

is this fate? | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which fate brings you together

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The energy in Monda had been electrifying, to say the least. The kind of energy that buzzed through the air like status before a storm.

The passion of the Tifosi, the sea of red in the stands, the deafening roars of engines - it was a weekend Charles would never forget.

But amidst all the noice, the chaos, and the intensity of the racing, it was you who had stood out the most to him.

You had met by chance in the middle of the paddock, introduced by a mutual acquaintance. You weren’t part of the industry, far from it.

You were really just a fan, a friend of a friend, who decided to give a race a shot and see what it was really all about on scene.

And yet, from the moment the two of you had locked eyes, there had been something there - something electric, something unspoken, but something the both of you felt, deep within your very souls.

The few stolen moments that you had shared that weekend had been filled with lingering glances, soft smiles, and words that held weight despite their brevity.

You had talked about everything and nothing all at the same time, and effortless connection that felt both new and familiar.

But time had been cruel to you.

The timing just wasn’t right. He was in the middle of a gruelling racing season, his life was dictated by races, travel all around the globe week in and week out, he has relentless pressure to carry around on his shoulders.

And you… you had your own world, your own responsibilities that kept you grounded in a life far more different and far away from his.

So, you had parted ways, not with a dramatic goodbye or something of the sort, but with a mutual understanding that sometimes, the universe brings people together at the wrong time just because.

And normally, that should have been the end of it.

But fate, oh, fate… she had other plans for the pair of you.

♡♡♡♡♡

The soft glow of fairy lights illuminated the quaint Christmas market, their reflections off the fresh layer of snow blanketing the cobblestone streets.

The scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon filled the crisp winter air as laughter and festive melodies echoed all around you.

This was home - your home.

The place you had spent every Christmas for as long as you could remember, a place untouched by the rush of the outside world.

You pulled your coat tighter around your body, your fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of mulled wine as you wandered through the market.

It was tradition for you to come here every Christmas Eve, to soak in the magic of the beautiful winter season before night gave way to Christmas morning.

And then, as if scripted by the stars themselves, you heard a familiar voice.

Laughter - rich, warm, yet unmistakable.

You froze mid-step, your heart stuttering in your chest before you slowly turned around.

There, standing just a few feet away from you, bundled up in a dark coat and scarf, was Charles Leclerc.

For a split moment, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you. That maybe the nostalgia of your experience at Monza and the magic of the season had conjured him from memory.

But no - he was real. So achingly real.

And he was staring right back at you.

His eyes widened in recognition before a slow, genuine and warm smile spread across his face. And suddenly, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Mon dieu. I never thought I’d see you again” he murmured, closing the distance between the two of you.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah, neither did I” you said, smiling at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief and something softer, something dangerously close to wonder and… hope?

“I live here. This is my home” you said, gesturing to your surroundings.

Charles let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his slightly tousled hair.

“Of course it is. I should have known the universe would lead me back to you someday, somehow” he said.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to give away the fact that your heart was beating wildly inside of your chest.

“And what about you? What brings you here on Christmas Eve?” you asked, your voice soft.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m here on vacation. Some friends and I decided to get away for the holidays. I never expecting to run into someone I-“ he hesitated, his gaze searching yours, “ - someone I wish I had had more time with”

Your breath hitched at his words, at the quiet confession woven between the lines.

There was a moment of silence, the kind of silence filled with unsaid things, with the memories of Monza lingering in the cold winter air.

And then, with an almost timid smile, Charles gestured towards the market with his head.

“Would you like to walk with me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

You hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding eagerly.

“I’d love to”

♡♡♡♡♡

The hours melted away as you walked through the market together, the world around you fading into the background.

You talked - about everything you had been up to in the time you had spent apart from each other, about the what ifs and almosts that had lingered in the spaces between then and now.

He told you all about his season, about the highs and the lows, the way the pressure never quite left, but how he loved it and craved it anyway.

You told him about your life, about the things that had changed and the things that had stayed the same. And somewhere between shared laughter and quiet confessions, the past no longer felt like a missed opportunity, but rather a prelude to something waiting to begin.

By the time the market had begun to slowly close its doors, neither of you were ready to say goodbye to each other.

So, you simply didn't.

Instead, you found yourselves in a quiet cafe, nestled in the corner by the fireplace, the warmth wrapping around you as you sipped on hot chocolate.

The conversation between you two never faltered. It was as effortless as it had been in Monza. Only now, the timing wasn't working against you like it did back then.

"You know" Charles muttered, twirling his spoon idly in his mug, " I thought about you. After Monza, I mean"

Your gaze lifted to meet his, your heart skipping a beat.

"You did?" you asked, your voice slightly teasing.

He nodded, a small, almost wistful smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"More than I should have, probably. But life kept moving around me, and I convinced myself that maybe it just wasn't meant to be" he explained.

You exhaled, a soft smile tugging at your own lips.

"I thought about you, too" you confessed.

Charles' eyes softened, his fingers tapping against the side of his mug.

"And now? What do you think?" he asked, trying hard not to get himself too excited.

You bit your lip, considering your answer.

"I think that maybe...the universe got it right this time" you finally said, your words lingering in the air.

Charles studied you for a moment before reaching across the table, his fingers brushing over yours. A touch so simple, yet it sent warmth flooding through your body, a feeling that had nothing to do with the fire burning next to you.

"I'd like to find out, you know. If we got it right this time around" he said, his voice soft.

You squeezed his hand gently, the answer already burning to come out.

"Me too" was all that you said.

And as the snow fell gently outside, as the clock ticked closer and closer to Christmas morning, you realized that sometimes, the best gifts weren't wrapped in ribbons or placed under a tee.

Sometimes, the best gifts were the ones the universe gave you when you least expected them.

And this Christmas, the universe had given you Charles Leclerc.

The gift of a lifetime.

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[tsuyalovebot]

ur writing is insane, i love it sm!!!

any thoughts on caleb with a biiiit of a gentle— soft ‘daddy’ persona? 😼

hello! first of all, thank you so much! i'm really happy knowing that the way i write for caleb is well received :] second, i am SO sorry this took so long to get out, i didn't even notice i had this in my inbox (; ; )

for caleb though, i can definitely see that coming to life. he's got a parental vibe to the way he nurtures mc. to look at it one way, our caleb right now feels very brotherly. a lot of it has to do with their banter and how he treats mc. another way of seeing him is when he's the colonel. very commanding, no questions asked, expectant, and domineering. i feel like a soft daddy persona would fall between those two. he doesn't need to be excessively stern, but he toes that line instead.

i don't know if i'm envisioning him correctly (i have never written for this specific persona before, and i don't often consume mentioned persona either). but here's my take nonnie!

most of the stuff caleb says and does comes off as nagging in the eyes of mc. he'd have to establish some sense of quiet authority over you to shift the narrative. making you feel protected and taken care of. maybe he cuts back a bit on the teasing from time to time, and whenever you start to edge into an argument (hah), it's then that i imagine he takes control of it. he did it before, surely; instances of him treating you a parent would their child. it kind of leaves you a bit more meek. not as resistant.

you'd cross the line in one way or another. he was trying hard to not really go too far — it wasn't that big of a deal, it was simply about your tendency to come home late when visiting skyhaven. but, the words leave you with such startling sharpness that it leaves the both of you reeling. and you watch, in real time, as caleb slips and slides from your fingertips.

"you know you were wrong to say that, right?" he starts. nothing gives away any sign of anger, irritation, nor vexation. the words come out measured.

he isn't chastising you. not yet.

and you know you were wrong, you knew that saying that obviously wasn't the smartest decision on your part. and yet, the bitter phrases still left you with ease. he's watching you now, expectant.

you're quiet. he notices.

"i'm not mad," he says, voice softer now. from where he's standing, he's tall and looming and pressuring. but with every tentative step taken toward you, subtracting the distance separating your bodies, there's nothing intimidating.

his hands find yours, tightly clasped on your lap. each digit that was wringing itself slowly undid the curl, the tight clasp. the expertise in his manner of undoing you was methodical.

"but you gotta be kinder, you know that." the assurance comes in a subtle form of advice, not at all suffocating. and yet you're nodding along with his words, letting him pull, wind you up in his arms, and sway side to side.

it's oddly soothing. you can't really curse at him like this, not that you'd try.

"so well-behaved. that's it."

your face buried in his chest in silent apology, his lips on your hair. when he uses his fingers to hold your chin and experimentally move your head, you don't resist, looking up at him. you don't know when you started looking for approval in those quietly commanding eyes of his.

"good. that's good," he whispers, smiling.

you blurt the words on instinct. "i'm sorry."

he hums. "you're forgiven. you gonna do it again?"

"no."

his smile widens, and he leans down. when he kisses you, it's slow. methodical. and you're like melted butter in those few seconds, even as he's settling the two of you down onto the couch. you're on his lap and kissing him, barely catching how he murmurs, "i know you won't."

[bellamoooon]

Childhood best friends to lovers, i love this concept a little too much and got carried away lol <33

She’d never know, at least that’s what he convinced himself of.

She’d never know that she was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for hours, that she was like the first bit of light rising up in the morning, that she was like the feeling of warmth when getting praised, that talking to her was like hearing his favorite song for the first time again, that her laugh was engraved in his brain and he could hear it even when she wasn’t around, that her presence radiated light that seeped right into his bones, that seeing her was like a shot of espresso immediately waking every nerve in his system, that her smile gleamed with such brightness it could light up the whole world in an eternal darkness, that her eyes said so much more than anything she had ever said, that she was a perfectly aligned harmony when everything else was out of tune.

She’d never know, but he did.

She lived within him; His whole life had been reduced to her.

“Wow Art, this is really good!” his literature teacher spoke as she read his paper, “y’know, if the whole tennis thing doesn’t work out, you could be the next big writer, I mean it.”

For his literature class, as a “creative exploration exercise”—his teacher calls it—they had been assigned to write a paper on someone of something which they could understand as unrequited love, of course he had chosen you, because what better example than you and Art.

You and Art have known each other since diapers due to your parents being best friends from their college days up to the present day, which sort of brought the two of you together one way or another, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would art.

Growing you with you might’ve been one of the best things he has ever been able to experience, he wishes people could actually get to feel what its like to be shined on by your light, for him, it truly is unearthly every time.

Sure, you two had distance shoved in your faces when he went to MRTA, but when he returned home for breaks, it was like nothing changed, it was just you and Art.

And of course as cliché as it may be, the inevitable happened, Art began to fall in love with you.

At first, he tried to convince himself that it was just the affection he had for his best friend, but he had no way to deny it. From the second he stopped just seeing you, but when he started seeing you.

He could try to blame it on his hormones and being a teenager, but everything else contradicted that.

In the summer, seeing you in your two-piece swimsuit didn’t seem the same, especially since you had started to grow into your big girl body, as his nana said.

At Christmas when he saw you walk into the living room dressed as Cindy Lou who from shoes to hair, with a goofy smile, but why did it make him blush? You seemed the same, you did this every year.

Patrick mocked him for having a small picture of the two of you in his wallet, but he didn’t care, whenever he was having a bad day, or missed home, he’d look at the picture, instantly erasing anything that disturbed his thoughts.

But you’d never know that. And he was okay with that. For the most part.

A couple of weeks he went back home for spring break, he was feeing at ease, he’d see his parents, his nana, and…you.

“Artie! My sweet boy!” his grandmother called out as he walked out of the car to the front porch with a suitcase in his hand, and a wide smile. His grandmother ran up to him wrapping her arms around him, her warmth immediately transferring to his skin, he was home.

“Nana, hey, how’ve you been?” he spoke with a sweet tone as he hugged her back. Sure, tennis was his whole life, but coming back home felt like a weight was lifted off his back, he doesn’t have to be THE Art Donaldson, he was just…Art.

“You look so tired baby boy, let me take your bags, go take a shower” his nana said as she shut the door behind her.

“Nana, seriously don’t worry—“

“Will you just let me take care of you while you’re here? You’ve gotta do all this yourself at school, but not here Artie” and well, there isn’t much arguing with nana Donaldson, it’s just how it’s been his whole life.

After his shower, Art walked in his room with a calm breath and loose muscles, how he needed that warm shower, as he walked over to his bag, which was placed next to the window he began to look for some clothes.

He wasn’t one to feel prying eyes on him but by reflex, Art lifted his head as he looked through the window, it was you.

You covered your mouth clearly giggling as he looked down at himself completely naked only covered by a towel wrapped around his waist, “fuck me” he muttered as he looked up once again but now face completely flushed and the tips of his ears burning red.

He waved awkwardly as he pulled the curtains closed feeling flustered, he wanted to get his mind off of her, so he said, how’s that going? Not great.

His nana looked up as he came downstairs with a puzzled expression, your name left his lips.

“What about her?” She asked as she left a plated grilled cheese in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was home for the break?” She laughed, why is she laughing?

“Sweetie, I thought it was obvious, she always come back home for breaks” she shook her head as she smiled playfully, “though, I think there’s something about her being here that bothers you”

“What— no, no, it doesn’t bother me, I just— would’ve expected something else, I don’t know”

“You sure?” She slid the paper across the counter with delicacy, “are you absolutely sure baby?”

“Nana! I told you to stop snooping, come on!” He said taking the paper as quickly as possible, could this day get any worse?

“One, I wasn’t snooping, it fell out of your backpack, and two, Artie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowered his head ever so slightly as he grabbed the sandwich to then take a bite.

“I know.” He said once he swallowed, she leaned against the counter with curious eyes.

“She’s good, she’s smart, and really talented, did you hear she put out a song?” He lifted his brows in surprise, you really had picked music, over psychology, huh…

“Huh…well that’s great, I’m sure she’ll do great with all that” his nana scoffed as she muttered a small “art…” with a warning tone, “what? I mean it”

“You gotta give me more than that after that thing you wrote, Art, I taught you better than this.”

“I just—! I don’t know what to say, Nana, that’s the problem. Not to you, not to Patrick and most definitely not to her” he spilled, fiddling nervously with his hands, “I’d screw our friendship, one sided feelings aren’t worth risking years of trust.”

“Well you never know Artie, sometimes holding onto those feelings is painful, even if something is on the line, it isn’t worth it if you’re hurting” she was right, but Art would never say that out loud, this was all too much for him.

“It’s just…it’s not easy”

“Well my boy, no one said love was easy, and sometimes, just sometimes, the most complicated loves, are the most beautiful ones” he listened intently as he finished off the grilled cheese, she was right, maybe all he needed to do was tell her.

You had to know.

So there he was at 2:34 a.m throwing small pebbles at your window, just like he did years ago to then go the skate park at midnight and sit at the top of the ramps while you talked till sunrise.

“Stop throwing rocks Donaldson, you’ll wake the dog” you came out the door in pjs but wrapped in a jacket, he turned with a confused expression “I came running down when I felt the first two rocks” you laughed softly as you blushed slightly, God you missed this.

It’s like being kids all over again.

“So how’s tennis and all, Mr. Stanford?” You asked as you swung your hanging feet off the ramp.

“Y’know tennis is the same always, trust me, you don’t care” he laughed as he shook his head, “but Stanford is nice, just not the same without you and Patrick on my ass all the time”

“Ah, of course, because that’s the biggest change you’ve had since we were kids up to today” you rolled your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah…” he chuckled dryly as he looked away, could he be more obvious, goddamn.

“What?”

“No— no, it’s nothing” he insisted.

“Art I know you, it’s not nothing, what’s up?” You pushed as he looked up at the sky biting his lip while humming, “Art?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at you again, you lifted a brow silently asking once again, “ah…I— I love you” he blurted out unable to stop himself.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

“I have since the summer you turned fifteen, you just— you kinda started to seem different to me, and I— I fell in love with you.” He sighed, “and I know timing sucks and it’s gonna make things weird, but if I didn’t tell you, it would eat me alive, y’know it’s been so long—“ his rambling got cut off as your lips crashed onto his almost immediately.

His body tensed up completely, the feeling of your lips foreign to his, but so familiar at the same time, the reality was better than any dream he had ever managed to build up in his mind, your plump lips tasting faintly like cherry lip gloss, he was most likely dreaming, he thought, cause there is no way he had told you how he felt, and even less probabilities of him kissing you.

As you pulled away, he found himself instinctively following you with parted lips and eyes shut, he was so high with your mere presence, a soft giggle from you snapped him back to reality as his eyes opened up slowly, pupils blown, he looked as if he had just seen God.

“…Did you just—“

“Kiss you?” You ask slightly tilting your head with a giddy smile, “seems like it”

You shrugged as you snorted softly.

“Oh.” Oh was the only thing his brain could process for him to say still stunned.

“Okay— so you tell me you love me, but I kiss you and all you say is ‘oh’, I mean—“ you said as you licked your lips as you thought.

“I just— I didn’t think you’d— like…you…like…” he fumbled as he tried to pull a thought out of the back of his brain.

“Art, you’re telling me you didn’t expect me to kiss you, when I’ve literally had this…I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and I’ve been as subtle as a marching band” you tell him as a blush creeps up your face while you chuckle nervously.

“You’re kidding, right?” You shake your head with a small grin, he scoffs as he covers his face with his hands, “am I just that dense?”

“Not dense, more like…oblivious” you laugh as he glares back playfully.

Then there’s beat of silence, that moment where suddenly everything had fallen into place, he’s been pining over you for years, and you’ve waited for the right moment for as long as you can remember, but then the question settles in, what now?

“Uhm…art…?” You turn to him with hesitation, he hums in response “what now? I mean, you’re going back to cali after break and I’m going back to New York…”

“Hm…I hadn’t really thought that far into it” he said softly turning to look at you with gentle eyes, “what now?” He asks back softly.

“I— I like you, Art, I’m in it for the long game.” You spoke honestly as you fiddled with your fingers.

“I’ll play the long game. You’re out there, I’m out there too, we’ll see each other in summer, thanksgiving, and Christmas…I mean it, I— don’t just like you.” He confessed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I can do that” you said softly, smiling back at him, letting out a small breath, “long game…?”

Your hand cupped his cheek making him face you, he smiled as he nodded, looking down at your lips and back at your eyes “long game.” He muttered as he leaned in kissing you once again, holding you gently in a fear of breaking you.

That right there. That was it, you were the living proof of unrequited love for him.

[bishovapls]

Undercover - Part 1: It is all an act…

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff

Summary: This is a two-part story in which Wanda has been living at the compound for months, she is lonely, sad, and nursing a growing crush on a certain redheaded assassin. It doesn’t mean anything, of course, she’s just touch-starved… or so she tells herself. But when she and Natasha are sent on an undercover mission, posing as an engaged couple at a luxury resort, Wanda is faced with a new challenge. Can she keep her feelings in check, or will Natasha completely shatter her self-control?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Angst. Unresolved Sexual and Romantic tension (maybe it will be resolved?). Mentions of HYDRA and Red Room abuse (not detailed). Slow burn but also not? Eventual smut (part 2).

A/N: I have to be honest, I read a fic where Clarke and Lexa (from The 100) did an undercover relationship thing, and I could not stop thinking about WandaNat. The chances that this has already been done are very high, but once the idea got stuck in my head, I just had to write it.

Also, it’s Wanda’s birthday, so really, what better time to post a new fic, right? 🎉

Part 1 starts below the cut, you can also find the fic on AO3.

Part 1: It is all an act…

Part 1 summary: In this part we’re introduced to Wanda and the mission, getting a glimpse into her life at the compound, lonely, uncertain, and full of angst. As the mission begins, Natasha’s relentless teasing and flirtatious words start to wear Wanda down, making it harder for her to keep her emotions in check. (11k words).

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Wanda wakes to the low hum of the compound’s ventilation system, the sound barely enough to fill the suffocating quiet. The early morning light seeps through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the ceiling, but she doesn’t move. She never sleeps past 4 a.m.…not since coming here.

At first, she convinced herself it was just the nightmares, the way they clawed at her mind the moment she let her guard down. But she knows it’s more than that. It’s the silence. The unbearable, oppressive silence of this place.

Before the compound, it had never been quiet. Her childhood had been filled with noise, gunfire rattling in the distance, bombs shaking the ground, men barking orders in sharp, guttural tones. Even in the cramped space of their tiny apartment, there was always something. Her mother humming an old lullaby. Her father murmuring to her mother in hushed voices late at night, trying to pretend the war wasn’t creeping closer. The distant rumble of tanks rolling through the streets. 

And then, the war took them, and the streets of Sokovia became home. There, the noise was different, harsh voices echoing from alleyways, the clatter of market stalls, the distant hum of a radio playing somewhere unseen. And always, always, the sound of Pietro. His steady breathing beside her when they slept on the cold ground. The way he never truly stopped moving, even in sleep, shifting and mumbling in a way that had once annoyed her but now haunted her.

And then, there was HYDRA. That noise was something else entirely. Raw, agonising screams that never seemed to stop. The metallic clang of doors slamming shut, the hum of machinery, the harsh crackle of voices through speakers, detached, emotionless. The sharp, echoing ring of gunfire, and the inevitable silence that followed. Noise meant life. Noise meant she wasn’t alone.

But here, in the compound, the silence stretches endlessly around her. It presses in on her like a thick fog, making the space feel too big, too empty. She has settled into a routine now, though it feels more like existing than living. Most of her day is spent alone, save for training, time spent with Vision, and the team dinner in the evening. She clings to those fleeting moments of companionship, the rare times when she isn’t just a ghost moving through the compound. But she never asks for more.

She could. She knows that. She could walk up to any one of them and ask to spend time together. They would say yes. They always try to make her feel like she belongs. But Wanda has never quite accepted it.

Not when she was with HYDRA. Not when she let them twist her into something she barely recognises. Not when she invaded the minds of the very people who now sit at the same table as her, pretending not to remember what she did to them.

Each morning begins the same. Wanda wakes, stares at the ceiling for far too long, and fights the pull of exhaustion that never seems to fade. Eventually, with a slow exhale, she forces herself to move.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, presses her feet to the cool floor, and rubs the lingering haze of sleep from her eyes before making her way to the en-suite bathroom (an absurd luxury she’s never had before but one she’s quietly grateful for).

Her routine is quick, almost automatic. A hot shower to shake off the stiffness in her muscles. Brushing her teeth, tying her damp hair back, smoothing on a light layer of makeup, just enough to make her reflection look a little less pale. Then, as always, she pulls on her gym clothes before heading to breakfast.

Pepper had filled her wardrobe the day after she arrived, an entire collection of carefully chosen clothes in soft fabrics and expensive cuts. Anything she could ever need, neatly folded, waiting for her. But most of it remains untouched. She hasn’t left the compound in four months and hasn’t needed dresses or heels or anything that belongs to a life outside these walls. So she lives in gym clothes, in sweatpants, or in pyjamas. The elegant wardrobe remains pristine, tags still attached, but she’s thankful for it nonetheless.

Despite most of the Avengers being early risers, the compound still feels eerily empty when Wanda makes her way downstairs around five. The kitchen and common area are silent, the kind of heavy quiet that makes the space feel even larger than it already is.

As she steps inside, FRIDAY flicks on the lights and starts the kettle without being asked. Wanda appreciates it, just enough warmth and movement to make the silence feel less oppressive. She moves on autopilot, pouring herself a cup of tea and wrapping her hands around it, letting the heat seep into her fingers. She lingers there for a while, staring out at the darkened landscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, listening to the faint hum of the compound waking up around her. Eventually, she grabs a piece of toast and some fruit, something small just to get her through training.

The next step in her routine is always the same, back to her room, book in hand, waiting for 7 a.m. That’s when the world finally stretches beyond the suffocating silence, when she gets her first taste of human interaction for the day. She never knows who will be training her until she arrives, but it doesn’t matter. Any interaction is better than none.

Steve is patient but firm, guiding her through endurance drills with quiet encouragement, always pushing but never breaking. Tony, in his own chaotic way, has taken an interest in refining the precision of her powers, integrating tech into her combat style, occasionally dragging Vision in as an extra set of hands.

Training with Natasha, however, is something else entirely. It’s an exercise in control, not just of her abilities, but of herself. Natasha is always a step ahead, sharp and calculating, teaching Wanda not just how to react but how to anticipate,

Every session is a battle of wills, Wanda fighting to keep up, to match Natasha’s effortless precision, to ignore the teasing smirks and pointed remarks that make her pulse stutter. She tries not to let the warmth rise to her cheeks when Natasha watches her with that assessing gaze, sharp and unreadable, or worse, when she smiles, slow and knowing, like she can see the effect she has on her.

And when Natasha has her pinned, bodies pressed too close on the mat, Wanda has to will herself to stay focused, to steady her breathing, to pretend the heat crawling up her spine is from exertion and not from the way Natasha’s breath ghosts against her skin. Because Natasha is everything she is not. She moves with an effortless confidence, like she belongs in every space she enters, like she owns the very ground beneath her feet.

It’s infuriating.

It’s fascinating.

It’s distracting.

It’s fucking hot.

Wanda had known Natasha was beautiful from the moment she first laid eyes on her. It was an undeniable fact, something that struck her immediately but had remained distant, nothing more than an objective observation. But the more time they spent together, the harder it became to not notice. The teasing smirks, the taunting little “keep up, Maximoff” whenever Wanda stumbled, the way Natasha would pin her to the mat with a smirk that made it impossible to think; it all chipped away at the fragile barrier Wanda had built between admiration and something dangerously close to desire.

She had tried to convince herself it was just the physicality of it all. Training with Natasha meant constant contact, fingers brushing against skin, bodies pressed together in a fight for dominance. Wanda wasn’t used to that. She had spent years isolated, first in HYDRA’s cold, unfeeling grasp and then in the uncertain limbo of joining the Avengers. Between the two, there had been very little warmth, and even less female company. 

That had to be the reason why she felt Natasha’s presence so much, why it lingered even after they had stepped away from each other. And if she sometimes whispered her name with her fingers buried inside herself during her post-workout shower? Well, it wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t feelings. It was just proximity, just touch-starvation. That was all.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Wanda has always known exactly who she is. Even with her past, there was never a moment of doubt, never a struggle to understand herself, she has liked women for as long as she can remember. It isn’t complicated, isn’t something she wrestles with. It’s simply a fact, an unshakable truth woven into the fabric of her being.

But she hasn’t shared this with the Avengers. Not because she’s ashamed, she isn’t. It’s just easier this way. There are two reasons for it, the first being the most obvious: she doesn’t know how they’ll react. Not that she thinks they would care, not really, but she’s spent too much of her life being treated differently. She doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to see her as anything but Wanda, and so she keeps it to herself.

The second reason, though…that one is a little more complicated. If Natasha knew, then suddenly, Natasha would know. And with that knowledge, every sparring session, every moment where Wanda’s chest heaved beneath the weight of Natasha’s body pinning her down would take on an entirely different meaning to the widow. No longer would she just see exertion, no longer would it just be an effect of training. And Wanda can’t have that.

Luckily for Wanda, everyone seems to think she’s involved with Vision. It’s not true, of course, but she doesn’t bother fully correcting them, she neither confirms nor denies them. She spends a lot of time with him, not because there’s anything romantic between them, but because he’s a source of comfort in a place that often feels too big and too empty. He’s not human, but he’s more than just a machine, even if Natasha jokingly calls him a "toaster," (Wanda can’t help but crease with laughter every single time).

Vision listens to her in a way no one else does. He asks her how she’s feeling, genuinely wants to know what’s on her mind, even discusses things that have nothing to do with the Avengers or their missions. He doesn’t rush her, doesn’t pressure her to speak when she’s not ready. When the weight of everything gets too much, he’s the one who offers her a quiet hug, his arms steady and warm in a way that feels safe.

Wanda can see why people would think there’s something more between them. It’s easy to mistake the closeness, the time they spend together. But she’s never tried to shut down the rumours. It’s simpler this way…let them believe it, let them see what they want to see. 

By the time evening rolls around, Wanda’s favourite part of the day has arrived. The quiet of the compound transforms into the low hum of voices, and for a few precious hours, she feels like she’s part of something, like she belongs. Dinner is always when the team gathers, the chatter filling the air, and for the briefest moment, she forgets the weight of the silence that usually follows her around.

Wanda started cooking for the team about a month in, after realising that they survived mostly on takeout. She couldn’t sit back and watch any longer. She wasn’t going to let her skills go to waste, especially when she knew the food she made could bring something different to the table.

But when the meal is over, when the laughter fades, and the hum of conversation dies down, everyone goes their separate ways. Even Vision leaves to work with Tony in his lab. Slowly, the room empties until she’s the only one left, the only one still sitting at the table, feeling the weight of silence press in.

She tells herself she doesn’t mind. She’s gotten used to it. The quiet, the stillness, the space where once there was chatter, warmth, and comfort. It’s a routine now. She’s fine. Really.

That’s why it was so damn shocking when, after months of her routine staying exactly the same, she was called to the meeting room by FRIDAY. Her heart leapt into her throat as soon as she heard the request, and a cold sweat began to bead at the back of her neck. The first thought that spiralled through her mind was simple, yet terrifying: They’re getting rid of me.

Her pace was fast, and she could feel the tension in her chest tighten with each step she took. Her hands instinctively clenched at her sides, trying to keep her nerves in check. She tried to calm herself, but the fear gnawed at her. 

When she stepped into the meeting room, though, the confusion hit her like a punch to the gut. Director Fury, Maria Hill, and Natasha were already there, waiting. Wanda’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it.

What is going on? Why is Natasha here? What could this be about? She had no answers, just a thousand questions flooding her brain.

Fury gestured to the seat across from Natasha. "Please sit, Maximoff," he said, his authoritative voice smooth but carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.

Wanda nodded quickly, her heart pounding in her throat, and made her way to the seat. As she lowered herself onto the chair, her gaze inadvertently met Natasha’s, and she gave a nervous, tight smile. But Natasha’s response was a smirk, like she knew exactly what this was about, like they were already one step ahead of her. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady, but her nerves made her sound smaller than she’d hoped.

Fury spoke again, his eyes never leaving her. “I need you for a mission.”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. Shock hit her so hard it felt like the air left her lungs entirely. A mission? Me? Her hands twisted nervously on the table, her fingers twitching as if trying to find something to grip, something solid. She had barely been training for a few months, and her powers still felt like they were slipping through her fingers half the time. She didn’t trust them, didn’t trust herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stumbled out. “W...what? Me? No I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Natasha cut in, her voice soft but reassuring as she reached across the table. Her hand gently covered Wanda’s, stilling the nervous fidgeting of her fingers. The warmth of Natasha’s touch grounded her for just a moment, and she dared to look up at her. Natasha’s smile was small, almost knowing. “You can do this,” Natasha said, her tone strangely gentle, her eyes steady. “Just hear them out.”

Wanda nodded quickly, swallowing her anxiety, but still felt the uncertainty cling to her like a second skin. She turned back to Fury and Maria, who were both watching her with expectant eyes.

Fury continued, his voice unwavering. “We need you to go undercover. Now, I know you haven’t been training long, but this isn’t a combat mission. It’s an intel mission.”

Wanda’s eyes went wide, her mouth hanging slightly open. The shock had her frozen, still trying to process the words. The thought of doing anything that involved her out in the field made her stomach churn. She was still so new to all of this. She had barely scraped the surface of what it meant to be an Avenger, let alone take on an undercover mission. She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out.

Maria, noticing Wanda’s silence, continued in Fury’s place, her voice firm but kind. “We’ve been tracking a few HYDRA agents. They’re known for their involvement in the arms-dealing ring. Recently, they booked a stay at a high-profile luxury villa. It could be nothing, maybe they’re just on holiday. But we suspect it’s a front for something else.” She leaned forward slightly. “It’s your job to get into their room and extract any data they have. We need to know what they are doing, when and why.”

Wanda sat there, her mind blank. Her body stiffened, her heart hammering in her chest. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The fear gnawed at her. This wasn’t just some undercover mission to steal a few papers or gather some information. This was about HYDRA. The people who had controlled her once. People who still haunted her nightmares. The idea of putting herself in the middle of that terrified her.

She could barely get the words out, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Natasha’s hand, still resting on hers, gave a slight squeeze. Wanda looked up at her, but Natasha didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. There was understanding in her eyes, and something else too, something like quiet confidence.

Maria’s voice brought Wanda back to the present, though the weight of the conversation was still pressing heavily on her chest. “Look, Wanda. We know this is a lot. We need someone who can get close without raising suspicion. You’ve been training, and you’ve got the skills to do this.”

Her stomach twisted, and her heartbeat quickened as she fought to steady her breath. Her eyes flickered to Natasha, who was sitting so effortlessly across the table, cool, collected, confident…everything Wanda was not. Natasha’s gaze met hers, unreadable but steady. Wanda swallowed hard. She felt small in comparison, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff and didn’t know how to climb down.

“Why can’t Natasha do it?” she blurted out, her voice trembling before she could stop herself. “She’s the best for this. She’s... experienced. She’s—”

Fury cut her off, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Natasha is doing it,” he said with finality, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ll be going with her. As a newly engaged couple, for cover.”

Wanda felt the air leave her lungs in a rush. Her chest tightened, and the room felt like it was closing in around her. She almost couldn’t breathe, her mind reeling with the shock of it all. The thought of having to pretend to be Natasha’s fiancée sent a rush of panic through her. The idea of getting that close to Natasha, of acting like they were something they weren’t, it was suffocating.

"Why... uh, doesn't Clint, Tony, Steve, or anyone else, really do it with her?" she asked, her voice higher than she wanted it to be, the words tumbling out too quickly. "They have way more experience than I do."

Maria rolled her eyes at Wanda’s questioning, clearly losing patience. “Because it’s a gay resort, Wanda,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The cover only works with you. You’re the one who fits.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath Wanda’s feet as Maria’s words sank in. Wanda had never felt more out of her depth in her entire life. “What if I can’t do this?” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking as the weight of the situation hit her full force. “What if I mess it up? I…I’m not ready. I can’t.

Natasha’s expression softened, but there was no pity in it, only quiet confidence. Natasha’s eyes met hers, and Wanda could see the silent understanding in them. Natasha knew how hard this was for Wanda, how out of her depth she felt. But there was no doubt in Natasha’s gaze, she was ready. Natasha believed in her.

“You can do this,” Natasha said softly, her voice steady and full of assurance. “Just follow my lead. We’ll be fine.”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The fear was choking her, suffocating her, and for a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. Her mind was racing, spinning in a million different directions, but none of them made sense. 

She wasn’t ready for this mission but she knew she had no choice. Taking a shaky breath, Wanda finally nodded, her throat tight. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she whispered, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. She could barely get them out. “I’ll try. I’ll—” Her voice faltered, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

For all her doubts, for all her insecurities, the mission was real. There was no backing out now. She couldn’t let the fear swallow her whole, no matter how badly she wanted to retreat to a safer place. This was her chance to start doing good, and she was definitely going to take it.

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Three days later, Wanda and Natasha found themselves at the entrance of a luxury resort, stepping out of the sleek black car that had been arranged for them. The moment they stood in front of the grand doors, Wanda felt the weight of their cover press against her, every step feeling heavier than the last. 

Their outfits screamed expensive, carefully selected, flawlessly put together and their luggage was no different. Bespoke suitcases, gleaming and pristine, made them look like two wealthy tourists with no care in the world. To top it all off, the oversised engagement rings on their fingers caught the sunlight, drawing attention with every movement. 

Natasha walked ahead, confident and poised, her posture perfect as she approached the check-in desk. Wanda followed closely behind, trying to match her step, though she felt like a clumsy shadow beside the seasoned widow. 

As Natasha stepped up to the counter, she reached for Wanda’s hand, intertwining their fingers with a practised ease. Wanda’s pulse skipped as Natasha’s touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. Natasha was in full control, her smile wide, her voice smooth as she slipped into her persona.

“Room for Jones?” Natasha said, her tone warm and inviting, a hint of playfulness in her words. She was already playing the role, perfectly.

The woman behind the counter looked up with an immediate smile. “Ah, our newly engaged couple! Welcome to you both,” she said, beaming at them with a sincerity that made Wanda’s stomach twist.

Natasha returned the smile, her eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous charm. She pulled Wanda’s hand toward her, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. Wanda’s heart raced, the kiss lingering far too long, and it took everything in her to stay calm. She could feel the warmth of Natasha’s lips against her skin, the gentle pressure that had her pulse skipping erratically.

“Thank you so much,” Natasha said brightly, turning her gaze to Wanda, her smile widening. “Kate and I are so excited to be here! The reviews and photos of this place look amazing.” Natasha’s words flowed so naturally, the excitement in her tone convincing enough to make anyone believe this was just another vacation for a happy couple.

“I know I’m biased,” the woman behind the counter continued, her smile broadening even further, “but this place is great. You two will have a lovely time. Your room is 412, fourth floor.”

“Thanks!” Natasha said, her voice smooth and casual, never faltering, as though she had done this a hundred times. Wanda’s gaze flicked over to her, but Natasha was already looking back at the attendant, nodding gratefully.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but all she could manage was a smile. She felt utterly paralysed by the weight of it all, the fake ring, the fake smiles, the fake love she was supposed to be selling to the world.

A porter stepped forward to take their luggage, interrupting Wanda’s spiralling thoughts. Natasha led the way toward the customer elevator, pulling Wanda along with her, still holding her hand firmly.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Natasha stepped inside without hesitation. Wanda hesitated for a moment, taking in the sprawling lobby around them, the high-end furnishings, the wealthy guests milling about, the buzz of luxury and relaxation that seemed so foreign to her. She stepped in, the doors closing behind them.

“So… Kate,” Natasha said with a teasing smirk, leaning against the elevator wall, her eyes scanning Wanda. “What do you think about this place?”

Wanda chuckled softly, a little breathless. “Well, Natalia,” Wanda replied with a playful grin, trying to mask her discomfort, “it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the smile on her lips growing more amused. “Really?” she asked, her tone light but with that underlying edge of amusement that Wanda couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah, didn't get much time for luxurious holidays while I was at HYDRA,” Wanda whispered, her voice cracking slightly, though she pushed through it. “Everything’s so… perfect here.” She glanced at Natasha, the words laced with more than just observation. Every time Natasha looked at her with that easy confidence, she was reminded just how far out of her depth she was. How unprepared she felt for this, pretending to be Natasha’s partner, in public, in a place like this.

Their names and personas had been meticulously chosen to ensure they fit the cover. Natasha had become Natalia Jones, a US national, energetic, a fitness enthusiast, and a lawyer, an easy character for her to slip into, almost second nature. Wanda, on the other hand, was Katarina “Kate” Novák, a book reviewer from Slovakia. Close enough to Sokovia for the accent to make sense, but far enough removed to avoid suspicion. 

Natasha stepped closer, her gaze lingering on Wanda for a moment longer than was necessary. The flicker of something unspoken passed between them, but Wanda couldn’t place it. Seemingly without warning, the elevator dinged softly as they reached their floor, and Natasha stepped out first, glancing over her shoulder with that quiet expectation in her eyes. 

She held her hand out to Wanda, a simple gesture that made Wanda’s heart stutter in her chest. For a split second, she forgot everything, forgot the mission, forgot her nerves, and everything that was at stake. All she could focus on was the warmth of Natasha’s fingers, so close, so easy.

This is just an act, she reminded herself, forcing her fingers to straighten, to reach out, to accept. Natasha wasn’t offering her hand because she wanted her to take it. She was doing it because it was part of the cover, to sell the illusion that they were a couple. Nothing more. 

Her heart was still racing, and she tried to force a smile, masking the nerves that threatened to spill over. "Right," she murmured under her breath, making sure nothing seemed off. She needed to act like she belonged in this world, like she belonged with Natasha. 

They made their way into the suite, and Wanda stopped just inside the door, taking it all in. It was huge, bigger than anything she’d ever seen, bigger than the rooms in the compound, even. The bed was massive, easily the size of a small kingdom, and the suite was filled with plush sofas, flat-screen TVs, and a walk-in wardrobe that seemed to stretch on forever. 

And then it hit her. Her stomach lurched. There was only one bed. Of course there was. They were supposed to be engaged, pretending to be in love. She could feel her pulse quicken as she stared at the bed.

As Natasha casually threw herself onto the side of the bed closest to the door, Wanda froze. Before Wanda could even react, Natasha spoke, her voice casual. "I assume it’s okay for me to take this side, right? I just like being close to the door.”

Wanda blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. “Oh... uh, yeah, you can have the bed?” She phrased it as a question, her voice uncertain, unsure. She wanted to add something, to make it clear that she didn’t mind sleeping on the couch hell, she’d sleep on the floor if she had to, but the words wouldn’t come.

Natasha chuckled, leaning back against the pillows as if the entire situation were no big deal. "You can stay with me. This bed is huge, and it’s so comfy.” before her voice dropped into that familiar teasing tone. “And I promise I won’t bite,” she said with a smirk, “… unless you want me to.” 

Wanda’s heart leapt into her throat, hammering against her ribcage so violently that she was sure Natasha could hear it. She felt her face flush, her breath catching in her chest. The silence hung heavy between them, and Wanda stood there, frozen, unable to form a single word. She couldn’t look away from Natasha’s relaxed form on the bed, from the casual way she sprawled out, as if this were just another day, another mission. To Natasha, it is. 

Natasha’s voice broke through her thoughts again. "Oh, come on, Maximoff. You’re not sleeping on the sofa. Come here, before I make you.”

Wanda felt a strange kind of relief, but it was mixed with panic. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed her things, walking slowly over to the other side of the bed. “Thank you…” Wanda said quietly, her voice soft, almost lost in the air between them. 

“No problem,” Natasha said, her smile was soft, almost unreadable, before she stood up and made her way toward the bathroom. "I’ll be quick," she said casually, her voice smooth as she disappeared behind the door. Wanda nodded, even though Natasha couldn’t see her, and forced herself to focus on unpacking some of her things.

It was already late, and the fatigue from the long journey was starting to settle in, making her feel heavy-limbed and disconnected from her thoughts. As Natasha showered, Wanda forced herself to take slow, measured breaths. I can do this, Wanda told herself. I can sleep in the same bed, be normal. Friends share beds. it. Is. fine.”

She thought she had her panic under wraps, until the bathroom door opened again, and Natasha walked out. Wanda’s breath hitched in her throat as she tried not to react. Natasha emerged wearing a small pair of pyjama shorts and a loose, baggy top, her damp hair still clinging to the sides of her face as she absently dried it with a towel. It wasn’t the kind of outfit Natasha usually wore, there were no tight black clothes, no leather, no sleek, dangerous allure. Instead, it was something... softer, something that felt so domestic, so real in a way that made Wanda’s heart stumble in her chest.

She’d seen Natasha in skin-tight clothes a hundred times, but this... this was different. And the sight of her, looking so effortlessly relaxed, so human, made Wanda’s mouth dry. Her thoughts scattered, and a heat flooded her body, quickly moving from her cheeks all the way down to her core. 

Wanda’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. Get yourself together, Maximoff. Wanda bit down on her lip, forcing herself to look away, to focus on anything else. You do not like her like that. You don’t. It is just the room…the dim lighting, the lingering warmth of the shower still clinging to the air. It is the mission, the forced intimacy, the way we have to play pretend. That’s all it is.

It isn’t Natasha. It isn’t the way she moves, effortlessly graceful even in something as simple as drying her hair. It isn’t the way water is trickling down her throat, catching the hollow of her collarbone before disappearing beneath the oversized shirt. It isn’t the damp strands clinging to her skin, the scent of soap and something undeniably Natasha filling the air. 

No, it isn't any of that....Except….fuck….It is.

She couldn’t even lie to herself anymore. It took one day, one day with Natasha and she had already thrown out her excuses, one day, and she knew she was absolutely fucked. This was a crush and she was going to go down with it.

Natasha slipped into the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets breaking through Wanda’s thoughts. Wanda grabbed her things and rushed for the bathroom, barely keeping herself composed as she made her way towards the door. The second she was out of the room, she let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The door closed behind her, and she leaned against it for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, her pulse still racing.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not for Natasha’s proximity, not for this situation, not for the way her heart refused to listen to reason. Wanda shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away as she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower letting the hot water wash over her, desperate to clear the fog from her brain. 

The shower did wonders for Wanda, washing away most of the tension and calming her nerves, though the heat still lingered under her skin. She managed to get herself out of the bathroom and into the bedroom without any further incidents. As she entered the room, she found Natasha lying on her side of the bed, her eyes focused on the screen of her phone. She seemed utterly at ease, scrolling through something without a care in the world. 

She slipped under the covers quickly, keeping her eyes trained on the bed as she turned away from Natasha and faced the wall. Wanda had hated the quiet of the compound, and she had to be honest, the gentle rhythm of Natasha’s breathing, the soft rustle of the sheets as she moved, it was oddly comforting. It made the stillness less suffocating. 

It reminded her of the nights she’d spent with Pietro, just the two of them, sharing the space without words, with the quiet comfort of simply being together. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the ache that spread through her chest at the memory. This felt like being home, it felt like she had someone again. This was dangerous.

Just as she began to drift off, her exhaustion pulling her under, Natasha shifted in the bed, settling fully. Despite the enormous size of the bed, Wanda could feel Natasha’s presence like a weight on her back, almost like she was pressing against her. She felt a flutter in her chest as Natasha’s breath brushed against her skin, sending goosebumps racing down her arms. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore it, but her heart wouldn’t settle.

“Do you think your boyfriend will be mad that you’re sharing a bed with me?” Natasha’s voice was teasing, light, but Wanda’s heart skipped a beat.

She groaned quietly, already halfway to sleep as she turned over to look at Natasha. “I do not have a boyfriend, Natasha,” she muttered, but the words were out before she could think. The moment she said it, her mind screamed at her to shut up. She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive. And she hadn’t meant to forget that she wanted Natasaha to think that they were together, or to at least suspect it. 

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound sending another jolt through Wanda’s already frayed nerves. She could practically feel Natasha studying her, her sharp eyes reading between the lines. “No?” Natasha replied, voice still light but with a knowing edge. “What about the toaster?”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless chuckle that she always had whenever Natasha called Vision that. Wanda shook her head, trying to brush off the sudden rush of heat. “He is not a toaster, Natasha,” she said, her words faltering slightly. “He’s basically a man,” she added, deflecting from whether she was his girlfriend or not.

Natasha smirked, clearly not letting the conversation go. “A man, hm?” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Seems like you’re a little defensive of your boyfriend.”

Wanda wondered why Natasha wasn't letting it go, did she know something? Nonetheless, she rolled her eyes, trying to play it off, but she could feel the blush creeping up her neck. “You are my fiancée, so I can’t have a boyfriend,” she said, once again trying to deflect.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You’re very good at deflecting, Maximoff,” she said with a playful tone that Wanda couldn’t quite decipher.

Wanda didn’t know how to respond to that. Natasha’s gaze met hers, soft yet knowing, and Wanda’s heart fluttered again, against her better judgment. The tension in the room felt thick, and Wanda wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to do this. There was no chance she could fool a spy who read people for a living, not when stuck so close. She just wanted to sleep and stop making a fool of herself, so she closed her eyes, cutting off the conversation before she could say something else she would regret.

“Goodnight, Katarina,” Natasha said teasingly before she turned over to face the opposite way.  

Wanda’s heart skipped again. “Goodnight, Natalia,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. 

-----

As usual, Wanda woke up before 4 AM, despite only having fallen asleep around 11. She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind buzzing with thoughts. She listened to Natasha’s steady, soft breathing beside her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest that somehow made the silence of the room feel less oppressive. Wanda felt her mind slowly quieting, just listening to the rhythm of Natasha’s sleep. 

For once, she found herself falling back to sleep, her body sinking into the bed like it belonged there. She slept deeper than she had in what felt like forever, and she didn’t wake again until 6 AM when Natasha stirred beside her.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the sight of Natasha already awake, green eyes trained on her. The gaze was steady, almost predatory, and Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “Good morning, fiancée,” Natasha said, her voice teasing, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “How are you?”

Wanda blinked, disoriented for a moment before answering. “Good,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep. “This is the latest I’ve slept in months. I feel rested,” she added, not mentioning the nightmares that usually plagued her nights, or the fact that the silence of the compound often made her feel like she was crawling out of her own skin. She didn’t need to mention it, especially not now, with Natasha beside her, her presence so steady and calm. “How did you sleep?” 

Natasha stretched with a lazy smile, clearly more awake than Wanda. “Good,” she said, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. “Ready for breakfast though. I’m starving.”

Wanda smiled, glad for the distraction. “Me too,” she said, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. The first day of their mission was meant to be spent casually, lounging around the resort, waiting for the targets to arrive. It was the perfect opportunity to get close to them, to strike up a conversation and gather intel without raising any suspicion.

Wanda quickly got out of bed and grabbed a bikini from her bag. It was a pale blue colour, simple but flattering. She got ready in the bathroom but as she finished changing she realised she’d forgotten to bring in her sundress that she planned to use to cover her bikini, at least for now. 

She sighed, shaking her head, then took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom, hoping to get to the dress as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention. But as she reached for it, she felt Natasha’s gaze land on her. The air seemed to shift. There was something in the way Natasha’s eyes darkened, something that made Wanda’s stomach flip. She could’ve sworn Natasha licked her lips, though the moment was gone in an instant, replaced by that teasing smirk Wanda had become all too familiar with. You are seeing things, Maximoff, she scolded herself. 

“Wow,” Natasha said, her voice smooth and light, “Natalia is one lucky woman to have Kate on her arm.” She winked at Wanda as she made the remark, and Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. It made sense now though, Natasha was just getting in character.

Wanda quickly turned away, grabbing the dress with shaking hands and muttering under her breath, “Shut up. Natalia doesn’t need to flirt in the room where no one can hear us.”

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “Can’t I compliment my fiancée?”

Wanda laughed, trying to keep the teasing mood light. “When you get one, sure,” she said, though the flutter in her chest made it harder to keep the sarcasm in her voice. Natasha was getting to her, and she hated how easily it was happening.

Wanda slipped into the sundress quickly, trying to ignore how her heart raced more than it should have as Natasha looked at her. But then Natasha, seemingly unaware of the chaos she was causing in Wanda's mind, slipped off her robe, revealing a stunning red bikini. Wanda’s breath hitched, and she felt as though she might choke on her own air.

Her gaze was drawn to Natasha’s every movement as she stood up, pulling a makeup bag from the side. Wanda couldn’t tear her eyes away, and she realised, far too late that she’d been staring. She quickly forced herself to look away, but it was too late. Natasha caught her, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips. “I’ll just be a minute,” Natasha said casually, as if the effect she had on Wanda was nothing out of the ordinary.

Wanda’s cheeks burned, but she tried to push the heat down, pretending like she hadn’t been caught. “What’s that for?” Wanda asked, glancing at the makeup in Natasha’s hand, desperate to change the subject.

Natasha pointed toward her stomach, where a darkened mark was visible just above her bikini line. It was shaped like a bullet wound, and Wanda felt a pang of sympathy before she could stop it. “Before makeup,” Natasha said, her voice almost too casual, “it was ‘bye-bye bikinis.’ But I’ve figured out how to cover the big ones now.”

There was a strange, almost imperceptible shift in Natasha’s expression as she spoke, something Wanda couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t anger, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something that felt almost like... hurt? Wanda’s heart squeezed at the thought. 

“Well,” Wanda said quickly, trying to lift the mood, “I’m sure Kate appreciates that the bikinis made a comeback.” She smiled weakly, hoping the attempt at humour would lighten the atmosphere.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a teasing grin. “You are right. I think Kate can’t take her eyes off Natalia,” she said with a wink. It was clear from her tone, from the look in her eyes, that Natasha was well aware that Wanda had been staring.

Wanda’s face flushed, her heart skipping a beat as she stammered, “H...hurry up, I want breakfast.”

Natasha’s smirk softened just a little, and she nodded, not pressing any further. “Coming right up, honey,” she teased. Wanda tried to regain her composure, but the words still felt heavy in her chest.

As Natasha finished with the makeup, Wanda fought to steady her breath, trying to drown out the warmth that lingered from the teasing, from the closeness, from the undeniable attraction that Wanda couldn’t shake.

She had to focus. This was a mission. But with Natasha so close, pretending had never felt so impossible. Natasha had slipped into her own dress for breakfast, a sleek, understated choice that somehow managed to look effortlessly amazing. Wanda couldn’t help but glance at her again as they made their way down to the hotel restaurant, their hands of course intertwining as they walked together to keep up the act. The proximity of Natasha beside her, the warmth of her hand in hers, sent a familiar jolt through Wanda’s chest, but she tried to focus on the task ahead, forcing herself to keep her thoughts in check.

As they sat at their table, the waiter greeted them with a bright smile. “Good morning, ladies. What may I get started for you today?”

Natasha smiled warmly at the waiter before replying. “I’ll have a black coffee and an omelette, please,” she said confidently, her tone smooth and relaxed. She then turned to Wanda, her eyes softening as she placed her hand on top of Wanda’s. “What would you like, my love?”

Wanda felt her entire body short-circuit at the words, her heart thundering in her chest, her breath hitching in her throat. She tried to speak but no sound came out. Her mouth went dry, and she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. 

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect she was having. “Forgive us,” she said to the waiter, her voice warm but laced with a hint of amusement. “She’s not a morning person.” Natasha turned back to Wanda, giving her a playful squeeze. “She’ll take a tea, some toast, and maybe some fruit too, please,” she added, her tone now soft and sweet, as if she were ordering for a beloved partner.

The waiter smiled at them both. “Coming right up!” he said cheerfully before walking off to place the order.

Wanda was still frozen in place, trying to regain her composure. When she finally managed to speak, it came out in a soft, slightly stunned whisper. “How did you know?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned in just slightly, teasingly. “How did I know what?” Her voice was light and playful.

Wanda blinked, still trying to collect her thoughts. “What I have for breakfast?” she whispered so others could not hear, the question coming out almost incredulously.

Natasha tapped her nose, the playful glint in her eyes intensifying as she winked. “I know my fiancée very well,” she said with a teasing tone, clearly relishing in Wanda’s reaction.

Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. “You are impossible,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of frustration and affection, though she couldn’t deny how much she liked this side of Natasha, her confidence, her teasing, the way she made everything feel natural, easy.

Natasha’s smirk softened into something warmer, a quiet satisfaction in her gaze. “Not impossible. You are just predictable,” she teased, leaning back in her chair and giving Wanda a wink. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Wanda shook her head, still trying to shake off the feeling of warmth that had taken over her. The whole situation felt like too much, too real, too close and yet, there was a part of her that wanted to stay lost in this. In Natasha. 

The waiter returned with their drinks and breakfast, and Wanda could only hope she would have the strength to keep herself under control throughout the day.

-----

They settled onto two sun loungers by the pool, the bright sun beating down on them, the sound of the water rippling gently beside them. Natasha was effortlessly playing the role of the doting girlfriend, her movements graceful and confident as she laid out a towel for Wanda, arranging it just right. She went so far as to fetch a cold drink for her, placing it carefully beside her, the ice clinking softly in the glass. Next to them, each sun bed was taken, couples were everywhere and it was crucial they blended in.

Wanda settled into the lounger, trying her best to ignore the soft fluttering of her heart as Natasha's eyes skimmed over her, taking her in. “God, I am lucky to have you, babe,” Natasha said, her tone genuine, as if it were completely real. She is so good at this.

Wanda’s cheeks warmed instantly, but she played it off with a grin, responding in kind. “Not as lucky as I am, darling.” Her words carried a softness in them that she couldn’t quite control.

They both lay down on their sunbeds, the warmth of the sun comforting. Natasha put on her sunglasses, scanning the area with practised ease. To anyone else, she would have looked like just another woman enjoying the resort, relaxed and casual. But Wanda knew better. Natasha’s eyes were constantly moving, assessing, looking for anyone out of place. Looking for their marks.

Wanda settled into her spot, trying to focus on the feel of the sun on her skin, but Natasha leaned closer to her, her body nearly brushing Wanda’s as she whispered softly in her ear, her breath warm and tantalising. “No sign, keep an eye out,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and intimate. Then Natasha kissed her cheek to sell the illusion, the soft press of her lips sending a wave of heat through Wanda’s body.

Wanda physically shuddered, and it didn’t escape Natasha’s notice. The corner of her lips curled into a smirk, but she didn’t comment on it. She pulled away, sitting back and applying sun cream to her arms. Wanda mirrored her actions, though it took a lot more effort to stay calm, to pretend that this was just a normal day at the resort.

It was fine, at least until Natasha turned to her, the playful glint in her eyes never leaving. “Let me get your back?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of affection. It was a simple request, one that most couples would share without a second thought.

Wanda froze. She had to do it. She had no choice. Couples do this, we need to do this.

Wanda nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbled, “Thank you.” She turned and laid flat on her front, trying to push away the rising panic in her chest.

Natasha climbed onto her with the fluid ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, sitting with casual confidence on the swell of Wanda’s ass. The shift in position was entirely unnecessary, it felt too intimate, too close when Natasha could have just rubbed the cream in from the sunbed next to her. Natasha began rubbing sun cream on her back, her hands smooth and firm as they moved across Wanda’s skin, leaving trails of cool lotion behind.

Wanda could feel the heat pooling in her body. Her mind scrambled for control, but it was useless. The weight of Natasha on her, the warmth of her hands, the simple but intimate nature of the act sent a rush of heat straight to her core. Every movement of Natasha’s hands, every shift of her weight, made Wanda’s heart race, and she couldn’t stop the way her body reacted, betraying her.

When Natasha finished, she didn’t move right away. Instead, she leaned down, her lips grazing Wanda’s spine as she planted soft, lingering kisses down her back. Each press of her lips sent a tremor through Wanda, and she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. Natasha’s lips were soft, but the feeling was anything but innocent. This is an act, this is an act, this is an act, she repeated in her mind, hoping to quell the thoughts and feelings. 

“Thank you, Natalia,” Wanda whispered, almost a plea, trying to dismiss the widow and get her to stop torturing her.

Natasha pulled away, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Kate,” she said with a teasing smirk. “My turn.”

With a sigh, she climbed onto Natasha just as Natasha had for her, her hands shaking slightly as she worked the sun cream into Natasha’s skin. But unlike Natasha, she didn’t linger. She didn’t want to. She focused only on the task at hand, her movements quick and efficient, anything to avoid the closeness, the tension between them. When she was done, she didn’t wait for Natasha to react. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, trying to make it look more intimate than it actually was. As she pulled away, she quickly retreated, heart still racing in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But it did. And Wanda couldn’t escape it. 

The day had settled into a familiar rhythm. Wanda had her book in hand, lost in the pages, while Natasha soaked up the sun, her relaxed posture looking like she belonged in this world of luxury and ease. Their mission hung in the background, but it was a quiet tension, the waiting. They both kept an eye out for their marks, though nothing much had happened for most of the day. Time seemed to stretch on.

Wanda adjusted in her lounger, flipping a page of her book, but the words had long since stopped registering. Her eyes kept drifting over the pool, catching the way the sunlight reflected off the water’s surface, distorting the blues and golds into something almost hypnotic. 

The distant hum of conversation mixed with the soft rustling of palm trees in the breeze, but none of it could settle the anxious energy thrumming beneath her skin. She was too aware of everything, of the mission, of the weight of the engagement ring on her finger, of the fact that Natasha was lying beside her, looking impossibly relaxed, as if this entire situation didn’t affect her in the slightest.

Wanda exhaled quietly, willing herself to focus on the book in her lap, but her gaze wandered again. It was then that she saw the two women at the bar. One blonde, her hair styled neatly, her frame petite but with a confidence that made her seem larger than she was. The other was taller, dark-haired, striking in a way that immediately commanded attention. The way they carried themselves, the effortless ease of their presence, sent a jolt through Wanda’s system. She hesitated, carefully studying them, but it didn’t take long for her instincts to confirm what her brain already knew. This was them.

She turned her head slightly, leaning toward Natasha, keeping her movements natural, careful not to make it obvious. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Natasha caught it instantly. “At the bar.”

Wanda watched the shift happen in real-time. One second, Natasha was lounging as if she had no care in the world, and then, in the next breath, she was all precision, her body still but alert, her muscles coiled beneath her skin like she was ready to pounce. Her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable as she took in Wanda’s words, before she nodded once and sat up, adjusting herself with a casual grace that made it seem like she was merely stretching in the sun.

Then, just as effortlessly, she softened again, slipping back into her role like it was a second skin. She reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing against Wanda’s wrist, the contact light but intentional. When she spoke, her voice was honeyed, “Shall we get a drink, my love?”

Wanda barely had time to compose herself before she nodded, pushing past the ridiculous way her heart reacted to something that should have been nothing. “Yeah, I’m really thirsty,” she murmured, forcing herself to sound casual despite the absolutely explicit images her mind conjured up to deal with said thirst.

She stood, shaking her head to rid the images from her mind, extending a hand towards Natasha to help her up, an instinct more than anything else, a simple, natural gesture. But Natasha didn’t just take it, she held it, wrapping her fingers around Wanda’s. She used it to guide Wanda forward, pulling her closer than necessary, their bodies barely an inch apart before Natasha finally stepped ahead, leading them both toward the bar. Wanda’s skin burned under the weight of Natasha’s grip, her mind screaming at her to get a hold of herself, but it was impossible when everything felt like too much.

By the time they reached the bar, the two women were engrossed in their own conversation, unaware of their presence, and Natasha ordered herself and Wanda a drink with a confident ease, as if their marks were not stood right there. And then, before she could even register what was happening, Natasha moved. It was subtle at first, just the faintest brush of fingers against her side, light, teasing, barely there. But then Natasha pressed in just enough to tickle, and Wanda’s body jolted before she could stop it. 

“Ahh! Nat, stop! Stop!” Wanda squealed, twisting away from the touch, half-laughing, half-panicked as she swatted at Natasha’s hand. She could already feel the heat rushing to her face, the mortifying realisation that her reaction had been exactly what Natasha wanted. “Natalia!” she growled, trying to sound stern, but the amusement in Natasha’s eyes only deepened.

Natasha didn’t let her pull away. Instead, with a fluid motion that was too smooth, she yanked Wanda back against her. The movement stole the breath from Wanda’s lungs, and before she could process what was happening, Natasha leaned in, her lips pressing softly against the side of Wanda’s neck.

Wanda’s entire body froze, every nerve suddenly alert, her skin burning where Natasha’s lips had just been. Her breath stuttered, her chest tight, and she knew this was all for show, that Natasha was just playing a part, making them look natural, drawing attention to them in a way that would make it easier to strike up a conversation with the marks.

But knowing didn’t change the way her pulse jumped at the warmth of Natasha’s breath against her skin, didn’t stop the rush of heat flooding through her, didn’t stop the way her stomach clenched at the sound of Natasha’s voice. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” Natasha purred, her lips still impossibly close, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re just too easy.”

Wanda’s body betrayed her once again, shivering under Natasha’s touch. The laughter of the two women at the bar broke through her daze, and suddenly, Wanda remembered where they were, why they were here. She forced herself to regain control, to focus. The mission. Their targets. Not Natasha’s lips on your skin, not her voice in your ear.

The blonde grinned at them, her eyes warm. "You two are so cute. Ah, to be young and in love," she sighed dreamily.

The brunette snorted, shaking her head. "Excuse me, I’m still young and in love," she teased, pressing a soft kiss to the blonde’s cheek.

The blonde laughed. "Darling, we’re in our forties. That is not young." She turned back to Wanda and Natasha with an amused smile. "Look at these two! Babies! Especially this cutie." She pointed at Wanda, her eyes raking over her in her bikini, lingering slightly too long on her breasts.

Wanda flushed, trying desperately not to let it show just how much her body was still reeling from Natasha’s touch. But Natasha wasn’t helping. Instead of brushing it off, instead of allowing Wanda a second to compose herself, Natasha only pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s waist and pressing their bodies together.

"She is very cute," Natasha said, her voice light, teasing, but there was something else there. Something Wanda couldn’t name. "And very mine."

The words sent a full-body shudder through Wanda before she could stop it. A small, breathless sound, barely more than a whimper escaped before she could swallow it down. It was quiet, barely noticeable, but Natasha heard it. She felt the way Wanda tensed, the way her breath hitched.

And Wanda knew, in that moment, that Natasha had caught her reaction. Wanda barely managed to recover. She reached for her drink in a desperate attempt to ground herself. "I am all yours, my love," she murmured, though the words felt heavier than she intended.

The brunette smiled, clearly enjoying the interaction. "We haven’t seen you two around before," she said. "When did you get here?"

Natasha responded, her tone light and full of warmth. "Oh, late last night. It’s our first day here. We’re so excited!" She turned to Wanda with a soft, loving look. "We just got engaged and thought, why not, you know?" she said, her eyes holding Wanda’s for just a second too long. Wanda couldn’t help but smile back, the affection in Natasha’s eyes pulling her deeper into the moment. 

The brunette raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Oh, you have to join us tonight for drinks to celebrate!"

Wanda glanced at Natasha, waiting for her response, and Natasha nodded smoothly. "That would be lovely, if you don’t mind, of course!" she added with a warm smile.

The blonde spoke up again, clearly delighted by their acceptance. "Nonsense! You two seem fun, even if your fiancée is a little quiet," she joked, laughing lightly.

Wanda blinked at the comment before responding. "Well, you see, Natalia speaks so much I don’t tend to need to," she said, rolling her eyes for good measure. 

"Behave, Novák," Natasha growled softly in her ear, her lips brushing against Wanda’s skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "Or you won’t be the future Mrs Jones," she added with a playful nip on Wanda’s ear.

Both women at the bar laughed at the interaction, but Wanda felt her heart race in her chest, the pounding thrum of it echoing in her ears. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this act up, not with Natasha so close, teasing her, kissing her, making her feel things that were far too real, far too intimate for comfort. This is a fucking nightmare.

Before she got the chance to process further, the brunette smiled at them, introducing herself. "Oh, by the way, I’m Johanna, and this is my wife, Zoey."

Natasha smiled back, all charm and confidence, and introduced herself and Wanda in turn. "I’m Natalia, and this is Katarina."

"It’s lovely to meet you both," Johanna said, flashing a warm smile. "We’re going back to our room to change and get ready for dinner and drinks tonight. We’ll see you later!"

Wanda smiled back, trying to shake off the heat she could feel crawling up her neck. "See you later," she managed, her voice far too strained. Natasha nodded, her expression smooth.

As soon as the women turned away and began walking toward the elevator, Wanda immediately pulled herself away, her breath shallow as she downed her drink in one go, not caring about the burn of the alcohol. Natasha noticed, her gaze softening with concern. "What’s up?" she asked, her voice quieter now, an edge of worry creeping into her tone as she observed Wanda’s behaviour.

Wanda quickly plastered on a smile, "Nothing," she said, trying to sound unaffected. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low. "We should follow, yes?"

Natasha blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. It didn’t take long for Wanda to realise that Natasha hadn’t thought of it herself. Natasha cleared her throat almost awkwardly, as if she’d been in her own world, not entirely present. "Yeah... yeah, we should," she agreed, her voice a little flat as if the idea had only just come to her. 

Wanda's stomach churned, why didn't Natasha think of this? She is the professional here but she nodded anyway, a quiet unease growing inside her. They moved quickly but carefully, hanging back in the lobby as they kept their eyes on the two women. The elevator doors closed, and the women disappeared from view.

They saw the elevator was headed to the fourth floor. “They are staying on our floor. Let’s go,” Natasha commented. Wanda felt a twinge of anxiety, but Natasha's grip on her hand was firm, almost possessive as they quickly made their way to the stairs.

When they reached the fourth floor, they slowed their pace, listening for any sound that might give away the women’s whereabouts. Natasha peeked around the corner, her movements calculated, like a predator watching her prey. Wanda felt a shiver run down her spine at the way Natasha’s posture shifted, all business.

Natasha’s head turned toward Wanda as she whispered, "They are two doors down from us."

Wanda nodded, heart pounding again. She felt the familiar flutter of nerves, but she pushed it down. This was their mission. This was what they were here for. Still, the heat in her chest didn’t fade, and her thoughts continued to spin.

"Let’s go to our room," Natasha said, her voice quieter now, more controlled. She pulled Wanda along once again, guiding her with that firm grip. When they got to their room, Natasha’s hand was still holding hers, though her grip had loosened slightly. It felt almost... intimate. They stepped into their room, the door clicking softly shut behind them, and Wanda let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, it came out as a large sigh. 

"Wands, please. What’s wrong?" Natasha’s voice was quieter now, softer. She hadn’t let go of Wanda’s hand, her thumb absently grazing over her knuckles, a touch so small yet so utterly overwhelming that Wanda thought she might actually combust.

Wanda forced herself to look away, anywhere but into Natasha’s impossibly green eyes, because she knew if she met them for too long, she’d lose herself entirely. She swallowed hard before finally pulling her hand free, the loss of warmth immediate and almost painful.

"Oh, nothing," she lied, her voice steady enough to be convincing, even as her pulse raced. "Just nervous, I guess."

Nervous. That was the understatement of the century. Nervous didn’t cover the way her body felt like it was on fire, the way her skin still tingled from Natasha’s touch, the way she ached actually ached, for something she couldn’t have. She wanted to hold Natasha, to kiss her, but to actually do those things as Wanda, and not Kate.

Natasha studied her for a beat too long, her expression unreadable, though there was something in her gaze that made Wanda feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she liked. Wanda held her breath, waiting, heart hammering. 

And then, Natasha sighed, her face dropping slightly clearly realising she wouldn't be getting the answer she wanted.  "Well, you’re doing great," she said easily, as if that was all that needed to be said. "Tonight will be fine. We are just hanging out, and hopefully finding out their schedule for tomorrow so we can find a way to sneak into their room.” Natasha moved closer, her eyes showing nothing but warmth, “You’ve got this, Little Witch."

Wanda barely managed a nod, mumbling a quiet, "Okay, thanks," before turning sharply on her heel and heading straight for the bathroom.

She needed to get out of this conversation. She needed out of this mission. And more than anything, she needed to get out of her own damn head, because she could not keep wanting Natasha Romanoff.

-----

Part 2

Part 2 summary: The mission is in full swing, and Wanda is doing everything she can to resist Natasha’s charm. After all, it’s just an act… right?

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 2 | - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The days after your café reunion with Chris passed in a haze of texts and shared nostalgia. When you suggested he come over to your place one evening to catch up more, he hesitated for only a moment before agreeing.

On the night he arrived, Chris stood outside your door, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding. Maybe it was the years of distance or the intimacy of stepping into your personal space. He shook his head and pressed the button.

When you opened the door, your wide smile put him at ease. “Hey! Come in.”

Chris stepped inside. While removing his shoes, he glanced around. Your home was cozy, the kind of space that reflected its owner. A stack of books rested on a coffee table, a throw blanket was draped over the couch, and a few polaroid photos adorned the walls. One, in particular, caught his eye — a candid shot of you laughing with someone. His chest tightened briefly. Did you have a boyfriend? Wait, that's possible.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

You grabbed his hand without thinking and led him to your desk. The tiny producing setup was modest but well-loved: a small MIDI keyboard, a monitor, and a tangle of cables. “This is where I spend most of my free time,” you said with a grin. “But here—this is what I wanted to show you.”

You held up a USB stick, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “I found this while unpacking. It has some old files on it… something we worked on together back then.”

Chris’ eyes widened. “No way! I thought that got lost.”

“Apparently not,” you replied, plugging the USB into your laptop. After a moment of scrolling, you played the file. A rough, unfinished song filled the room, and Chris’ cheeks flushed. “Oh my god,” he couldn’t help but exclaim. It was clunky and amateurish, but there was something endearing about it. It reflected the rough beginnings of his own musical career, a thought that made him laugh.

“I mean, the melody… could’ve been worse,” he said with a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

You smirked. “That's what I thought! It has potential–If you ignore the rest. We could try to work with it!”

The two of you dove into the project, tweaking the melody and layering new elements. It was pure fun, the kind that came from creating with someone who shared your passion. As the track slowly evolved, so did the atmosphere between you two. Little touches – a brush of his hand against yours when reaching for the keyboard, the way his laugh made your heart skip – blurred the lines between friendship and something more.

As you scrolled through the files on the USB, another discovery made you pause. “Oh my gosh,” you said, clicking on an image file. It was an old selfie of the two of you as trainees. 

The photo showed you taking the selfie with a big grin, your cheeks pressed against Chris’, his arm slung casually around your shoulder. His smile was wide and carefree, his dimples on full display. You both looked so much younger – teenagers with softer, rounder faces, and an innocence that only came before the pressures of adulthood. 

“Oh, come on. You still have that?” Chris groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Man, that must have been like… 10 years ago?”

“Yeah, look at you! You were so cute,” you said, grinning. 

Chris’ ears turned pink as he peeked through his fingers. “Stop. "Seriously." 

Then, after a beat, he asked, “Can you send it to me?”

You laughed lightly. “Sure, if you want.”

As you moved to send him the picture, Chris’ curiosity grew. “Do you have more of those?”

You glanced at him mischievously. “Maybee,” you teased, your grin widening.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you repeated, leaving him to wonder.

Chris’ gaze flickered between the photo on his phone and you. The years had changed you, but your essence – the spark that made his heart beat differently back then – was the same. He couldn’t stop himself from murmuring under his breath, “Your boyfriend is going to be one lucky guy.”

You didn’t hear him, but you caught the way his gaze softened. “What?” you asked, still smiling.

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Just… thinking how much has changed. And how much hasn’t.”

Chris let out a small sigh, his mind drifted back to the last time you had spoken before you disappeared from his life.

The memory hit him hard.

You had just received the news that you weren’t debuting in the upcoming group, and he – without thinking – had reacted with relief. Not because he wanted to see you fail, never that, but because it meant you weren’t leaving. He had lost so many friends to debut teams, especially that year, watching them move forward while he stayed behind. But you, especially you, would still be here. With him.

He hadn't realized how cruel that must have sounded to you at the time. How his own feelings had blinded him to the heartbreak in your eyes.

And you had been shattered. Furious. At yourself, at the system, at everything. And at him. His reaction had only deepened the wound, and before either of you knew it, the frustration had exploded into an argument, both of you screaming at each other, saying things that cut the deepest coming from someone you hold close.

After that, silence stretched for weeks. Then, one day, you were just gone. No explanation. No goodbye.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh… I wanted to say this back when we first met again at the café, but I wasn’t sure if it was the right time."

You looked up from the screen, curiosity flickering across your face. "Say what?"

Chris hesitated, then placed his phone down, facing you fully. "I wanted to apologize. For… back then. For what I said the last time we spoke." His voice was soft, regretful. "I was selfish. I wasn’t thinking about how much it hurt you. I just— I was scared of losing another friend. But that’s not an excuse."

Your expression shifted, surprise flickering across your features before you let out a small sigh. "Chris… I was seriously hurt back then. I felt like my world was falling apart, and hearing you say—it just made it worse."

"But," you continued, your voice softer, "we were kids. We didn’t know how to handle all of that pressure, all of those emotions. And I was angry at myself more than anything. I think… I just needed someone to blame."

Chris swallowed, his chest tightening. "Still. I should’ve been better."

"We both should have." You looked at him for a moment, your gaze softening. “I kind of disappeared on everyone after that, didn’t I?” You murmured, a little embarrassed.

You sighed, your voice a little thick with emotion. "And that for sure didn't make your remaining time as a trainee any easier. I didn’t hear anything from you for so long. I thought you had also given up.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “That’s why I was so happy when I heard you debuted. I thought... finally, you made it."

Chris met your gaze, his expression softening even further. “It wasn’t easy. But if past-me would have known you were still rooting for me... that means more than I can say.”

Your smile grew, a bittersweet feeling tugging at you. "Hey, I was always rooting for you. I never stopped."

You were still for a few seconds, your gaze lingering on Chris as something unspoken passed between you. Then, a slow, teasing smile spread across your lips.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You bit your lip, clearly holding back a laugh. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. “No, seriously. What?”

You exhaled dramatically before finally giving in. “I just… didn’t think you were the type to show off that much,” you said while vaguely gesturing towards his body, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chris blinked. “Huh?”

“C’mon, don’t play innocent now.” You raised an eyebrow playfully.

Chris let out an embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck – a move that only served to flex his biceps. “Yah, I’m not—” He stopped mid-sentence when he caught the way your eyes flickered to the movement, your smirk deepening.

Realizing his mistake, he quickly dropped his arm and folded them across his chest, which, unfortunately for him, only emphasized the definition of his forearms. You stifled a laugh, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Totally not showing off.”

“I’m not!” he groaned, covering his face. “Unbelievable.”

You simply laughed, the warmth between you both growing more comfortable.

As the night and your operation on the song continued, you excused yourself to replace an empty bottle of water. Left alone, Chris’ curiosity got the better of him. Turning around in his chair, his eyes wandered again, landing on an electric guitar propped against the wall. He walked over and gently ran his fingers along the neck.

When you returned, drinks in hand, you found him staring at the guitar. “You really got one?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You always talked about how you wanted to learn it back then.”

“Of course,” you said, setting the food down. “I still do, but…” You shrugged. “Life gets busy.”

Chris smiled softly. “You should make time for it. It’s never too late.”

Hours later, when it was finally time for Chris to leave, you walked him to the door. As you hugged goodbye, his arms lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his voice warm. “It was… really nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agreed. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Definitely,” he said, stepping back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Chris. Get home safely.”

As the door closed behind him, you leaned against it, your heart fluttering. A smile spread across your face, unbidden and unstoppable. Somewhere out there, Chris was walking away with the same feeling, his thoughts already drifting back to you.

-----

The next day, Chris arrived at dance practice with an energy that didn’t go unnoticed by the members. Han, ever curious, sidled up to him during a break. “So,” he began, waggling his eyebrows, “how’d your reunion go?”

Chris froze mid-sip of his water, nearly choking. “What reunion?”

Han rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You mentioned catching up with an old friend. What was her name? Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, Chris’ ears turned pink. He waved a hand dismissively. “It was fine. We just talked and caught up. Nothing big.”

But Han wasn’t buying it. “Oh, come on, hyung. You can’t drop a name like that and not spill. What’s she like? What’d you talk about?”

The other members, overhearing the exchange, quickly gathered around. Felix plopped down next to Chris with a grin. “Wait, who’s Y/N? Someone you knew before Stray Kids?”

Chris sighed, realizing there was no escaping their curiosity. “She was a trainee with me back in the days. We were close, but she left before debut.”

“That’s so cool you got to reconnect,” Seungmin said, leaning against the wall. “Did you bring her here? It’d be fun to meet her.”

“No,” Chris said quickly, his tone firmer than intended. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. I don’t want to bring up bad memories for her. The trainee days weren’t exactly easy.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “That’s fair. But… is she pretty?”

Chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “What kind of question is that?”

The members exchanged amused glances. “That’s not a no,” Changbin teased.

Rolling his eyes, Chris stood and grabbed his phone, needing a way to shut them up. “I don’t have any recent pictures, okay? But… here.” He pulled up the old selfie you’d sent him the night before and showed them.

The reaction was immediate as his phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Whoa, you two look so close!” I.N exclaimed, leaning in for a better look.

“This is from back then?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes flicking between the photo and Chris. “You both look so young.”

“Look at how he’s smiling,” Felix teased. “Channie hyung, you were totally whipped back then.”

“I was not,” Chris said defensively, grabbing his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. “Can we drop this now?”

The members weren’t about to let it go that easily. 

“Hyung,” Lee Know started, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re blushing so much right now. Are you sure nothing happened during your little reunion?”

Chris groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, nothing happened. We just talked, alright? Caught up on life.”

“But you wanted something to happen, didn’t you?” Hyunjin smirked, his chin resting in his hand. “Is she single?”

“No!—What? Why would I know that.” Chris shot back, but his face betrayed him as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red. “She’s just… she’s really nice. And talented. That’s all.”

Seungmin, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow. “If that’s true, why are you getting so defensive?”

Chris sighed, feeling cornered. “Because you guys are making a big deal out of nothing,” he muttered, glancing away. 

But just as he was about to end the conversation for good, he mumbled the same thing he thought all those years ago – under his breath, barely audible, “She’s way out of my league anyway…”

pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist

[therapardalis]

Maybe she's ... what did an old friend once say? Seeing patterns that aren't there? Possibly. Or it's just one of those unexpected directions her mind bounces off on, that can do anything from saving her life to an A+ on an essay to a moment's thought and then gone. This might be the last kind, but she does think Steven has the same fortitude for pushing on, no matter how worried he might feel.

The unfortunate cartoon doctor is being savaged yet again, and Thera muffles a snort behind her hand, the sort that isn't sure she should be laughing at this part, but is anyway. 'Better' is one of those layered descriptions that covers nebulous things like pacing rather than pure horror, and naturally the cartoon doesn't involve the blood and gore the movies often do. It jumpscares, but there's enough distance that it's easier to take in. As adults, at least; she doesn't blame 'childhood' Steven from taking it piece by piece.

She snickers again at the 'three decades' quip, freely this time - when he means to be funny he is, sometimes taking her by surprise. "Mm," Head rests on her hand, "I don't think I could watch a whole lot of it in one sitting, but this is fun!" She'll try more later, when there's time, but for right now - the episode ends with a final scare and she claps her hands, looking at him with a smile. Maybe he'll be there to meet it, maybe he won't, but either is fine.

"Back to the kitchen, I think ... do I still have my Lovely Assistant? Or would you rather set up the DVDs?"

Is there a connection between him and Courage? If there is, he doesn't think about it. He's never connected it. After all, he was a kid, one that didn't watch it all that often at that, and now that he's an adult, he doesn't think about that sort of thing. He doesn't think about it now. He's--not laughing, but he's chuckling with her, and he's giving no thought to the connection she's seeing. He jumps when he's meant to, laughs when he's meant to, and he enjoys himself.

He doesn't look at her, not exactly because he doesn't want to, but because it's easier. He doesn't want to look at her and see her looking back any more than he wants to look at her and see that she isn't looking at him. Not that he thinks it would mean anything either way, but being looked at might make him uncomfortable, and not being looked at would give him too much time to think. And she makes his thoughts strange. He doesn't really like to think too much when she's around. It makes him feel--well, he's an adult, and he doesn't need to beat around the bush, but, but all that being said the word that describes it best still remains weird.

"I know," he says with a smile, agreeing. "And I don't really watch horror. I feel like I'd be disappointed, though." He has a weak constitution, though if this is worse than some thing's she's seen, maybe he's stronger than he thinks. "I think I'm alright with this being a once every three decades sort of thing."

[queenxxxsupreme]

Defender, Protector, Keeper (part 11)

Arthur Morgan x mom!reader

A/N: You can thank the anon who asked about this series a few days ago because the I've been working my ass off on this since then :) also I would like to personally thank the people who put rdr2 ambience videos on youtube. Listening to 2 hours straight of camp life literally does wonders for my brain

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: nothing outside of canon

Summary: It's only been a few days, but already you feel as though it's been months since you last saw your Ben.

Note: All of the previous chapters can be found here on my RDR2 Masterlist (mom!reader x Arthur w/ mute!Ben)

The house creaked as a gentle wind blew through Shady Belle. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. Camp had fallen quiet when the rain started about an hour ago. Almost everyone retired for the night, drunken and happy to have the rain lull them to sleep after their party for Jack’s safe return. 

You weren’t sure what time it was, but the sun wasn’t yet peaking over the horizon, so it still had to be very early in the morning.

You sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed, eyes fixated on the window. Every now and again, the old lace curtains that poorly covered the window moved with a gust of wind. 

You weren’t sure where Arthur was. He left hours ago to talk with Hosea. Or maybe it was Dutch. You didn’t care to pay attention too much to where he was going. You didn’t have it in you to do so. The weight on your heart made it far too difficult to think of anything else for more than a couple seconds. 

Lightning flashed outside and moments later, a loud crash seemed to make the old, weak wood of Shady Belle tremble. You jumped with the noise, not expecting it to be so loud. 

Out of instinct, your mind went to your son. You needed to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t scared by the loud noises. 

On autopilot, you stood to your feet and made it a few steps towards the door before the crushing weight of reality forced itself down on your shoulders. Seconds before you put your hand on the doorknob, you pulled back. Your breath caught in your throat, a nasty feeling making its home there. You brought your hand up to your mouth, tears pricking your eyes. 

There was no need to check on your boy, on your sweet Benjamin. There was no need to seek him out, to ensure that he was still tucked safely in bed. He wasn’t there. You didn’t know where he was, if he was experiencing the same weather as you. If he was, you hoped he was okay. You hoped that whoever was with him was keeping him company. Perhaps they would read him a story and brush their fingers through his hair to comfort him. That’s what you would do. That’s all you wanted to do. 

Your feet carried you out of the room, leaving the door open just behind you. Across the hall from Arthur’s room was John and Abigail’s room. The old walls had holes in them and this allowed you to see inside. From where you stood just outside of Arthur’s room, you could see the Marston family fast asleep. Abigail held Jack in her arms, her nose tucked into his dirty blonde hair. John was right behind her, his back to hers as he slept. 

In that moment, jealousy dug its nasty teeth into you. Your hand tightened around Ben’s shirt.

Why did she get to have her son back? Why did she get to live with the father of her son? Why was she the lucky one?

You stood there for a few moments, stewing in your own emotions. Then there was another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. You jumped, the sound seemingly pulling you from whatever turmoil festered in your bones. 

You shook your head at yourself, disgusted that you would be so jealous that a boy was reunited with his mother. How could you be angry at her? She deserved it just as much as you. She deserved to have her son back in her arms. Perhaps now her heart would begin to heal itself from all the fraying and tearing Jack’s absence had caused. 

As you started for the staircase, you could hear quiet voices downstairs. You stopped at the top of the old stairs and listened carefully to see who was down there. 

“Rain’s comin’ down hard.” It was Arthur.

“Sure is. Hopefully it stops soon.” And Charles. 

“You heading out?”

“Planning on it. I’m going back to Saint Denis, try to find out what I can about that Brady fella. I think I’m close to finding out where he’s holed up and if we find him, I’m sure we’ll be able to get to Ben.”

“Well, if you find him, I’d like to be there.”

The two men fell silent. 

In one of the empty rooms downstairs, Charles and Arthur sat at a table. Charles was busying himself with fixing a handful of arrows while Arthur smoked a cigarette. 

The front door creaked open and in walked Sadie. She took her hat off, shaking the excess water from it. 

“How is she doin’, Arthur?” 

“Not good, Sadie. Not good at all.” Arthur shook his head, bringing the cigarette to his lips. 

Sadie placed her hat down on the table and took a seat by Charles. 

“How are you doin’?”

The question caught Arthur off guard. He looked up at Sadie, holding her gaze for a few moments. 

“I’m alright.”

Sadie and Charles shared a glance before Charles let out a sigh. 

“It’s okay if you aren’t, Arthur.”

The gunslinger furrowed his brows, confused. 

“Why…. I’m not the one who’s son is missing. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a crock of shit.” Sadie pulled out a cigarette of her own. “You’ve been runnin’ around here for the last few days like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“I’ve been busy tryin’ to bring those boys back.”

“The fact that you couldn’t bring Ben home when you brought Jack, I’m sure that hurt.” Charles spoke, his deep voice low and gentle. “It’s okay if you aren’t handling everything fine and dandy like you usually do.”

Arthur let out a sigh, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.

“What is this? You two gangin’ up on me?”

A slight grin tugged at the corner of Sadie’s lips. 

Arthur leaned back in his chair, turning his attention to the window behind Charles. He watched the flashing of lighting and then counted for the thunder. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Bang. 

“I don’t…. I don’t got time to worry about what I’m feeling.” He ran his hands over his face. “I just gotta get him back. I got to bring Benny home. If we don’t get him soon…. We’re gonna lose her.”

No one said a word for a while. The tension in the air lingered around what Arthur was implying. 

“We ain’t gonna lose anyone.” Sadie shook her head. “We will get that boy back for Y/N.”

Arthur nodded his head in agreement, though he couldn’t bring himself to use his voice. There was a part of him that was terrified that maybe, just maybe, they would never get Benny back. 

“You afraid of the rain, Mr. Smith?” Sadie picked her hat up as she rose to her feet. 

Charles watched her walk around him and make her way to the door. 

“A little rain never hurt anyone.” Charles stood up. 

Arthur leaned forward in his seat, putting his cigarette out on one of the ashtrays on the table. The large man rose to his feet, adjusting the hat on his head. 

“I appreciate you two.” 

“You’d do the same for us.” Charles said. 

“Course. Be safe out there.”

Arthur watched them leave, the heavy wooden door closing behind Charles. With a small exhale, he turned to make his way upstairs. But he didn’t make it very far, stopping in his tracks at the bottom of the staircase when he saw you sitting on the very top step. 

“Miss.” He took his hat off, messing with the brim as he held it at his waist.

Even in the low lighting of the house, the sight of you made his heart break into a billion pieces. Your eyes were gaunt and puffy from your most recent crying spell. In your hands, you held an off white shirt of Ben’s. 

“How long have you been sittin’ there?”

“Not long.” You croaked. Just like your heart, your voice was broken. 

“You should try to get some rest, Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as you tried to fight the tears. 

“I’ll come lay with you, if you’d like.”

Again, you shook your head. 

“It-It’ll only be a waste of your time. I can’t…. I can’t stand the thought of closing my eyes right. Not even for a second.”

“Well, let’s give it a try.” He suggested, and began to climb the staircase. As he reached you he held his hand out for you. “Would you do that for me? Just try to close your eyes for a little bit?”

You hesitated to nod your head, but did so anyway. 

Arthur led you back to the room, closing the door quietly behind himself. 

As you climbed into bed, Arthur put his hat on a chest in the room and took off his gun belt. 

The little bed dipped beneath his weight as he settled next to you. You inched your way closer to him until you could place your head on his chest. 

Arthur’s arm that was around you rubbed the small of your back. His other hand was placed behind his head. 

As you laid there for a while, you found yourself tuning out the thunderstorm and focusing of Arthur’s heartbeat. 

Thump, thump…. Thump, thump…. Thump, thump. 

“Sometimes…. when I-I would have trouble sleeping…. I would put my head as close to his chest as I could just so I could hear the sound of my Ben’s heart.” You whispered. 

Arthur’s chest tightened as you began to cry into his chest, shoulders trembling with every sob. He wrapped his arms around you firmly, pressing a few gentle kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’m gonna get your boy back, pumpkin. I’m gonna get him back if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

***

The next morning, the camp was bustling with activity. 

“Mornin’, Arthur.” Uncle greeted the outlaw as he approached the fire to get a cup of coffee. 

“Mornin’, Uncle.”

“Where is Y/N?”

”I reckon she’ll be down here shortly.” Arthur poured the hot coffee into a cup and then stood up. “She was just gettin’ up when I left.”

”Did she sleep any last night, Arthur?” Karen asked. She and Mary-Beth had made their way towards Arthur the second they saw him leave the house. 

”Finally.” Arthur confirmed with a slight nod of his head. “I don’t think she slept since he’s been gone.”

”That’s good.”

”Maybe today will be the day we get her to eat somethin’.” Mary-Beth sighed out. “She hasn’t eaten nothing in a few days.”

”Maybe one of you could try to get her to eat.”

”One of us?” Karen repeated, raising her brows. “Now you know the only person here in camp who could get Y/N to do anything is you, Arthur.”

”Yeah, but I got things I got to do. I got to go out and find that Brady fella.”

”What are you gonna do when you see him, Arthur?” 

“Probably give him a good smack around.” Karen said. 

“A little more than just a smack around. But you ladies don’t need to hear the details.”

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N.”

Arthur turned his head upon hearing your name. 

You were crossing the camp, making your way towards him, when Grimshaw stopped you. 

“Good morning, Miss Grimshaw. Have you seen Mr. Dutch?”

“I’m afraid he went for a morning walk with Miss O’Shea, but he should be back shortly.”

“If you see him, can you let him know I’d like to talk to him?”

“Of course.”

As you continued across camp towards Arthur, he took his hat off. 

“How’d you sleep, pumpkin?” 

“Better than I have in the last couple days.” You gave him a little smile. 

While you knelt down at the fire to get yourself a cup of coffee, he took note of the way you didn’t look so distraught, so lost like you had been the last few days. There was still something in your eyes, a heartbreak that could only be healed by your son. But you looked better. 

“Have Sadie and Charles returned yet?”

“No, not yet. I don’t expect them to until they got answers.”

“Hopefully they find them.” You took a sip of coffee, eyes flickering around the camp. 

“What do you need to talk to Dutch about?”

“I want to know what the next steps are to get back my Ben. I know he mentioned a garden party in a few days. I just want more details on it.”

“About that, Y/N.” Arthur put his hat onto his head and held on to his gun belt with both hands. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you go to that.”

You furrowed your brows as you looked up at him.

“Why not?”

“Because…. Well, I don’t think it would do you good to be around the man who’s holdin’ Benny hostage.”

“Maybe I could talk to him. Reason with him.”

“I don’t think so, pumpkin. Angelo Bronte ain’t a reasonin’ kind of man.”

You fell silent, your lips pressed together as you looked at Arthur for a few moments. Then your eyes flickered elsewhere. You found Javier walking towards the road that led into Shady Belle. He was going to trade off with one of the other boys standing guard.. 

“I have to do something, Arthur. I can’t just sit around here in camp all day hoping and praying that he’ll– that Ben will come back.” Your voice was a quiet whisper. “I have to do something.”

“I know and I understand that. I do. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

You opened your mouth to speak but before you could get a word out, something was wrapping around your legs. 

For a split second, your heart began to race. Your Ben would do the exact same when he was being chased through camp by Jack. 

You looked down to see Jack hugged your legs tightly. 

“Oh, Jack!” Abigail shouted her son’s name. “You leave Miss Y/N alone, boy!”

“He’s alright, Abigail.” Your eyes briefly met hers before you looked back to the sandy haired boy. 

“Ben said to give you a big hug when I see you, Miss Y/N.” Jack said, his little arms wrapping around you again.

Your chest tightened and you found yourself sinking down to your knees to be at Jack’s height. You put your coffee down, afraid that your now trembling hands would cause you to spill the hot liquid on little Jack. 

“He said– He said what, Jack?” 

“He said he wanted to give you a big, big hug when he saw you! And he told me that if I got to see you first, I needed to give you a big hug for him. He said you’d be worried about him.”

Tears blurred your vision as you looked at the little boy. You wanted to ask him how Bronte was, if he was nice to the boys. If they had plenty to eat. You wanted to ask what their sleeping arrangements were like. If the boys had been given a comfortable bed at night. If someone would come in and read a story to them before they went to sleep. If someone took the time to tuck them in. 

“Alright, Jack.” Abigail placed her hand on her son’s back. “Let’s give Miss Y/N some space, honey.”

“Did I say something wrong, momma?”

“No, baby. You didn’t say nothing wrong.”

“Thank you, Jack.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth for a few seconds, then placing it on your cheek. You did your best to show him that you were okay, giving him a small smile. “Thank you for-for giving me a hug. I really needed that.”

Your eyes followed him as Abigail herded him back towards the other side of camp. 

“Come on, pumpkin.” Arthur held his hand out for you. “Don’t need you sittin’ in the dirt and gettin’ your skirt all muddy.”

You placed your hand in his and let you pull you to your feet. 

“Oh, Arthur.” Your voice cracked. “Do you think he’s okay? Do you think my Ben is okay?”

“Given the situation, I think Benny is okay.” He said. “Jack was talkin’ all mornin’ about how they had so much food at Bronte’s house. And-And Bronte even got them somethin’ called slippers.”

You nodded your head, trying to convince yourself that if Ben had to be kidnapped by anyone, the richest man in Saint Denis was probably the best to have him. He had money for anything. If Ben was hurt, he had money for a doctor. If Ben was hungry, he had plenty of food. He had a roof over his head. 

“Looks like Lenny’s back.” Arthur commented as he watched the young man hitch his horse at the horse station. 

You blinked a few times to try to get your mind elsewhere. You looked over to Lenny. 

“Where, um, where did he go?”

“Went out to Rhodes this mornin’ to get the mail for us here in camp. You should sit down, pumpkin.” Arthur gestured to the empty table nearby. He pulled out a chair for you and you offered him a small thank you. He sat down to your left at the small table, his hand reaching across the table for yours. “You know Jack didn’t mean to make you upset. He’s just a kid.”

“I know, Arthur. He’s a sweet boy.” You sniffled. “Just caught me off guard.”

“I know. I say it in your eyes.” He squeezed your hand. 

“There’s a letter here addressed to you, Miss Y/N.” Lenny approached you with a white envelope. 

“For me?” You furrowed your brows. 

“Yeah. Says Tacitus Kilgore, but your name is in parentheses.”

“Thank you, Lenny.” You took the letter from him. 

“Who’s it from?” Arthur asked you. 

“I don’t know. But I guess we will find out.” You opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. 

Dear Y/N,  If you wish to see your son ever again, you must follow my directions carefully. Meet me at the location provided below this evening. Bring no one. If I find out that you are accompanied by any of those hicks you’ve been hanging around, you will never see Benjamin again. Trust me when I say that I will take him away and you will never be able to find him.  J. B. 

You read over the letter a few times, breathing becoming a little more difficult. 

James did have your son.

“Who is it from?” 

You blinked and looked up at Arthur, putting on a little smile. 

“Just my sister. I-I didn’t even realize I gave her a forwarding address.”

“Your sister?” Arthur repeated. He didn’t believe you. 

“Well, my husband’s sister. She’s just asking how we are doing, how Ben is doing.” You folded up the paper. “I’ll have to take a trip up north to see her when I get my Ben back.”

“Yeah, that sounds like it’d be good for you.” He nodded his head. He finished up his coffee and then stood to his feet. “I just saw Dutch walk into the house. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“Not right yet.” You shook your head. “I-I think I just need a couple minutes. After what happened with Jack….” You trailed off. 

Arthur nodded his head understandingly. He moved around the table to you. He placed his hand on your back between your shoulder blades. 

“You need anything, you come find me.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” You smiled up at him. 

“Course, pumpkin.”

Your eyes followed him as he walked away. The smile on your lips slowly fell and beneath the table, your nails dug into your palms.

A/N: It has been so long since I wrote for this series that I feel like tagging anyone in it might be annoying so I am not going to do that for this part.... However there is one part left that I still have to write and post so if you'd like to be tagged in that, just comment :) I promise this time it won't be a two and a half year wait for the finale.

[inky-writing]

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: my bad writing, MDNI, +18 only, NSFW, love, CARLISLE is hot, anyway, THIRST

Word count: 4, 436

<<< Previous chapter

Book II, Chapter 7: A Night In Port Angeles

The cafeteria was loud with the usual chatter of students eager for the weekend, but at the table where Y/N sat with her friends, the conversation had taken an interesting turn.

Mike, with his usual enthusiasm, leaned toward Bella, his grin wide. “So, Bella, I was thinking… maybe we could go see a movie tonight?”

Bella stiffened, eyes darting to Y/N, who barely looked up from her notebook. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the awkwardness.

Mike quickly backpedaled. “I mean—only if you want to! We could, you know, all go together.”

Bella let out a quiet breath of relief before giving an eager nod. “Yeah! A group thing sounds fun.”

Eric laughed. “Wow, smooth, Newton.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Angela chimed in. “We haven’t done anything fun as a group in a while.”

“You in, Y/N?” Jessica turned to her.

Y/N shook her head, offering a small smile. “Can’t. I already have plans.”

As the conversation shifted to what movie to see, Y/N returned her attention to her notebook, though she hadn’t actually been working on anything in the last few minutes.

It had been exactly two weeks since she’d discovered the truth about soulmates in her grimoire. Two weeks since she had confirmed Carlisle was back in town. Two weeks of secret meetings, stolen conversations, and desperate attempts to untangle the web of lies Esme had woven around the Cullens.

She still wasn’t sure what scared her more, Carlisle’s unwavering belief that she was his mate, or the fact that she felt it too.

Carlisle’s pov

Carlisle sat in the dimly lit study of the temporary home he had rented in Port Angeles, his fingers absentmindedly running over the old text in front of him. The words blurred together, but his mind was elsewhere.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days since Y/N discovered he had returned to Forks. Fourteen days of secrecy, of quiet meetings with Y/N, of trying to unravel a mystery that seemed impossible.

He now knew, without a doubt, that Esme had been lying to him.

The fog that had clouded his mind for years had begun to lift the moment he distanced himself from her. It was subtle at first, just flickers of clarity. But every moment he spent away from her, every meeting with Y/N, made it clearer.

Esme had done something to him.

Something unnatural.

But how?

Vampires didn’t have abilities like that. At least, none that he had ever encountered.

Y/N, for all her own growing power, had been just as perplexed. They had spent hours talking, exchanging theories, poring over texts she had access to, and retracing the past century of his life for any clues.

But still, nothing.

A part of him wanted to believe it was just his own mind breaking free of a long-held illusion. That maybe, just maybe, he had been mistaken about Esme all these years.

But another part of him, the part that could still hear Esme’s voice in the back of his mind, whispering reassurances and promises, knew it was far more than that.

He closed the book and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Y/N had asked him once—What does this mean for you?

At the time, he hadn’t been able to answer.

But now?

Now, he knew.

It meant his entire existence had been a lie.

Later that day - Y/N’s pov

The air was crisp that night, the scent of saltwater drifting in from the bay as Y/N parked her Jeep outside Carlisle’s rental in Port Angeles. The house itself was small, nothing extravagant, but fitting for a man like him. A warm glow flickered through the windows, a contrast to the cool evening outside.

She had been here a few times before, but never this late. Never with her heart pounding this hard in her chest.

Taking a breath, she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.

It opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her.

Carlisle stood there in the dim light, wearing a black tshirt, exposing strong forearms lined with veins. His hands, God, his hands, were the kind that looked like they could ruin her.

“Come in,” he said, voice deep, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N hesitated for just a second before walking past him, the scent of something delicious hitting her instantly.

“You cooked?” she asked, surprised.

He gave a soft chuckle, closing the door behind her. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately.”

Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl, and she winced.

Carlisle smirked, leading her to the dining table where a plate was already set. The meal was simple, grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

She slid into the chair, watching as he poured her a glass of water. His movements were effortless, precise, like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.

“I wanted to.” He sat across from her, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, and she had to stop herself from staring at the way the fabric of his tshirt stretched over his muscles.

She picked up her fork, trying to focus on the food instead of the way her skin felt hot under his attention.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable, but thick with something unspoken.

Carlisle’s eyes studied her. “You’ve been working too hard.”

She swallowed, setting her fork down. “So have you.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “True. But at least I don’t forget to eat.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the blush rising to her cheeks.

Carlisle leaned back slightly, stretching his arms behind his head for a moment, and Y/N had to look away before she embarrassed herself. How was it even possible for a man to look so effortlessly attractive doing something so simple?

“You’re blushing,” he teased, voice lower now.

Her head snapped up. “No, I’m not.”

His smirk deepened. “You are.”

She scowled, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip. This is dangerous, she thought.

Because for the past two weeks, something had been shifting between them. It wasn’t just the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, or the way she found herself thinking about him more than she should.

It was the way he looked at her.

Like she was something worth looking at.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake the thought away. “Did you find anything new?”

His expression sobered, the teasing glint in his eyes fading just slightly. “Not yet. But I know Esme is manipulating more than just my thoughts. She’s… controlling on a deeper level.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation, though her pulse was still racing. “She doesn’t manipulate fate. Just minds.”

Carlisle exhaled, running a hand through his hair—a rare sign of frustration. “Then the question is… how long has she been doing this? And why?”

Y/N frowned, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. “You said it started before you even met me, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. But it’s worse now.”

She met his gaze, her voice softer now. “Because of me?”

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he answered. “Because of us.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to stay composed.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what she felt for him.

And, despite everything, despite the way it terrified her, she knew he felt it too.

He just couldn’t say it.

By the time they finished dinner, the wind had turned violent, howling against the windows of Carlisle’s rental like a wounded animal. The rain started minutes later, heavy and relentless, drumming against the roof with an unforgiving rhythm.

Y/N glanced at the window, her stomach twisting slightly. The drive back to Forks would be hell in this storm.

Carlisle must have noticed the way she tensed because he leaned forward. “You shouldn’t drive in this.” His voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes, concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, but even as the words left her mouth, a sharp gust of wind rattled the glass, making her wince.

Carlisle arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not convincing.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. He’s right. It was stupid to drive back in this kind of weather, especially at night.

Still, she hesitated. Staying the night at his place? Alone?

Dangerous.

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. His tshirt clung to his torso, the fabric stretching just enough to remind her of the solid muscle beneath.

She swallowed.

“I have a room,” he added, as if sensing her hesitation. “You’ll be safe here.”

Y/N bit her lip. The wind howled again, shaking the entire house.

Shit.

With a sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Fine. Let me call Charlie.”

Carlisle didn’t say anything, just watched her with those sharp golden eyes as she dialed.

It only rang once before Charlie picked up. “Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She glanced at the window, listening to the wind roar. “I, uh… got stuck in Port Angeles. The storm’s too bad to drive back, so I just got a hotel room for the night.”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I just heard the warning on the radio. Good call, kid. Just be safe, alright?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll drive back in the morning.”

They exchanged quick goodnights before she hung up. When she turned back to Carlisle, he was watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

“You didn’t tell him you were here,” he noted.

She shrugged. “He’d ask too many questions.”

He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he stood, stretching slightly before gathering their plates.

Y/N’s eyes flickered down on instinct.

Oh, hell.

The hem of his sweater lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach, taut muscle and a sharp V-line disappearing beneath his jeans.

Heat flooded her face.

She snapped her gaze away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” he said. “In the meantime, if you want to shower, the bathroom is just down the hall.”

She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. That… sounds good.”

The shower was exactly what she needed.

The warm water eased some of the tension from her shoulders, and she took her time washing the day away. But her mind refused to stay quiet.

Instead, it drifted back to him.

Carlisle.

The way he looked tonight, the way he always looked, really. But tonight, in that damn tshirt, with his veined hands gripping the pan while cooking, with the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly when he moved…

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Get a grip, Y/N.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t just some guy. He was Carlisle Cullen. And no matter what they felt, no matter what he claimed about mates and Esme and manipulation, he was still married.

…Wasn’t he?

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly. It was all too much. The storm outside, the storm inside her.

But even as she tried to shake the thoughts away, the image of him lingered behind her eyes. The sharp cut of his jaw. The way his amber eyes darkened when he looked at her. The stretch of his body when he leaned back at dinner.

Her stomach tightened.

She needed to finish this shower before she lost her damn mind.

She exhaled as she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her like a soft mist. The air outside the warm cocoon of the shower was cooler, making goosebumps rise on her damp skin.

Carlisle had left clothes for her just outside the door, a large, soft white t-shirt that smelled like him, and a pair of sweatpants that would no doubt be too big for her. She pulled them on, her skin still warm from the water, and the fabric felt almost too comfortable.

The t-shirt swallowed her frame, the neckline slipping slightly off one shoulder. She didn't hate it. In fact, she liked the way it felt, as if he had wrapped her in something his. She shook the thought away and ran a hand through her damp hair before padding barefoot back into the living room.

Carlisle was lounging on the L-shaped couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he flicked through channels on the TV remote. 

And God help her, she was thirsty.

Her eyes betrayed her instantly, trailing down his torso, lingering on the way the soft fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. Then lower, over the faint ridges of his abs beneath the fabric, down to his strong thighs, which were definitely taking up more than their fair share of space on the couch.

And those damn sweatpants.

She swallowed.

“Find something to watch?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

He glanced up at her and gave her a small, almost lazy smile. “Not yet. Any preferences?”

She shook her head and made her way to the couch, sitting beside him. She tried, really tried, not to notice the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the way his veined hands gripped the remote, the way he smelled like cedar and something inherently Carlisle.

But failing miserably.

He must have noticed the way she kept fidgeting because he finally set the remote down and turned slightly to face her. “How’s your medical school application process going?”

Right. Med school. A safe topic.

She exhaled, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s… a lot. I’ve sent in my applications to a few places, but I’m still waiting to hear back.”

He nodded, eyes warm and attentive. “You’ll get in. You’re brilliant.”

She bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest at the certainty in his voice. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “What do you want from it?”

She blinked. “From med school?”

“From your future,” he clarified.

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly. “I guess… I just want to help people. To matter.”

His gaze softened. “You already do.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. A part of her wanted to reach for him.

No.

She shouldn’t.

But it was getting harder to resist.

She was still warm from the shower, but she felt hotter now. Was it just her, or had he shifted closer?

Her heartbeat picked up.

And then she caught him looking.

At her.

More specifically, at her chest.

Her nipples were peaked beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. The realization made her stomach tighten, heat pooling low.

Carlisle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his golden eyes darkening just a fraction.

And suddenly, they weren’t talking anymore.

Somewhere between words and silence, the space between them disappeared.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was him leaning in, or her shifting closer, but before she could think about it, his hand was brushing against her jaw, tilting her chin up.

A breath.

A moment.

Then his lips were on hers.

It started slow, testing, almost hesitant, but as soon as she sighed against his mouth, as soon as she parted her lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss, all hesitation disappeared.

Carlisle groaned softly, shifting until he was angled toward her, his large hands framing her face as he kissed her with more intensity.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath. He was strong, she could feel it in the way he held her, the way his hands moved from her face down to her waist, pulling her closer, as if he needed her closer.

Her hands traveled up, slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling his skin, the hard ridges of his stomach. He inhaled sharply at the contact, his grip tightening on her hips.

The kiss turned desperate.

She gasped when he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath ragged against her lips as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her chest heaved, lips swollen from the kiss.

Carlisle’s eyes roamed over her face before dropping lower, his hands skimmed up her sides, fingertips brushing beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough. “And I will.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again, fingers tangling in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groaned against her lips, hands gripping her hips, guiding her to press against him.

She gasped at the feeling, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Y/N…” His voice was strained, his forehead pressing against hers as if trying to regain control.

Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling slightly against him.

They were playing with fire.

And neither of them wanted to put it out.

Carlisle’s breath was hot against Y/N’s lips, his hands firm on her hips, holding her against him as though she might slip away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t—not when the feel of him, the taste of him, was setting her skin ablaze.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt, fingers ghosting over her ribs before sliding up, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, her back arching into his touch, pressing her chest against his palms. He groaned, rolling his hips up instinctively.

The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt him beneath her, hard and thick, pressing against her through his sweatpants. Heat pooled in her belly, a desperate ache settling between her thighs.

She wanted more.

Needed more.

Carlisle kissed down her jaw, his lips tracing a slow path to her neck. He paused, breathing her in, before sucking gently at the skin just below her ear. She whimpered, fingers tangling in his golden hair as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

His hands slid higher, pushing her shirt up over her head. She let him, raising her arms as he stripped it from her, tossing it aside.

He froze for a second, just looking at her, his golden eyes darkening as they roamed over her bare skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost reverently.

She shivered under his gaze, heart hammering in her chest. Then his hands were on her again, one sliding up her back, the other gripping her waist as he leaned forward, pressing his lips between her breasts. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, his mouth closing over it, sucking lightly.

She moaned, hips rocking against him, seeking friction.

Carlisle growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on her hips as he guided her movements, pressing her down against his arousal.

“Carlisle…” She barely recognized her own voice, breathless and needy.

He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

Her stomach clenched at the nickname, desire flooding her veins.

“I want you,” she admitted, voice trembling with need.

His jaw clenched, his restraint visibly slipping. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, cupping his face. “Yes. I need you.”

That was all it took.

In a blur of movement, she was on her back, Carlisle hovering over her, his weight pressing her into the couch. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, before trailing his lips down her body, worshiping every inch of her with his mouth.

He peeled the sweatpants from her legs, taking her underwear with them. His fingers traced up her thighs, spreading her open before him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

He didn’t waste any time. His mouth was on her, tongue sliding between her folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She cried out, fingers gripping his hair as he devoured her, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking.

She was so close, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Carlisle, I…”

“Let go,” he murmured against her, his voice like sin.

And she did.

Pleasure crashed over her in waves, her thighs shaking as she came against his mouth. He groaned, gripping her hips to hold her still as he licked her through it, savoring every drop of her pleasure.

When she finally caught her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips finding hers once more. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the thought only made her want him more.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. He sat back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. Her fingers traced over them, marveling at the perfection of him.

Then her hands dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. She felt him—hot, heavy, and thick in her palm. He groaned, his head falling forward as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Y/N,” he growled, his breath ragged.

She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. “I want you inside me.”

His restraint snapped.

He kicked off his sweatpants and settled between her legs, lining himself up with her entrance. He paused, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

She cupped his face. “You won’t.”

With one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into her, stretching her inch by inch. She gasped at the fullness, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to the crook of her neck. “You feel… perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting forward again, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Their moans filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin against skin.

“Carlisle—”

“I know, love,” he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come for me.”

A few more thrusts, and she was falling apart again, her body tightening around him. He cursed, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release.

With a final groan, he pulled out, spilling on her stomach and breast as he whispered her name like a prayer.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies tangled, their breaths mingling.

Then Carlisle lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

The soft golden glow of morning filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting warm streaks of light across the sheets. Y/N stirred, sighing as the soreness in her body reminded her of the night before. She was naked beneath the covers, the faint scent of Carlisle still lingering on her skin.

They had barely slept.

Every time she thought they were done, Carlisle had pulled her back in, whispering her name in that deep, velvety voice, his hands tracing the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. He had worshiped her, again and again, until she had collapsed against him, boneless and spent.

Now, she stretched lazily, rolling onto her back. The sheets were cool beside her. Carlisle was already up.

The distant sound of movement in the kitchen caught her attention. A small smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his shirt from last night, slipping it over her head before padding barefoot toward the source of the noise.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Carlisle standing at the counter, his broad back to her. He had changed into black sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeve Henley, the fabric hugging his muscular shoulders and arms in a way that made her mouth go dry.

He was flipping pancakes, his veiny hands effortlessly maneuvering the pan. A fresh pot of coffee steamed beside him, along with a plate of eggs and toast.

Her heart skipped at the sight.

"You’re cooking again?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.

Carlisle turned, his golden eyes lighting up at the sight of her in his shirt.

"You need to eat," he said simply, a small smile playing on his lips. "You barely did last night, and I kept you… occupied."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "That’s one way to put it."

He smirked, setting a plate in front of her as she sat at the kitchen island. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she whispered, her stomach flipping.

They ate together, the air between them comfortable, though electric with everything that had happened the night before.

But soon, reality crept back in. She had to go home before Charlie started asking questions, and there was still so much left unresolved about Esme.

She kissed Carlisle one last time before heading out, the memory of his hands on her still burning beneath her skin.

By the time she got home, it was early afternoon, and she barely had time to process everything before Bella came bursting into the living room, looking frantic.

"Where have you been?" Bella demanded, eyes wide.

Y/N blinked. "I was…"

"It doesn’t matter," Bella cut her off. "You won’t believe what happened last night."

Charlie had just walked into the room, sighing. "She’s been like this all morning."

Y/N frowned. "What happened?"

Bella ran a hand through her hair. "The others didn’t show up—just Mike and Jacob. Then Mike got sick, and Jacob almost got into a fight with Mike for no reason. But that’s not even the weird part."

She took a breath. "Jacob had a fever… like, he was burning up. And then, after I got home, he called me saying he’s really sick now, but something feels wrong."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

Charlie sighed. "Probably just the flu. Half the town’s sick right now."

Bella shook her head. "No, it’s not just that. He was acting weird. Saying things that didn’t make sense…"

Y/N exchanged a look with Charlie, then sighed. "You should let him rest, Bella. I’m sure he’ll be fine."

Bella bit her lip, looking unconvinced. But there was nothing more to be done.

Still, as Y/N headed upstairs to her room, a bad feeling settled in her stomach.

Something was changing.

And she wasn’t sure any of them were ready for it.

Next chapter >>>

Tag list: @inky-bonnie @irelanrose @i-cant-pick-an-aesthetic09 @wandererthemadhatter

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Y/n in wonderland!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: You find yourself having the strangest dream ➼ what to expect:  "you can never admit that you are happy to help, you always put up a front of ulterior motives" ➼ warnings: Angst ➼ Part Twelve / Part Fourteen

"Please make sure that you are presentable y/n, Mr and Mrs Ootori should be arriving in half an hour" you took in your fathers words but they weren't fully processing, zoned out staring into the distance. You nod half mindedly.

"I am serious, this meeting is important" his voice is stern, attempting to make eyecontact with you. "Yes father" you mutter which seems to satiate him for now, leaving you sat alone out in the garden of your home estate. You sigh, head tilting back, which is when you see a pink rabbit in your upside down state. "huh?"

As you turn yourself round to the correct way you see that there is indeed a pink stuffed rabbit tumbling around the house. "what the-" you follow the rabbit down the hallway and out of the house. "Wait hold on!" You break out into a run as the rabbit rolled down your garden.

The rabbit waved tauntingly at you before dropping into a remarkably large rabbit hole. "No! Wait! Ah-" as you chase after it you trip on a tree root sending you down the rabbit hole.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

Y/N in wonderland!

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

After falling after what felt like hours you finally land in what appears to be an abandoned music room."Ow."

Creaking brings your attention to a young boy who appears to be half monkey climbing out a piano "Excuse me!" The boy yelps at the sign of you. "Do you know where i am-"

The boy takes off as soon as you start talking, eating a banana and seemingly shrinking and disappearing through a tiny door. You kneel in front of the door, opening it, finding the rabbit and the monkey boy, who both take off at the sight of you.

"Where did that thing come from? There's gotta be some way out of here right? Unless..." you wander to the bunch of bananas, eating one which makes you shrink to a tiny size. Wander through the small door you find yourself in a corridor of light bulbs. "Promised?" you read the illuminated message. "Banana?"

As you read it out you slip on a Banana peel, launching down the tunnel and a hole at the end, shooting you into a pool. As you float to the top you find yourself somewhere else "Okay so now i'm in a pool?" You climb out.

"you've cried quite a bit huh?"

"huh?"

"You must have, to fill a pool this size. See this water is an accumulation of all the tears you've shed in life. It's rather impressive actually. Looks as though you've been through more than your fair share of hardships. Speaking of which I'd get out of there if I were you"

"Huh?"

The sound of water splashing draws attention to the fact that there a three crocodiles emerging from the water, approaching her. you yelp as you leap backwards out of the pool "What in the world?"

"What were those things?"

The crocodiles retreat, disappearing into the water.

"This place is way more dangerous than I thought. Hang on am I back to my original size?"

"Not yet. But we can take care of that for you. If you're interested."

"What are you talking about?" You approach the caterpillar on the mushroom. "It won't be cheap though"

"I figured, you can never admit that you are happy to help, you always put up a front of ulterior motives"

The caterpillar leans over to look down at you "Who are you?"

"I- At this point I hardly know"

"Explain yourself"

You sit before the mushroom "I don't think I can, I don't really know myself so I cannot explain myself"

"Ah, we have guests" you turn around to find a boy shrouded in black approaching holding the hand of a little girl. "Yes, hello. Might my sister and I have a bit of mushroom?"

"Of course, we can settle your tab at the end of the month"

"You know I think You're the most shrewd caterpillar I've ever met. What kind of stuff are you always writing down in that book of yours, huh?"

"Oh, anything, and everything. That's odd. You said 'always' just now, and yet you and I have never met"

"Always? Did I? I suppose you so seem incredibly... familiar"

The boy and girl bite into some mushrooms, causing the boy to shrink into a baby and the girl into a woman. "I'm sorry that's not exactly what I had in mind about getting back to size"

"Hey look! That little baby's crawling away all by himself!" You cry, noting that a door has appeared out of nowhere. "It's not any of my business" The caterpillar spoke.

You roll your eyes "typical, always picking and choosing" You run through the door, yet again tripping on a banana peel.

A laugh comes from seemingly nowhere "Nice going!"

"You may refer to me as duchess" A squeaky voice informs you. "huh?" as you stand up you realise you're suddenly in a kitchen. "The woman making banana soup over there is my cook, and this worthless lay-about is my cat"

"Pretty amazing cat. I've never seen one smirk like that before" you flinch as suddenly a ladel flies past your head, hitting the wall in front of you "Why do I have to be the stupid cook?" she starts launching bananas and dishes in the duchess' direction, who dodges them all. "It's not fair! I quit! You're always having fun and I always have to play the villain! Tamaki you idiot!"

"So does this mean you're the baby's mother?"

"Are you concerned for the child?"

"I'm just glad he found his way home, to have a safe place, a home, is the best thing."

"Well, I'm afraid I must be off now, would you look after him while I'm gone?" she hands the baby over to you "For how long?" the duchess shrugs "I couldn't say. I've been summoned to appear in court"

"Court?" The duchess disappeares in a hole in the floor.

"You know she's just pulling your leg. That doll doesn't really even belong to her in the first place." The cat speaks "huh?" you look down to find that you're suddenly holding a curse doll. "Hey what happended to-" You turn back to find that the cat is gone.

You place the doll down, leaving the room and finding yourself in a hallway. "Mr. Cat?" You spot him leaning against a pillar which he disappears behind. "Wait!"

"Over here" The cat pops up in a different place. "Pretty neat huh?"

"Um, sure, I guess"

"I can disappear" he hides behind the pillar, popping out from another one "And reappear, anywhere"

"That's great" You sound less than impressed at the trick. "So listen, I'm a little turned around. Do you mind telling me the best way to get out of here?"

"That depends" he switches places once again "On where you're trying to go?"

"Home of course. Back to where I was before"

"I'm afraid leaving here without an audience with the queen..."

"Is strictly forbidden"

"An audience with the queen?" you start walking down the hall once more

"You might say..." "That the queen..." "Keep close tabs..." "On all her subjects"

"This is ridiculous. If you want to talk, come out and stand still. Both of you"

"Both of us?" "What do you mean?"

you roll your eyes "Never mind" you walk off, leaving the cats behind.

Eventually you reach what appears to be a cafeteria, with a boy in a hat, a doormouse, and a hare sat at it. "No room" the boy says, both absolute and flippant at the same time

"Huh?"

"Yeah. No room left, sorry"

You look at the table, louds of chairs left empty. "Why there's plenty of room" you point out, sitting down opposite them "Can I ask you guys a question about this place?"

"You are quite closed off huh?"

"What?"

"You do not trust something a person tells you, be that as it may you will open up one day you know"

"I don't exactly have many people to trust"

"You look so different today, you're clothes are very...european"

"Well I am european, how else would I dress?" It took you a second to realise that a good majority of the people you have spoken to are japanese. "I forgot she doesn't know yet"

"Know what? You know, if you keep scarfing down junk food like that, you're gonna get cavities"

"Be sure to brush your teeth when you're finished" The doormouse reminds the hare. "Okay"

"A riddle!" the boy announces "Why is a teacup and a teapot rarely found in the same place on a table?"

"Well surely they do? they were found in the cupboard together if you have any organisation."

"Not in a cupboard, on a table. They match, they work together and go hand in hand and yet they are always seperated. Why?"

"I suppose it does not make sense"

"It doesn't!" the boy exclaims.

"Hey! Would you like a glass of red wine?" The hare asked. "Sorry I don't drink, i'd rather have tea"

The boy leans over to the hair "She is so suited to place alice it's unreal, she's even quoting it back to us"

The clock chimed loudly "It's always three o'clock here" "Whcih means it's always snack time!"

"So, then, where is this place we're in anyway? i mean a little while ago I was sat at my house with my father....waiting for one of this business friends to arrive to discuss...my betrothal"

The boy closes the pocket watch "Riddle me this, what do you and Kyoya have in common now?"

"Kyoya? Kyoya...Ootori? the boy who..."

"What will you do once you're engaged?"

"Once you're engaged, to this boy, what will you do?"

"Well...go about my life I suppose, hope that the boy is kinder than i know his father to be"

"You do not trust that the two of you can be friends?"

"I can't, the only person I can trust to look after me is me"

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you think that?"

"Because that has been the case most of my life"

"But that won't mean that it will always be the case, perhaps the reason you think you can't depend on others is that you reject it"

"Huh?"

You get cut off by a fanfare of trumpets "The queen is now holding court"

"The duchess is scheduled to be executed"

You stand up "That's an outrage!" the boy sips his tea "One does not fight the queen's whim trust me"

"Well, I can't sit here and do nothing!" you run off

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"Duchess. You stand before us now, accused of coming to the Royal Music Festival by invitation, do you confess to your transgression?" you slam the door open into the royal court "What transgression?"

"Who disrupts this court?" the king questions.

"I do. I'm here as legal council of the accused"

"With all due respect your majesty. It is my duty to attend the royal music festival"

"Even if it means leaving your precious child alone? Your crime is not a question of attendance, but of abandonment. This act is unforgivable. To cause such loneliness in a child"

"Your majesty the child was not abandoned."

“When a mother leaves because she must, the child understands! Sure, they have to defend themselves, but they’ll have plenty of help if they know where to look!” You remind, unaware of where your thoughts are coming from.

“Besides, if you execute the duchess, how is her child any better off-?”

“Silence yourself, wretch! There’s no room for your emotions in this courtroom!”

“But that’s absurd! To conduct law without emotion, you might as well leave it up to some sort of machine!”

The king seems speechless, “Astounding insolence. Tell me, precisely how long have you been in the legal profession? Are you even qualified to practice law in this court? Are you not, in fact, guilty yourself? Why don’t we discuss your crime?”

You take a step back, confused, “What on earth are you-”

"Page hand!" The pink bunny from earlier tumbles in, handing the king a piece of paper "I submit to the court a bank account registered in your name containing all the money your family has ever given you"

"huh?"

"Do you or do you not have a bank account as an emergency fund in case you ever need to escape and provide for yourself?"

"i- yes- but that is not a crime-"

"Theft is however, you have been asking your parents for money for appliances and school supplies and then putting the money into the account instead haven't you?"

"Witnesses! Those party to the crimes of this so called lawyer are demanded to come forward and testify"

From seemingly nowhere the boy in the hat appears in court "It would be my privilage, your majesty"

"What are you doing here?"

"This girl has what might be charitably called a lack of faith in her surroundings"

"What?"

"She has put up a strong wall to ensure that regardless of what happens she will be okay, and in turn placing the finishing line at okay and have not even considered happiness"

the jury of girls in masks laugh "Now how is it you know my name?"

"Huh?"

"My name, how do you know it?"

"How do i know?"

The cats appear out of nowhere "Yeah, and somehow you knew we were twins"

"And about my little black book, lest we forget"

"And about my cavity"

"How is that?"

"How is that?"

"How is that?"

"How is that?"

"How is that?"

"How is that?"

"Well I..."

"Hasn't it sunk in yet?" the king takes his mask off "You've certainly made a life for yourself here y/n"

"Father you're the king...does that mean" you turn to the queen who remains seated "You are so big now" she speaks

"Don't let the fact that i left persuade you that everyone will"

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"Wow, i've never seen you dose off like that before" You wake up to find Tamaki dressed as the mad hatter shaking you awake. "Hurry up and get ready, we have guests coming every minute now" he nods to a blue dress hanging up in the corner.

You shake your head through a smile as you approach the costume. "I hope you guys are right about this"

Next time on patience 'Covering the famous host club!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848

[sun-ashes]

Alright this dear here asked for a happy ending and as the person who started this whole mess I ought to make it happen. I'm taking your input on it.

I do think Wei Wuxian would not use the tattoos to cover his scars but to decorate them, because they are part of him, just as the stories his tattoos tell are: lotus flowers for his adopted siblings and the home they gave him, even if they haven't talked since Madam Yu kicked him out; a sun that matches the one on Wen Wing's back and Wen Ning's stomach, because of the new family he managed to build for himself. Flowers that match Granny Wen's birthday and a curled up rabbit for A-Yuan, his adopted son. Crow wings for his deceased parents and a sword over his spine for his younger self, who was a child sharpened like a weapon. And then a little empty window on his bicep, with a few hanging vines: one for each year of his life that he has had a soulmate, though no flowers, because he thought his soulmate was gone.

Lan Wanji learns of the meanings years after they met, in A-Yuan's seventh birthday (he was four when he met him), and asks why hasn't put any flowers yet. They have met, after all. They are even friends, even if that's not all Lan Wanji wants for them. Wei Wuxian is puzzled.

"You asked for no more tattoos," he replies. "I would never ignore your wishes like that."

And isn't that such a wonder? Lan Wanji grew up cared for and loved, but not like this. He has never been understood and respected like this before, his heart has never been handled so kindly.

"And if I didn't mind?" Lan Wanji asks.

"Even then, I wouldn't do it. They were my hope for love from my other half, Lan Zhan. I don't want to feed those types of thoughts, now that we are at least friends."

And so Lan Wanji nods, holding that at least close to his chest and safe warding it there. Wei Wuxian is taking in present tense. Wei Wuxian has welcomed him into his family, his home. He has introduced his son and siblings and grandmother to him, and taken him to his parents graves, and talked to him. He has answered every question Lan Wanji has asked, and been there every time he has needed him, and he has known him like no one else. Lan Wanji, in turn, has had the privilege of being his friend, his confidant, his ally. He has cooked Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan's dinner when the other man was too tired to do so and has driven A-Yuan to school when Wei Wuxian was sick. He has spent holidays with them, and birthdays and milestones too. He knows he's part of their family in all but legal terms, and that he's loved and welcomed always.

He knows, too, that Wei Wuxian loves him, and has loved him even before the beggining. That he loved him when he asked for him in shaky sentences written over skin, and that he loved him in ink sunk deep in his body, a tribute to a soulmate that he never even knew. Wei Wuxian loved him when he stopped getting tattoos once asked to and when he kept his distance because that's what Lan Wanji requested of him.

Wei Wuxian is not subtle. He looks at Lan Wanji like he looks at all his precious things. Lan Wanji has never been happier than when he is with him.

So the very next day, Lan Wanji makes an appointment, and a month later, Wei Wuxian wakes up from a late morning nap to his arm feeling buzzy, only to watch, in real time... Vines. Appearing one by one from the little window to his soul, one for every year that has passed since the last one he got. And then.

Then.

Flowers.

So many flowers that they take over the crevices left over in the other tattoos in his arm, and then they creep up. Up, to his clavicle and breast and... And his neck, too. Over the side of it and up to the end of his ear. Visible, unmistakable.

He stares in wonder, thinking he's dreaming. It would not be the first time he dreams of feeling, let it be pain or love or loss.

So he goes to the most trustworthy pool of information he has, and calls Wen Qing. Who has barely picked the phone before she asks wHAT'S THAT!?

And so. And so.

Lan Wanji comes to find him, skin pink and looking pale.

"What did you do, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, hope and grief fighting in his chest like stray dogs.

"I got a tattoo," Lan Zhang replies, tracing it with the tips of his fingers—not the ink on his neck, but on Wei Wuxian's, until he's cupping his jaw in his warm, shaking hand. "They are my show of love for my other half."

"Lan Zhan."

"I'm sorry for taking so long, Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan. His soulmate, the name he has yearned for since he knew to name the feeling, the one he would have traded anything to learn when he was eighteen and lost and heartbroken. The name he calls now, as he's taken into strong, welcoming arms and hugged within an inch of life; as his temple and his cheek and his lips are kissed, and then the whole long line of bright flowers.

"Lan Zhan. Everyone is going to know."

"Good. Good. Wei Ying should be loved loudly and brightly, as he is."

And what else can Wei Wuxian do but kiss him again and again and again until A-Yuan comes to ask if they are finally getting married.

(they do get married. They get matching ring tattoos of course.)

(Terrible drawing of the window tattoo because I don't have a single chill bone in my entire body)

@xiaokuer-schmetterling @maelstrom-of-emotions @undercover-stories I love you guys so much thank you so so much 🥹🫂🫂🫂

podlet #10 is 🆙

what am i reading? this tumblr collaboration (about 30 mins listening commitment btw) that has turned into a mdzs soulmates modern au h/c setup AND GDI SOMEBODY BETTER WRITE THE COMFORT PART. FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY ISTFG. pls. pls. pls. i beg on my knees orz. unintentional (?) tumblr collab by: @maelstrom-of-emotions @undercover-stories @sun-ashes

[power-chords]

The thing about 12-step programs is that the basic model involves getting a bunch of vulnerable, impulsive nutsos together in a plausibly cult-y atmosphere where they're likely to have already burned a lot of social bridges. That it doesn't turn out to be a hotbed of abuse would be the more farfetched assumption.

[lunarharp]

played dragon age 2...just simple scribbles

[swordsonnet]

lately, i've seen more people in the online autistic community acknowledging the struggles of people with higher support needs, which is of course an important development. but for some, that seems to come with the implicit assumption that low needs autistics "have it easy" or experience no stigma at all, which is just wrong??? people with low support needs are still disabled by their autism and still face discrimination because of it. sure, they are impaired to a lesser degree than those with higher support needs, but that doesn't mean you can just erase their struggles, y'know?

[milolunde]

We all know Timmy is Wanda’s mama’s boy but we need to keep in mind he’s still Cosmo’s kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda