#and that meant I had a solid time limit on how long I had in order to make it successful like that

[mimiyanna]

It’s actually SO crazy how like. The literal day I lost my job, and the entire week after, I set about towards working on my dream. And it was instantly a lot more successful than I thought it would be. Like obviously not enough to call it, then and there. Not enough to say, “we did it! We made this work, and now we’re good to go!” But still, more people showed up to my streams, my vods got more views than I was expecting, and. All in all, it was looking really great!! Like if I kept putting in that kind of effort, I actually COULD have made it work long-term, and the dream could have been real. And then for whatever reason I gave up, and stopped streaming and stopped working on my model and stopped feeling like I could do it or do anything, crushed under the pressure of making it all work out, and the fear that it wouldn’t. I turned my fate into a self fulfilling prophecy. And now it’s too late to give it another go. Now we’re out of time, out of money. And I only have myself to blame.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello darling.

Could I please request some driver (doesn't matter who) and his daughter just elarned how to walk. So she is always trying to run away? It's all very amusing to the drivers!

Thank youuuu

She's a runner, she's a track star

The paddock had its usual hum of activity—mechanics adjusting parts, engineers discussing strategies, and drivers casually hanging out in the team areas. But today, none of that mattered to Yn.

Sixteen months old and freshly in love with walking, she had discovered the absolute thrill of being on her own two feet. And naturally, that meant exploring every possible direction she could waddle to.

Her parents, Carlos and Rebecca, had long accepted their fate. There was no stopping their daughter from marching off on what she believed were grand adventures. So instead of controlling the chaos, they simply kept close, always ready to step in when she ran out of steam.

"She doesn’t walk. She sprints," Rebecca murmured, watching their daughter toddle a few meters away with an enthusiasm that rivalled a pole position victory.

Carlos, seated casually at a table with his friends—Lando, Charles, Pierre, and Alex—leaned back, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. "She’s got my racing instincts," he joked, taking another slow sip.

Rebecca scoffed. "She’s sixteen months old, not a Ferrari."

Carlos smirked, completely unbothered. "Still faster than half the pit stop strategies we’ve seen this season."

Lando snorted. "I think she’s onto something, actually."

Charles leaned forward, watching Yn play with her dolls nearby. "She’s gonna make a break for it any second now."

Yn, blissfully unaware of the discussion about her speed, was deeply focused on her toys. But then—just like the men had predicted—the urge to move struck her again.

Without hesitation, she abandoned the dolls, stretched her tiny arms out for balance, and with absolute determination, began her escape.

"Here she goes," Pierre grinned.

"You can see the confidence," Alex added, watching with amusement.

Carlos, still relaxed, only glanced at his daughter briefly before turning back to his coffee."

Rebecca folded her arms, eyeing her husband suspiciously. "Are you going to let her roam the entire paddock?"

Carlos shrugged. "She’s testing her limits."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Testing her limits or testing your patience?"

Carlos chuckled. "Both."

Yn was now fully engaged in her mission, her tiny feet padding determinedly against the pavement. In her mind, she was flying. The paddock was hers to conquer, and nothing could stop her!

Except, of course, her own exhaustion.

After a solid minute of relentless waddling—which felt like an eternity in toddler-time—Yn slowed down. Her little legs wobbled with effort, and finally, she plopped herself down on the pavement with a tiny, dramatic huff.

Max, who had been watching from a distance, chuckled as Carlos finally stood up, still extremely relaxed.

"You’re really just waiting until she tires herself out, huh?" Max mused.

Carlos took another slow sip of his coffee before setting it down. "Efficiency, my friend."

With unhurried steps, Carlos strolled over to where Yn sat, her chubby hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath.

When she saw him approaching, she immediately lifted her arms—the universal toddler signal for pick me up right now.

Carlos crouched in front of her, his voice soft with adoration. "You tired, pequeña?"

Yn beamed up at him, entirely unfazed by her failed escape attempt.

Carlos wasted no time, scooping her up and holding her close, pressing dozens of kisses to her chubby cheeks. "Such a strong walker! So fast, mi amor!" he praised, his voice filled with warmth.

Yn squealed with delight, gripping onto her father’s shirt.

Rebecca approached, shaking her head with a knowing smile. "You let her think she won, didn’t you?"

Carlos grinned, pressing another kiss to Yn’s forehead. "Confidence building."

Lando, Charles, Pierre, and Alex watched the scene with amusement.

"You’re ridiculously soft for her," Lando pointed out.

Carlos didn’t even try to argue. "And I don’t care."

Pierre laughed. "Honestly, that’s fair."

Carlos shifted Yn so she was more comfortable in his arms, rubbing her back gently as she nestled against him. She was still beaming, incredibly pleased with herself for her grand adventure.

Rebecca smirked. "She’s got you completely wrapped around her tiny fingers."

Carlos pressed one last kiss to Yn’s cheek, completely in love. "And I wouldn’t change a single thing."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars- Lee Know

summary: he's your soulmate, but he's already in love with someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, soulmate au, unrequited love

word count: 1828 words

a/n: this was requested, really loved this concept— should I do part 2? 👀

PART 2

Masterlist

~°~

You had always dreamed of meeting your soulmate. As a hopeless romantic, you had imagined it all—the instant connection, the rush of emotions, the realization that this was the person meant for you.

From the time you were little, you'd trace the blank space on your wrist, imagining the mark that would one day bloom there—the sign of your destined person. Stories of soulmates finding each other had filled your heart with longing, whispering promises of a love so deep, so undeniable, that nothing could stand in its way.

And then on a fateful morning, three months after you turned thirteen, it happened.

A delicate star-shaped pattern shimmered on your wrist, fading from golden light into solid ink.

This was it.

Your breath had caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you traced over the pattern with shaking fingers. It was real.

Your soulmate was out there.

And you were going to find them.

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

You had spent years searching—watching, waiting, hoping. But soulmarks were unpredictable. Some people found their destined person right away. Others searched for years, only to meet their soulmate at the most unexpected moment.

For you, it happened through Bang Chan.

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

You had known Chan for a while now, having met through mutual friends, and occasionally you hung out with his group that consisted of your mutual friends from college. One evening, he invited you over for a casual get-together at his place. You had no idea how much your life was about to change.

When you arrived, laughter and conversation filled the apartment. People greeted you warmly, but your attention was drawn to him.

Lee Minho. 

There was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, confident yet not overbearing. Maybe it was his sharp eyes that held mischief and mystery. He was handsome, almost unfairly so, with an aura that pulled attention effortlessly.

The moment you met, there was some sort of instant spark. 

As the night went on, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you argue with Jisung, another close friend of Chan that he introduced you to, over some ridiculous topic. And then he joined in.

The two of you had gone back and forth for at least ten minutes, teasing and taunting each other like you had known each other for years.

“Wow,” Minho had finally said, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Chan, where have you been hiding this one?”

Chan had laughed, “Right? I knew you two would get along.”

And from that moment on, you did.

The banter was easy, natural, like a rhythm you had both unknowingly fallen into. He would throw a jab, and you would return it without missing a beat. It became something of a game— one that neither of you acknowledged but played anyway. 

After that night at Chan’s place, you and Minho exchanged numbers, a silent agreement to keep in touch. But life was busy— too busy for long conversations or one-on-one meetings. Your interactions were limited to occasional group hangouts, fleeting moments where you’d exchange teasing remarks and match each other’s humor effortlessly.

For a while that was enough, until you saw the mark.

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

It happened weeks later, on a movie night at Changbin and Hyunjin’s place. It was a casual kind of movie night where everyone showed up in sweats, curled into couches with blankets draped over their laps, trading playful jabs between mouthfuls of popcorn. The air smelled like butter and cinnamon-scented candles, and the TV flickered with a half-watched movie as conversations overlapped.

Minho sat across from you, comfortably leaning into the cushions, his usual smirk in place as he fired off another joke. The room erupted into laughter, but yours was the loudest— it always was when it came to him. It was effortless, the way the two of you fell into banter, the way he made you laugh like no one else could.

And then, in the midst of it all, he reached for his coffee.

It was such a small thing, so inconsequential, yet it changed everything.

His sleeve rode up slightly, exposing the inside of his wrist for the briefest moment. But that moment was enough.

Your laughter faded. Your pulse stilled.

Because there, etched into his skin, was your mark.

The very same pattern you had spent your whole life tracing absentmindedly, the one you had dreamed of seeing on someone else one day. On your soulmate.

Lee Minho was your soulmate.

The world should have stopped. This should have been the moment where everything clicked into place, where the universe finally made sense. But before the thought could fully form, a voice cut through the haze.

“Sorry, babe. I’m late.”

A woman appeared beside him, her tone light, affectionate. She leaned in without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips as her hand came to rest on his shoulder like she had done it a hundred times before.

Minho turned to her, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. It was love.

You thought you knew him well enough. Well enough to anticipate his dry jokes, to recognize the mischievous glint in his eye before he spoke. But clearly not well enough to know he had a girlfriend.

And that was when you knew. Minho wasn’t waiting for a soulmate. Because he was already in love with someone else.

You barely remembered the rest of that night. You smiled, you laughed when appropriate, you responded to conversations, but your mind was elsewhere. On him. On her. On the way he looked at her, touched her, stood beside her like she was his world.

And that realization destroyed you.

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

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

The mark wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a guarantee of love, just a promise that this was the person who was meant to understand you like no one else could.

So you stayed.

Not because you were waiting. Not because you were hoping. But because leaving felt impossible.

Chan’s group became your own, and Minho was always there—laughing, teasing, existing so effortlessly in your world. 

At first, it was unbearable.

Every time he absentmindedly rubbed the mark on his wrist, a quiet frown flickering across his face, your stomach twisted. Did he feel it too? Did he ever wonder?

But then his girlfriend would call, and he would answer with a voice so gentle it made you want to scream.

She was perfect. Kind, beautiful, talented, and Minho loved her. He was happy.

And you? You were just his friend with the same mark.

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

The months that followed felt like moving through water—slow, heavy, suffocating.

You tried convincing yourself that nothing had changed. That Minho was still just a friend, a fleeting presence in your life, someone you saw in passing at group hangouts and laughed with over inside jokes. But knowing the truth made every interaction feel heavier, every lingering glance, every easy banter laced with something you couldn’t ignore.

And yet, he remained blissfully unaware. He didn’t know. He didn’t see.

Not until that night.

The party at your friend’s penthouse was loud, the music thrumming through the walls, laughter and conversation bleeding together into a dull hum. But you weren’t part of it. Instead, you stood in the dimly lit kitchen, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself against the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you had come. Maybe some part of you still craved the normalcy of being around him, of pretending nothing had changed. Maybe you were just tired of avoiding him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, entering the kitchen. His voice was soft, but it made your stomach drop, “You're still here?”

You didn’t turn right away. You couldn’t. You replied weakly, “Yeah, needed a breather.”

He hummed, reaching for a glass of water. His movements were effortless, casual—until he caught sight of your wrist.

His body went rigid beside you. His eyes flickered from your mark to his own. You felt it before you saw it— the way the air shifted, the sharp intake of his breath, the stillness that settled between you like a physical thing. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“…It’s you,” he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you followed his gaze down to your wrist.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

You watched as realization hit him like a crashing wave, his expression flickering through shock, confusion, and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, finally, he did.

“But…” His voice was quiet, almost fragile. He swallowed, staring at you like he wished he could unsee it. “But I love her.”

Three words.

Three words that carved into you deeper than you thought possible.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to absorb the quiet devastation in his eyes— the same devastation mirrored in your own.

“I know,” you said, offering him a small, trembling smile. “I know, it's okay.”

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

And that was the difference between you.

You had spent weeks coming to terms with the inevitable, had learned to swallow down the ache every time you saw him with her. But for him, this was the first time. This was his moment of realization, and it was breaking him apart in real time.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, like he was fighting against something he didn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

Your lips parted, the answer lingering on the tip of your tongue. But what would that change?

“Does it matter?” you asked softly, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration— at you, at himself, at the cruel twist of fate that had led you here.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice filled with something raw and painful. “I should have—”

“Minho.”

Your voice was steadier than you felt. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see it—the weight of it, the way his heart and mind waged a silent war.

He didn’t want to hurt you. But he loved her.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself, your fingers just barely brushing against his wrist before pulling away. A silent offering. A silent goodbye.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “You love her.”

And that was the end of it.

Minho exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

There was nothing left to say.

So you smiled, even as your heart cracked, even as you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. And then you turned, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the party, leaving Minho alone with the mark that had changed everything.

Minho was never meant to be yours.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @vietjeb @my-neurodivergent-world

[matchatarot]

Bunny, I hope you know you’re destined for greatness. Your higher self is here to guide you through your path of awakening, listen to them. To pick a pile don’t overthink it; choose the one that draws you in the most while thinking about the reading’s intent. Only take what resonates! Love, Matcha ♡

☆ masterlist

✿ message from your higher self part two

Pile 1 ₊˚.༄

You don’t have those big dreams for nothing, Bunny. Yes, you are destined for a glamorous, comfortable and abundant lifestyle. You are destined to be seen as someone of high status, someone respectable. So you’re gonna stop dreaming about this lifestyle and actually put the action to reach this reality. There’s a discipline, a skill, an art form you’ve been meaning to pursue deeper knowledge in. Follow your intuition, you’ll feel creatively fulfilled and it’ll bring you to a more authentic self. You are protected by your spiritual team and you can confidently be yourself. Do not let your fears control your path. Remember, your thoughts don’t define you, your action does. You’re not meant to be like the others, your higher self stands out. You’re meant to go against the status quo. You’ll discover that by being your true unique authentic self, you’ll reach an emotional fulfillment you’ve never had before. If you have depression, it’s because you’re forcing yourself to fit into the mould of someone you’re not. You have one life, how will you choose to spend it? Go out, have fun, create, and be yourself! It’s the only way forward. And never forget that as long as you’re following your higher purpose, you’ll be protected. Oh and go get that tattoo! You know you want to! Embrace that alternative style to the fullest, it’s meant for you. If you’re pursuing a career that will put you in the eye of the public, like music or acting, your higher self wants to tell you receiving an award for outstanding work you did is part of your destiny.

diet_ by denzel curry, tattoos, graffitis, books, 215

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

Pile 2 ⊹˚˖ ☆

You are destined for a life where you don’t yearn for what could’ve been. You’ll be free of anxieties, you’ll feel light, free like a bird. You need to let of your limiting beliefs. If you’re dreaming it, Bunny, it’s meant for you. Especially if you’ve had that same dream since childhood. Remember that time is not linear, that life you’re destined for, you’re already living it. There might be some obligations dissuading you from taking action, maybe you have kids, a business or anything that requires your constant attention. Your higher self is coming through to tell you that this part of your life is protected, your family is protected. You’re a creator, Bunny. You’ll be shocked at what you can do when you actually let yourself follow your creative pursuits, the potential of what you can create is greater than anything you can imagine. Your destined to create miracles so impactful that it will switch the faith of your lineage. If that stuff about kids didn’t resonate with you, see it as your inner child. So, either your kids will flourish in this reality you created for them and/or your inner child's wishes will finally be fulfilled. To fulfill your dreams you’re gonna need some rock solid faith and confidence. Step up your manifestation game, you don’t realize how much of a lucky person you are. Yes, I know you’ve been through so many hardships and you’re still healing from childhood wounds but I’m telling you, you have the potential to alchemize all that and become a powerful manifester. If you’ve been meaning to be an influencer, a teacher or any path where you transmit knowledge and influence people here’s the confirmation that it’s for you. Go for it, you’re destined to be someone very influential in your community.

firefly, feathers, 1, 333, 4, 7

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

Pile 3 ‧₊˚ ♡

The first thing your higher self wants to tell you is that it is not an act of weakness to ask for help. In the past, you might have been made to feel ashamed to ask for guidance but let go of that trauma. You have heart chakra healing to do, you should listen to some heart chakra frequencies when you need to reset. In your heart, you know you’re an original, abundant, sensual, wild and passionate being. Your higher self embodies this energy without shame. Self-love and self-respect would be to let that part of you shine. The more you get to know the deeper parts of your being, the more you’ll love yourself. See yourself as a source of inspiration, be your own idol. The people you admire, you admire them because they have a part of you in them. Define what those things are. Don’t be scared to contradict yourself, we are all paradoxical beings. Your higher self is nothing like you imagined in the past but they’re totally aligned with the self discoveries you’re gonna make. Start this path right now, the yearning is over. Even if you don’t take the lead, it’s gonna happen soon due to unforeseen circumstances. Be open to a sudden change of direction. Things are unfolding in the spirit world for you, you’re already manifesting this reality. Your higher self is seen as someone extremely smart, and respected for their deep knowledge in their field. Be open to suddenly changing career paths, your next prospect will end up being something you master and get recognized for. Be devoted to your heart, practice self-love, and self-respect, and be curious. As long as your heart remains open, your manifestations will flow in.

I follow rivers by Lykke Li, mercury, 1, 313, 2, maenads, unicorns

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

Divine revelations about your path

Message from your spirit guides

decks used: mystical wisdom by Gaye Guthrie, les vampires oracle by Lucy Cavendish

[witherby]

Heyyyyy how are ya 😼 I have an idea for angst (Although this has already been done by many authors but I'm curious see how you approach this kind of like concept)

"Neglected... Batsis.... Reader..."

(this is totally not me just manifesting for more neglected batsia content)

-🌭

Hotdog. Dog that's hot. Oblong tube of meat that sits on a bun. As long as you're okay with it not being Yandere, I'll give almost anything a shot.

Lonely in a Crowded Room

Platonic!Batfamily x Daughter!Reader

Content warnings: emotional neglect, isolation, hyper-independence as a coping mechanism

Masterlist is Here!

Your family loves you.

Your family does not have time for you.

Both of these things are true at the same time.

Your mother had abandoned you at the gates of the Wayne manor when you were an infant, leaving nothing but a note telling Bruce your name, her name, and that you were his biological daughter. After taking another DNA test for himself to be sure, Bruce accepted his role as your father and took you in.

Sometimes you wonder how different your life would be if he'd just admitted he didn't have the time to raise you and left you at an orphanage, where another couple looking to care for a child could devote their energy to you instead. You wonder if you'd be better off than you are now.

The thing is, nothing is really wrong. You're clothed, fed, sheltered, and if there's an emergency you are swiftly taken care of. You just don't have any kind of connection to your family.

Bruce gave it his best effort when you were a baby, when you needed more attention. Batman patrolled less often in the night whenever you had a bad time staying asleep. He bottle fed you, he read you bedtime stories, and he would bring you to Wayne Tower with him sometimes and keep you busy with toys while he worked. As you grew older, however, and started developing a sense of independence, that easy attention got harder and harder to get. Suddenly he was needed for a case, or there was an event Bruce Wayne needed to make an appearance at, or one of your brothers needed his insight during investigations of their own.

And, well, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. You learned to share his attention, choosing to be the polite daughter that could learn to fix her own problems, and eventually that meant to Bruce that you didn't need attention at all. You couldn't ever find the courage to correct him, to ask him to make space for you. So, still seeking emotional fulfillment, you tried to turn to your brothers instead.

Dick was unfailingly kind. He'd even remarked once that he always wanted a little sister, which was nice. But he was an adult by the time you entered the picture. He had his own life outside of the Manor, living in Blüdhaven and patrolling as Nightwing and maintaining a day job for the BPD. His already limited free time was spent for himself, chasing downtime he often desperately needed, and you didn't want to make him give that up for you.

Jason didn't come around the Manor as a rule. He had bad blood with your dad, and while he didn't explicitly take it out on you, unfortunately you live with Bruce, and so he just wasn't around enough for you to form any solid attachment. Plus, he's clearly got his own stuff going on, and likely doesn't have the time nor will to get to know you. You haven't tried to reach out and neither has he, which is enough of an answer about how he feels in regards to having a little sister.

Tim was kind of like Bruce. He had far too many prior engagements and duties to fulfill, from acting as current CEO of both Wayne Enterprises and Drake Industries, to moonlighting as Red Robin, to attending college and working on his degree. He'd give you a sweet smile and gently ruffle your hair if he caught you in passing, but then he had to focus on the rest of his daily goings on. Trying to catch Tim to talk was like trying to hold water in a cracked cup. He just slips right by you.

And Damian... Damian did not particularly like you. At least, not at first. He came into the picture a couple years after you were dropped off at the Manor. You suspect he felt threatened about there being another blood-relative in the house, and made every attempt to communicate to you that he wasn't happy with your presence. But, as you grew older, when the topic of secret identities and their nighttime work came up, you surprised everyone by showing no interest in taking up the mantle. You did not want to be Robin, or a bat of any kind for that matter, and that seemed to really mellow your brother out. His perceived competition wasn't even competing, and his hostility was for naught.

Now, he doesn't really give you the time of day. It took a while for you to understand that it wasn't malicious anymore. You know now that he's ashamed of his prior actions and doesn't know how to make amends. You've tried to bridge that gap for him, make it easier by showing that you hold no ill will, but either his pride or his stubbornness refuse to take the olive branch you're practically dropping in his lap.

So, you can't get emotional fulfillment from your dad or any of your older brothers. If you can't go to them, maybe you can turn to Alfred. He was a patriarchal figure, always tending to one thing or another and looking after Bruce and his sons after patrol. He didn't patrol himself, so maybe he'd have the time to spend with you.

And he did! He sure did. It just...wasn't quite what you wanted. Alfred was a former British Intelligence operative, and raised Bruce under the complicated duality of both a guardian and a commanding officer. He obviously knew how to talk to you like a normal civilian, because that's what you are, but it was overly formal. He was holding you at arm's length because he didn't know how to relate to you. You were familiar strangers, at best, and you felt that's all you'd ever be despite your best efforts.

So. No one is cruel to you. They are kind, they smile, they ask you how you're doing and genuinely seem to care about the answer. That's not the problem.

You know your family loves you.

You know your family does not have time for you.

Both of these things are true.

You just wish you weren't so terribly lonely.

[aryacoulson]

EVEN MORE SMUT ALERT

Enjoy Yourself

this got so much longer than I planned, so most of it is going under a cut

contains: masturbation, cloned dick dildo, unspecified age gap (mid to late 20s/early 50s), no actual Robby or his dick, sex tape

Your breath caught when you opened the box. You had recognized the handwriting, the return address, he had even texted you that he was sending you something. But you had never imagined- this.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, not even when your phone chimed. You knew who it was, didn’t even need the specialized tone assigned to him.

>> Did you open it yet?

<< Robby.

<< What is this?!

>>Closest you can get to the real thing for now, sweetheart. >> Enjoy yourself.

You set your phone down as your eyes returned to the box, biting your lip. Right. Dinner first, followed by a shower and then-well, he did say to enjoy yourself.

You’d known Robby for almost two years at this point, having started at the Pitt as a R3 when your previous hospital closed, or well, was bought out and then shut down. You knew that you were lucky, others in your program had to start over, soaped into other specialties. All you had to do was move, even if it was across the country into a far colder climate than you had gotten used to in NOLA.

You supposed that’s how it started. This thing with Robby. You had already heard of him, knew how incredible a doctor he was. Your attending in New Orleans had gone through residency with Robby, and they had remained friends afterwards. Dr. La Salle had called him, hoping that Robby had an opening and was willing to do a favor for an old friend. Three weeks later, you were half settled in an impressively small apartment and heading in for your first shift at the Pitt.

Meeting Robby did not go as planned, you hadn’t even gotten to the hand shake portion of introductions before getting hit with multiple traumas and having to jump in feet first. 32 minutes and a close call with an interior bleeder later, the two of you were stripping off your gloves when you heard a slight laugh followed by an “You are just as impressive as Pete said you were”.

You reached to shake his out stretched hand “I could say the same about you”.

And that was it. Your hands touched and it was like you could feel everything click into place, if you actually believed in stuff like that. But you bonded over Nola, comparing your favorite restaurants and dishes, the best place to see live jazz, your respective friendships with La Salle. But it was all surface level, friendly but professional, completely above board.

Until it wasn’t. It wasn’t even a particularly bad shift, but it was long and Gloria was there every time anyone turned around. So when beers in the park started wrapping up and it was clear he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, you shifted closer, turning toward him on the bench. Asked him about his necklace, listened to him talk about his grandmother and his childhood, told him about yours. He walked you home after, and he looked so tired and worn down you couldn’t help but hug him, and offer him the couch.

“I wish I could say yes”

After that, despite knowing that you two should really put some distance between you, park beers turned into dinner at the diner down the road. Long conversations where nothing was off limits-his mother’s addiction and your almost stepford upbringing, old relationships, hopes and plans for the future. Sex. That one was fueled by too much alcohol. As was the confession of only being able to get off when thinking about him. You didn’t touch anything remotely mind altering or tongue loosening for a solid month after that.

So you were stone cold sober when he told you that as much as he wanted you, he would not interfere with your training and education. You were already an incredible doctor, and he knew you could outshine them all. But it meant keeping his hands to himself, at least until you were done with residency and had accepted the attending position he wasn’t supposed to tell you was all but yours at this point.

That was two months ago. And now you were here, standing at the foot of your bed, staring at an exact replica of Robby’s cock-every ridge and vein and all 8ish inches in high quality silicone. God, you hoped the color matched. You hoped the balls matched.

Jesus, this man was driving you insane. Had you all riled up and whoreish and desperate. You needed him to feel the same way. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you nodded and headed towards your dresser, dropping your towel along the way. You had a plan and you knew you’d have him panting by the end of the night. Grabbing the soft blue fabric from the drawer, you slid it on, opting to leave it unzipped while you grabbed the tripod Samira made you get and setting it and your phone up at the foot of the bed, with a perfect view of the headboard. Next, you set about prepping the dildo and grabbing lube, throwing both back on the bed.

Checking the camera angle one more time, you started recording before climbing onto the bed, settling in the middle against the headboard, a pillow shoved behind your lower back to help tilt your hips out. You made sure that the hoodie that you kept “forgetting” to return to Robby was draped to just barely cover your tits and spread your legs wide, shifting slightly to give the camera the best view. Show time.

Reaching down, you lightly slid your fingers along your slit, feeling how wet you already were. Might not even need the lube, you thought, coating your fingers. Your first touch to your clit had you gasping, dropping your head slightly. You teased yourself with slow circles before dipping back down toward your opening, slipping one finger in, thrusting shallowly. You moaned, needing more.

Several minutes later, you were dripping, stretched out on four of your fingers, breathing harshly. A shaking hand reached out for the clone of Robby’s cock, before removing your hand from your cunt, coating the dildo in your own slickness.

You slid the tip along your slit, using it to rub tight circles on your clit, causing your back to arch and you to let out a high, short shriek. You knew that even with four fingers you weren’t stretched enough and that you’d have to go slow.

You reached down, using one hand to spread your pussy and the other to notch the head of his cock at your opening. You made sure to look directly into the camera when you pushed the tip in, giving a light thrust and choked gasp before pulling it back out.

“Fuck, Robby” you whimpered, repeating the tease a few more times, going slightly deeper each time. Once you’d worked up to taking half his dick, you shifted, planting your shoulders and feet on the bed and angling your hips toward the camera. With a deep breath, you pushed it all the way in, not stopping until the balls at the base were flush against your cunt, letting out a wail as you went.

Your room was filled with the slick sounds of rapid thrusts and wet gasps and whimpers. It only took a handful of the deep thrusts of his thick cock before you were coming- back arching, body tightening and your cunt clamping down hard, gushing all over his cock and your bed. You slumped against the bed, ears ringing and throat scrapped raw from screaming his name.

It was twenty minutes before you could bring yourself to move, getting up, turning off the camera and cleaning everything, changing the absolutely soaked sheets and taking another quick shower.

You dressed quickly, in pajamas this time, and settled back in the bed. After a quick, rough edit-taking out everything before you touched yourself and everything after you came, you sent three messages in short order.

<<70 days and counting

<<Enjoy yourself

<<video file

for @spookypeachpitt13

Pitt inspired page dividers again brought to you by @rori-is-writing

[theskywithin]

💔 Venus in The Houses: What You Refused to Stop Loving (Even When It Hurt)

There are some parts of the soul that cling like ivy: soft, stubborn, slow to let go. Venus holds those pieces. Not just beauty. Not just pleasure. Attachment. The shape your love takes, and what you keep reaching for even when it bruises you. This isn’t the Venus of charm and romance. This is the Venus of ache, of repeating a pattern that once felt like love, even after it stopped being safe. The part of you that would rather hurt in familiar ways than be untouched by anything at all. But there’s beauty here too. Because the same Venus that aches is also the one that heals. When you finally stop asking love to look like the wound and start letting it look like freedom.

This is Venus in the houses: What you refused to stop loving, even when it cost you more than you thought. And the slow return to loving yourself in a new language.

✨ Ready to read your birth chart like a fairytale written in emotional memory? My book breaks it all down — 700+ pages of soul-centered astrology. On sale all summer long. Link at the end of this post.

Just like love, I hope this post reminds you of your infinite potential and power. You are worth choosing, over and over again. I love you all. 🌹

Venus in the 1st House

You learned to be lovable before you learned to be real. Smiles became survival. Softness became armor. You led with beauty,not always the superficial kind, but the kind that made people stay. The pleasing tone. The gracious pause. The way you read the room and adjusted your light like a dimmer switch, just to keep the peace. You were rewarded for being magnetic, so you made it a language: "come closer, I’ll make it easy to love me." But under all that charm lives a secret ache: the fear that if you stopped being beautiful, whatever that meant, they’d stop choosing you. So you fell in love with being wanted, even when it cost you your truth. You attached to those who mirrored your surface but missed your depth. You kept offering the version of yourself that always got a yes, while wondering if anyone could love the messier one hiding underneath. This is what Venus in the 1st carries: the ache to be adored, and the slow realization that being liked isn’t the same as being loved. Healing comes from being seen honestly. Not through charm or performance. Just as you are, without softening the edges. You’re here to be chosen even when you stop smiling.

Venus in the 2nd House

There’s a part of you that clings to what’s yours, not out of greed, but out of memory. You learned early that love wasn’t always given freely. That sometimes affection had a price. So you began collecting value like a language: through the things you owned, the beauty you created, the comfort you could offer. You equated stability with worth. You mistook being needed for being loved. And you kept pouring yourself into people and patterns that made you feel wanted as long as you kept giving. This is the Venus that loves through offering. That hands over her time, her touch, her tenderness, asking: "If I give enough, will you stay?" Even when it leaves you depleted. Even when it makes you think your worth must be proven over and over again. You attach to what feels familiar, what feels solid, even if it limits you because part of you fears that letting go means losing your identity, too. But healing comes from remembering you are the value. Not because of what you give, or what you own, or how well you keep it all together. Because you exist. Because you’re enough. Even when you stop offering, even when you ask for more.

Venus in the 3rd House

You fell in love with words before you understood their weight. You learned to listen like it was a form of affection. You noticed the way people phrased their goodbyes, the pauses in their promises, the tone beneath what was said. Communication became your currency, not just what you gave, but how you received love. If someone spoke to you with sweetness, you felt safe. If they withdrew their words, you felt erased. So you kept talking, kept connecting, kept translating your heart into something digestible. You became fluent in charming your way into closeness. Into overexplaining, over-texting, over-performing emotional intelligence just to make sure the line stayed open. But deep down, you feared that silence meant disinterest. That confusion meant rejection. That love could leave the moment language stopped. Venus in the 3rd carries the wound of being misunderstood and the gift of making connection feel like a miracle. But healing comes when you stop trying to be perfectly received. When you stop using conversation to prove you’re worthy of staying. Your words are beautiful, yes, but you don’t have to explain yourself to be loved. Let silence be holy. Let pauses be proof that something deeper is speaking, too.

Venus in the 4th House

You loved where it wasn’t always safe to love. Maybe the house was quiet, but the silence hurt. Maybe you were cherished, but only when you were good. Maybe no one said it, but you felt it, the need to earn your place through softness, through sweetness, through shrinking your needs. So you became the keeper of peace. The one who smoothed things over. The one who made the room feel warmer just by being in it. This Venus buries her longings in the walls. She romanticizes the past even when it bruised her. She stays too long. She forgives too fast. She confuses familiarity with safety. You fall in love with people who feel like home, even if that home was built on unspoken grief, emotional labor, or longing that never got met. You try to rebuild it differently. But sometimes you find yourself in the same rooms, wearing the same ache, wondering why love still feels like caretaking. But healing doesn’t come from creating peace around you, it comes from creating it within you. You are not responsible for holding the emotional temperature of every room. You’re allowed to want softness without having to absorb the storm. Love that feels like home should also feel like rest.

Venus in the 5th House

You learned to love by becoming unforgettable. You turned your desire into performance, radiant, magnetic, impossible to ignore. Even your laughter was a kind of offering. You made beauty from your longing and lit it up like a stage. Not because you’re vain, because being adored felt like safety. Praise felt like proof. And when love arrived, it felt like art: thrilling, vivid, consuming. But when it left, it felt like erasure. Like the curtain closing before your favorite line. You fell in love with moments. With eyes that lingered. With hearts that pulsed like yours. But the ache beneath it all was this: that sometimes you gave the most to people who only knew how to admire you, not hold you. You confused intensity with intimacy. You loved like a poem and hoped they’d read past the first line. And when they didn’t, you wondered if maybe you were too much or not enough. Venus in the 5th aches to be felt fully, not just witnessed. But love isn’t always applause, it isn’t always electric. Sometimes it’s quiet presence. Sometimes it’s staying through the ordinary. You don’t have to earn devotion through dazzling. You don’t have to keep turning your joy into a performance. You are lovable in the unlit moments, too.

Venus in the 6th House

You learned to love through service. Through the small things. Through the gentle noticing. The “did you eat?” The “I fixed it for you.” The way you anticipate someone’s needs before they even speak them. You made yourself useful as a form of closeness. You made your care invisible on purpose, hoping they’d feel it in the background, like warmth, like air. But over time, the giving became a pattern. You attached to people who needed you. Who relied on your steadiness, your tenderness, your silent devotion. And part of you stayed even when they forgot to say thank you. Even when they only came close when they were hurting. Because some part of you believed: if I stop being helpful, will I still be wanted? This Venus aches with the fear that love without labor is love that disappears. So you keep offering, keep fixing, keep showing up, even when your body says no. But healing comes when you stop trying to prove your worth through effort. When you realize that your softness is not a task to complete, but a gift to receive. You deserve care that doesn’t come with a chore list. You deserve a love that serves you, too.

Venus in the 7th House

You’ve always loved through reflection, through the way someone else’s eyes lit up when they looked at you. Love became a mirror: if they want me, I must be worthy. You longed for the kind of connection that confirms your existence, not just affection, but devotion. Someone to meet you, choose you, hold your hand through every contradiction. So you became the perfect partner. You learned to read the emotional weather and adjust your warmth accordingly. You shaped yourself around the people you loved, hoping they’d never stop loving what they saw. But this Venus can forget where she ends and someone else begins. You fell in love with the bond itself, even when the person in it didn’t see the whole of you. You stayed in dynamics that mirrored the illusion of closeness, even when you felt alone inside them. You kept choosing people who made you feel special… only when they needed you. Venus in the 7th carries the hunger to be chosen without vanishing. Healing begins when you choose yourself first, not in theory, but in practice. You don’t have to shapeshift to be loved. You don’t have to keep becoming what someone wants in order to be kept. Real intimacy begins the moment you stop performing it.

Venus in the 8th House

You love like it’s all or nothing. Like once you let someone in, they’ll never leave or if they do, they’ll take a piece of you with them. You crave soul-deep intimacy, the kind that strips you bare, the kind that doesn’t flinch at your shadows. But somewhere in your story, love and loss became intertwined. You learned that closeness could devour. That attachment could undo. So you fell for the ones who felt like mystery, like danger, like a promise you’d have to bleed for. You equated depth with sacrifice. Desire with survival. This Venus doesn’t do halfway. You stay when it’s too much. You stay when it’s not enough. You grip harder the more it hurts, because letting go feels like death. You become the detective, the shape-shifter, the alchemist, trying to control what love will become, before it controls you. But all that intensity isn’t safety. It’s a shield. And sometimes, it hides the truth: you don’t fully trust love to last unless it breaks you first. But healing doesn’t come from proving how much you can endure. It comes when you stop needing love to feel like a reckoning. You are allowed to be met in your depth without drowning, to be loved in ways that feel like resurrection, not survival. Real intimacy doesn’t require your disappearance, t asks for your presence.

Venus in the 9th House

You fell in love with the idea of love before you ever touched it. The feeling of elsewhere. The promise of expansion. You wanted connection to open you, not just emotionally, but spiritually, intellectually, cosmically. Something bigger than longing. Something that taught you more than it took. And when it came close, you chased it through distance, through people who felt like portals to another version of you. But the more beautiful the idea, the harder it was to hold the reality. You’ve stayed in relationships that looked like growth but felt like escape. You’ve clung to potential like a prophecy, convincing yourself that if you kept evolving, they would meet you there. You crave truth, but sometimes avoid the hard kind, the kind that lives in the unromantic present. You love the journey but you fear the arrival. Because what happens when the story isn’t magical anymore? Will love still be enough when it stops teaching you? Venus in the 9th aches for something meaningful, but healing begins when you stop trying to transcend love and start letting it transform you. Not every connection has to be epic to be real. Not every love needs a passport. Sometimes, the most expansive thing you can do is stay exactly where you are, and let someone truly know you.

Venus in the 10th House

You learned to equate love with admiration. To earn it by being impressive. To become the one who’s chosen because you were composed, capable, already enough in the eyes of the world. Maybe no one told you directly, but you absorbed it anyway: that being desirable meant being seen from a distance. So you built your image carefully. You became polished, respectful, desirable. You loved through achievement. Through excellence. Through control. But this Venus often confuses visibility with value. You’re drawn to people who enhance your image or validate your progress. You crave relationships that reflect your success, but part of you wonders if they love you, or just the version you show the world. You stay too long in roles that make you look stable, even when they starve your softness. You perform devotion instead of receiving it. You protect your reputation even as your heart goes quiet. But love isn’t a resume. It’s not something you rise into. Healing comes when you realize you don’t have to deserve love by being extraordinary and that intimacy isn’t about how you’re seen, but how you’re known. You can step down from the pedestal. You can be held, even when you’re not performing strength. You’re allowed to be loved in your becoming, not just your becoming-someone.

Venus in the 11th House

You’ve always loved from afar, through dreams, through ideals, through the ache of what could be. You fall for futures, for friendships that bloom into more, for people who make you feel like you’re part of something bigger. You want love that expands you, love that includes you, love that sees your weirdness and says stay. You long to belong, not just to one person, but to a vision. A shared dream. A chosen family. But sometimes, in your hunger for connection, you forget to ask if you're truly being held. This Venus gets caught in the crowd, adored by many, known by few. You give your heart in pieces, through encouragement, through showing up, through being everyone's favorite shoulder. But intimacy gets blurry when you're always the one making space for others. You attach to people who feel out of reach, the unavailable, the too-cool, the ever-drifting, because part of you fears what happens when someone actually wants to stay. Will they still love the real you once the dream version fades? Healing comes when you realize you don’t have to audition for closeness. You don’t have to be everything for everyone just to feel worthy of one person's full attention. Love isn’t a spotlight or a shared cause. It’s someone seeing you in your strangeness, in your specificity, and choosing you anyway.

Venus in the 12th House

You love behind a curtain, quietly, deeply, like a secret prayer. There’s something about longing that feels safer than having. Something about distance that feels like devotion. You give yourself in fragments, in dreams, in the soft spaces where no one can reach you too quickly. Maybe you were taught that love was too big, too dangerous, too consuming to hold in plain sight. Maybe you learned that to love fully was to risk disappearing. This Venus forms attachments that are almost always too complicated, too far away, too impossible to name. You love what you can’t quite touch. You fall for people who are already gone in some way, emotionally, physically, karmically. And you stay, sometimes silently, hoping that one day love will come back for you. But part of you is afraid of what happens if it does. What if being seen means being shattered? What if being chosen means there’s nothing left to wait for? Healing begins when you stop mistaking invisibility for safety. When you let love be something you inhabit, not just something you imagine. You don’t have to love in exile. You don’t have to be the background music to someone else’s story. You’re allowed to want more than fantasy. You’re allowed to be loved in the light.

© 2025 francesca Mazzi. All rights reserved.

MY BOOK HERE!!!

[insteading]

Things I learned listening to Nancy Hennah talk about hair and makeup for Our Flag Means Death:

The storm in "Red Flags" made the wig ball up in a knot that took five hours to untangle. Most of the wet stuff in S2 used the wig from S1 for that reason.

There were two s1 Ed beards, so one could be blocked and curled while the other was in use.

Tattoos were kept on as long as possible, because putting them on and taking them off was time consuming. But three days was really the limit for them looking good and staying on securely.

DJenks requested that Ed have a full sleeve tattoo fairly late in the game before shooting. The snake was an efficient way to get a full sleeve, and also made placing smaller bits easier. Freckles were used for navigation.

DJenks asked for the back piece tattoo we see on Ed in s2e1. The skull and snake part were done by Dean Sacred and the lettering by Nancy Hennah.

Initial plan for Ed's chest piece was two ships having a fight, but it was too wide. The final chest piece was one tall ship with some bigger stars around it. There was initially a mermaid who didn't make the cut. "We always lived in fear of him having his top off."

NH talked about how much fun the hair cage styles were for s1e5 and the wedding in s2e1-- "because we weren't being period correct we had leeway."

A variety of makeup looks were tried for the beginning of s2, including one where the eyemask went all the way to the hairline. It's meant to look like it could be replicated using charcoal and oil, stuff the crew would have had access to.

Nathan Foad started a mini-trend of ridiculous sideburns in the 6 months he was wearing That Facial Hair around LA.

There was initially a wig set aside for Rhys. Not the white one he wears for s1e5, but a longer blond one. It wasn't used after tests because his own hair was so good.

Ed's s2 wig wasn't so much intended to be longer for story-telling purposes, it was just that he was wet a lot of the time and that pulled the curl out. But there were longer pieces around the front.

When Ed washed up on the beach in the Gravy Basket scene, he got black metallic sand in the wig. It was impossible to fully remove and was still in at the end of the season.

Normally Taika's hair would be slicked back with solid gel, but that's water-soluble and wouldn't have worked for s2e3. In that instance it was slicked back with glue? or something glue-like? and plumber's tape fashioned into a headband. The wig stayed on until when Ed was apparently falling into the water with the cannonball in the last take (really being pulled sideways).

Fang's tattoos were designed by Iniya Taylor in Auckland. A henna artist (whose name I didn't catch) designed Archie's pieces, which NH placed. Mads was thinking about getting one of her tattoos for real.

Of Ed's nail art in s1e10: "That was Taika, he'd gone and gotten it, and it was gels, we couldn't get it off. Taika said 'no one will notice, don't worry about it.'" (And then everyone noticed and was so excited and wrote meta about it.)

Did you know what you were unleashing when you put the wig in a bun in s2? "No."

There were many guesses about the hangman tattoo: circus, pirogi, virgin, mirage, girlie, girthy. The actual answer is PIRATE.

[redroomreflections]

Her Best Secret Final Chapter

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this truly is, but it's here.

Note: Me and my cliche endings. It's my own personal trope at this point.

w/c: 7k

Natasha could tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wore.

Scuffed boots meant hard work and long days spent on their feet. They were usually worn by men who were sleazy enough to give her looks but too tired to be bothered. Shined leather meant money and status—someone who never had to kneel or scrub. Those types showered her with presents and toys to keep her out of the house.

Women’s shoes were different. More challenging for her to understand. Her mother’s shoes had always been worn thin, heels clicking against wooden floors as she danced with the newest addition to their lives. Neena Romanoff was not rich by any means. She knew how to work her charm. Natasha memorized how her mother moved, how she laughed at men’s jokes, and how she never let anyone get too close.

They never stayed in one place for long. A new town, a new apartment, a new man. Natasha learned to pack light to keep her expectations low. She had never met her father—never even heard his name. When she was younger, she made up stories about him, piecing together fantasies of a man who might’ve loved her mother enough to stick around. But as she got older, she stopped wondering. Neena never seemed to care, and Natasha convinced herself she didn’t either.

If anything, it taught her what to expect from people. Love, in her world, was something fleeting—conditional. People came and went, and even the ones who claimed to stay had limits.

Now, standing on the carpet of the inn, barefoot, heels abandoned by the door, Natasha wondered what her shoes said about her.

Could people look and see the times she’d cheated? Could they tell by glancing that these were the only pair she had brought when her husband kicked her out?

The leather was creased, and the soles were slightly worn. She didn't wear them often—only on nights when her feet felt like they might give out, and she needed the added support. They were her second skin—one she could take off at the end of the day.

Natasha had always preferred to walk barefoot.

She sat on the bed, feeling the springs bounce and shift beneath her. The sheets smelled clean, fresh out of the wash. She could see by now that the housekeeper was growing suspicious about her time here at the inn. It had been nearly a month, and she still hadn’t found the courage to go home. It wasn't for lack of trying. She'd called home more times than she could count.

The phone rang and rang and rang, but nobody answered.

Natasha thought maybe, after a few weeks, Steve would get tired of waiting and come to find her. But he hadn't. Not yet. He must've been more furious than she realized, which was to be expected. She wasn’t naive. She didn’t think he would forgive her and he had a right not to. 

A knock sounded on the door, and Natasha froze.

She hadn't ordered anything from the front desk or even called the kitchen.

She stood on the tip of her toes, peeking out the peephole, gasping at the occupant on the other side. She quickly unlocked the door, tearing it open and gently pulling you inside.

"You shouldn't be here," She whispered, but she didn’t let go of your wrist.

Neither of you moved for a moment. Too overwhelmed and apprehensive about how to properly greet each other.

"I had to see you," You admitted.

Natasha swallowed. She didn't know what she expected—to be relieved, to feel something solid beneath her feet again. But she only felt that same gnawing uncertainty, the same ache in her chest that hadn't left since Steve found out.

"You look tired," You murmured, scanning her face.

She huffed a humorless laugh. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"I figured," You said softly. You hesitated, then reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of her jaw. "Natasha..."

She shook her head, stepping back. "Don't. Please."

You let your hand drop.

"Why did you come?" She asked.

"To bring food," You lifted the Tupperware to show her the contents. "It's a casserole. I'm unsure if you like those, but they seem the easiest to make. And I didn't want to make anything too complex, but I figured you haven't had anything home-cooked in a while and-"

"Thank you," She nodded. "You can set it down here." She gestured. You stepped further into the room, glancing around as you set the Tupperware on the small table by the window. The place was tidy enough, but it was almost disorganized for Natasha. The sheets, though clean, were half-pulled from the mattress, the desk was cluttered with cigarette cartons and half-empty glasses of water, and a few articles of clothing were draped carelessly over the chair. It wasn’t what you expected.

Natasha had always been meticulous, with everything in its place and never a wrinkle out of line. But in this dimly lit room, it looked like she had unraveled.

You didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, you cleared your throat, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress. “Is this a bad time?” You asked, hesitating. “You don’t seem like you want to see me.”

"I do, " She said softly. "I just haven't heard from you in a week."

"I was sick," You explained. "I came down with a case of stomach flu."

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Really," You affirmed.

She glanced away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. You weren't sure if she believed you. It was better not to ask.

"How are you doing?" You tried, stepping closer to her.

She shrugged.

"You've been drinking a lot."

"Not more than my body weight," She attempted to make a joke.

"Natasha."

"What? I'm fine. I can stop whenever."

"Nat-"

"Stop it," She snapped. "Just stop. I'm fine."

You swallowed thickly, taking a step back. "Okay. Fine. You're fine."

"I am."

"Then why are you still here?"

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go," She shrugged. "No family. My friends are his friends. I'd imagine he's told the entire neighborhood."

"He hasn't," You shake your head. "Neither has Sam. He's ignoring me. Which is better than the alternative, I'd say. We've fallen into a sort of weird co-parenting situation." You wanted to explain more but didn't know how she would take it. She hadn't made much eye contact with you since you stepped foot inside of the room.

The silence between you was heavy. You shifted on your feet, fingers curling at your sides, wanting, aching, to close the space between you. You wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her—anything to take away the pain. But you weren't sure if that would help or hurt the situation.

Natasha seemed to think so, too.

She sighed. "Why did you come, Y/n?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And why did you want that?"

You exhaled slowly. “Natasha—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “I know what you’ll say, and I don’t need to hear it.”

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. “And what do you think I’m going to say?”

“That it’ll all be fine. That things will work out. That you’re not angry.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You should be angry. I ruined your life.”

You took a step closer, and she stiffened. She was shutting down, retreating behind her iron will, the same one that had made her so untouchable all these years.

“My life isn’t ruined,” You said softly.

Natasha laughed humorlessly, but no real fight was left in it. Just exhaustion. "You should hate me."

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I know how it feels to be so in love you forget what's right and wrong," You dared to lift her chin for her to look at you. "I'm not angry with you. I'm unhappy with the circumstances, but don't blame you."

"You should," Natasha repeated.

"But I don't," You shook your head. "I couldn't."

"I was reckless, and I shouldn't have kept a journal,"

"Have you been doing this all this time? Beating yourself up about all of this?" You questioned, cutting her off.

"Y/n," She warned, but she didn't back away.

"It's not your fault, Natasha."

"He hates me," She choked out, eyes brimming with tears.

You shook your head. “He’s hurt. But he doesn’t hate you.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, her gaze darting away. “He should.”

“But he doesn’t.” You softened your voice, thumb brushing lightly over her chin before you let your hand drop. “And neither do I.”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly like she could will the tears away. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not about fixing it. I don't think this is something we can apologize for and fix. It's-" You shook your head. "We chose to be together in whatever way we could. We acted on lust at first, and then, well, we fell in love. This isn't a mistake, Nat. You can't apologize for love."

"I can try," she whispered, looking up at you.

"Why?"

"Because I broke apart a family."

"I'm not one hundred percent sure we were well put together to begin with," You bit your lip. "Also, you weren't the only one doing the work."

Natasha shook her head, eyes fluttering closed.

"Hey, none of that. Don't beat yourself up. Please." You begged.

"I have to go back eventually," she mumbled. "And he won't forgive me. I won't ask him to."

"Do you want him to?"

"I want him to understand why I did it. Why we did it."

"Nat, this was between us. No matter what he thinks, we're the only ones who could ever know the true nature of what was happening. If you tell him, great. If you don't, that's fine too. But the one thing we both have to remember is that Steve doesn't own you. Sam doesn't own me."

"So," Natasha sat back on the bed. "You're a whole new person now. With this confidence..."

"I'm not a new person," You chuckled. "I'm still the same me. But I've had a long time to think, and I've made peace with myself. And I hope you can do the same."

"I'll try."

"Can I have a hug?"

"A hug?" She smirked, standing up.

"Yeah. A hug." You smiled.

Natasha took a few steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your waist. You held her tight, closing your eyes, relishing in her touch, the warmth of her body against yours. It was like coming home after a long trip away.

"Are you going to be okay?" You whispered.

"Eventually," she nodded.

"I've missed you so much," You confessed quietly into the collar of her shirt.

"I missed you, too."

"I want to be there for you," You leaned back. "However, I can be your friend and partner. I want to support you, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on. But I need to know that's what you want."

"It is," She assured.

"Do you need more time before I see you again?" You tilted your head.

"No, no," She shook her head. "Please. Stay."

You smiled. "Then, I'll stay. However long you want me here."

Natasha kissed you, her hands cupping your cheeks, lips brushing lightly over yours. You melted into the touch, kissing her back.

When you pulled apart, she rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

"How's Claire-Bear?" She asked.

"Claire is good," You nodded. " Sam and I are in this sort of silent agreement. I think he doesn't know what to do with me, so we work around each other. She's been asking about you. Says she likes the way you do braids better than me."

"Well, she has the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. She's a lucky girl."

"I agree," You smiled.

"Y/n," She paused.

"Yes, Natasha?"

"I...I know this is hard. But I want you. I want you in my life, and I know it's selfish, but I want you, even if Steve hates me for the rest of our lives."

"I want that too," You agreed. "I don't care what the world thinks of me. I know the truth."

"You're not scared?"

"No," You hesitated. "Yes."

Natasha kissed you again; this time, it was tender, as if she were afraid to hurt you. Her lips pressed against yours, soft and warm, making your heart pound and your head spin. You didn't know how long you had been without her touch. How long had you gone without feeling her skin under your fingertips?

But here, in her arms, the world was right again.

"Are you okay?" You asked, leaning back. “Truly?”

"I'm okay," She smiled.

"I can sit with you a little longer," You suggested. "Maybe help you tidy up a little?"

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to," You insisted.

Natasha kissed you, smiling softly as her lips brushed against yours. She was still smiling when she pulled away.

"Okay," she agreed. "But only because you asked so nicely."

*****

There were moments when Natasha wished she could turn back time and redo it all. When her guilt ate her alive, she could think of nothing else but how horrible she felt. When the days seemed longer and the nights were darker, she could only think about how alone she was.  She looked up at the home she'd built with Steve and felt nervous. She was not an anxious person. She was someone who was always in charge of her emotions. Always knowing what was going on and able to deal with the situation accordingly. But right now, she was lost, unsure.

It was hard.

To face the person who thought he knew her. The man who loved her.

It was difficult.

She had to live a lie, to pretend she wasn't hurting, and to smile and pretend everything was okay. She wasn't a martyr. She was the cheater. She stomped on their vows. She broke Steve's heart, so she avoided this for so long. Coming home after being away felt different. She was a stranger in her own home.

She let herself into the house. Hanging onto the key rack, she’d painted herself. The radio played softly in the background, and she could smell something cooking in the oven. She hadn't expected anyone to be home since the car wasn't out front.

He looked up, hearing the sound of her heels. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"I'm sorry," Natasha began. "I ran out of clothes and didn't expect you to be here. I can come back."

"No, it's fine," Steve shook his head. He turned back to the oven, leaving her standing there and wondering. 

"Are you cooking?" Natasha dared to ask.

"Yes," He nodded. "Well, I am trying to, at least. It's a recipe from my mom's recipe book."

"It smells good," She commented.

"Thank you,"

They stood there for a moment, both of them staring at each other. Neither seemed to know what to say or do next.

Finally, Natasha cleared her throat.

"I'll just go and grab my clothes," She hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

"Okay," Steve nodded, turning back towards the stove.

Natasha walked quickly down the hallway, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness further. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach twisted. She wanted to throw up, but she pushed the urge away, swallowing down her nerves and anxiety.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned towards their bedroom. It was the same as she left it. Not that she expected there to be much of a difference. It had only been a month.

Natasha walked over to her side of the bed, grabbing her suitcase. She packed some of her favorite pieces and another pair of shoes.

"Natasha,"

Steve's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She didn't respond; she just continued packing.

"How are you?"

"Fine," Natasha shrugged, her gaze focused on the clothes.

"The inn's getting expensive," He tried again.

"I know," She nodded.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Natasha paused. She glanced up at him but couldn't look him in the eye.

"No," she answered honestly.

"We should talk," Steve said. "About us."

''Is there still an us?"

"Of course," He replied.

Natasha swallowed thickly. "I can't go back to how things were."

"I know," Steve shrugged. "I don't want to either."

"You didn't do anything wrong," She started. "You were perfect. You are perfect."

"I'm just not her," He finished.

Natasha sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping forward. "Yeah."

"When did you know you were a lesbian?" His brows furrowed as if it were painful to say.

Natasha hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not sure."

"Did you have a crush on your best friend in middle school? The way you would talk about her always seemed a little odd."

"I did," Natasha said. "Hilly Thompson was a girl in my class. She was smart and funny and pretty. But I didn't realize I was in love with her until we got older. After she moved away."

"Did you ever kiss her?"

"No," She admitted, blushing. "Y/n was my first time being with a woman."

"How many times have you slept with her?"

"Steve, that's-"

"How many times?"

"Eight or ten? It could be more. I haven’t exactly counted. It was only a couple of months."

"That's all?"

"It's not like we had time."

"Was it the sex that made you cheat? I could do more. We could try new things," He suggested. "I know I wasn't as experienced when we got married."

"Neither was I, Steve," Natasha sighed.

"What if I learned," He swallowed. "Would that be enough for you?"

"What are you saying?"

"That I can't lose you," He admitted. "That I don't want to lose you."

"I don't think changing how we have sex would make me feel any different," She swallowed.

"We never had children," Steve looked down at his feet.

"We tried," Natasha pointed out. "It wasn't something we could control. It just didn't happen for us."

"You didn't want a baby, did you?"

"Not especially," Natasha sighed. "But I wouldn't have minded."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you did." Natasha shrugged. "I wanted to be a mother. Then I didn't. When we found out I had trouble conceiving, I just threw the idea away."

"What else aren't you telling me?"

"There isn't anything,"

"Don't lie."

"I'm not. I'm not lying," She shook her head.

Steve sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. "Then why did you come back here at this time? You know my schedule like the back of your hand. You knew I’d be home.”

"I didn't know what else to do," She admitted. "I missed you. I came to get my clothes, but part of me hoped to see you."

"Have you seen her?"

"Don't make me answer that," Natasha swallowed.

"So, you have," He nodded, a bitter tone seeping through his words.

"Yes," Natasha exhaled. "We've talked."

"You have an affair with a married woman, and you still choose her over me," He chuckled.

"Steve-"

"No, no. I understand. You two have history. I'm just the one who had to find out the hard way."

"It's not like that. If I could, I would go back and change it all," Natasha insisted. "Please believe me."

"What happened? Did you realize she was the love of your life?" He scoffed.

"Yes," Natasha said without thinking.

"You're serious?" Steve gaped.

"You wanted the truth," She sighed.

"She's not leaving Sam," Steve stated. "I've seen them together recently."

"I don't care," Natasha shook her head.

"But she's still married, and she's the mother of a young child."

"And I'm still married," Natasha countered.

"So you remember?"

"I'm not divorcing you," She stated.

"Then what's the point of this?"

"To give us both time to figure things out," Natasha explained. "You can't expect me to jump straight into a decision. We both have some healing to do."

"But if she leaves Sam-"

"She's not leaving Sam. He's her husband, and Claire needs both her parents."

"If she leaves him, will you run to her?"

"I don't know."

"I want a divorce, Natasha," He said suddenly.

"Okay," She nodded. "I'll get a lawyer."

"And I'm staying with Bucky until I find a place." He nodded. "You can keep the house."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"I'll have all my things out by the end of the week." He decided. "The car is at an auto shop."

"That thing crap out on you again?"

"It did," Steve nodded. "Buck's got a spare bed for me. I'll stay there."

"Okay,"

"Nat," He started.

"I'll leave," She grabbed her bag.

"I'm sorry,"

"For what?"

"For not being the right man for you."

"You were the right man, Steve."

"But I'm not her."

"No," Natasha swallowed thickly. "You're not."

"She makes you happy?"

"She does," Natasha nodded.

"Does she make you feel alive?"

"Yes."

"Like the sun's coming up inside you,"

"Yeah,"

"Then, I can't compete with that," Steve said. "I wouldn't want to."

"So this is it for us? Our marriage is just over?"

"I guess so," He tucked his hands into his pocket. "I've been thinking about joining the army again." He admitted. He didn't know why he told her. Maybe because he felt he had nothing to lose.

"Really?" Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah," He nodded. "My therapist thinks it could be good for me."

"You're seeing a shrink?"

"It helps," He shrugged.

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to sign the papers," Steve answered.

"You have them drawn up already?"

"No, but I will."

Natasha studied him for a long moment. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Steve like this—so resigned, so… defeated. He had fought for so much in his life, their marriage, and the future he thought they would have together. And now, he was letting go.

But what else could he do? She had given him no choice.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she admitted quietly.

“I know,” he said. “But it did.”

Steve had always been good, always steady. If anyone could have given her a safe life, it was him. She had tried to love him how he deserved—to be the kind of woman who would never stray or feel the pull of something beyond her quiet, respectable life. But trying had never been enough.

She thought of you, of the way you looked at her like she was something precious, something worth breaking all the rules for. She thought of how her chest felt lighter when you were near and how your touch made her feel like she was stepping into the sun after years of cold.

Steve must have seen the answer on her face before she could even say it because he exhaled deeply and nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.”

He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t cruel. It would almost be easier if he were.

“Steve…”

“I’ll have the papers ready in a few days,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Natasha.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Natasha in the middle of the room, her bag hanging loosely in her grip.

******

Through all of the commotion, Claire had been the highlight of your life. Her constant, steady presence gave you a reason to believe you were still a good person. Her tantrums gave you something else to focus on, her giggles reminded you there was still joy in the world, and when she tucked her little hand into yours without a second thought, everything felt less impossible.

She sat cross-legged in the grass, plucking petals from a daisy, humming some half-remembered tune. You stretched out beside her, letting the sun warm your face as you glanced toward the porch where Sam leaned against the railing, watching the two of you with the look he always got when he was about to ask something you were not ready to answer.

"Mama," Claire said, drawing your attention back to her. "Are you sad?"

"No, love," You frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you didn't smile at my joke," She shrugged. "And daddy didn't give you a kiss for morning wake-up."

"Your dad was busy this morning," You told her. "And I was tired."

You hadn't realized how important something like a morning kiss was for her.

Claire considered that for a moment, her little fingers twirling the daisy’s stem. She doesn’t look entirely convinced.

"Do you want me to tell you another joke?"

"Yes, please." You smiled, and she beamed up at you, her eyes bright.

"Okay, okay. What did the grape say when he got squeezed?"

"What did the grape say?"

"Nothing, he just let out a little wine!" Claire burst into giggles, dropping the ruined flower in her lap.

"Who taught you that joke?" You questioned with a smirk. You weren't even sure she understood what she was saying.

"Daddy did," She said. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," You replied.

"Good." She smiled. "Mama?"

"Yes, honey."

"Will you be happy now?"

"I am happy," You promised. "I'm always happy with you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Claire seemed satisfied with your answer, and she leaned back onto the grass, her hair fanned out around her head, eyes closed.

"Daddy, you should come over here and feel the sun with us," Claire called to Sam. You looked over to him. Family things like this made him uncomfortable now. He had been actively avoiding you except for when it came to Claire. You didn't understand how long the two of you could keep this act up.

"Sam," You sighed.

"Y/n," He began.

"I'll go," You sat up, brushing your hands off. "Spend some time with her."

"It's fine." He shook his head. "She wants both of us."

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"It's fine," Sam repeated. He walked over to the pair of you, crouching to Claire's level. She rolled onto her stomach, a smile on her lips.

"Hey, baby," He greeted. "How's the sun feeling?"

"Good," She said. "Warm and soft."

"Good," He nodded.

"Do you feel it, too?"

"Yeah," He said.

"And Mama," She pointed to you.

"I do feel it, baby," You nodded.

"Hey, why is there so much grass in our yard and not in Mr. McCready's yard?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Hmm, I don't know, pumpkin," Sam shrugged. "We take care of our yard a little better.”

"Because Mr. McCready is not nice," Claire stated.

"Right," Sam chuckled. "And you have to be nice to your plants and flowers, right?"

"Yes," Claire nodded.

"And why is that, sweetie?" You prompted.

"Because the world is beautiful, and we have to take care of it," Claire recited, and Sam shot you a grin. It was the first time he'd smiled at you in a while. Claire pushed herself up, brushing grass off her dress before taking off across the yard. She giggled in a way that indicated it would be nap time soon. It was the sort of subtle loopiness that only children could manage. You smiled after her, but a wave of dizziness washed over you when you moved to stand. You pressed a hand to your temple, blinking hard as the world tilted slightly.

"Whoa, easy," Sam said, stepping forward to steady you with a firm grip on your elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," You exhaled. "Just stood up too fast."

Sam watched you for a second longer before letting go. You took a slow breath, shaking off the feeling.

"She’s somethin’ else, huh?" Sam nodded toward Claire, now twirling in circles near the oak tree.

“She is,” You agreed, softening.

Sam shifted, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You went to see her," he said casually.

Your stomach clenched. "Sam—"

"I'm not mad," he interrupted. "Well, actually, I'm pissed, but I'm just sayin'—I know."

"I wanted to make sure she was okay," You explained. "She's alone."

"You're her best friend, I get it," He nodded.

"She is,"

"You know when we got married, I thought it was the best day of my life," He folded his arms over his chest. "I told my sister that as long as I had you, she never had to worry about me or us."

"I never thought you'd have to worry about me." You admitted.

"But then I found out about the affair." He said more to himself. "I found that this happy life that I thought was happy wasn't."

"I'm sorry."

"You've been sorry," He pointed out. "It hasn't fixed anything."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? What can I do to make it better?"

"Nothing," He shook his head. "You can't."

"We're leaving each other in limbo," You sighed. "Claire's picking up on it. I don't think you realize that."

"So, what?" He scoffed. "You're telling me I should divorce you?"

"I'm saying, I think it would be better for us."

"You mean for you," He narrowed his eyes.

"No," You denied. "This isn't what I want, and you know it."

"You can't have both of us," He said. "You can't have a husband and then have an affair. It's not how this works."

"I know that," You said, your jaw tightening. "And I don't want that. I never wanted to hurt you, Sam. I never wanted any of this."

"Then what did you want?"

"I wanted someone to love me," You whispered. "I wanted her to love me."

"Oh, so my love wasn't enough?"

"No, yes, Sam," You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were feelings always so complicated? "I told you how she makes me feel. Claire, honey, not too close to the street!" You called after your daughter.

"Why her?" He asked. "Why not someone single?" 

Why not a man? It was a question left unsaid but settled loud between the two of you. 

"Because I fell in love with her," You answered.

"And how am I supposed to trust that now?"

"You're not," You sighed.

"So what now?"

"I don't know."

Sam exhaled, his shoulders falling forward. He seemed tired, his usual optimism gone.

"What if I wanted to leave you?"

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. It's a big decision," Sam said.

"Yeah,"

"But maybe we should think about it," He swallowed. "I didn't come from a broken home."

"I know,"

"And Claire—"

"We would figure it out," You reassured. "You're my best friend, Sam."

"You were mine too," He said, his expression painful.

"Were?"

"Am," He sighed. "You're still my best friend. No matter what. Even if I'm not yours anymore."

"Sam,"

"Don't." He shook his head. "Please."

"We don't have to figure it all out right now," You said.

"We need to figure out something."

"Yes," You nodded.

"And you want to be with her?"

"Yes," You closed your eyes.

"I guess I can't compete with that," He mumbled.

"There's no competition, Sam. This isn't a contest."

"It feels like it," He admitted.

"You're still my child's father and best friend," You explained. "No one can replace that."

"Not even her?"

"That's different."

"It shouldn't be,"

"Sam,"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore,"

"Then what do you want to talk about, y/n?"

"Nothing."

"You can't keep shutting me out,"

"I'm not,"

"Yes, you are."

"Can we just not fight for five minutes?" You pleaded. "Just for a little bit? Most days you ignore me. Other days, it's this. Talking in circles. I think I would feel better if you just kicked me out."

"Why haven't you left yet, then?"

"Because Claire is here," You explained.

"Nah, that's not it," He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're scared."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're afraid to lose us,"

"Us?"

"Claire,"

"Of course, I'm afraid of losing Claire," You snapped.

"But you're also afraid of losing me,"

"Sam,"

"And Natasha,"

"You don't know what you're talking about," You glared.

"You're afraid you made a big mistake," He continued. "You're afraid that whatever life you had with me is the best it gets. That what the two of you have done is the biggest mistake of your life."

"It's not the mistake," You whispered. "Cheating is a mistake."

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And yet, here we are."

You didn't have anything to say to that. Because he was right. Because you did this, both of you did. And now there was nowhere to put it—nowhere to hide from the weight of it.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, then exhaled. "You think I don’t know what this is like for you? You think I don’t get it?"

You swallowed, looking away. "You don’t."

He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I don’t? You don’t think I wake up every damn day wondering where I went wrong? If there was some moment where I could’ve done something different, said something different, been different? And then I look at Claire, and I think—none of it even matters. Because we have her, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even to go back and fix whatever the hell happened to us."

"Are you still in love with her?" He asked after a beat.

Your breath caught.

"I don’t—"

"Don’t lie to me, Y/n," he said quietly. "Please."

Your eyes burned as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Yeah," you whispered. "I think I am."

Sam nodded once as he expected it like he’d known it all along. "Then what are you still doing here?"

You thought over his words. This entire conversation was almost as if he was urging you to go to Natasha.

"You should have her," Sam added.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you want her," He said. "I won't stop you."

"What about Claire?"

"I would never take her away from you," He promised.

"Mama, I have to potty bad," Claire chose that moment to abandon her flower picking.

"Come on," You sighed, scooping her into your arms. You gave Sam one last glance.

"Mama, hurry," Claire wiggled.

"I know, baby," You nodded, rushing her inside.

What now?

***********

The knock at Natasha's door came later than she was used to. She wasn't used to visitors, it was too late for housekeeping, and she wasn't expecting a second visit from you. But she knew. Before she reached for the handle and pulled the door open, she knew it was you. She hoped it was you.

"Hi," She greeted, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart.

"Hey," You smiled, leaning against the frame.

"You're here pretty late," She commented.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see you," You shrugged. "Can I get a proper hello this time?"

"Really?"

"Yes," You grinned.

Natasha stepped back, pulling the door wide enough for you to enter. Your eyes met hers, and suddenly, all the words she'd planned to say disappeared.

"Come here," She whispered, pulling you in.

"God, I missed you," You murmured against her mouth, hands sliding over her hips.

"How much?" She challenged.

"So much," You pressed another kiss to her lips, this one harder, more desperate. Natasha moaned softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You broke the kiss only long enough for her to pull it over your head.

"Not that I'm not happy that you're here," She said through peppered kisses against her neck. "But I thought we weren't doing this. At least until we figured things out."

"What if I said they're figured out?"

"Sam-"

"He wants a divorce," You explained. 

"Oh," Natasha breathed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not," You shook your head. "But, we've been talking and... I can't stop thinking about you. So, we decided—"

"We?"

"We talked," You nodded. "A long talk. Lots of wine and tears. He's willing to let me go."

"To me?"

"If I want," You confirmed.

"And you want this? Us? All the things that come with it?"

"More than anything."

"Are you sure, y/n? Because the second we do this, there's no going back. You know that, right? We won't be able to show or tell anyone."

"I don't care," You cupped her cheeks. "As long as I have you and Claire has us. I don't care what the world thinks."

"And what about your family, y/n? The neighborhood? We have to keep things a secret."

"I'm a sinner," You shrugged. "So, fuck them. I want you. All of you. And no matter how hard the world tries, they won't be able to take us apart."

"What's gonna happen with Sam?"

"He's keeping the house," You explained. "For Claire's sake. There will be too many changes for us to take away from her right now."

"Will he tell?"

"No," You shook your head. "I'm the bad guy here, not him. It's easier for him this way."

"How are we going to do this, y/n?"

"One day at a time," You answered. "I have no idea. I have no clue what the future holds, but I know I want you, Natasha."

Natasha leaned in, kissing you softly. "You have me, Y/n."

"I love you," You mumbled.

"I love you,"

"Natasha," You breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Let me touch you," You whispered.

"Okay,"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," She nodded. "Touch me."

Your hand slid under her nightgown, caressing the skin of her stomach. Natasha gasped, arching into your touch.

"Bed," She urged, tugging you by the hand.

You followed her inside, pressing her up against the wall and kissing her hard. Her nails dug into your shoulders, and you hissed, grinding your hips into hers. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you were touching her. Her lips were everywhere, and her touch seared.

"I've been thinking about this," You told her, pulling her top over her head and letting it fall to the floor.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes,"

"What else have you been thinking about?"

"About your legs around my waist and your nails on my back," You said as you fell back onto the bed.

"That's a lot of thinking," She smirked as she hovered over you.

"I've had time," You ran your hand up the back of her thigh, tugging her toward you.

"Show me," She urged. And you did just that.

After what could have been hours of lovemaking, you collapse onto the bed with Natasha in your arms. She traced patterns into the skin of your chest as she cuddled closer.

"There's something different about you?" Natasha broke the silence.

"Is there?"

"Mhmm," She hummed. "I don't know. Maybe it's the sex. It's been a while since you've had any."

"Maybe," You chuckled. "I think it's more than that."

"Do tell,"

"I finally found a way to live without lying," You explained.

"How's that?"

"By not hiding who I love," You turned and kissed her forehead.

"You're cheesy,"

"You like it,"

"Maybe,"

"Tell me something,"

"What?"

"What are we going to do next?"

"I found a place right outside of Colombus," Natasha began. "Just a drive away. It's beautiful. I've already put an offer on it."

"They let you do that? By yourself?"

"I have a good realtor," She grinned. "And they're not a bunch of close-minded assholes like around here."

"So, when are we leaving?"

Natasha smiled wide at that.

"We're doing this,"

"I love you, and I don't want to spend another day without you,"

"You know I was so scared to let myself have this," She admitted. "I knew what the consequences were."

"And now?"

"Now I have hope," She answered.

"For us?"

"Yes,"

"We can make it work,"

"I know,"

"You're so beautiful," You breathed.

"And you're sappy," She giggled.

"But I'm all yours," You leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, my love,"

"Thank you,"

"For what?"

"For giving me a chance,"

*********

Living on Natasha's farm was a dream and a learning curve. It differed from the lives both of you led in the city. Natasha divorced Steve. They kept minimal communication as he kept true to his word and joined the army. You and Sam were still married but had plans to divorce eventually, wanting to avoid raising suspicion. Sam ended up selling the family house and moving to the next town much closer to the farm. So Claire still had that stability. She loved the animals you had and didn’t fully understand the nature of your relationship, but she enjoyed having two moms.

You didn't think that life would ever be this perfect. It was better than perfect.

"Daddy's coming," Claire announced, hopping onto the porch with a bright smile. She was much taller now and certainly more energetic, if possible.

"Is he?" Natasha asked from her spot next to you on the swing.

"Yup," She nodded. "And he said he has a surprise for me."

"Oh yeah? What kind of surprise?"

"I don't know," Claire shrugged.

"Did you give him any hints about what you wanted?"

"I already had my birthday," She furrowed her brows.

"So a late gift,"

"Yeah,"

"It must be a pretty good surprise,"

"It must be,"

Sam pulled onto the dirt road like always, and you watched as he parked. The door opened, and he stepped out with balloons and a box of chocolate.

"What's all that for?" You stood, walking down the stairs to greet him.

"Just a sweet gift for my pumpkin because I missed her." He greeted her with open arms.

"Hi, Daddy," Claire jumped up and hugged him. She left a slobbery kiss on his cheek that had him feigning annoyance.

"How are you, little lady?"

"Good,"

"Did you eat your vegetables like I told you to?"

"Yup,"

"And did you help Mama with her chores today?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl," He smiled. "You've gotten so tall. Soon, I won't be able to carry you."

"No, I'm not getting too big," Claire waved a hand. She wiggled out of Sam's arms to show the chocolates to Natasha, who was still sitting on the swing.

"Natasha," Sam acknowledged shortly. There was still tension there, but they were cordial. "And how's my little man?" He asked, directing his smile to the baby boy in your arms.

William Sawyer Wilson. 

You hadn't expected your belly to get bigger in the months after your separation. Swept up in the whirlwind of divorce and heartache, you hadn’t realized you were pregnant. Coparenting with Sam was already great, but another baby made you nervous. Especially since his parents and the community would question how a woman could get pregnant during a divorce, Sam and his mother had tried their best to explain it away as a miracle child, and the gossip eventually died down.

“He’s perfect,” you answered.

Sam reached out, his large hands cradling the baby’s tiny form. William blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Hey, little man,” Sam murmured, his tone softer now. “You’re getting big on me too.”

You watched as Sam gently bounced the baby, his movements natural, familiar. Despite everything, the past and the tangled mess of emotions, there was no denying his love for his children and even you. After all this time, he was still a part of your life, and there was no one else you would trust more to be the father of your kids.

Sam looked up, catching your eye. His gaze was steady, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a small, private smile.

"We did good," He nodded, and your heart squeezed.

"We did," You agreed. "Come inside, we cooked dinner."

"Daddy, do you want some cake?" Claire asked, pulling on his shirt.

"Cake?" He repeated. He bounced William in his arms and followed the three of you into the kitchen.

"Mama made it."

"Oh?" He gave you a knowing look. "Which one?" He eyed Natasha suspiciously.

"It wasn't me. You don't have to worry about it," Natasha smirked.

"It's really good," Claire added.

"I'm sure it is," Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's strawberry," You smiled. "It's her favorite."

"Can we have dinner now?" Claire asked.

"We can," Sam answered.

"And cake after,"

"And cake after,"

"Mama, can daddy come live here too?" Claire asked.

"Not yet," Sam said before you could answer. "But I'm only a couple of miles away, okay? So I can visit any time."

"How about a sleepover?"

"A sleepover, huh?" Sam looked up at you.

"Maybe," Natasha shrugged. "If that's what daddy wants."

"Then we can have a sleepover," Sam confirmed. As the conversation died down, Claire beamed, satisfied with the idea of a sleepover with all of her parents. She skipped towards the kitchen, already gabbing about setting up blankets and pillows.

You met Sam’s gaze, a quiet understanding passing between you. It wasn’t conventional; it wasn’t easy, but you were making it work. For Claire. For William. For yourselves.

Natasha stood, stretching her arms before resting a hand on your lower back. “Dinner, then?” she asked, voice warm, steady.

You nodded. “Dinner.”

Sam exhaled, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

And just like that, the four of you entered, the scent of home-cooked food filling the space. It wasn’t the picture-perfect family you once imagined—but it was yours. And that was enough.

[readychilledwine]

The Art of a Dress

Summary - After commissioning you to make some of his mother's designs come to life, Rhysand faces the reality that artwork is more than what's painted on Feyre's canvas and even fabric can envoke memory.

Warnings - Parenting, children, vague mention of death, angsty-ish, Liz not doing the Venus and Junon dresses justice, platonic reader relationship

A/n - The first of my Christmas fics that don't center around Christmas. I was inspired to write this after talking to @daycourtofficial . It's how I imagine Feysand having a daughter will go.. Her and Feyre would constantly coordinate or match outfits. They'd be that mommy daughter duo.

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Starfall.

Rhysand was beyond ready for Starfall. The cherished holiday had begun to mean so much more than just the traveling of souls across the sky almost 7 years ago.

Specifically because of the little girl holding his hand, her long dark hair bouncing with each step as his son and Feyre walked behind them, warm cups of hot chocolate in hand. Nyx had grown into a handsome young male at 20 years old, turning and winking at his little sister as she held Rhysand's hand.

“Do you think y/n got the dress perfect, daddy?” Deep blue eyes looked up at him as Lenora looked up at him. Her sweet face was etched in concern.

Rhysand only felt his lips twitch up, thinking of his long time friend. You had been trained as a seamstress by his mother, and your designs had quickly become demanded all across the Night Court. Fashion was art to you, it held no boundaries, no limitations. It was self expression, freeing.

For that reason, you were the only one he trusted to create the twin gowns he had found in his mother's sketch book. “Without a doubt, starlight,” he said to her. “It is probably better than we imagined.”

“It's just my big birthday,” she whispered, almost afraid you would disappoint her.

“Every year is your big birthday, Lala” Nyx rolled his eyes before opening the doors to white shop filled with many windows. Each window had a different display. Gowns and decor showing off y/n's skills and mastery of the craft.

You had opened today just for the High Lord and his family. The Inner Circle was already all seated as you locked the doors and then hugged Feyre, “I think we start with you, momma,” you said to her. “I need to talk to Rhysand really quick if you three want to head back,” you motioned towards the velvet sitting area for Nyx and then the dressing room for Feyre.

Lenora had already run to Azriel, picked up in his arms as you looked at Rhysand. “So, we need to have a gentle talk.”

Rhysand gave you a playful shoulder shove, “Price is no concern. I know you probably put in a lot of effort.”

“It's not about price. It's about Lenora. These dresses were originally designed for your mom and sister. Who your daughter looks a lot like.”

Rhysand brushed it off, having mentally prepared, at least he thought, “I'll be okay.”

You only nodded. “Then we should start.” You followed Feyre only laughing as you saw her face. The dresses you had been given to design were works of true artistry and would fall into the history of Night Court iconic moments.

The dress was a deep rich black with a fairly simple top. A straight strapless neckline with black beading that was heavier towards the top and faded to the drop waist. Two solid panels of matching black fabric at the top and on the waist.

The skirt was where the magic began.

The skirt was layered with elongated scallop shapes that felt almost flower petals like. Each one had silver and purple jewels and sequins sewn into the edges and up. Even the train matched the details, not a single spot looking out of place.

You had spared no expense on this dress, which, to Feyre, meant her daughter's matching dress would be just as fantastic.

Feyre was silent except for the occasional emotional huff of air as you pulled up the hidden zipper. “Is it comfortable,” you asked softly.

“Yes. Not even nearly as heavy as I expected.”

You nodded at her statement, “The fabric is from Scythia. It is so buttery soft it's extra gentle on your skin. I won't get into the details on the sequins and jewel work with you. Your dear husband.. spent far too much money getting me the ones he wanted for quality.”

The High Lady nodded, “Can we show them?” You helped her step down before opening the curtain. It was a collective gasp as the first of two dresses made its debut.

Rhysand immediately circled his mate like a hawk, checking the quality of the beading placement, the cuts of each scalloped edge. “Fantastic,” he finally approved. “You look beautiful, Feyre Darling.”

Feyre was all smiles before glancing at Lenora, “I imagine you don't want to wait to see yours?”

“No,” the princess immediately ran into the dressing room, making you laugh as you pulled the curtain and began helping her.

Her dress was similar to Feyre's, only adapted to fit her slender and youthful self. This dress had heavy black beading on the strapless top. This dress had a scalloped edge neckline that seemed to melt into the drop waist. The skirt had an over layer, scallops that matched Feyre's in color and design, only this dress had one layer before falling into full shining black tulle skirts. The back was your favorite part. Those scallops continued in the back, that petal look and texture running just the train of the princess-like gown. You and Rhysand had selected this to be Lenora’s dress for weight reasons, and as you zipped her up, you didn't regret that choice.

You glanced at the little princess in the mirror, “Do you love it?”

“Yes,” her excited scream had the room beyond them laughing.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Yes!” She ran out then, you laughing as she did and barely making it to the curtain.

She had expected joy, smiles, and laughter. She was welcomed with silence, with Azriel immediately having to leave the room, Cassian squeezing his hands together. Amren and Mor touched Feyre and Nyx, indicating for them to follow the two of them out.

Rhysand had prepared, he told himself as his hands shook. He had mentally readied himself to see his daughter in this gown. Yet that preparation failed in comparison to seeing what he was looking at.

Cassian stood, “I'm so sorry,” he left the room, tears beginning to fall.

“Its not you,” you murmured to Lenora as her little lip trembled. “Shh. It's not you. Give daddy a second.”

Rhys closed his eyes before walking over and kneeling down to her. Lenora broke the silence, “Is it ugly?”

“Mother no,” his voice was breaking. “I'm so sorry baby. This Isn't the reaction you deserved you just-” he looked up at you before taking a deep breath to continue. “You look like your auntie.”

“Like Auntie Ness or Auntie Elain," she glared. There was a right answer.

“No. Like my sister. Like Evangeline.”

The almost 7 year old felt her little face falling. She knew her dad had a sister. One who was gone. But she didn't know the reason why. “Is that why you're all sad?”

“They aren't sad,” you whispered before leaving. "Trust me, dove.

Rhysand thanked your intervention silently. It gave him a moment to process and breathe. “You look so beautiful and grown up,” he studied her face. His daughter wasn't the spitting image of him. No, Lenora was his sister. That same fierceness in her eyes. The same emotional need for approval. That same desire. He had not seen it before, but something about this dress highlighted it.

Cassian was the first to return, “I'm sorry,” he said to Lenora. “I needed a second. I hope you can forgive an emotional old male.”

“Do you think I'm pretty,” she brightened up.

“Oh absolutely. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.” Only Rhysand knew the significance of that sentence. Of who it was last said to. “Might have to tell Ness she needs a new Starfall date and keep you all to myself all night.”

Lenora made a little shocked face before cuddling with Rhysand, “But daddy promised me a dance.”

“I'd surrender you once to your dad. Then all Uncle Cass time,” his voice and smirk were playful though it didn't reach those almost sad eyes. Cassian hugged Lenora, taking the healing that came with that contact and sighing softly “Give Uncle Azzy a few more minutes. Y/n is talking to him.”

And a few more minutes is what it took. Azriel entered with a small box in hand. A little tiara you had paid Neve to make to match Lenora’s dress inside. He wordlessly turned his niece to face the mirror before opening the box and placing the amethyst and grey diamond tiara into her long dark curls. His hands then went to her little shoulders resting there. “Do you know how much we all love you,” Azriel asked her.

“More than the stars?”

All three males nodded. “You look so much like her,” Azriel's voice was tight. “And that is a special thing. Your aunt was a light in darkness. Her smile and laughter brought unmatched happiness when your dad, Cassian, and I needed it most.”

“And now you do,” Rhysand told her, finishing Azriel's thought while squeezing his brother's bicep. “You are perfect, my little love.”

Lenora smiled at herself in the mirror, then as Nyx entered in the suit that coordinated with his baby sister. Her brother wasted no time bringing added excitement to the room by carefully picking her up and standing in the mirror. “We are good looking.”

“Very,” Lenora giggled. “You're handsome.”

“You're breath-taking.”

The three older males watched the sight silently. Feyre joined them again and rested her head on Rhysand's bicep. Mor entered again, still wiping tears. Amren only smiled as she came in with you.

Nyx was still talking to Lenora, pointing at things in the mirror to show his little sister details she missed. The older fae were all silent, this moment closing a wound that they'd hoped was long forgotten.

Nyx, the very image of his father. Lenora the very image of her long gone aunt.

Rhysand finally cleared his throat, “Nyx, let your mother stand by Lala. I want to see the dresses side by side.” The princeling nodded and set his sister down, standing with a hand out to help Feyre onto the pedestal.

“Stunning,” Mor said first. “They're fantastic.”

“Artwork,” Amren flatly said. “These gowns are artwork. They will need to immediately be put in your family archives, High Lord.” A murmur of agreement filled the room, your face flushing.

“You did amazing,” Azriel whispered in your ear. “We had a little doubt this time around with how she drew these.”

“Me too,” You admitted. “I definitely did too.”

Lenora looked gorgeous the next night, faelights twinkling off the jewels on her and Feyre's gown. Nyx currently was waltzing with Feyre. The two of them were only outshined by the birthday girl on her very special day. Her and Rhysand were swaying, her father having picked her up to do so. “I love my dress, daddy.”

He hummed, “I love it too. Happy birthday, my starlight.”

“Thank you,” she leaned her head into him. “Its the most special birthday.”

“The most special birthday for my most special girl,” he said. “Always my most special girl.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) IV

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, they have history (iykyk), angst no comfort, not proofread

Note: final part!

Part 3

—

(You) About Alhaitham: Other ways

Avoiding him is easier said than done.

I tell myself I’m just too busy—too caught up in work, too preoccupied to engage. But I know better. This isn’t about work. It’s about him. It’s about the way he looks at me, the way he always seems to be two steps ahead, the way I feel like I’m losing control of something I never meant to start in the first place.

So I take a different approach. I keep my responses short, my tone indifferent. I take the long way around Akademiya halls, conveniently slip out of rooms the moment he enters.

But knowing Alhaitham… I doubt he’ll let me go that easily.

(Alhaitham) About you: Other ways

Avoidance is a predictable tactic—one that requires effort. Which begs the question: why go through all that trouble for something they claim is insignificant? If they think distance will put an end to this, they clearly haven’t thought it through.

(You) About Alhaitham: Persistence

You would think he’d give up by now, but he hasn’t. I’m giving him a clear answer, aren’t I? He mentioned that if I found him insignificant or something, I would’ve gotten rid of him by now; so here I am—getting rid of him. Yet he still mingles around me like a fruit fly!

Do I really want him gone? Oh, of course I do! I could finally go back to minding my own business, and he can do the same. It’s for the best.

(Alhaitham) About you: Persistence

I do it for the sake of the experiment—which now includes a new variable: me. As unbecoming as it may seem, I find myself affected by their behavior. I still haven’t found a solid reason for that—why they’re avoiding me; but I have found a senseless supposition why my emotions are influenced by it.

According to Kaveh, my attention has been titled in their direction lately, and he teased that I had feelings for them. How ridiculous.

This is an experiment—analyzing their reactions, testing their limits. And yet… their absence is noticeable. Their avoidance, intentional.

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be thinking about it. If they truly wanted distance, they would’ve said so instead of running around all day trying hard to keep me at arm’s length.

Hmph. I’ll adjust my approach. See how long they can keep running.

(You) About Alhaitham: Honest opinions

We have a history that I partly regret. If I could do it all over again… I don’t know if I would. It was a good experience, but if that’s the reason why he keeps pursuing me, I would have to decline. I have so much to lose now—my job, my peers’ respect, my dignity. I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown, changed, become more cautious. And yet, every time I think I have it all under control, he does something that rattles me. A look, a comment, a gesture that makes it impossible to forget the past—and somehow pulls me back into something I thought I’d left behind.

I’m not sure if I can trust him. He’s too calculating, too deliberate in his actions. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely interested or just trying to prove a point. Either way, I know better than to fall for whatever game he’s playing.

(Alhaitham) About you: Honest opinions

They occupy more of my thoughts than I care to admit. Not in any sentimental way, of course. It’s simply that their behavior is… intriguing. Inconsistent. At odds with the image they project. They claim disinterest, yet every reaction—every calculated silence or clipped remark—suggests otherwise.

And perhaps what unsettles me most is how easily they affect me. I’ve never cared to seek out another’s company. Yet I’ve found myself adjusting my schedule, taking detours through certain halls, lingering in conversations just a little longer. All for what? To observe? To test a theory?

Kaveh seems to think this is “obvious”—that I’m interested. Emotionally. Romantically. Irrational. I dismissed him, of course… but the thought stayed with me longer than it should have.

If this were truly about research, I wouldn’t feel this frustration when they avoid me. I wouldn’t notice the absence in the room before I even look.

…No, this isn’t research anymore.

But I haven’t decided what it is either.

(You) Character story: What can’t become

After classes, the Akademiya courtyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun, golden light bleeding over the marble and spilling between the arches. Laughter echoed in faint bursts, students scattering in clumps—papers in hand, minds half-elsewhere. You slipped past the gates with quick, practiced steps, hoping to disappear before—

“Hey… hey!”

You flinched.

His voice was unmistakable—calm yet commanding, always too close even when it came from behind.

“You know,” Alhaitham called out, “avoiding me won’t make this situation any easier. It won’t resolve anything either.”

You stopped halfway down the steps and turned, arms folding instinctively across your chest. “Really?” The word left your mouth sharper than you intended—more telling. “And what is this ‘situation’ exactly?”

Alhaitham closed the distance between you with his usual measured ease, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you react—even the slightest brush of our shoulders. The way your eyes brighten with every snarky remark we exchange—”

You rolled your eyes, the gesture sharp enough to cut the tension for half a breath. You turned again, walking off, heart pounding faster than your feet would allow.

He followed, undeterred. Of course he did.

“You’re only delaying what we both know is bound to happen.”

You spun around before he could take another step, breath pushing past your lips in a rush of frustration. “‘Both,’ ‘our,’ ‘us’—Archons above, Alhaitham! What even are we?! You talk about us like we’re some academic constant—as if you already solved the equation, and I’m just catching up. But I don’t even know what this is! What you want.”

You paused, the next words freezing on your tongue. You would not—could not—bring up that night. Not now. Not when the memory of his breath ghosting against your skin still lingered like a sunburn you couldn’t soothe.

His voice came softer this time. “I’ve never claimed to be simple,” he said. “But I’ve never lied either. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twisted.

You hated how easy it was for his words to find the sore parts of you. You hated even more how much truth you found in them.

“That’s exactly the problem,” you said, voice quieter now, raw at the edges. “You know what you’re doing—how easily you get under my skin. You corner me in crowded halls, you leave me thinking about words you didn’t even say… and then you walk off like none of it matters.”

He stayed silent. That silence—never awkward with him—was somehow worse than any rebuttal.

You took a breath, letting your shoulders fall slightly. “And the Akademiya?” you continued. “They see it—the glances, the whispers. Even the other professors have started asking questions.”

Alhaitham frowned, a faint crease between his brows. “That’s absurd—”

���Maybe for you,” you cut in, “but for me, perception is everything. I don’t have your title or your immunity. One wrong assumption, and I’m no longer the professor who earned their place—I’m just a rumor with a name.”

The weight of it all settled between you—words spoken not in anger, but necessity. The breeze passed again, brushing between you like a boundary neither of you could step over.

Alhaitham looked at you then—not with irritation, not even disappointment, but something quieter. Contained. Perhaps even regret.

“…Then what do you want me to do?” he asked, voice barely above the breeze. “Pretend none of it was real? That I didn’t feel something when I looked at you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the ache back down. His words lodged themselves deeper than you wanted them to.

“I want you to understand,” you said, carefully. “This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

A pause. You looked up and met his eyes—clear, unwavering, resolved.

“I can’t risk everything for something that might not survive the scrutiny. My reputation, my work… I’ve fought too hard to be seen for my mind, not whispered about for who I might be seen with. Even if that someone is you.”

For the first time, Alhaitham looked away. His jaw tightened slightly. The silence between you wasn’t cruel—it simply was. Like gravity or time. Unforgiving, but fair.

He nodded once. No protest. No plea. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes—acknowledgement, perhaps. Or acceptance.

“I won’t stand in your way,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

You let out a breath that trembled at the edges, the ache blooming somewhere deep beneath your ribs.

“…Thank you,” you said, voice steady at last. “For not making it harder than it already is.”

You turned before he could say anything else. The sun dipped beneath the buildings as you walked away, shadows spilling across the marble in your wake. Behind you, Alhaitham stayed where he was—still, composed, watching.

He didn’t call after you.

Not this time.

(Alhaitham) Character story: What won’t become

Alhaitham had never been fond of hypotheticals.

They were inefficient—rooted in speculation, mired in abstraction. What-ifs served little use in the real world, where causality and consequence reigned. A scholar deals in truth, not fantasy.

And yet, lately, he found himself entertaining one particular what-if more than he’d like to admit.

What if they hadn’t walked away?

He can still recall the look in their eyes—clear, unflinching, and devastatingly resolute. They had chosen themselves. And Alhaitham, for all his conviction, could do nothing but step aside.

Perhaps that’s why he respected them so deeply.

They were precise in their logic, unwavering in their principles. Not unlike him. But where he wielded detachment as armor, they wielded choice. They understood sacrifice—and made it anyway.

He remembers their words as clearly as any scholarly quote.

“This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

There had been no malice in their voice, only truth. It was never a question of affection—of course they had felt it. That tension, the friction of minds colliding like flint, the conversations that lingered long after the echo faded. No one else challenged him quite like they did. No one else made silence feel that loud.

Still, affection alone was never going to be enough. Not when the Akademiya, with all its scrutiny and hierarchy, watched them more closely than it ever watched him.

They were right.

He was the Scribe. Acting Grand Sage, even. He could afford to be indifferent to perception. But they? A young professor, barely past their appointment, climbing uphill in a world built to doubt them.

Their choice made sense.

And so, he said nothing. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask them to stay. What good would persuasion do, when they had already done the calculus themselves?

Alhaitham never believed in fate. But he believed in outcomes—inevitable, weighted, measurable. And this? This was an outcome both of them saw coming from the moment things began to blur.

He still sees them sometimes. In lectures. Passing through the colonnades. Sitting alone in the House of Daena, pen tapping lightly against a page. The world spins as it always does.

They do not look away.

Neither does he.

And that is the truth of what won’t become: not a tragedy, not a regret.

Just a possibility… acknowledged and left behind.

(You) About Alhaitham II

He never asked me to stay, and I suppose I should thank him for that. It made walking away cleaner—easier, even. But sometimes I wonder… if he had just said one thing differently. If I had turned back just once…

Still, I made my choice. And I’ll live with it, even if part of me still hears his voice when the halls go quiet.

(Alhaitham) About you II

They made the right choice. Personal feelings should never outweigh one’s principles—especially in a place like the Akademiya. I respect that… deeply. Though, if I find myself walking a little slower near their classes… it’s purely coincidental. Obviously.

Or so I keep telling myself.

—the end—

[trickostars]

Batman fic I don't have the drive to write but someone should:

Clark for some reason has to hand over his powers to someone for awhile, his top choice is Diana but she's unavailable at the time so his next choice is Bruce because he truly thinks Bruce is the 2nd best option for it - doesn't want to use it, knows his limits and has solid self control and when he hears this Bruce agrees.

He doesn't tell anyone Clark gave him his powers at Clark's request, he doesn't change a thing about what he usually does the entire time he has them.

Until he's in a typical fight with the Joker, alone in a warehouse and maybe Joker says the exact wrong thing but Bruce just.. punches his head clean off, completely clean, no blood even on his hands from how quick the separation was.

He killed the Joker, he killed someone with his bare hands and he froze. No one is around, if he left right now no one would even know it was Batman who did it, hell he doesn't even know if anyone would find the body anytime soon - but he killed someone, his entire identity is undermined in a second, he thought he had good control, Clark thought he had good control and he was wrong.

He doesn't say a word, he barely breathes as he walks away - he tells Oracle something has happened and calls everyone's patrol off for the night in preparation.

When the GCPD finds Joker's body, Gotham turns into the brightest city in the world for weeks. Block parties left and right, parades are thrown and the sight of the joker getting knocked off scares the other rogues off any big schemes while the celebratory period happens, staying underground.

Everyone is prodding Bruce for details, because they know he knows who did it - because they obviously don't think it's him, they don't know he has kryptonian powers and they wouldn't assume Bruce would kill the Joker, forget *beheading* him so gruesomely and Bruce goes borderline non verbal for days after, disassociating and staring at security footage of the celebrations instead of joining in - like he thinks they're gonna flick back on and he'll be back again, like this will all be a nightmare (or a dream? He hasn't decided).

Everyone leaves him alone after a few days, assuming he's keeping the identity safe for a reason and coping with the radical, sudden change in own way - almost grieving. Well, the family does, but reporters want Bruce's opinion too - since Gotham is one big party and he hasn't been seen at one of them and he isn't giving answers.

Then Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, meant to be on vacation right now, drives up to the Wayne Manor with his rinky dink car, an apple pie and humbly asks Mr. Wayne for an interview.

It's one on one, in the most soundproof room in the manor. Clark comes up with most of the answers to his own interview questions, asking Bruce for the barest of insight for him to work with, it's bad journalism but he's not trying to be a journalist right now.

The story is simple: Playboy Bruce Wayne has been celebrating the peace that comes with Joker's death more than anything else. He's celebrating the safety and ease he can breath with now.

As Clark writes up the answers, Bruce seems to breath shallowly and mumble mostly and every once and awhile Clark rubs his back and gives him a sympathetic look and nothing more.

When the interview is over, when Bruce Wayne's cover story is finished up, Clark stands up, retrieves his powers and gives Bruce the biggest hug he can. He knew as soon as he saw on the news what happened and he feels Bruce's breath hitch as he recognises the amount of control it actually takes for Clark to give him a bear hug that doesn't crush him into dust.

He tells Bruce to take as long as he needs and tells him he won't say a thing and that he's here if he needs him. It's a gentle, near wordless comfort for Bruce as he watches the reporter's car drive out the gate.

He eats a slice of pie, has a small drink of water and for the first time since that night, he sleeps, buried under his sheets in his bed.

[idk-man-im-indecisive-af]

SCOTTHO I LOVE YOU

This is really fucking long and might not make sense at all, I'm tired as fuck but couldn't get this out of my head.

Okay so I was just thinking about scottho because as of right now it has me in a chokehold and I was also thinking of epic the musical yk? And like, I think it'd be really fun if someone wrote something with Scott as Penelope and Etho as Odysseus. No but like actually. I've seen people talk about flower husbands and jizzie(and maybe treebark? I forgot) and how well they'd fit in those roles. But like a few examples on how scottho could fit is like the way Odysseus tricks the siren pretending to be Penelope, he's talking about how scared he is and that's he's too “shy” and I just think that's a very etho thing to do(playing the pathetic card to either make people laugh OR to lead them to their demise)(like in wild life when etho helped, I think it was bdubs, kill Joel by luring him over the bridge to defend him because he was getting “bullied”). Additionally, Etho can be loyal, but his survival is of utmost importance to him, seemingly the thing that matters to him most(bdubs literally said so in limited life). This leads me to another example, Odysseus betrays his crew, who he's done nothing but be loyal to(I think), out of pure desperation to get back home to his wife. This one is less so “oh this is so similar to blah blah blah” and it's more of a “they can be connected in my mind but I might be delusional(let's be real almost everything I'm saying could lead someone to that conclusion)”. He didn't betray Joel and Gem like Odysseus had his crew, but the point is he tried too, he was actively trying to help Scott. Despite “the family” likely being his best shot at getting further in the game(like I said, this is LITERALLY one of the things he views as most important), he remained loyal to Scott first and foremost, he found the thought of elongated survival(this could be akin to the survival of Odysseus crew as it was very important to him, he wanted to be back home, but he did everything in his power to bring his crew right back with him) to be less important than Scott knowing he hadn't meant to do what he had done(like how Odysseus would rather his whole crew be murdered and him getting to survive instead of it being the other way around because he couldn't handle the thought of that seeing his wife again). Now that I type this out I feel like a lunatic, SOMEONE TELL ME THEY CAN AT LEAST KINDA SEE THE VISION. PLEASE. Also Scott is very well known to be self sacrificial and idk if it is canonically part of epic or just maybe a bit implied but this IS canon in the Odyssey(the story epic is based off of), but during the song “the challenge” Penelope tells the suitors that if they can string Odysseus bow and shoot an arrow through “twelve axes clean” then they can rule by her side. But what the suitors didn't know it that Penelope planned to be sitting right behind those axes and if anyone actually made it, she would die, because she'd rather do that than have to marry anyone other than the “best”(at that time Odysseus was known as “the best of greeks” I think. Don't fact check me on like- most of this. I'm going off of pure memories). Anyways I think my last and maybe most solid point is the final song, “would you fall in love with me again?”. Odysseus having the blood of oh so many people on his hands, asking Penelope if she could still love him despite him being a “monster”, not even begging for forgiveness just for her to understand what him being a monster truly entails. And when she asks what he's done he tries desperately to make her see that he wasn't the man she knew and loved anymore, not wanting to deceive her. Etho asking about what would happen if they were to kick him out and Scott simply saying that it'd never happen, that he'd be welcomed with open arms(HAH) no matter what. Etho trying to reason that he isn't a good teammate, trying to make them understand, as if they couldn't see how truly terrible he believed he was.

[click4rainy]

Hello again! Thank you for the Fujin headcanons for starters, they were amazing! I had an idea for another request if you're interested. If you're open to writing for poly relationships, could you maybe do a one-shot (or headcanons if you would prefer) with liu kang and kitana, and reader who is absolutely smitten with the both of them? Like, goes from (at least trying) to appear cool collected to walking into poles type smitten. If you want a hint of angst, maybe the two of them have gotten together recently, and reader starts distancing themself a little, not out of anger or jealousy, but out of worrying of doing something stupid to ruin their friendship with the two? I'd prefer it have a happy ending though. You can add smut if you want, or you can keep it completely fluffy, I'll leave that up to you. And feel free to play around with the idea too if you feel inspired, I just wanted to be sure what I sent in wasn't too vague (If you were able to make it a chubby reader as well I'd appreciate it, but I totally understand if not 💖)

(I imagined this mostly in the mk11 continuity i suppose, but if you wanna go for another feel free!)

Thank you!!

One, Two, and Three//Closed Triad Head Canons/One Shot Scenarios

👽: ouiii!! I liked this a lot! I hope I was able to capture what you had in mind. (Sorry it took a phat minute to get out 😭🫶🏼)

🖇️: (MK11) Liu Kang x Reader x Kitana

📖: You weren’t meant to fall for a princess and a prophet. But Kitana looks at you like you’re already royal. And Liu Kang holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded….

✅: Proof Read

⚠️: (N)SFW/Smut/GN!Reader/Emotional hurt/Comfort/ Threesome/Poly Activities/Love triangle but make it healthy

💚 Realization

★ At first, it was just Liu Kang. How could it not be? He moved with grace that felt impossible—all quiet intensity and kind smiles, and gods help you when he sparred—focused, respectful, almost reverent in how he met his opponents. Almost. He looked like the sunrise made a person, and it was incredibly inconvenient.

★ So.…you tried to play it cool. You were composed. Balanced. Collected, even. Until you weren’t. It came to an abrupt halt when you accidentally walked face first into one of Raiden’s temple pillars while watching Liu Kang laugh during drills. You claimed a ‘spiritual revelation’ You’re still not sure if anyone bought that….

★ And then there was Kitana. Elegant, sharp eyed, patient—but also warm in her own quiet way. You started training with her more, saying it was beneficial for both of your training. She didn’t argue. Just indulged. Her focus, though, the way she corrected your form with the softest touch on your wrist, her laugh when you said something self deprecating but true…

★ Yeah…your heart was neatly split in two.

★ You were simply the ‘go to’ friend for either party. Kitana and you would train together often, sharing close moments, flirtatious jabs and genuine friendship in the quiet aftermath of hard days that pushed you to your absolute limits.

★ And Liu Kang would find you during garden walks, or when you were meditating. Sharing the silence with you, asking you simple questions like “Do you prefer green tea or oolong…?” You entertained his curiosity, every time. It was…cute, attractive even…. Especially with how he began bringing your preferred tea option during your attempted solidity. It made you feel….special, in a dumb, grade school kinda way.

★ And then—it happened. You overheard it by accident. Liu Kang and Kitana, talking in low, affectionate tones. He called her beloved, and she leaned into his side, her fingers brushing his hand.

★ You smiled. Said nothing. And walked the long path toward your quarters with a twisting, sinking feeling in your chest you didn’t want to name.

★ You pulled away, not out of anger, or jealousy. Which was a relief to your own self. You didn’t want to be bitter about their happiness. You felt that you just…. Needed space, was all. You were so obviously flustered around them that it felt dangerous now. What if you said something stupid? What if they noticed? What if you messed everything up and lost two amazing friends?

★ So, you trained alone more. Took missions farther away. Ate meals at odd times to avoid the busy mess hall. But they noticed. Of course they did….

•••

💛 Confrontation

★ “You’ve been avoiding us,” Kitana said one evening, arma folded, with a touch of worry in her voice.

★ “I—what? No. I’ve just been, uh, busy….” You winced. Smooth.

★ Liu Kang tilted his head, concern softening his usually sharp features. “You don’t have to lie to us. We miss you.”

★ You opened your mouth. Closed it. Like a fish out of water, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. Jeez, they were really putting you on the spot, huh?

★ Kitana’s eyes softened. “Is it because of us…?” she motioned between herself and Liu. “Me and Liu Kang?” You swallowed hard. “I just didn’t want to…overstep. Or—or make things weird. You two are….youre amazing. Together. And I’m—“ you gestured vaguely, “you know…just a friend.”

★ There was a silence. Not uncomfortable. Just charged.

★ “You think we haven’t noticed?” Liu Kang asked, and the way his tone lilted at the end made your stomach flip. Kitana took a step closer. “You are far from just a friend.”

★ Liu Kang moved to your other side. “In fact, Kitana and I have been talking, discussing this, us…”

★ Oh no.

★ And suddenly, the air felt hot. They flanked you, two divine beings, wearing matching smiles—equal parts kind and mischievous. Kitana brushed a hand down your arm. “You’re rather easy to fluster, you know.”

★ You coughed. “That’s—that’s slander—“

★ “Is it?” Liu Kang asked, just as he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering. You were walked back into the nearest wall.

★ Ever since then, you’ve been a trio. A throuple, a closed triad. Whatever the label, it didn’t matter. You were together.

★ You aren’t just lovers. You’re a found family. You’ve been through war, betrayal, resurrection, and loss. Your bond is stronger than fate itself babes.

•••

❤️ SFW Head Canons

★ Liu Kang is actually the best cook you know. Kitana still critiques like royalty of course. And you just enjoy being there, taste testing Liu Kang’s food and passenger critiquing with Kitana.

★ You have a massive bed in your quarters that Kitana initially deemed ‘indulgent’ but now fully supports. (You knew it was a good idea) The three of you tangled up together.

★ You usually fall asleep first, Kitana sleeps light, Liu sleeps last. Kitana wraps an arm over your waist protectively, and Liu Kang brushes your hair back from your face before lying beside you. Every night ends in warmth and comfort.

★ In public, no one dares question your relationship. If someone flirts with one of you, Kitana’s fans open with a snap, and Liu’s stance shifts ever so slightly. No words needed. You’re there’s. They’re yours.

★ Bridging from that, jealousy is rare in your relationship. There is a deep trust among the three of you. Any feelings of jealousy are talked about openly. And reassurances are given sincerely. You each know factually that you are loved wholly and equally.

★ You’ve build a garden together, hidden in Earthrealm—away from the war, the blood, the duty. It’s a private little bubble you visit together.

★ It’s full with flowers from Edenia, incense from the Wu Shi Academy decorated on pretty stone holders, and cute little gnomes you threw yourself. Baked, painted and glazed.

★ You have one made before each trip there. Usually. If you have a hard week, Liu plants new things for you reminding you that hardships pass. You’ll grow from them.

★ Post battle rituals are exactly that. Rituals. After major kombats, none of you go to your own ways, you meet in the same room, strip off the armor and clean each others wounds in silence. Sometime small laughs are shared.

★ Kitana brushes your hair every night like it’s tradition. (Or braids your hair/gives you scalp massages.) She sits behind you, legs crossed, humming softly as she does so, Liu will plop behind Kitana and begin brushing her hair too.

★ Kitana has secret stashes of fine teas, silks, and soothing oils she only breaks out when you or Liu are stressed.

★ Liu Kang is up with the the sun every single morning without fail. He makes you both warm congee or fruit and rice bowls before you even open your eyes, and he’s smug when you and Kitana bicker over who gets the honey drizzled one. (He made extras. He always does.)

★ Liu wears heart boxers, Kitana has a fur lined robe and you got the Scrooge gown going on.

★ You have a shared journal. Taking turns writing in it when one or both are away. It’s filled with “Kitana’s smile today made me forget the busted lip I gave myself spinning my staff…”

★ “Liu Kang made tea after my nightmare. I didn’t ask, he just knew.”

★ “They both held me after a panic attack. I never knew I could be loved like this.”

•••

❤️❤️❤️

★ Today, you can’t find your favorite black shirt—again. The one with the little golden dragon embroidered at the hem.

★ You storm out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, glaring at the laundry basket. “Alright. Who keeps stealing my shirt?” Liu glances up from meditating by the window, an amused look on his face. Kitana is reclined on the bed, reading a scroll of sorts, not bothering to look up at you.

★ “If you mean our shirt, it’s mine today.”

★ She tilts her head, and you finally notice. Yep. Your favorite shirt is currently wrapped around her. Hanging just off the shoulder, loose and somehow criminally sexy….

★ Liu Kang chuckles, rising to his feet and stretching. “Technically, it was mine first. Then you stole it. Now she has it. Karma.”

★ You squint. “So what you’re saying is…. I’m shirtless because y’all have a custody agreement on my wardrobe?”

★ Kitana finally looks up. “You look good without one. Why complain?”

★ Before you can respond, Liu’s arms wrap around your waist from behind, lips brushing your shoulder. “Let it go, love. The shirt’s lost. But we still have you.”

★ You rolled your eyes. Smiling. And just like that, some how, the three of you ended up in bed, shirt forgotten. (Again.)

•••

❤️‍🔥 NSFW Head Canons

★ You switch often. But they love breaking your composure, regardless of your topping or not. Together especially. You never win the teasing wars. (Ever.) And if you’ve started one? You’re not walking tomorrow.

★ Kitana is often dominant. She’s commanding, precise and it’s rare when she’s not in control.

★ Liu Kang is definitely more of a soft dom. he’s gentle but firm, a master at slow torture, if you will.

★ Again, no jealousy between them. When it comes to touching, kissing or teasing you—they love seeing each other get you undone. It turns them on to no end watching you beg for one while the other whispers praise in your ear. “So good, keep still now, Love.”

★ Liu Kang’s control is divine level. He can edge you for hours if he wants. And often? He does. Especially when he’s being possessive. Whispering mantras and praise while you’re trembling beneath him is standard at this point.

★ Liu Kang also loves watching. He gets so hard so fast when Kitana has you under command. He’s sit quietly at first….until he joins in. Practically whispering prayers while touching you. “You take it so well, don’t you?” “I love see you like this,” “She didn’t say to stop, did she?”

★ Kitana does not play around. When she doms, she owns. Whether you’re pinned beneath her or kneeling between her and Liu, she controls the pace, the power, and your pleasure.

★ “Look how beautiful you are, falling apart for me.” “Our pretty little thing can’t take anymore, hmmm?” “So turned on already, mmh, eager are we?”

★ Both of your lovers have a quiet possessiveness to them. Kitana leaves scratch marks, shamelessly so. Liu Kang bites your shoulder, low enough to hide—but you know it’s there.

★ Sometimes, Kitana wakes up needy and slips under the sheets first. Sometimes Liu stirs when he hears you panting. Either way, those sleepy, messy, desperate nights end in soft sighs and tangled limbs.

★ They are the perfect tag team if you think about it truly. Kitana teases, Liu Kang soothes. He pins you down and she rides. They pass you between them like a shared secret—hot, practiced and dripping with devotion.

★ Both low key have an overstimulation kink. Two mouths, four hands, and a lot of patience. They love taking their time, and it’s sublime when you’re the center. You’re not allowed to finish once. You’re expected to finish again and again.

★ Later when your body is too heavy to move and your chest is still heaving, you feel Kitana’s lips press against your temple. Liu Kang’s fingers gently coming through your hair, massaging your scalp.

★ They bathe you in warm oils, wrap you in robes, feed you sliced fruit. It’s all too much and somehow not enough. It’s a kind of love you could willingly drown in.

★ You fall asleep between them, Kitana’s arm draped over your waist, Liu’s breath steady against your neck, pressing soft kisses there even as he drifts off.

•••

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

★ It was a quiet night after the chaos that was endured during that day. Moonlight spilled across satin sheets as Kitana sits at the edge of the bed, robes loosened, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Liu stood behind you, undoing your uniform, shedding the armor away with patient fingers—unfastening each strap like he’s undressing a higher being.

★ “You’ve bled for us today. Let us give you something in return.” His voice was low and reverent, as always. His breath tickling the nape of your neck as he peels of the last layer. Your skin prickled at the contrast. Cool air against heat that’s been simmering all day. Kitana crooks a finger. “Come.” It’s not a request. She pulls you down between her thighs, her fingers tracing along your jaw. Her lips met yours first, soft, commanding. Liu moved behind you again, hands exploring, grounding you between them. His palms find your hips, thumbs stroking teasingly.

★ Kitana’s kiss deepens, then breaks just enough for her to whisper against your mouth. “We want all of you. Now. Raw, ruined—honest.” Your breath hitched as Liu sinks to his knees behind you, mouth trailing kisses along your spine. His hands slide between your thighs, parting them with an unhurried motion.

★ And then—his tongue—hot—focused. You gasped, the sound swallowed by Kitana’s mouth as she kisses you again, hungrier now. Her hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to face just right so she can watch every flicker of pleasure Liu pulls from you.

★ Her other hand slipped lower, stroking you in perfect sync with Liu’s tongue. You were buzzing from the sensation, dizzy between them. “Feel him? He lives to please you.”

★ Liu Kang muffled desperately against your sensitive skin, “anything for you….”

★ You were trembling, shaking horribly. Dangerously close. Kitana felt this and pulled away with a sharp smile, pushing you down further against Liu Kang’s face, further down against the bed.

★ “Not yet.” Kitana said, Liu moaned, his hand slipping under his pants, stroking his cock, thumb sliding over the slippery tip. He pulled away from you, face flushed, eyes half lidded with want—with need. He rose, hand gripping your hip firmly, using the other to grip himself from the base, pressing against your entrance, pushing into you slowly—achingly slow—his breath catching as he sank in. Muttering your name, biting back a curse.

★ Kitana shifts, resting back against her elbows, your head is hovering between her thighs now. Her eyes flick downward once, expectantly. Of course, you lean in, kissing her inner thighs, whimpering while Liu continued to take you from behind.

★ His hand sliding up your spine, subtly pressing your head down more toward Kitana’s soaked cunt. You began licking and tasting her, her juices tangy and addictive. Flicking your tongue against her clit, swirling it around and suckling lightly, letting it go with a soft pop. Repeating the process, Kitana moaned softly, arching into your face more, eager to get off to your mouth. You were just as eager to do that for her, doubling your efforts.

★ Her hands were tangled in your hair, nails lightly dragging along your scalp. You were being used and adored in perfect tandem.

★ Liu’s thrusts grew deeper, harsher, faster, but still painfully controlled. You were unraveling, and they were drunk from that.

★ Liu Kang breathed out, his words a gasp, “You take us so well….look at you…” “Such a good little toy.”

★ You could hear the sound of your own skin slapping against his, the sound of Kitana’s wet arousal against your tongue and chin. Whimpers, grunts and moans filling the quiet, fast.

★ When you reached your peak, it was with Liu buried inside you, his controlled rhythm finally faltering as he spills inside of you. Mouth open against your neck, Kitana riding out her own climax on your tongue, body shaking silently with that regal restraint, before collapsing back, her arms thrown above her head as her lets out a soft sigh.

★ You three lie together, sweat slicked and tangled, the scene of sex and incense thick in the air. Liu pulls the covers over your bodies, kissing your shoulder, lying beside you, tracing your jaw cupping your face while simply admiring you. Thumb tracing patterns against your skin. Kitana spoons you from behind, nuzzled up cozily, kissing your shoulder blade, “Let’s get us a bath started, hmm?”

[bigassmoth]

Yandere Drider (Tel'ion) x Reader

After another failed escape attempt, Tal'ion gets creative with his punishment. He won't blame you for reaching for freedom, he knows the reaction is perfectly natural. But he needs a warm body to hold, perhaps you just need to realize how necessary you are to him.

Contains: bondage (harness, ballgag), public sex/exhibitionism, possessive sex, non-con, violence/murder

It was a modified mounting harness. Your hips were held to his by rolled spider silk, your thighs forced open. He had taken the liberties of pinning your arms behind you as well, and adding silken supports to keep your body upright so you couldn't curl in on yourself to hide.

"This is our...argument mediator. A 'get along' harness, to say it crassly." Tal'ion finishes securing the webbing and lets out a pleased hum as you continue to test his tight ropes. "With you being unconscious I had to get myself erect to do this. It didn't take long though," He wraps his flesh arms around you while the front legs of his spider form creep up to cage your lower body. "I just imagined how I held you two nights ago. How you gushed all over my legs. That's a wonderful trait of yours, you are so open minded it's very sweet, not many would be able to cum from riding the thin spider-limbs of a drider." His praise was sincere.

Your protests were ignored as he pressed kisses against your neck.

"My beautiful, talented little toy." His hands rubbed your chest, circling your nipples until they hardened. "I have wanted to take you with me on patrol for a while now. That will make you feel better, yes? Calm some of your anxieties from being cooped up this whole time?"

He may be questioning you but you have no say in the matter, especially when he presses a small silken ballgag against your lips.

"Open up~ be sure to stick your tongue out so it's comfortable." The last time he had gagged you, it was by forcibly opening your mouth and pulling out your tongue, setting the squishy mound of drider-silk too far into your mouth- causing you to gag. Cheeks burning and knowing the result of resistance, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue.

"Well done." He purred against your neck while gently place the gag to your tongue and tying it behind your ears. Dimly you recognize that your mouth has begun to tingle and water.

He stands and pulls you up with him. In this position you can fully feel his cock inside of you, as it is the only solid point of contact your body has. The ropes, while supportive, are limiting and do nothing to assist with your balance. You have no choice but to clench around him reflexively. Tal'ion moans in delight and gives your thigh an appreciative rub. His other hand on a firm grip on your harness lead, pulling it backwards to keep your upright.

"Sweet little thing." He praises in your ear as he begins his trek outside.

---

"We are near the end of our walk, my dear. How are you faring?" He asks politely, hand brushing your hair while the other holds back your body.

You are a mess, the constant rocking of his hips as he walked sent his cock into you but the bounds of the harness meant it couldn't slip out. To make matters worse, the tingling in your mouth was non-stop and you were drooling to the point that it slid down your mouth to dribble on your body. You only answer him with silence, swallowing down your pathetic noises in an effort to maintain your already shattered pride.

Tal'ion hums in concern but continues walking. He scales a wall of boulders and perches on a steep cliff overlooking a field. A field with village workers tending it, who look up at Tal'ion in fear and then you in disbelief.

"Hm...something feels like it's missing..." As Tal'ion ponders behind you, you steady your breathing and try to regain control over your body. With the eyes of tens of Drow men on you, the burn of his cock is suddenly easier to ignore.

"Oh my, where are our manners. It's only polite to properly greet our neighbors." Tal'ion brings a hand to your chest and begins tweaking your softened nipple into a stiff peak. Through your slober-filled gag you cry out in alarm.

"Ah...don't be shy. They love it. Look at them getting hard just from the sight of you. I certainly relate. Maybe they will beg Loth to make them into driders in the hopes they can find someone as special as you." He pulls back on the harness with one hand while the other holds the back of your neck firmly- although careful not to agitate your windpipe- to angle your back into an arch. "Your breasts are so beautiful. Let them see you in full." He is bouncing you shamelessly, and with your limbs completely tied you have no choice but to flounce around in time. You shut your eyelids to try and save yourself the embarrassment as your tits jiggle in front of the agog crowd.

"My fellow drow! Do not fear, we are here for fun. Please, enjoy yourselves as well." His smile is toxic, deadly, promising severed limbs. But his words are sweet and honeyed, and coupled with your erotic state the now-infatuated drow pull out with cocks without haste and begin pumping in time with Tal'ion's thrusts.

When they start to grunt in pleasure, often following your choked moans, you cried and turned your face into Tal'ion's neck. Your tears, embarrassment and pleasure, ran down his cool skin. He cooed his sympathies and nuzzled into you as his orgasm approaches. He angles his body (and yours in turn) toward the crowd so that your body is more on display than ever but your face can find refuge in the cover of his skin and hair. With this new position he fully fucks you, using the harness to pump into you the way he would a hole in the wall. He cums quickly, savoring the way you clench against him while the drow look on in envy. His dick and the harness make it impossible for cum to escape, what dribbles out of your hole is simply collected by the silk and held against your skin. Satisfied, Tal'ion leaves the drow. He climbs back down into the gulch and begins the walk home. It is only when you shudder and sub into his shoulder that he stops.

"Oh poor thing, you need release too. Especially after showing so many deprived drow how well you can take monster cock." He lays down on the forest floor and leans back so you can rest on his chest.

One of his fore-most legs comes forward, thin and agile, to rest at the apex of your pussy. The smooth appendage begins to rub against you, stimulating your forgotten clit. You feel your body shaking with the coming orgasm, so does Tal'ion. He stops thrusting his hips and brings his second forefront leg to rub at your clit. They work against each other, collecting your own cum to lubricate your clit and then rub it furiously. You cum suddenly, the ache of his cock, the slow numbness of your limbs, and the burning pleasure from your clit. Against the gag you scream, arching and twitching in a spectacular display.

"Well done." Tal'ion praises while petting your hair. His claws smoothly sever your ballgag, which you spit out to hit the ground with a tump. He then cuts off your bindings and begins rubbing your numb limbs, carefully massaging you from your pinky toe to your shoulders. While you regain feeling, he passes you a water bottle.

"I have to take care of something. You will be a dear and stay here, won't you?" While saying this he sets you onto a flat of plush moss. Trying to wipe the drool off your face and cheeks still blazing, you nod.

"Then, scream if you need anything." he says pleasantly before climbing back up to the steep cliff. You watched in confusion as he effortlessly glides back up the rocks. While sipping the water, you pull off the rest of the cum and sweat soaked silk until you are fully nude. Then you hear it, screams.

Agonized, blood curdling screams. Your hair stands on end, you try to stand on instinct but your body is still too exhausted and sore. The drow, the men who were moments ago just groaning in sexual pleasure are now choking on their own blood.

It feels like as soon as the sound comes, it leaves. There is silence in the forest and you have pressed yourself against a tree in fear. Your eyes remained fixed on the cliffs opening, and your hair stands on end when Tal'ion reappears. Stealthily he prances back down, and scuttles to your side.

The smell of your fear paired with your wide eyes and rapid heartbeat, made him satisfied.

"I don't mind letting others play with my toys, but I can't help but be afraid that after finding out how fun you are, someone might try to steal you away." He provides his 'logic', pulling you into his arms- frozen in fear.

"Let's go home, I'm sure you are in want of a hot bath and warm meal after performing so spectacularly for me."

[vsa-pieldepapel]

You have said that the Weird Route is 100% on the player. Considering what ERAM says in it's weird route alteration to it's enter speech, how it accuses Kris of enjoying it... The question I want to raise is: "How much of Kris' inaction in Chapter 2 is 'being stripped of control whatsoever' and how much could it be 'hoping it wouldn't turn out too horribly' (until it was too late)" in your view?

HAHA. At first I didn't understand what you meant by ERAM and then I remembered. Caught me off guard. Anyway, I love this ask because it lets me talk about something I love and I use as a basis for headcanons sometimes, including here: Jungian psychology (who do I kid tbh Character psychology in general).

For a long time I had this gut feeling that the reason the Player's actions are limited but varied within those limitations was because everything the player can choose is something that kris would at least consider doing-- obviously, to varied degrees, but the smallest inkling of willingness at least. I didn't have any solid proof that anything Kris would never, ever consider doing was just not listed as an option, but now in Chapter 4 we get an excellent example of it: Susie's heal spell. At a segment in the chapter when Ralsei has accidentally made her self conscious and before Gerson goads her to practice, you can't cast it at all. The flavor text in the Power screen even says something along the words of, "seems the user doesn't want to use this spell" or somesuch.

Of course, Susie's special; she has never complied to the player, even when you use the SOUL to control her as a game character the diegetic explanation is her trusting Kris to command her on what to do (And she refuses when desired, like when fighting the soundwave boss). But we already have instances of Kris complying maliciously, and they occur here too. The player can force Kris to say something, but the delivery of that something is up to them and they use that agency to subvert the instruction when they so wish.

Kris will cover their mouth if you try to make them be a dick to Ralsei, for example. Kris will tell Noelle "no triple trucies" with a jesting tone so that she doesn't take it at face value, because they do want to truce with her.

Why then is there even the option to Equip and Proceed, if it distresses Kris so?

Because the player can read the thoughts of the characters. This means the player is familiar with what kris is cooking in their noggin so long as Kris has the SOUL in them. Every part of it.

In Jungian psychology the "self" is a collation of different facets of a person, some conscious and some subconscious. Every person has an internal and an external world, and not even the people closest to us can ever truly know the former in its entirety, because the inner world is always filtered through several layers of social conditioning, rationality, personal desires, etc before being expressed outward.

One of these parts is called the Shadow, and it is every unsavory part of the self; all attributes that the Ego dislikes and wants to disassociate from. Every person has a shadow, because every person is imperfect. Everyone has aggressions, fears, and things about themselves that they dislike and resist. A healthy, integrated self acknowledges the existence of the shadow: Every person has the capacity to think evil thoughts, the potential to be cruel, callous, etc. Of course, the choice exists to not be that way, and most people will default to repressing those thoughts or projecting them outward or, if well integrated, understanding that just because they exist it does not mean you have to listen to every single one. because most everyone doesn't want to be the worst iteration of themselves.

One way we can consider this is intrusive thoughts. Driving and thinking of hitting a pedestrian, or holding a baby and going "man, it would be fucked up if I tossed this thing against the wall, wouldn't it?" They're often brief and uncontrolled, and totally normal-- every psyche has a shadow, after all.

My theory is that just because Kris is willing to entertain the impulsive, subconscious, intrusive ideas of the Shadow, they appear as options to the player. The player is given insight into Kris' smallest whims. Kris of course has their own emotions, sympathies, anxieties, and preferences. Like any other person, they probably go "wtf, that's messed up, no." But when the player commands them, they can instruct Kris to act on those thoughts, and it then becomes a battle of wills: This results in the malicious compliance we occasionally see.

Kris thinks "man, it would be messed up if I just told my friend Ralsei to keep smiling even when he's destroyed." The very existence of that minuscule impulse gives the player the option to command Kris to do so. Kris as an independent entity with their own feelings probably goes "what is WRONG with you? I don't want to do that!!" and so they cover their mouth, bite their hand, etc.

Snowgrave is so turbulent because we are tapping onto basically the worst attributes of the Shadow of Kris and Noelle. Noelle could have refused to use Snowgrave. Her saying that she didn't know the spell was both a lie and an attempt to resist the command. She says in the LW that she'd choke berdly independent of whether you turn him into an icicle or not, and we already see Noelle practice intense repression and self-monitoring--- And who hasn't been annoyed and gone "man, I could kill X"? But because of other aspects of her personality, plus having forced Kris to act on their darkest impulses as well, her defenses are broken down. She doesn't have the stalwartness of Susie to force your hand. The player is also being really, really insistent. You have ample chance to quit the run at any time and have to not do so. Like Undertale's geno run, you have to commit. I see every time you have the choice as Kris being torn between "I don't want to do this, please don't make me do this" and the little nugget at the back of their head that says, man, wouldn't it be fucked up if we just kept going? And the player keeps forcing their will onto Kris and pushing them to listen to that.

So it's definitely more the latter than the former. Having dark thoughts is natural. even listening to them, what they're trying to say to you, is within reasonable limits. Repeatedly pushing someone to do horrible things, though, will break them, and we see this when Kris goes on their own to try to make amends. You're not necessarily taking all control from Kris and Noelle, but you're coaxing them to stop resisting cruel subconscious thoughts through the layer of the conscious. Hence, in Chapter 4, Noelle has had her defenses broken, and Carol tells Kris she's eager to see them tomorrow: She snapped. She has been consumed by the shadow, in a way.

I could be extra Pepe Silvia and find some significance in the fact that it's the Shadow Mantle, in the world that Kris shaped and that is hence colored through the less of their mind, that tells you "without play the knife grows dull"- you are going right there, into the darkness, and making Kris see things about themself they may not like.

Or, you know, the meta reason, it's vibeos game and toby wanted a dark route LMAO