#Their hair was supposed to be in a braid but I’m not drawing a braid for however many pages they’re asleep for

[kissanon]

very tiny and unintelligible doodle of kiss (not me. the errmrmmm tnmn oc i was supposed to use but got to nervous to rp)

[quibbs126]

I drew more of Harriet and Theodore

So the first one is just supposed to be Leon excitedly telling his mom about his new find, and all the stuff he can think of about it, while she attentively listens. She wants to support her son’s dreams of being an archaeologist

Then in contrast I drew Rachel getting mad at Theodore for something, probably either a prank or just some teasing at her expense. Also, I drew him with his fedora, and I think he looks good with it, and I’m warming up to his hair. Also I made his suit lighter just because I thought the colors were too dark, especially when next to his already dark brown hair. I didn’t draw his scarf for whatever reason. I am keeping it in though

Finally I drew Theodore and Rachel at their parents’ funeral, mostly because I wanted to draw Theodore not being smarmy. Also the suit he’s wearing there is not the suit he wears in current day, it’s just that the suits look similar. I tried to show that by making the button on it a different color. Also, I did kind of take inspiration from Desmond and Descole’s outfits for these ones

Also as you can see, I tried to draw them in the Layton style, and I think I did pretty well! Much better than last time I tried it. Maybe now I’ll actually go back and finish my attempts to draw flashback Bronev family in the Layton style

Also after drawing Theodore here, I realized he looked like a hipster. That was not my intention, he is not a hipster, he’s from like the 1900s-1910s

So yeah

[iridescentropy]

every time i see a piece of art i think “hm! i really like this! i wonder if i can try my own version!” then i pick up a pencil. then i put the pencil back down. no thanks i’ve had enough.

[thebubblesareevil]

Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 1

Pt 2

Danny had decided, inter-lair political party meeting briefings were a truly underutilized form of torture that he personally thought should be inflicted upon only the worst kinds of criminals; not your King.

Fright Knight disagreed.

At least he finally let him move around instead of suffering through forced resurrection via boredom (it’s happened before, not a fun meeting). That being said, he would admit to being a little distracted by all the servants rushing around frantically. It had even managed to distract Fright.

No one seemed panicked so clearly it wasn’t an attack, but what….

Danny felt someone staring at him. He covertly nodded to Fright to keep talking as he created an invisible clone to search for his stalker.

He didn’t have to look far, they weren’t hiding very well. Not 20 ft away a young ghost gawked at him from behind a column. She had her glowing blonde hair in 2 braided pigtails and her ragged dress looked like she came from one of the medieval lairs. Danny carefully kneeled down, trying to make himself look small as he tapped her on the shoulder.

The little girl spun around, clearly terrified at being caught. Danny gave her a soft smile.

“Please don’t eat me Mr Ghost King sir!!!” She cried out.

Danny snorted and burst out laughing. His booming laughter echoed though the castle walls causing many of the servants to pause in their search.

“Now why in the realms would you think I’m going to eat you?!” Danny asked though his chuckles. “You wouldn’t be more than a bite full at best.” He poked her sides causing her to giggle.

“Would too! I’m bigger the Sally!” She paused, rethinking her words. “But I’d taste quite foul! I would, I swear!”

Danny grinned turning to Fright Knight. The little ghost squeaked when she saw the Spirit of Halloween and backed into the King causing her to freeze.

Danny gently picked her up, cradling her in one arm. “Did you hear that Fright?! She said she’d taste foul!” He smirked “I suppose there’s only one thing to do then!”

Fright Knight eyed his King a bit warily, still not used to his antics. “Sire?”

Danny grinned, motioning to one of the nervous maids. “We‘ll have to sweeten her up!”

Miette bowed before her King, trying to hide her nervous glances at the girl.

“Miette! Would you be a dear and prepare some sweets and tea in the garden for my honored guest? Fright, will you be joining us?” Danny asked the startled Knight.

“As you wish my Liege, though…might I request some pumpkin pie?” He asked Miette.

The maid blinked at the request.

“Of course Sir Fright.” She answered a bit dazed.

“Wonderful! We’ll meet you in the garden after we swing by Spectre’s quarters.” He grinned down at the frightened ghost. “Every princess must look her best for afternoon tea after all!”

The little girl frowned. “But I’m not a princess?” She said, tilting her head.

“Of course you are! Every little girl is a princess! That’s just a fact of life.” Danny nodded solemnly.

“But we’re not alive?” She pouted “Mummy said so!”

Danny shrugged. “That doesn’t change much, I’m still alive after all so it still counts.” He said finally.

They stopped in front of two massive doors covered in random drawing. Danny knocked on the door. The little ghost shrunk back in Danny’s arms.

The door opened to reveal a young ghost, not much bigger than the one in his arms.

“Hey Ellie!” Danny grinned. “Do you have any princess dresses left or did you set them all on fire?”

Ellie groaned. “Lilac just restocked the closet. You’d think she’d learn by now.”

Danny grinned. “Perfect! Would you mind helping our guest into one of them? She’s joining us for tea!”

Ellie floated up to see the tiny ghost trying to make herself smaller in her dad’s arms.

“Oh? And who are you?” She asked curiously.

“Emma.” She squeaked. Ellie grinned.

“Alright Emma, how do you feel about pink?!”

———

A little while latter you could find the Ghost King: ruler of the infinite realms, Fright Knight: the most feared general of the Kings legion and little Emma: the little princess from 2 Lairs over (only on the 5th of each month); newly decked out in a glowing tiara and the frilliest pink dress Ellie could find (with no singes); all sitting in the Royal gardens in Phantoms keep debating the merits of pink sparkles vs rainbow glitter.

Her mother nearly wept in relief that her daughter was safe, though she was a bit dazed by what she was seeing.

“You must be Emma’s mum!” Danny grinned. “We were just finishing up afternoon tea.

Emma jumped from her seat and raced over to her mummy to tell her all about her day.

“I’m so sorry for my daughter’s intrusion, your majesty!” She cried out, fear outweighing shock as she quickly bowed.

“Nonsense!” Danny laughed, looking down at Emma. “You’re welcome here anytime Emma. After all, you never did tell me what happened to you Aunt Agatha.” He smiled “You’ll have to finish your story next time.”

Emma ran up to give Danny a hug, he happily picked her up and held the young ghost.

“Thank you for the tea and cakes Mr ghost king! Can I bring Beatrice next time? She’ll never believe me otherwise!”

Danny chuckled. “The more the merrier, though I suggest you give your mother some proper warning before you run off to strange lairs without permission.”

Emma pouted. “I promise!” She swore as Danny handed her to her mother.

Danny was a little sad to see the little girl go but he had plenty of work to do.

“Sire, shall we continue the briefing?” Fright Knight piped up.

Danny groan, Fright Knight grinned. (He liked his new king)

———

The next month, when the lairs lined up once more Danny was greeted with the grinning Emma, the frightened faces of at least 6 other little ghosts and the nervous form of Emma’s mother.

Danny grinned. “Miette!” He shouted behind him. “Can you bring some more tables to the gardens. It looks like we’re having a proper tea party this time!”

And so began to annual monthly tea party at Phantom’s keep.

(Lilac was so glad to see all the dresses she made put to good use)

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold.

alastor, lucifer, rosie, husk

⌇alastor

you looked the radio demon up and down, thinking that doing so from the farthest corner of the bar would ensure he didn’t see you. it’s not like you could help it though. alastor had switched out his normal suit for a gorgeous red velvet, his hair pulled up with what looked like braids in it, no doubt nifty’s doing. you took a sip of your drink and looked down, seeing him look up at your area of the bar.

you had been doing this since you had sat down at the bar. watching him interact with patrons and royalty, who were there to have their pocket books pried open for some funding as well as support for the hotel. it wasn’t an easy task by any means even with lucifer in support of the idea and here tonight. you were supposed to be chatting people up as well, but after the first guy you spoke to kept his hand on your arm for a little too long, you decided you were too sober for all of this.

you saw alastor’s attention be pulled else where, giving you your cue to look back up. he was angled away from you and you gulped audibly. the way the jacket fit his frame, his hair style complimented his long neck, and how his waist looked so deliciously tiny made your stomach warm and your face heat. you had zoned out, your mind taking you to an alternate reality where you had a chance of slipping off that coat of his… you shook your head and your eyes locked with alastor’s. you’re not sure how it was possible but your face heated even more, almost burning with the blush you had at being caught. you couldn’t look away though, even as he smirked at you.

you swallowed heavily and shakily took a sip of your drink as you saw him depart from whoever he was talking to, walk up to the bar and stand close next you.

“just a few fingers of that old rye you have back there.” alastor requested, and husk nodded turning away. giving alastor a chance to look down at you. you felt yourself shrink under his gaze as he smiled again, almost like a smirk. he grabbed the glass husk handed to him and you watched intently as he brought the glass up to his lips and sipped his drink, glancing at his neck and the way it moved. flickering your eyes back up to his as his grin widened. he bent down at his waist, you both face to face now.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’ll catch a cold darling.” he murmured to you, as your eyes widened and you looked down ashamed. alastor chuckled and you felt his finger draw your face up to look at you again.

“cat got your tongue?” he asks, smirking. you try and speak but no words come out and you feel your face and now arms burning. you take your cool hands and place them on your cheeks. he draws them away, holding them.

“don’t do that. i like the red color. red as blood.” he says, kissing your right cheek, then straightening up and taking his drink and himself back into the middle of the party, shooting glances at you from time to time as you still just watched him charm the crowd.

⌇lucifer

there were many benefits to being with the king of hell. you practically never had to worry about anything, be that financial or even emotional or physical. you knew lucifer had you covered. he was in your corner. once word got around that you were dating the king of hell, the perks increased. you’d walk into a shop and the attendants wouldn’t let you buy anything. there was just a small ask to post it on sinstagram or voxtube and review it. which you never minded, but then that oddly started an influencing career in hell. that definitely was not something on your bingo card for when you died.

right now though, you were faced with the biggest detractor of dating the king of hell. he had to attend this gathering. very boring, and you felt your eyes glaze over as you sipped lucifer’s appletini he left. you watched him converse with this group of royalty and business people, you being the only one left at the table. not that you minded and no, you didn’t want to go make conversation over there. you sighed and decided to use this opportunity to really admire lucifer.

he was dressed in his suit but instead of the white base he wore around normally, the suit was gold with red accents. and it just brought out his eyes so well. he looked ethereal standing there, talking to those people. you gave him a once over and all you could think about was getting him out of that damn suit that fit him so well. just imagining him underneath you, panting and sobbing for-

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i might just catch a cold.” you hear lucifer’s voice in your ear. your gasp sounding more like a moan when he grabs the appletini in your hand and throws it back in one drink.

“undressing you? you were already undressed in my mind. already on the bed if i’m honest.” you murmur to him and watch the blush take his cheeks.

“this boring you?” he asks smiling.

“desperately.” you look at him. “we should go back home. we can pick up where i left off envisioning you on our bed underneath me… begging for more.” you grin wickedly as lucifer gulps. he quickly makes his way over to the group, explaining something and you see them all nod. he quickly makes his way back to you and takes your hand, waiting for you to get up. then he all but drags you out of the venue.

“let’s go home.”

⌇rosie

you had told rosie she should wear her new dress. and damn it she was so excited about it, that of course you said yes. now… a part of you regretted saying she should as one of the gentleman in cannibal town kept talking rosie up while she was checking out a long line of patrons. you tried to breathe as you just watched rosie. you knew she was capable of taking care of herself. you watched how she nimbly packed up different items, wrapping them all while charming all around her. her figure was so graceful and the dress hugged her just right, accentuating her waist. you bit your lip watching her. both of your eyes widening as you caught each others gaze.

you blushed deeply while she smirked at you and checked out the last guest in line. finally she took a second to come over to you.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold darling.” she purred as she strode up to you. you saw behind her the same gentleman watching the both of you, his gaze hungry. you glared at him as you grabbed a bit of rosie’s skirt possessively, but not wanting to make a show. she chuckled.

“he’s really got you worked up, don’t he?” she asked.

“he keeps flirting with you. it’s disgusting.” you comment, looking at rosie. she hums and pulls you up so you were standing. she still towered over you, as she gently maneuvered you face to look up at her. she smiled again, licking her lips and she bends down and kisses you. your eyes widen as you throw your arms around her neck, reaching up on your tip toes to get closer.

you hum into the kiss, gently weaving your fingers in rosie’s hair and pulling at her nape. you feel the growl that comes from her, slightly panting as she break.

“get a fuckin’ room! absolutely disgusting. there are children!” you hear susan yell and you sigh. you hands at rosie’s waist, absentmindedly rubbing over the boning in the dress.

“i think you need to get back to the shop.” you sigh and rosie nods. “anything i can help with?”

“sit there and look pretty for me?” she asks and you laugh, nodding. you turn to the check out area and smile even brighter.

“he’s gone!” you exclaim. happy the guy from before wasn’t in the store.

“oh, yeah. he left right when i kissed you.” she laughed, patting down some of the fizz in your hair. “needed to make sure that everyone else knew who i was with though.” she winks and walks back up to the front counter as you sit back down and sigh. you wondered how you got so lucky.

⌇husk

watching husk talk to other patrons and quickly whip up drinks was a past time of yours that you greatly favored. it was sort of relaxing seeing him in an element that he excelled in, but honestly, just watching him and how good he was with his hands made you blush.

you were currently off, deep in thought, but husk caught your glance. your eyes widen as you try and look away, attempting to save whatever shred of dignity you had by playing it cool. you knew husk wasn’t dumb though. he had seen you staring.

he went back to work quickly enough and you waiting for a few more moments before looking out of the corner of your eye at him, watching him rim a glass with salt. he poured two liquors in at the same time topping off with some red liquid and a lime wedge, pushing it towards a demon who giggled as their hands touched being passed the drink.

you rolled your eyes and as soon as husk’s back was turned you took your opportunity to really look at him. he wore his usual suspenders and pants, but he had slicked back his hair tonight and had on a white button down shirt with suit themed cufflinks. it was an incredibly dapper look and you couldn’t help imagine taking off the damn shirt he was wearing. loosing your grip on reality again, you didn’t notice a drink being slid to you. you hear the drink before seeing it in front of you, looking up, you meet husk’s eyes. a smirk almost tattooed on his face. you blink a few times, trying to understand, when he chuckles.

“if ya keep starin’ at me sweetheart, and undressin’ me with those eyes of yours, i’m gonna catch a cold.” he takes back your old glass and leaves you sitting there bewildered as he helps the next guest. you take a sip and see a slip of paper from under the glass. you squint to read the scrawled handwriting.

“meet me at 1. party should be wrapped up then. you can stare all ya want.”

you placed your hand over the paper and felt your cheeks grow warm. he was going to be the death of you.

[nataliasquote]

Mustang | cowgirl nat au

Summary: The mayor’s daughter. A bounty hunter. One has freedom, the other does not. But will one fleeting night be enough to convince Natasha to leave everything she’s ever known behind?

Warnings: Natasha is a hot cowgirl, cowboy slang

wc: 4.3k

note: this is for all the cowgirl Nat simps out there (yes you know who you are @katyaromanoffpetrova ). And also for @milfs69420 who drew the inspiration for cowgirl Nat in this scene (i’m obsessed with that drawing no joke). I hope this lives up to expectations!

-⧗-

A loud yell echoed across the grassy plain, rising above the sound of thundering hooves and the distant shriek of a stream train whistle. One lone rider, racing across fields she knew like the back of her hand. Strong thighs squeezed the flanks of the midnight horse beneath her as she raised her arms above her head and tilted her face up to the sky, letting the golden rays of the sun soak into her skin. Not once did her balance falter, years of riding making her feel like an extension of the steed beneath her. Her cheeks started to burn with how hard she was smiling, so she placed both hands back on the reins and kicked her horse to speed up.

There really was nothing that Natasha loved more than riding. It was her escape, her outlet, her way of breaking away from her usual daily duties. Was she out on her horse a bit too often? Her father would say yes. But if there was one thing Natasha Romanoff hated, it was being told what to do.

She’d caught up with the train rolling steadily along the tracks and Natasha leaned forwards, scarlet hair, tied in a single braid, flying behind her from under her hat as she raced beside it, trying to keep up. She could feel the muscles of her horse flexing with every stride they took and the rusted green walls of the carriage were almost in reach of her fingertips if she stretched out towards it. The smoke puffing out of the chimney tainted the air that she breathed in, but she barely noticed it through her euphoria. She knew where this train was headed, towards the larger cities, so she broke away and turned back to her hometown, slowing up as they trotted under the town’s welcome sign.

Most walked their horses through the streets on foot, but Natasha stayed seated, guiding her horse through the swarms of townspeople and down to the large house at the end of the main street. She hopped down and tied him to the fence temporarily, making sure he had enough hay and water before she strolled into the house.

Not even bothering to take her boots off, Natasha waltzed into the kitchen and flopped down on a chair. She tossed her hat onto the table and let out a sigh, staring at the small red symbol on the front of her hat.

“Natasha,” a gruff voice called after her. She rolled her eyes. “Where the hell were you?”

“Out,” was all she replied. She didn’t turn around but could feel her father’s eyes boring into the back of her skull. And his disapproving tone was nothing she wasn’t familiar with.

“You were supposed to be home two hours ago, for the opening ceremony.” Without looking at him, she knew how he was standing. Arms folded across his chest as he took up almost the entire doorway. “Yelena was upset you weren’t there.”

Natasha scoffed. “No she wasn’t, she couldn’t care less.”

“I felt betrayed, actually.” Great, now her sister had joined in. “You’re always choosing Liho over me, don’t you feel my pain?”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” Natasha deadpanned, wanting nothing more than some peace and quiet.

But that was a rarity as the mayor’s daughter. Her whole life was scrutinized, and many people disapproved of her non-traditional ways. “Is there anything else required of me? Or can I leave now?”

Yelena appeared in the corner of her vision, leaning against the kitchen countertop. “Well, I was going to ask if you would come by the range, seeing as you-“

“Ok, so that’s a no.”

“Natasha, be nice to her please. It’s Yelena’s big day!” Alexei’s voice seemed to be in constant ‘public speaker’ mode, which was fine for pretty much everything except quiet conversations in the kitchen. He was too close, and Natasha scraped her chair back and reached for a glass to fill up from the pitcher of sweet tea on the table. Reluctantly, she offered one to Yelena, who accepted with a soft smile. Alexei took their ignorance of his statement to disappear back to his office, and Natasha breathed a small sigh of relief.

“I knew you liked me really.” Natasha deadpanned her comment but Yelena only stifled her giggle behind a sip, the sweet beverage coating her tastebuds deliciously. “I’m not mad, it’s fine. But promise me you’ll shoot this week?”

“I was planning to anyway,” Natasha admitted. “Do you have riding targets too?”

Yelena let out a ‘ha’ and leaned back in her chair, chin tilted towards the window. “What do you take me for, an amateur? That’s like asking if Barton sells beer.”

“Speaking of, fancy a drink?” Yelena gestured to her half full glass with an eyebrow raised. “I was going to go down to Barton’s if you want to join me?”

Yelena thought for a moment, watching a lone ice cube float around her glass. “I would, but I promised Kate I’d meet her at the stables and you know what she’s like if I cancel on her.”

“Suit yourself,” said Natasha. Ok, so maybe she did feel a little remorse over missing the ceremony, but never would she admit that out loud. “I’ll see you later. Oh, and tell Ma to not wait up for me at dinner. I’ll sort myself out.”

“Roger that,” Yelena gave a mock salute and Natasha just rolled her eyes in jest. She grabbed her hat, slipped it on her head and wandered back out of the door, but not before she slipped a few snacks for her horse. Liho was still waiting patiently for her and he swished his tail as he approached, rather fed up of just standing around in the sun.

As Natasha brushed him down and gave the stable a quick tidy, her mind wandered back to the open grassland. What she’d give to never return home, just riding to her heart's content and staying in whatever town she came across. Or just sleeping under the stars, listening to the howls of the coyotes and the thundering hooves of wild horses echoing behind the mountains on the horizon. She craved the freedom that the cowboys had and the small taste she could get would never suffice; she lusted for more.

With a small threat to Peter, the stablehand, to not hurt Liho, Natasha wandered back into the town centre, stopping off at the ammunition store on her way for a magazine refill. She shot the test targets to pieces purely for the fun of it, knowing her aim was impeccable. The owner just rolled his eyes but let her continue; this behaviour was expected. After all, Alexei was a well respected and slightly feared man, which rubbed off onto his daughters too. And Natasha’s fiery temperament was almost as famous as her father was. No one with any brains would ever challenge her to a duel if they wanted to keep their life.

The redhead’s eyes cast over the centre-most building, the brim of her hat concealing the sign on the front. But she didn’t need words to tell her what it was- she knew her second favourite place like the back of her hand. The heels of her boots clicked against the tiled floor as she pushed the wooden saloon doors to swing open, hitting the walls beside them with a crack.

With her hat still dipped low, she paused, surveying the entirety of the room in one fast sweep. Partially content with what she saw, Natasha tipped her hat from her head and tucked it under her arm, feeling strands from her messy braid to fall and frame her face. Green eyes darted across every familiar face, occasionally leading to the subtle tug of a smile to play on her lips if she felt particularly fond of someone, but not many had that blessing. She didn’t pay two minds to the rest of the townspeople once she’d locked on the one person who didn’t think she was completely crazy.

Wild yet utterly desirable, Natasha somehow held every single person captive within her presence. The general chattering subsided as she moved between the tables, even the men who spent their days airing their lungs over bottles of brandy and rum paused their drinking to take a good look at her. If Natasha even cared, she’d be repulsed, but noticing the way the men of the town looked at her had become a thing of the past. She would never settle down so why bother?

The red velvet-topped bar stools were smooth under her jeans as Natasha slid onto one, her hat coming to rest atop the wooden bar. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her green plaid shirt and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, exposing her forearms with a sigh.

“Didn’t see you at Yelena’s gun range opening today,” the bartender commented as he slid an open bottle of beer in Natasha’s direction. He knew her well, and he should, as her childhood best friend. And Natasha may be unpredictable but her beer choices never wavered.

“Oh don’t tell me you were there too. I swear, if one more person asks me about that I’m going to put a bullet in someone’s head.” Her hand fell to her holster for effect, making the bartender step back, hands raised in surrender. Natasha rolled her eyes and smirked before taking a sip of her beer. “My Pa gave me an earful when I was barely through the door. I don’t see why it matters, Barton, it’s just an opening.”

Clint threw the tea towel he was holding into the sink over his shoulder. “I’m just talking, but she’s your sister, so isn’t it in your duties to go to that kind of thing?”

Natasha shot him an unimpressed look, her brow bone casting a shadow across her eyes in the dim light. “You mean that as her sister, or as the mayor’s daughter? I plan on using the range anyway, so why do I need to show my face now? It’s not even about me.” She puffed out her cheeks and rested her chin on the hand that was placed on the beer bottle rim. “If I was Lena, I’d be happy my sister didn’t show up. She can have the spotlight for a change.”

“Where did you go, exactly?” Clint was the only one who would listen to Natasha’s tales, so he just let her talk whilst he worked. Gave him something refreshing to think about instead of his unruly customers.

“I caught wind of a new group riding out by the Ridge yesterday, so I wanted to check it out. Saw nothing but Ol’ Joe moving his cattle. Swear that man digs for his cannon ev’ry chance he gets.”

“Well, he’s not the best with people,” said Clint, only realising afterwards that he’d just stated the obvious. “Is that what you want though? A group like that?”

Natasha pursed her lips. She hadn’t thought through the logistics of what her future looked like, she knew it involved a lot more open space and a lot less… people. “Not a group, I couldn’t handle that.”

“Nat, you know it’s not safe out there on your own. You need your home, a family.” Clint was family orientated to the core, but the same couldn’t be said for Natasha. “You know it’s even worse for women.”

“I can handle myself,” Natasha scoffed, feeling rather put out by his insinuation. “I don’t need a bunch of asshat guys telling me what to do!

“I know, but-“

“If I wanted an argument, I would have stayed at home,” she pointed out. Clint’s mouth opened before he closed it with a huff, thinking better than to protest again. Natasha’s hands tugged her hair out of her braid, reveling in the feeling of it falling loose around her shoulders.

She chewed on her lip, trying to suppress the anxious feeling bubbling low in her stomach. With each passing day, the small town life rattled her and the walls of the village seemed to close in. It had taken root in her chest since she was a child, that feeling of longing never quite subsiding.

Clint moved off to serve customers further down the bar, leaving the redhead lost in her own mind. Slender fingers tapped rhythmically on the glass bottle.

What did she want? Natasha knew how her dreams played out, but Clint was right; where was her stability? The thought of being alone was heavenly, but that was coming from someone who had never truly experienced it. She’d been surrounded by people since the day she was born, and those fleeting moments of freedom with just Liho for company were the best she’d felt.

But what did a future full of that entail? She’d idealised it to the point where she was biased, getting defensive whenever anyone tried to make her see sense. She may not see eye to eye with her father anymore, but the stubbornness she inherited from him was a clear determiner of her roots and more importantly, her home.

A cacophony of whistles erupted from the tables behind her, snapping her out of her spiral and Natasha turned on her stool to take a look at the source of the commotion. A woman stood in the doorway, dressed similarly to Natasha, which was rather uncommon in this town. Most of the women wore skirts, so seeing another in jeans that wasn’t Natasha, Yelena or Kate had heads turning.

Natasha watched the way the stranger’s hand instinctively flew to her holster as her eyes adjusted to the darkened room, a bitter contrast to the sun blazed street just outside. The saloon was always kept dark, just the way Natasha liked it, but it did look a bit intimidating from an outsider’s perspective.

Ignoring the outstretched hands of drunk men that grabbed at her from their seats at the closest tables, the woman picked her way through the crowd, her hips swaying in her jeans and brown fringed chaps as she rounded the final table and slumped down onto a stool. Natasha peered at Clint out of the corner of her eye and tried to hide her smile, taking a long sip of her beer bottle as the stranger sat four seats over.

“What’s the strongest stuff you’ve got?” The stranger asked Clint, her hat still sat squarely on her head. A strange move in Natasha’s eyes, but it added to the air of mystery around her and the redhead couldn’t help but watch her reflection in the glass opposite.

“I’ve got a couple bottles of whiskey if that’s what you’re after?”

“I’ll get a glass of that, thanks.”

Natasha pulled a face, impressed. “Going for the hard stuff, I see.”

The stranger didn’t turn her head, keeping her eyes down and focussed on her hands that rested atop the bar. “Something like that.”

There was something different about her, something refreshing. Natasha stood up, grabbed her beer bottle and wandered down the bar, now appearing on the seat beside the stranger. She leaned on the bar, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the curve of her hips in her jeans. The stranger’s head moved slightly, trying to get the best view of Natasha that she could.

Clint read his friend’s body language like he was fluent, and quickly swapped her bottles so she was presented with a fresh drink. Natasha waited a couple of seconds before striking up conversation again, not put out by the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Is this seat taken?”

The stranger shook her head and scooted over, nursing her glass of whiskey with both hands. She was nervous and guarded and Natasha saw the twitch of her fingers that seemed uncontrollable.

“I’ve not seen you before. You not from around here?” Her southern drawl was laid on thick, emphasising the rasp in her voice that came out when she spoke properly. Natasha’s skill set didn’t stop at shooting. She was incredibly proficient at flirting and Clint loved to just stand back and watch her pick her next target that wandered into his bar.

The stranger finally turned to Natasha and lifted her hat from her head, revealing her face and piercing eyes that bore into Natasha’s. “Is it that obvious I’m not from around here?”

Natasha laughed around the rim of her bottle and readjusted her stance, using her movement as a way to take in the woman with a quick flick up and down. “I know my people,” she replied, gesturing to the full tables behind them. Her eyes fell to the stranger’s lips. “And I’d remember a face like yours, darlin’.”

The mysterious woman’s cheeks flushed red and she took a swig of whiskey, welcoming the burn that flooded her chest. The hot feeling racing through her body was purely alcohol induced… wasn’t it?

The brunette ducked her head down, embarrassed. “I’m only passing through. Had to stop off at the stables to get my horse’s hooves checked. Ran across a thorn patch, she did.”

“Well, Bishops’ will take good care of her. And in the meantime, does the gorgeous woman have a pretty name to match?”

Whiskey was by far the best choice she could have made- it could account for the now permanent flush that took residence in her cheeks. The woman turned on her stool and let her knees fall open loosely, her body language much less guarded.

“I’m Y/n. And you are..?”

“Natasha Romanoff, at your service.” The redhead quickly put her hat on and tipped it forwards, eliciting a laugh from the woman opposite. Clint eyed their interaction as he dried some glasses, grinning to himself at how effective Natasha’s charm truly was. She turned it on with the tip of her hat and a flash of her smile, making men and women alike stop dread in their tracks.

“You’re the mayor’s daughter?” Something flashed across Y/n’s eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came and Natasha couldn’t decipher it.

“Yeah,” she trailed off, frowning slightly. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” Y/n gave her a smile, nodding to the stool beside her. Natasha sat far too quickly, like an obedient dog. One glance from a gorgeous woman had turned her to mush- what was happening?

A couple of loud thuds resonated from the back of the room and Natasha rolled her eyes, knowing exactly who sat there regularly. “Hey, Romanoff, give us a dance, will ya?” A leering voice echoed above the general hum of conversation and Y/n watched as Natasha rolled her eyes and adjusted her gun that sat in a holster on her hip.

“Give it up, Stark, you’re barking at a knot.” The man in question jeered at her and banged his beer bottle on the barrel table, several men around him doing the same. “If you wanna watch me dance, you better pay me for it.” This only gained her more nonsensical yelling and a man on Stark’s table threw a dollar bill in her direction.

But Natasha just stood up, squared her shoulders and fired her handgun in their direction, the bullet slamming into the wall mere inches above Stark’s head. She blew the smoke off her gun with a cocky smirk and shoved it back in the holster. The entire saloon fell silent, aside from Clint’s mutterings about yet another hole to fix thanks to his fiery friend.

Natasha waited a second longer, almost daring Stark and his guys to test her again. But they didn’t, now only watching her warily as she turned back to her new woman who was watching with a slack jaw. Natasha felt a burst of pride surge through her chest and she puffed it out slightly, sinking down into her seat with one foot up on the footrest, her legs manspreading.

“I’m sorry about that, that was no way to treat a new lady.”

Y/n snickered, shaking her head. “Oh please, I ain’t a lady. I’ve seen worse men than that in towns over, they really never change.”

Natasha’s gaze had drifted to the way the brunette’s hair fell over her shoulder, and how soft it looked despite being so exposed to the elements. But at the mention of different towns she snapped, eyes wide.

“You’ve visited other towns?” She tried to keep her cool, but there was truly no hiding her excitement. This woman had everything Natasha wanted and more.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” she admitted, watching Natasha’s face change. “But I ain’t got much work at the moment. There’s not many people that trust a woman to do what a man can do.”

“So you’re just… floating between towns?”

Y/n nodded, taking a sip of her whiskey. “Yup, it’s just me and my girl. And the occasional over-friendly landlord who tries to get up in my business.”

Natasha’s mind was racing like a mustang. She felt almost childish, wanting to hear stories of her travels and what the world was really like. Y/n could see her curiosity, it was too apparent to mask, and it was like a breath of fresh air. All too often she was met with disapproving glances and was often the butt of circulating gossip, housewives and prostitutes judging her uncommon way of life. But she was happy, and no one was about to take that away from her.

“Where are you from?”

Y/n’s smile faltered and she traced the rim of her now empty whisky glass. “I don’t think about that. Doesn’t matter where I’m from, I’m never going back. There’s nothing for me there. My life is out here now.”

“I wish,” Natasha muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Y/n heard it but didn’t comment. After all, they were just two strangers in a bar, nothing more.

“So, if you’re the mayor’s girl, you must know what there is to do around here.” Her words had an element of teasing to them, which didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha.

Natasha shook her head with a laugh. Ten minutes in and already poking fun at who she was. Why was that so attractive? “There’s a barn dance later if you want to come?” Natasha suggested. “That is, if you’re sticking around for that long.”

“I’ve got a compelling reason to now,” Y/n teased, toying with the hints Natasha had been sending her way.

Natasha quirked her brow and raised an arm behind her head, her bicep flexing slightly under her scrunched up shirt sleeves. “Well, I never turn down the chance to take a pretty girl to a dance.”

“Sounds like you have experience.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes in playful accusation “Is that a problem to you?”

“Not at all. I like a woman who knows what she’s doing.” Her words were heavy and even Clint raised his eyebrows, having been listening in to their conversation whilst he polished glasses.

“Then you’re in for a real treat, darlin’.” Natasha held eye contact and took a swig of her beer, licking her lip as a drop escaped. Y/n stared back at her and then coughed, using that as her excuse to look away. Anyone could feel the air shift and Clint walked away, shaking his head with a smile. God, Natasha certainly knew how to play this game.

“Where did you say you were staying?” Natasha continued, probing yet more information out of the poor woman.

“Here, actually,” Y/n answered, gesturing towards the door that led to the small assortment of lodgings that the saloon housed “ ‘S the only place willing to take someone like me.”

“Barton!” The man in question looked around guiltily. “Keeping things from me now, are we?”

“You were out! When was I gonna tell ya?”

Natasha grunted and jutted her chin out at him, furious that he’d watched their interaction knowing exactly who this woman was. And Y/n found the whole ordeal rather funny, having made the connection that they knew each other a little while ago.

“Well, if you’re stayin’ here, I know where to pick you up later.”

“Inviting me to a dance and picking me up? Do all foreign girls get this treatment from you?”

Natasha winked coyly, sliding her hat along the bar where she’d left it. “Only the special ones.”

“Oh you’re flannel-mouthed!” Y/n exclaimed, to which Natasha only shrugged cockily. “I’ll be waitin’. Right here, so don’t be late.”

“Roger that,” Natasha responded, mimicking Yelena from earlier. She stood up with a flourish, placed her hat on her head and took Y/n’s hand to place a kiss on the back of it, treating her like a proper lady. Clint wolf whistled her, receiving an insult thrown his way before Natasha had disappeared back through the doors she’d come through, leaving them swinging back and forth with the momentum.

“She’s a wild one, watch out.” Clint nodded after the redhead, silently laughing to himself at her dramatics. Always one for the exits, she was.

But Y/n didn’t even notice his amusement. She was gazing at the gunshot hole left in the wall across the room, and more specifically, thinking about the woman that put it there.

“The wilder the better, I always say,” was all she replied, her mind now miles away. Sure, she said that about horses, but Y/n was starting to think that applied to the women she surrounded herself with too.

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 1

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): light angst, some involving a child being upset. Please be advised; future parts might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't begin the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- get excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night as I wait for the poll results from this week's THTH post to come through. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @cynthiesjmxazrielslover (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It was like any other day in the West Wing of the Forest House, this weekday the same as many others you’d experienced here over the past year or so that you’d been employed here. The warm glow of the autumn sun painted the cherrywood floors in an amber glow; so beautiful and red, but nothing compared to the red head of hair that bounded over to you on little legs.

“A picture!” Her sweet voice rang out, and you turned to peer down into those big, round eyes of hers. She smiled up at you, her arms outstretched with a piece of paper at the end of it. You gasped, setting down the butter knife and bending down to her level.

“Oh my goodness Miss Riley,” you said and she beamed, her tiny, four-year-old teeth peeking out from behind her lips as you admired her drawing. It was similar to many you’d received before; a crooked drawing of you, holding hands with a crooked stick drawing of Riley. You knew who was who, of course — she made sure to draw a little crown atop her head, obviously.

“You keep it?” She asked, and you smiled at her, nodding in approval.

“Oh absolutely I’ll keep it! This is a work of art!” You said, and she jumped up and down excitedly, twirling in circles before she eventually got too dizzy and stopped. She hadn’t noticed you’d stood, resuming her lunch preparations as she recentered her gravity.

“Y/N I’m hungryyyyy,” she said, and you smiled softly to yourself, placing the top slice of bread on the sandwich in finality.

“I don’t suppose you’re ready for some lunch, hmm?” You ask, and she races to the dining room, stopping at the edge of her chair and throwing her hands in the air. You set down her plate, rolling your eyes at her silly rituals. She’d done this since you’d begun working for her father, insisting on your help though she was more than capable of needing it now.

“Riley — you know you’re grown enough now to get in your chair—“

“Pleeeeease,” she begs, her arms still above her head. “I like when you make me fly.”

You sigh, smiling as you lift under her arms and place her in her chair, her eyes wide as she takes in the plate before her.

“Ham! Yummm! My favorite; thank you, Y/N!” She says, smiling at you before grabbing her little fork and digging into her sliced peaches. You fold your hands, gazing at the small child in wonder.

“You are very welcome Riley — and very good job remembering your manners.” You praise her, and she continues to eat her food in contentment.

You’d spent the rest of the evening doing many of the same activities you’d do with Riley most evenings; playing dolls, braiding her hair how she liked, walking around the palace. Some days, she would ask to play outdoors — this was one her father was a bit iffy on, but since the day was nice, you figured no harm no foul. After a while in the gardens, you’d gotten Riley down for a nap, braided her hair, played dolls, and were cleaning up dinner when the front door to the West Wing opened.

“Daddy!”

As if on cue, every doll and stuffed animal was abandoned on the living room floor, the sound of little footsteps pattering across the cherrywood in anticipation as quick as the beats of your heart in your chest.

“Bunny,” Eris’ silky soft voice floated through the foyer and you rounded the corner in time to see him scoop his daughter up, her laughter ringing out as he peppered her cheeks with kisses.

“Daddy! Tickles!” Riley laughed, and when he finally relented and set her down, she ran right over to you. His gaze met yours, his professional yet gracious smile meeting yours in greeting.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Hello,” you said. No matter how many times you’d seen him come home, you’d never quite figured out a way of greeting friendly enough, yet still professional, but not too weird to use in front of Riley.

“Daddy, I made a drawing,” Riley beamed. Your heart sank a bit, realizing this repeat situation as if it happened yesterday. She’d drawn you so many photos, so many pictures of you and her together — but the fridge you’d used daily to make lunches, dinners, snacks — it was bare.

“Well, also,” You caught Riley’s arm lightly as you bent to her height, pausing her from running to grab her creation. “We brought in a surprise, right?” You reminded, thinking of the few Honeycrisp apples the two of you had picked earlier for her father from the grove as a surprise. Riley contemplated for a moment, then it looked as though a lightbulb went off in her head and she nodded.

“Daddy — I be right back 'kay,” she rushed out before darting for the kitchen, and Eris chuckled. You stood, picking at your sweater as you watched her run off. When you looked to Eris again, he looked to you in the same moment.

“You have no idea,” he started, pausing as if to find the right words as he stepped further into the room. “How much you being here really helps.” He focused on you then, and you shifted under his intense gaze.

“I mean… I… no where else I’d rather be, right?” You smiled lightly, and Eris loosed a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m actually, really, glad to hear that, uh,” he chuckled. “Well, I um,” he cleared his throat as Riley appeared again in the entryway, hands behind her back and a grin on her face.

“Okay daddy, here is the surprise, okay?” She said. His brows rose, and he crouched down as she stepped closer, finally revealing a leaf, bright red in her little fingers. His mouth opened in shock, and she doubled over in a fit of laughter, Eris watching in admiration. You watched the precious girl, her wild sense of humor even at the age of four. You’d wondered, under his professional exterior, did she get that trait from her father, too?

“Alright my dear,” Eris said finally, standing and picking the girl up to carry in his arms. “It appears that it is your bedtime, hmm?”

You were glad he was here to do it this evening — many nights, if her father wasn’t home, you were the one at the other end of her protests, having to explain away his absences and assure her that he would, and you promised, come kiss her on the head when he got home.

You decided to finish scrubbing the last of the dinner dishes, laying them to dry when footsteps behind you caught your attention.

“You always do more than I’ve ever asked Y/N, seriously. I can’t thank you enough.”

You glanced quickly over your shoulder, trying not to look to long at the Autumn Court heir watching your every move.

“It’s nothing, really — it’s only dishes.”

In a matter of strides, he is beside you, leaning against the very counter you’re working at.

“You know what I mean.” He pauses, looking down before continuing. “I don’t know what Riley…” he sighs. “When Selene left us, I… it was, very tough. On all of us. Riley, she… I don’t know how I could’ve done it without your help.” He says quietly. You silently set down the plate you’d been washing, looking at him with knitted brows.

“Don’t ever feel bad for something someone else has done to you,” You say, your heart clenching at the reminder of his wife — well, ex-wife, you supposed — leaving him just over a year ago. Leaving him behind and her daughter.

Your chest ached.

“She made a poor decision. Riley is a lovely little girl, she’s learning so much, and truly she’s a joy to be around. This job isn’t work, for me; I really, really enjoy spending time with her, Eris. Don’t worry about it.” Your eyes meet his again, and you swear you see silver lining them. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it before turning to face you.

“Live here full time, then.”

You set the plate on the drying rack, reaching for a fork and dunking it into the sink.

“Why would I need to? I’m already here five days a week-“

“But you could be here seven, look — please, at least just for a few months while I settle a few things with the other courts. I just need someone here for Riley in case I’m not here as often, and I will absolutely prepare living arrangements for you, and pay you extra, and-“

“You’re being serious?” You say, your hands stilling in the sink water. Eris stares at you pleadingly. You look down at the water. Sure, you took this job and basically it became your life. Did you have much going on outside this job? No. Was your lease almost up anyways? Yes.

You sigh, taking the fork out and laying it on the drying mat. You wipe your hands on your apron, extending one to Eris. “Fine, it’s a deal-“

He takes your hand, pulling you in and embracing you instead. The thin material of his button down does not leave much to the imagination, every toned muscle beneath…

His hands slowly rub up and down on the small of your back, and you feel your cheeks flushing at the rather intimate contact. You wrap your arms around his neck, his voice nearly inaudible next to your ear as he whispers,

“Thank you.”

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Within a week, you'd completely uprooted from the ramshackle apartment you'd been renting on the outskirts of the Autumn court and moved yourself into the West Wing. This place felt like more of a home to you anyway, its inviting ambience, the warmth that radiated from the forest surrounding it; the people inside, especially the little girl you'd grown to care so much for over the past year.

"Y/N's moving innnn, Y/N's moving innnnn," Riley sang, skipping down the hallway barefoot in another one of her play-pretend princess dresses. She had a closet full of real gowns, hand-sewn by the seamstresses that worked in the palace themselves -- however, the little girl preferred the itchy costumes to the real ones reguardless.

"I am almost done, I promise, then we will play," you huffed a breath, sweat clinging to your tank top as you crossed the room once more. Eris was gracious to give you your own space, but... so much of it? You weren't used to having a bedroom the size of an entire apartment, let alone one so ornate. Not to mention, one just down the hall from his master room.

You tried not to think too hard about it.

"Y/N! A cookie?" Riley called, and you sighed, looking around at your remaining boxes. You'd just have to tend to them later.

"Riley," you said, rounding the bend and approaching the kitchen where Riley stood near the counter. "It's nearly dinnertime -- you know we can't-"

"Pweeeeease?" She pleads, her round, honey-colored eyes looking to you with such agony. You sigh, scooping her up and sitting her on the counter.

You hang your head between your shoulders, shaking it lowly. "Riley, your father is gonna kill me..."

She squeals in delight, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close, her little body buzzing with excitement.

"I love you!"

Your heart warms, and you hold her tight, brushing a hand over her soft strawberry-blonde locks. Its moments like these that you wish you could show Eris, your "boss", your "employer" that this job really doesn't feel like work. You truly enjoy what you do, and his daughter is a magical little thing.

"I love you too, Riles." You say, and she releases you, looking over her shoulder toward the jar of red velvet cookies with a mischevious grin. You reach over, taking the lid off and plucking one from the container. Her legs kick against the cabinets in anticipation, soft giggles of glee coming from her as she watches you break it in half before her.

"Start with half, okay?" You say. She nods, taking it from you and immediately putting it in her mouth. You can't help but smile, watching as she motions to the other half.

"Share with you?" She says. You place a hand on your chest at her words, but hold the cookie out to her anyway.

"Riley, that is very kind of you to offer to share with me! Thank you," she takes it quickly nonetheless. "But, I'm not very hungry right now. I think you should have it."

She nods. "Okay." It's devoured in seconds, the only evidence a few crumbs on the counter. Riley giggles as she watches you brush the crumbs into your hand. Her little pointer finger comes to her lips.

"Shhh," she says, and you grin at her. "Don't tell daddy, okay?" You nod in agreement.

"Okay Miss Riley," you say, dusting your hands off over the trash can. "I won't tell him."

You went for another walk around the Forest House, played tea party and braided hair all before dinner that evening, which was proving to be rather intriguing to the little one that day. She watched as you cut carrots, questioned every spice and oil you'd dumped into the pot, and offerred her assistance more than a few times.

"Is butternut squash soup your favorite?" You ask. Riley cocks her head to the side, playing with a loose string on her Princess Belle dress.

"Hmm... no, it's okay though." She decides, and you continue stirring over the stove.

"I wonder what has you so intrigued in cooking this evening?" You ask, and she sighs, sitting on the wodden floor with her legs stretched out before her.

"I want to do something," she groans, and you nod, trying to understand what she is getting at.

"Mhm, what do you mean by that?"

"I want to... can we do something fun tomorrow?" She asks, and you shrug.

"Well, I like to think we have a lot of fun everyday together, wouldn't you say?"

"Yesssss," she lets out an exasperated sigh. "But I want to go somewhere fun with you. Me and you. Oh, and daddy. When is daddy coming home?" She asks. You chew the inside of your cheek, glancing to the wall clock. He'd routinely arrive around or just after Riley's bedtime -- 8 PM. However, since asking you to move in last week, he'd been coming home later and later. It seemed that he really did need your help with whatever he had going on, the gravity of it much bigger than you could understand.

"I'm... not sure, Riles." You answered, and she huffed.

"He's never home to play with me." She frowned, and you glanced down at her.

"Well, that's not true, he-"

"He never even comes home for dinner." She crosses her arms, her angered expression softening a bit. You set down your spoon, tucking your hair behind your ears as you kneel down before the upset child.

"Riley," you say calmly. "Your father just has a lot going on right now sweetheart, okay? I promise he loves you very much-"

You stop talking when you notice a silent tear roll down her cheek, and your heart threatens to break right in half inside your chest. You reach for her, and she turns to putty in your hands, allowing you to pull her close and hold her in your embrace.

"Oh, Riles," you say soothingly. "Please don't be upset sweet girl," you plead. She sniffles, her cheek wet against your skin above your top. You run your fingers along her hair, quietly comforting her until she eventually calms down. She pulls back, looking up at you with her puffy, but dry eyes and it takes everything in you to offer her a smile as your finger brushes lightly against her cheekbone.

"There she is," you say, and she smiles a little. "Miss Riley is back again." She grins, folding her hands in her lap as her gaze locks just beyond your face. She reaches out, her tiny fingers grazing the shell of your ear before her brows knit and she reaches for her own.

"Yours are not... no... you have..." she searches for the right word, the events prior not seeming to matter now that they've passed. You guide her fingers to the top of her ear, and then gesture to yours.

"Pointy," you say. "Your ears are pointy. Mine are different -- they are round." You explain, and she nods, processing the terms.

"Po-in-ty," she says. She looks at your ear again. "Why do you have... uh..."

"Round?"

"R-ou-nd," she continues. "Ears for?" She asks. You smile softly at her, those innocent eyes having no idea the life she has in store for herself to come.

"Because Riley," you explain. "There are different types of people; some people, like your father and-" you stop, not even wanting to approach the subject. "...your father is going to be a King someday. You, well, you are a Princess." She smiles and nods as if this is already a known fact to her.

"Then, there are people like me. I'm just... well, I'm me." You shrug. "I'm just a fae like anyone else." Riley frowns.

"You are a Princess too," she says, and you chuckle.

"No, Riley, only when we play dress up and I borrow one of your crowns. You are the Princess in real life." She stands, her hands on her hips.

"Y/N is a Princess," she says, looking at you eye-to eye. You raise your eyebrows, not knowing where this is going.

"Riley-"

"Princess lives in the castle." Riley says, beginning to jump up and down. You nod, reaching up to turn off the stovetop heat under your surely burnt soup.

"Yes, but-"

"You live in here with me!" She squeals, twirling in circles. You shake your head.

"Riley, I only live here because your dad asked me to move in-"

"Y/N is a Princess! Y/N is a Princess!" She starts chanting. You sigh, making to stand and remove the soup pot from the stove.

"Riley, you are the Princess! There's only one Princess!" You say loudly over her shouting, and she stills, her devilish grin only cause for concern.

"Then... Y/N is a Queen." Riley gasps, her little hand flying to her mouth as though she's just thought of the greatest idea in the world.

"Y/N is the Queen! In a castle! With the Princess! Is me! and, and, and daddy! he's, he's-" she pauses her jumping and chanting, her hand splayed on the wall to catch her breath.

"Ohmygosh I have to go draw-"

"Ohhh no ya don't," you say, setting down her bowl of soup on the table in front of her and plopping her into her chair before she could take off down the hallway. "Dinner first, young lady."

She groans, quickly shoveling soup into her mouth. "Ughhh, okay, fine." She grins, looking sidelong at you. "I will eat your delicious soup, my Queen," she says in a silly victorian accent, and you let out a laugh at her rediculousness. She giggles too, continuing her comedy. "I will eat, and eat and eat, I will eat because I am a Princess, and you are a Queen, and soon, the King will be home, and we won't tell him about the cookie-"

The two of you are too busy giggling furiously over her sillyness that you don't hear the front door swing open, or the footsteps leading inside. It's only when you hear his whiskey-smooth voice that you turn from the dining table, your face flushing at the sight before you. Much to your delighted surprise, the handsome red headed male leaned against the dining room archway had arrived home much earlier today than either of you had expected.

His small smile was his only greeting, his tousled locks and few undone buttons revealing the exhausting day he'd surely had before he said; "I wasn't aware that I had a Princess and a Queen dining at my table tonight?"

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[seeingivy]

the party scene

roommate eren x f!reader 

you and eren won’t dance 

**find the series masterlist here

content warning: drinking, hitch and marlowe being annoying, someone gets pushed into a pool, marco getting clowned for his halloween costume, toilet humor 

an: ok yall. here’s the chapter. heheheheheh. and you should listen to the song, when you get to it. for vibes of course. to many anon who guessed correctly, hundreds of kisses. not my fav roommates chapters me thinks (but also it seems like everyone else has different fav chapters than I expected so)

previous part linked here

- 

“What are you going to be for the party?” 

You can literally see Eren’s ears perk up, breaking his concentration from the dinner he was cooking on the stove. You tried to make ravioli for dinner. Key word, tried. He didn’t let you stand there for longer than two minutes because he didn’t want you to “burn the apartment down.” 

You put foil in the microwave one time and suddenly he thinks you’re some arsonist. 

“The party on Friday? You’re going, peaches?” 

“Yeah. Jean invited me. Kind of being a wingwoman for him and bringing my classmate Marco, who I’m like ninety percent sure he has a crush on.” 

Eren turns his face back to the pan, dishing the food around on the plate. You get up occasionally, grabbing things you know he’ll need before he asks for them. Setting the dishes, grabbing the salt (because this man doesn’t know how to season), the Yerba Mate Eren claims to hate but drinks anyways. 

“Hitch and I are going as Anakin and Padme. From Star Wars. Apparently, Marlowe loves that crap and she never gave him the time of day for it. She thinks it’ll make him real mad if we show up like that.” 

“You should put a braid in your hair. You know, like from the second movie.” 

“Ew. I’m going as the third movie look.” 

“Good. He’s hotter in that movie anyways.” 

He flashes you a smile as he dishes out the food, lifting the plates and setting them on the table. You join him with the drinks, the two of you sitting right next to each other. 

It was getting easier. Eren was your friend. Maybe even your best friend. You’d still get the occasional heart pounding, flustered cheesk whenever he walked past you or said something that made your heart flutter, but other than that, you were making progress. You can live with a heart flutter here and there. 

“What are you going to be?” 

“Jean wants to do some basic angel/devil thing for the party. I’ve got a white dress and he apparently has a halo already so it should be fine.” 

“Have you ever been to a party?” 

“Yeah. Not really my thing though, but I don’t mind helping Jean. It can be fun with friends. Dancing, letting loose and all that.” 

“Hm. Save a dance for me, peaches?” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Eren. That’s weird.” 

He drops his fork, an exasperated expression spreading across his face. The vein in his forehead is prominent and you always enjoy when it shows up because you know you’ve won. He’s just that easy to aggravate. 

“Who said anything about you riding up on me? I didn’t mean it like that. That’s like…perverted. You could expect that type of shit from Jean or something but-” 

You place your hand against his forearm, laughing in his face. He stops immediately at the sight of your laughter, glaring at you. 

“You’re so easy to piss off, Eren. I’ll save you a dance, okay? A normal one.” 

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to shake.

“Deal?” 

“Deal, Ren.” 

 - 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Ren.” 

He steps into the bathroom, standing directly behind you as you finish doing your makeup for the party. Jean was supposed to be here in thirty minutes and the two of you were going to go pick up Marco. Meaning, you were going to have to deal with their awkward pining for the ten minute drive to the party. 

“Can you help me with something?” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Can you help me draw the scar?” 

“Oh, yeah. Show me the picture.” 

He hands you his phone as you inspect the picture, the scar starting before the eyebrow and breaking just underneath the left eye. He sits on top of the toilet seat, his ankles crossed over each other. 

“Ah. Hitch gave me this to use. For the scar.” 

He hands you a tube of lipstick, which you slide open and swatch against the back of your hand. Too glittery for a scar.

“Do you mind if I use mine? Hers is kind of glittery and it’ll look kinda weird?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You bend over, digging through your bag to find the one tube of red lipstick you own, that Pieck forced you to buy for her wedding. You can’t show up to my wedding in lip gloss, that’s an atrocity. You find the tube at the end of the drawer, walking over to where Eren was sitting. 

As you amble over, you realize that the toilet seat is way too low and you can’t properly reach Eren’s face to reach. You were towering over him, his long legs sprawled across the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why are these toilet seats so low? I can’t even get the right angle.” 

“Levi. Kenny told me he hates having his feet dangle over certain toilets so he makes sure to get the shortest ones when picking his apartments. As if Levi’s going to come shit in our toilet at some point.” 

You nod, trying your best to lean over and indent the mark over Eren’s face. Out of all the angles you try, not one of them works - your head is blocking the light, your hands are in a weird position, you’re all up in his space. 

“Just sit on my knee. If it’s easier.” 

He splits his legs, tapping on the top of his thigh for you to sit. You nod, setting both of your legs on each side of his one as you lightly perch on top of his leg. 

“That’s hovering. Not sitting, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

You sigh, pressing your full weight against Eren as you lean back over for the phone and check the picture. As you slide over reaching for it, Eren puts his hands on your waist, holding you from falling off of his knee. 

“Thanks Ren. Just wanted to check again before I started.” 

You focus on the picture, the light shining against your face as you check where the scar was exactly on your eyes. Eren locks his fingers together behind your waist, pulling you closer so you can get a better look. 

“Okay. I think I’ve got it down.” 

You cradle the side of his face in your hands as you start drawing the scar on, trying to be as gentle as possible. Trying to avoid the fact that you’re basically straddling him right now. You can feel his cheeks warming under your touch and you try your hardest not to let the smile spread across your face. At least it’s not just you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Ren. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” 

“You’d blush if you were in my position too.” 

You shake your head, pressing your fingers against his lips so you can stop him from moving. You’re only halfway through the scar and if he talks again you’re going to smudge it. 

“Since when do you wear red lipstick?” 

“I don’t. Pieck made me buy it for her wedding. It’s for special occasions.” 

You lean back, cupping his face in your hands as you glean your eyes over the scar. You compare it to the picture and figure it's semi accurate, giving him a smile to signal you’re done. You slide off of his legs, beckoning him to join you in the mirror. You watch him lean forward, eyeing your work. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Doing makeup on you.” 

You pause, dropping your lipstick tube back into the box. 

“I don’t have a scar for my costume.” 

“I know. But you must have something left to do. You just looked so focused, like you were face painting, and I just wanted to try.” 

“Um, okay. You can take this glitter. You basically just dip your finger in it and swipe it against my eyelids. And then along the collarbone too, because it's body glitter.” 

He nods, taking the white glitter into his hands. He inspects the box first, turning it over and over again, holding it up against the light, smelling it. 

“Do you need to do a police inspection on the box? It’s just glitter.” 

“Shut up. I was just checking if it was okay to use.” 

“It’s obviously okay to use if I’m giving it to you. I’ve used it before.” 

He rolls his eyes, learning down. He sets his hands on both sides of your face, angling your face to inspect you this time. 

“You’re short.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Do you always have to give me attitude?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Sit on the counter. It’ll be easier for me to do if we’re closer to the same level.” 

You brace your palms against the counter, trying to push yourself onto the counter. You clearly misestimated how tall the counter was because you barely hit the back of the top, stumbling in the air. 

“Okay, Humpty Dumpty. Let me help you.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist to lift you up to the counter. You can feel your cheeks burning at the sensation, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Right. Because it was getting easier, because he was becoming your friend. But there were still moments like this. Ones where you can feel your cheeks burning, your heart pounding, your fingers shaking. 

You hate that he still makes you feel this way. 

“Okay, widen your stance.” 

“What?” 

“Open your legs.” 

“Ew. You’re so vulgar, Eren.” 

“Well, I said to widen your stance and you gave me that stupid look on your face. It’s your fault.” 

You roll your eyes, parting your legs. He steps in between the space, leaning close to your face with the glitter still in his hands. 

“So, the eyelids and collarbones?” 

“Yeah. You can just use your fingers. You wash your hands after you pee, right?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What?” 

“It’s better for the environment. If I just wait until I have to poop, I can just save water by washing my hands once. You should try it.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“As if. Girls don’t poop.” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“There’s no way girls don’t poop.” 

“Ask your mom. Or Mikasa. They’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“Okay, stop fucking around. We’re running late.”

“You started it with your stupid toilet humor.”

“Shut up. Your attitude is going to kill me one day.” 

“That’s a promise, Yeager.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small smile spread across his face as he dips his thumb into the glitter. He cups the side of your face and you flutter your eyes shut, his fingers gentle against your eyes. You can hear him laughing and you squint your eyes, glaring at him as you open them. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Y/N. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” he responds, his tone mocking. 

“Did you do this just to prove a point? It looks like finger painting, my ass.” 

“Close your eyes. I’m not done yet.” 

You shut your eyes again, Eren sliding the last bit of glitter along your eyes. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“What did you do? Don’t tell me there’s glitter on my forehead.” 

“No, it just looks pretty, that’s all.” 

You look down, focusing on his hands as he dips into the glitter again. Stupid fucking hands and voice and smell and hair and soft cheeks. You can literally feel your heartbeat all the way in your stomach and he’s barely even touching you. 

He uses his hands to tilt your face up, lightly pressing the glitter against the exposed parts of your neck. You feel your body shiver, instantly remembering the last time you and Eren were like this. Pressed up in the bathroom, with him kissing your neck. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his eyes washing over in concern at you shivering. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a weird sense of deja vu, that’s all.” 

He nods, finishing off the last of the glitter. When he’s done, he locks his hands across your waist again, lightly setting you back down on the counter as you both stand there. You’re both staring at each other, neither one of you talking first. 

Right. Because what are you supposed to say after that? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking of your lips on my neck, my bad.

The doorbell rings and Eren gives you a soft smile before squeezing your shoulder and leaving. You can hear Hitch in the doorway and you try to ignore the way your entire body is steaming. 

  -

“What are you even supposed to be, Marco?” 

“I’m a space cowboy, Y/N!”

“You’re holding a glittery gun and wearing a flannel. You look like a kid who got lost at Party City and picked the closest thing you could find. You don’t even have a cowboy hat.” 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” 

You watch Marco’s cheeks turn a bright pink, awkwardly stuttering to respond to Jean. Great. They’re going to do this whole oblivious idiots thing all night. 

Marco slides into the front as you and Jean walk to the other side, unlocking the car. 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” you say, mocking Jean’s high pitched voice. 

He rolls his eyes, lightly shoving you as you settle into the seat behind him. They’re both talking animatedly, forgetting you were even sitting in the back. You unlock your phone, playing Wordscapes as they go on in the background. 

- 

Eren’s eyes were trained on your figure, as Jean and Marco were spinning you around on the dance floor with them for a better part of the last forty-five minutes. He’s been waiting, staring at you, anticipating when you’ll look at him. 

You’re driving him crazy. Today, especially. Soft glitters, a willowy white dress, that stupid flowery perfume you wore during the concert. He even likes the stupid halo you have on your head. 

He wants to touch you. Press his hands against yours, drag you out and leave with you so he was the only one who could see you like this, your stupid eyes glittering in the light. 

He hates that you can still make him feel this way. 

He sees you leave, waving off Jean and Marco who were still left on the dance floor. Marco’s wearing your halo and you have the glittery gun Marco was holding. 

He’s still watching you. Shamelessly. You weave around people talking, wait to walk forward so you don’t get in the way of pictures, compliment strangers on their costumes. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, Hitch.” 

She’s been annoyed for a better part of the last hour, not that he’s been paying much attention to it. Marlowe still hasn’t shown up. 

He doesn’t mind the guy. He doesn’t quite understand why Marlowe and Hitch have to play these games - circling around each other, making each other jealous, making up. He figures a part of it is the chase, but he’s always found that part the most agonizing. He’d catch you if he could. He’s been waiting long enough. He’d make you feel good right here and right now. 

He watches you leave the room, leaving the heat of the room to the patio outside. 

“Mind if I leave? Just call me when he’s here, okay?” 

Hitch nods and Eren basically bolts out the door, ready to follow you where you went. But before he can, Jean all but falls right off the dance floor, piled on the floor in front of him. He can see Marco’s hand under him, dragging them both up by their arms. He can tell Jean’s already too far gone and that he has to deal with this first. Then you. 

-

Your feet hurt. Like a bitch. You made the wrong choice of wearing your Doc Martens to the party. You had figured you wouldn’t be moving much, just sticking to the walls and talking to whoever you knew there. But no, of course Jean’s nervous ass had to drag you onto the dance floor with Marco, the three of you spinning in circles. 

You had made your safe escape, sitting outside on the patio. You had been watching the wind whistle through the trees in the dead of night, watching the lights in the pool change colors. They had been changing every minute - switching from purple, to red, to green. There were a few stars glittering out, barely sparkling in the sky. 

“Anyone sitting here?” 

You look up to find a guy with black hair and pale green eyes kneeling down, crossing his legs next to yours. 

“No. Well you are, now.” 

He smiles, the two of you sitting in silence. You watch people swerve around the pool, girls holding hands, people leaning against the chairs, everyone nursing drinks in their hands. 

“I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really come to these things, I just came here with my friend Jean.” 

He nods, leaning down to feel the temperature of the water. 

“Do you want to play twenty questions?” 

You hike your knees against your chest, tangling your fingers together across. 

“Sure.” 

“Your name is…?” 

“Y/N. Yours?” 

“Marlowe.” 

Right. Hitch’s Marlowe. The guy she was trying to make jealous, the reason Eren was seeing her and not you. Well, not exactly. He said you two were just a mistake but you could have convinced him if she wasn’t in the picture. Semantics. He taps your shoulder and you forget that it’s your turn. 

“You play a sport, Marlowe?” 

“Water Polo.” 

You nod, lightly turning your head to the side. This is wrong. Surely Hitch wouldn’t be the happiest that you were sitting with Marlowe and not her. You can hear the party getting louder behind you and you swear you can hear her screaming in there somewhere. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

“Uh, no. You?” 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend, I think you’d like her. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

You pause, swallowing as you turn your face to look at him. He’s sitting way too close, an all-knowing look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’m okay, for now. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“Um, okay. Why don’t you want to see Hitch?” 

“Because I’m talking to you.” 

He untangles his legs and stands up, holding out his hand for you to follow. You press your hand into his and he pulls you up, not letting go of your hand as the two of you stand. The party is getting even louder, the sound of voices drowning out the sound of the music. You’re positive you can hear her now. 

“My turn. Do you know a guy named Eren? Plays soccer, green eyes?” 

“Uh, no. Never heard of him.” 

He nods, squinting his eyes at you. He must know Eren’s your roommate. Maybe he’s found out their together and he’s trying to get you to admit it. You let go of his hand, the two of you standing awkwardly by the pool. 

You can’t really tell what he’s getting at, but every part of him irks you out. He’s perfect for Hitch. 

“My turn, Marlowe. Are we done now?” 

“That’s barely even twenty. But fine, one more question.” 

You teeter on the balls of your feet, ready to take off the second he asks his stupid question. He turns to the side, eyeing the window, before asking. 

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” 

Before you can respond, Marlowe crashes into the pool, with Eren suddenly standing at your side. Eren just pushed Marlowe into the fucking pool. You can hear the sound of footsteps behind you - Hitch, Jean, and Marco at your sides. 

Jean and Marco - well wasted beyond their minds - swing their arms around you, slurring as they ask you if you’re okay. Hitch on the other hand is pissed. At Eren. 

“What the hell is your problem, Eren?” 

“Him, Hitch. He was pissing me off.” 

“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you for help with this Eren. And your stupid roommate wasn’t helping the case either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you make eye contact with Hitch, awkwardly crossing your arms across each other. You turn back to Jean, who still isn’t paying attention, instead playing rock paper scissors with Marco on the floor. 

“You want to be with Marlowe so bad, Hitch? Go ahead and join him.” 

He leans over, lightly pushing Hitch into the pool where Marlowe was still watching. He turns to you and ou can tell he’s pissed - that stupid vein on his forehead is showing again. But not in the good way. 

“We’re leaving, Y/N.” 

He grabs the edge of your wrist, dragging you towards the door as you shake on his hand. 

“I drove here with Marco and Jean, Eren. And they’re way too drunk to drive home now.” 

You both turn back, leaning over Marco and Jean. Jean’s way too out of it, but Marco looks up, smiling at the two of you. 

“You guys are so cute. I love your Anakin and Padme costume.” 

Right. Because he took your halo and you took the glittery gun because he kept hitting Jean with it. Eren turns to you, shaking your hand again. 

“Armin will come get them. You and I are leaving. Now.” 

“But how will he even find them? And what about Marco’s car?” 

Eren turns around fully, stopping in the center of the door. He’s pissed, at you now, and you can lightly hear Marlowe and Hitch arguing in the background. 

“You can hear them right? Knowing them, they’re going to walk up in a few seconds and start arguing with you and me. And if he says some shit again, I’m going to do worse than just push him into a fucking pool. You and I are leaving.” 

He tangles his fingers around your wrist again, his touch still gentle, as the two of you file out of the party, making it back to the apartment. 

 - 

Eren doesn’t say anything to you as you walk to the car, when you drive home, or even when you stare at him from the confines of your kitchen. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re waiting. For an explanation. 

But he can’t do that can he? Tell you that the reason he pushed Marlowe in the pull and argued with Hitch is because he can’t stand the thought of him being with you? He can see the entire scene in his head, like he has been for the past hour, his anger burning every time he does. 

“Jean, get the fuck up. You too, Marco.” 

They both stand up, half leaning on each other. Totally gone. 

“Eren. Marlowe’s here.” 

He turns to find Hitch at his side, her face scrunched up in anger. Eren waves off Marco and Jean, pushing them towards the kitchen where (he hopes) they’ll find water and sober up a little. There’s no way he’s letting them drive you home, that’s for sure. 

“Where?” 

“With your stupid roommate outside. What is she doing?” 

Eren turns his neck to find you, where he was just about to join you, sitting by the side of the pool. He can see Marlowe sitting next to you, leaning way too close for his liking. He turns back around, pressing his hands against Hitch’s shoulders. 

“Get him to leave. Now.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He drags Hitch out by the arm, the two of them leaning their necks so they can hear what you and Marlowe are talking about. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

That’s enough. Eren moves forward, not exactly sure what he’s going to do, but Hitch stops him, pulling him back by the wrist. 

“What are you doing, Hitch?” 

Hitch digs her fingers into Eren’s wrist, turning to glare at him. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” 

“He asked her the question, Hitch. Shut the fuck up.” 

He’s getting angrier. He can feel it - burning hot, red anger. Because why the fuck is Marlowe talking to you? Asking you if you’re alone? Why are you talking to him when you know he’s here? And why the fuck is Hitch pissed at you like Marlowe’s not the one all over you right now? Don’t you know he’s been waiting for that dance you promised him all night? 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend I think you’d like. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

He turns back, his turn to glare at Hitch. 

“See, Hitch. It’s fucking Marlowe. Now go and stop him.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to stop him? And I have no interest in chasing him.” 

“Get mad. Argue and then kiss and makeup. I don’t give a fuck. Just get him to stop fucking talking to her. Now.” 

“I already told you. I’m not chasing him.”

“This isn’t fucking about you. Do something now or I’ll call the deal off now. I’ve already done more than enough and you can’t do one thing for me?” 

“Why do you even care?” 

He turns his neck again, to find you and Marlowe standing, his hand in yours. He can’t stand it. Your hand in his. Because he doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Because he can’t treat you right and Eren can. He’d praise the ground you walk on if you let him. 

He hears the last question and he can’t take it anymore.

“When was the last time you were kissed?” 

So he does the only thing he can think of. Push Marlowe in the pool. Drag you out of the party, where Hitch and Marlowe and Jean or Marco or anyone can’t talk to you. See you. He hates it. Being possessive, getting jealous. He knows you’re not his. But he can’t fucking stand it. It makes his skin fucking burn thinking of an asshole like Marlowe even touching you, let alone kissing you. 

“Earth to Ren?” 

He looks back up to find you staring at him, awkwardly brushing your hands against your forearms. Right. Because you’re still waiting for a fucking answer and he can’t tell you. Tell you that the thought of another man touching you drives him crazy, that the only person who could touch you right, make you feel good was him. 

“You’re doing that thing again. I can see the steam coming off of your head.” 

He deflates, leaning against the counter as he watches you. You’re moving from the side, pressing the glass of water in your hand to the dispenser in the kitchen. It’s pissing him off even more. The thought of someone seeing you like this - bedhead in the morning, focused when you’re doing your makeup, half asleep on the couch. He can’t fucking stand it. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, Darth Vader. No need to growl at me.” 

Fuck. Everything is pissing him off. Everything. 

“Let’s think about something else, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it just….stop being so pissy.” 

You’re at his side, circling the glass of water in your hand. 

“Fine. The answer to the question. What was it?” 

“What question, Ren?” 

“The one Marlowe asked you. Before I pushed him in the pool.” 

When was the last time you were kissed? In the bathroom, when Eren had his lips pressed to your neck. 

“A real kiss, Y/N.” 

Eren Yeager, mind reader.

“Oh. Um. A while ago, maybe a year? It was back when I was dating Floch.” 

Eren turns his neck, his eyes flashing at you as you look at him. He looks less angry, his eyes more concerned than murderous like they were a few seconds ago. 

“I don’t even think I can remember. I don’t know - he never really liked that stuff. Affection, compliments, all that.” 

“Did you ask him to? Do that stuff?”

“At first, yeah. But he never did.” 

Now he’s even more pissed. Because an asshole wanting to kiss you, him doing it all wrong is infuriating enough. But the fact that you had to ask someone to do it? He’d literally drop on his fucking knees if you gave him the chance and you had to ask someone for it? 

Eren does the only thing he can. The only thing he knows how to do. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your face against his neck as he holds you. 

It was either this or kissing you, full on like he wanted to. But he can’t really do that. So hugging it is. He hears you murmur against his shoulder, your arms pressing against his back. 

“S’okay Eren. What are you so mad about?” 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it. And no. It’s not.” 

“We don’t. But I think this is less about whatever happened and more about whatever just-” 

He tightens his grip on you, the pressure of his arms silencing you. 

“I’m mad because you should be kissed. Often. And by someone who knows how. Like they can’t get enough of you, like you’re the air they breathe, like you’re inventing kissing just by putting your lips together.”

Shit. He said too much. 

You stand in silence, staring at him as he finishes talking. Oh he messed up big time. 

He watches the smile spread across your face, your eyes still in the dim light of the kitchen. Stupid fucking glitter. He’s going to go into the bathroom and throw it out. 

“Didn’t realize you cared so much, Ren.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Why do you?” 

“Why do I what?” 

“Care so much, Eren?” 

You watch him constrict his fists again, his jaw clenched.

“Selfish reasons.” 

You walk up to the counter where he’s leaning over, lacing your arm through his. You push your hands into his fists, forcing him to stop clenching his hands so hard. You can tell his anger is dissipating, his shoulders slowly tensing as you touch him. 

“Selfish reasons?” 

“I don’t want to see you unhappy or anything. You’re like...my best friend right now. Is it so weird that I want you to be happy?” 

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. Fucking idiot. 

“No, Ren. It’s not weird.” 

You both stand like that for a while, your head pressed against his shoulder. He’s still tense, his heart pounding against your ear. 

“So I say all this nice shit to you and you have nothing to say back?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

You shake your head, watching him begrudingly smile at you as you two smile In the kitchen. You stand there for a while, the anger, awkwardness, wearing off. It’s just you two, standing in the light of your kitchen. 

“You promised me a dance. You never even gave me one, Ren.” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Y/N.” 

“I’m heartbroken.” 

You both laugh and Eren leans over, grabbing your phone from the side. He puts a song on - I Won’t Dance by Fred Astaire - and holds his hands out. You lean forward, knotting your hands behind his back as he presses his hands to your waist.

“You know Fred Astaire, Ren?” 

“Old timey shit. My parents love it.” 

You tangle your hands behind his neck, the two of you dancing in the dim light of your kitchen. 

You hate this. That you want to lick all his wounds, hold him till his anger goes away. That you want to dance like this in the kitchen with him, all the time. 

He hates this. That it’s this easy for you to fix it all for him. For you to make it better. That he wants to hold you, make you feel good every night. 

Do you love each other? 

- 

next part linked here

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[slayfics]

HIIIII I’m back for another request! Can I have Muichiro tsuguko braiding his hair? (like Mitsuri hairstyle!) I think that would be so freaking adorable 😭💖

(Take your time and have a nice day/night! ^^)

You give Muichiro different hairstyles.

A gust of wind picked up blowing Muichiro's hair across his face. He struggled to move his hair away so he could get back to eating.

You giggled watching the Hashira struggle.

The weather was nice today, but an occasional strong wind would run through the trees making the lunch break you two were having a bit difficult.

"I have a hair tie if you'd like Tokito." You offered.

"Hm..." He thought. He never tied up his hair as he preferred it down, but it was causing quite the disturbance with finishing his meal. "Ok... but just while I finish eating."

You handed Tokito the hair tie but the Hashira seemed to zone out staring at it in your outstretched hand.

"Umm... is everything ok?" You asked.

"I... don't really remember how to use one." He responded. If Mucihiro had ever put his hair up he couldn't remember it... Usually he wasn't so embarrassed by his faulty memory, but this seemed like a simple task anyone should know how to do.

"Don't worry about it, I can help you. "You said getting up to sit behind Muichiro. You started to gather his hair in your hands when an intrusive thought came into your head.

What would Muichiro look like with Mitsuri's braids?

"Hey Tokito... would you mind if I braided your hair? It would add extra help with keeping your hair from blowing in the wind!" You hoped adding a logical reason such as this would help persuade the Hashira to say yes.

"I suppose I don't really care either way." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

A devilish grin spread across your face as you started to braid the Hashria's hair. You couldn't wait to see what he would like. You braided carefully but quickly letting his hair glide through your fingers.

You wondered how he kept his hair so soft with all the training and missions he did.

"Ta da!" You exclaimed upon completion of the braids. You hurriedly moved to sit in front of Muichiro to take in what the braids looked like.

He sat arms crossed facing you with glaring eyes.

'Well?" He asked, waiting for your reaction. Your heart skipped a beat at the adorable sight. While his face was as stoic as ever, the braids added a certain whimsicalness to him that you couldn't put into words. He looked absolutely precious. However, you didn't want to give away your true intentions for braiding his hair so you tried your hardest to keep a straight face.

"Yes they look very functional and should keep your hair out of your face while you eat."

"Hmm... this is working." He said in between bites of food. "Is there another way to do this without braids? These are a bit heavy. I'm not used to this pressure." He said, grabbing at the braids.

"You mean... you want another hair style?" You asked.

"Yes please. Can we try a few out to see which is the most comfortable with the same results?" He asked.

Your eyes light up at the Hashira's request. To be able to play with Muichiro's hair once was a dream come true, but to do it again?? This was turning out to be a wonderful day you thought.

"Of course Tokito!" You said excitedly sitting behind him again and beginning to work on another hairstyle.

You spent the rest of the day giving Muichiro different hairstyles and he rated them all based on comfort and functionality.

Thank you for all your support and another adorable request. I hope you love it and it makes you smile! A very big shout out to @valartsstuff for letting me use her artwork for this story. Please go check her out, her Muichiro drawings are to die for!

[sailorshadzter]

Can you write a fic where Cat survived the Red Wedding and has to accept that Sansa has to marry Jon to keep the Stark line and the North united? She knows Jon is now the heir but the prospect of marriage still haunts her because of what happened to Robb. And now, Cat wouldn't want to wish what happened to Robb to Jon Snow regardless of his heritage.

HIIII ANON

once again, this has been sitting in my inbox for a long time!!!

hopefully you see this!!!

send me prompts

When the gates open, a wagon rolls in, pulled by a white mare that has seen better days. 

She happens to be standing in the courtyard, talking with a few of the lords when the call comes, so her attention shifts away, blue eyes watching as the wagon comes all the way through. They aren’t expecting anyone, not that it matters, so she excuses herself, wandering away from the center yard and closer to the horse drawn wagon that has now come to a stop.

As the single passenger rises from the bench, her heart skips a beat, her stomach turning over like the wild waves of the sea. Somehow, her heart is telling her all she needs to know about this hooded stranger. 

Coming closer now, she waves away the guards barking questions- who are you, why have you come, and the like, because she doesn’t need to hear the answer the woman will give. As she comes around to the back, the figure is stepping down off the back, her feet crunching in the freshly fallen snow. For a moment, it is as if time is suspended, as if there is not a single other person in the world but the two of them- her lips curve around the syllables of the word she hasn’t used in years… “Mother…”

Catelyn Stark smiles, drawing back the hood of her cloak to reveal a somewhat scarred face, one older than she recalls, but it was her mother all the same. “Sansa,” she breathes, tears overflowing as she forces a smile. “My daughter…” A girl grown into a woman, a sight she thought she might never get to see… But here she was, standing just in front of her. It takes but a moment more for the young woman to fling herself at her, to fall into her arms as if she were that child she’d lost so many years before. “I’m here, Sansa, I’m here,” she whispers, running her hand through the red hair that has grown so long it falls to her waist, twisted back in braids like her own. Catelyn holds her tightly, wishing away her tears and murmuring the softest of words, until only the sound of footsteps draws her away.

When she looks up, over her daughter’s head, it is to look into the eyes of the man she knows has saved Winterfell, has saved Sansa. The boy she once detested, the boy she once neglected, now stands there now, grown into a man, staring at her with wide, gray eyes. Eyes that remind her of Ned, of Arya, eyes that bring pain to her already aching heart. But, she returns to her daughter, the last piece of her, and knows that this was where life was meant to bring her. 

[ x x x ]

“King in the North?”

Catelyn questions without hesitation, looking from one face to the other, once again feeling that ache in her heart. Once, Robb had been called such a thing. The truth was, she imagined to hear Queen in the North upon her arrival, but it was true, Robb had indeed named Jon as his heir, and it seemed as if the North agreed. Truth was, after hearing about all that had happened since the days of Robb, she supposes Jon deserves the title. 

Besides… 

“Have you met with Samwell Tarly?” She asks next, thinking of the man she met some weeks ago, traveling from King’s Landing to Winterfell, saying how once he was comrades with Jon Snow, no, friends even. “Is he not here?” 

Jon shakes his head, surprised to hear his old friend’s name spoken by his step mother. “I have not heard from Sam since before…” He trails off , shaking his head. Since before his death, he means. “Have you met with him, Lady Stark?” Lady Stark… She’s not been referred to by that name in so long now, it feels somewhat foreign. In truth, she’s heard Sansa called by that title all day, her inheritance certain. And now that she looks, there is a closeness between the two of them that she never saw before- perhaps it was one she prevented, in truth. 

“I have,” she admits, wondering if it was her place to tell him what Samwell Tarly had told her. She has but a split second to decide, for they are both staring back at her, Sansa with her wide-eyed gaze, Jon with his somber one. Perhaps this was the will of the gods, whichever ones were still listening…

So she speaks and she doesn’t stop until the story is fully told. 

[ x x x ]

It is the fourth morning of Catelyn’s return and she finds herself in Sansa’s rooms, brushing out her long red hair as she once did so long ago. 

Much has changed in the days since her arrival, the truth of Jon’s birth being an outright shock for all of Winterfell. But, the lords have taken it in stride and it would not be long before they would openly claim him as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

In due time, of course. 

Catelyn has been thinking this moment over, again and again, trying to decide the best of the situation. The North deserved to be free, independent, just as Robb had intended…. But they still needed to back Jon, in order to win the war that was to come. Targaryen’s were not well loved here in the North, but lucky for Jon, he’d amassed love and respect from the Northerners that could not be stolen away simply because of his father’s blood. He was a Stark, many lords would say, shaking their heads. He was as much of a Targaryen as any one of them. 

“Mother?”

Sansa’s voice draws her out of her own thoughts and she smiles at her over her shoulder, their eyes meeting in the reflection of the looking glass. “I got lost in my own thoughts,” she apologizes as she places the last pin into place. For a single moment, she cannot help but to imagine her as she once was in this place; a hostage, a victim. Sansa hasn’t come out with all of the details of her two unlucky marriages, though she swears Tyrion never touched her, Catelyn knows Ramsay Bolton did the most unspeakable things to her. And these thoughts lead back to Robb, who married out of young, stupid love, that unwavering feeling many don’t get to feel in a world like theirs. Robb had died for love, Sansa nearly died from the violence of a loveless marriage. In the end, her children had found suffering in marriage, whether it be true love or political gain… There was no happy ending, not for Robb and not for Sansa.

But then there comes a knock on her door and when it opens, Jon is there, the sight of him bringing a smile to her face she’s never seen before. She watches as Sansa lights up from within, as she rises up from the chair she occupies to sweep across the room to stand before him. He spares her but one single nod before his eyes are all for Sansa, eyes that she swears she’s seen before… Eyes that she swore Ned once looked upon her with. 

Sansa offers a quick curtsy- sloppy, though she had it perfected at three- and with her arm slipped through his, she allows him to steer her from the room.

 Left alone in silence, Catelyn sinks back in the chair, laughter bubbling on her lips. 

[ x x x ]

Several weeks later, their betrothal is announced. 

Catelyn watches as the loyal Northern lords raise their glasses to the marriage, chanting their pleasure before they drink to it. At the head table, Sansa is blushing, but not in the innocent sort of way, while Jon pours her a second goblet of wine. They would be the finest of couples and the most powerful of monarchs- already Dorne had written of their support and she supposes the rest of the world would not be far behind. They had far more power than Robb ever had, which she supposes should bring her comfort, should hold her heart steady. 

The boy she once wished would die, she now wishes a lifetime of happiness, of health, of love. 

The boy she once wished never existed, she raises her own glass to toast, hoping for happiness, wishing for a lifetime of love.

[asterias-corner]

i think we are severely lacking with the age regression (sfw) in the lu fandom 😔

little links by silentspider, is such a good fic!! it has multiple parts that are all so good! (16k words in total)

•••••••••

i think that they all would age regress to some degree at least- but the main ones would be time, warriors, wild, and legend, i dunno they just give me major little vibes :’)

~~~~

•time would be super energetic, and climb lots of trees, he would totally collect bugs too. And could be convinced to put them in fours bedroll. Time would regress to 5-6 years old, He’d say the trees are all unique, giving them names and being the only one to successfully tell them apart. He likes to keep a stuffed horse that looks like epona in his bag, malon made it for him!

——

•Wars would enjoy playing pretend, or more physical games. Usually regresses to 7 years old. He’d probably force everyone to play sharks n minnows, ghost in the graveyard, games like that! he likes to color or draw, also likes to watch four do weapon maintenance. ——

•Wild is a total nature kid, would roll around in mud and you’d not even know what color his clothes are by the dirt and grime just absolutely covering him. Definitely regresses to 8 years old, only going younger is stressed. Rocks are in his pocket, some Rollie polies even. Would climb the highest tree within range and wind would have to get him down. Enjoys playing hide and seek, always ends up being the last to be found. HE MAKES MUD PIES!!!

——

•legend is more bubbly, but will not share ANYTHING. Don’t ask it will be no. He usually regresses to around 6-7. He likes to hangout around water, and will collect anything that catches his eye, using his hat as a big pocket. Likes to read or play capture the flag (or any variation of such) will try and sneak to do things he knows he isn’t supposed to do.

——

•wind would probably age dream, never fully regressing, but usually is around 6 while doing so. Enjoys pretty much the same as he usually would not age dreaming, but will beg and BEG to braid everyone’s hair. No matter if it’s short or not, a braid will be in every links hair by the end of the day. When he isn’t age dreaming, total big brother and will convince them into shenanigans.

——

•four would regress discretely, but the main giveaway is how quiet he gets. Usually just regresses to 9 years old. He likes to read and keep to himself, but that’s when he’s not split. The colors already similar when regressing, but all enjoy different activities. Green enjoys fishing strangely enough, but uses his hands. Blue would see how long he can do a hand stand or something competitive. Red would color and draw with wars. Vio would be the one to read and likes being read too as well!

——

•hyrule is similar to wild, but likes to take walks and analyze everything. Regresses to 5 years old. He enjoys the sensory of being outside, touching everything (that is safe to do so) and usually drags sky along, regressed or not. He has a special journal just for pressing flowers and pretty weeds. Likes to swim and float in a starfish position for hours.

——

•sky is the one who regresses to 11 years old, and likes to wrangle four, hyrule, time, and wars into playing charades. He doesn’t carve (cus he isn’t allowed) but learned origami instead! Likes to give them to everyone, usually of their favorite animal or the animal that reminds him of them!

——

•twilight regresses to 7 years old, likes to play tag! Forces everyone to play when available and it’s scary when he runs full speed to catch someone. Now they know how dink felt . Teaches hyrule how to catch fish bare handed in the rivers, wild gladly takes them to cook as a meal. Twi likes to hang upside down on a tree and screeches at anyone who passes by- if he’s questioned his only reply is “I’m a bat!” Nothing else. Also likes to smack his head into people, full speed, grinning and unapologetic. If questioned, only reply is “I’m a goat! That’s my job!” And runs off to do it to someone else.

—————

remember guys, Age regression is a SFW COPING MECHANISM!!! So i don’t wanna see any hate! These are just my personal opinions and self projection

[lavampira]

ffxivwrite24: day 11 — surrogate

summary: amidst a lengthy recovery in sharlayan, d'alia awaits the arrival of her adoptive parent. characters: d'alia liveq, d'liveq tia, g'raha tia word count: 1k | rated: T | read on ao3 notes: spoilers for endwalker. d'alia is a cis woman with she/her pronouns and d'liveq is transmasc nb with he/him pronouns.

SURROGATE: one appointed to act in place of another

D’alia sighed at the slow-approaching ship in the harbor, squinting her mismatched eyes at its form beyond Thaliak’s statue and the midday sun as if she could will it to move faster, both eager to see the person aboard and desperate to get this day over with already. Her rosy tail twitched and flitted aimlessly behind her boot-clad thighs. At this rate, she might very well perish from her own anticipation right there on the pristine pavement before it docked.

Or from nerves.

Or both.

She wrapped her arms around herself, though it likely seemed more akin to holding herself together by the seams to anyone watching her, as people often did these days. Her black blouse rolled and pinned at her elbows was too thin and left her tattooed forearms too exposed for the chilly breeze rolling off the sea, but she’d admittedly been too distracted when she’d left her room at the Annex nearly a bell prior. After another shiver rippled through her, a long scarf was draped around her neck, still warm from its previous wearer.

Glancing at the shorter man beside her, D’alia smiled. “My thanks.”

“Well, I simply couldn’t allow you to catch some illness and wind up at the chirugeons again under my watch, could I?” G’raha teased.

The smile turned as she scrunched her nose. “I’m under watch, am I?”

“I do believe those were your precise words when you asked me to accompany you.”

“Aye, well, I suppose you never know what sort of godsdamned trouble can be found on the way to the harbor. ‘Tis me, after all.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of him, deep and low, temporarily putting her at ease in its familiarity. But as the ship finally docked in its assigned spot, her entire body thrummed with restlessness all over again. She shifted to run a hand through her hair, but where the thick waves had once been, she only met air, as it now ended at her chin. She frowned, opting to fuss with G’raha’s scarf around her neck instead.

“I could stay, if you wish,” G’raha quietly offered, his red tail lashing behind him as he wrung his hands.

And he would, D’alia knew without a doubt. His responsibilities had piled high since agreeing to help the Baldesion students, and though his daily schedule was often so packed that she wondered when he even grabbed a wink of sleep, he still made time for her, even if that meant sneaking in various texts from the Noumenon along with contraband lunch beneath the chirugeons’ noses to save her from the atrocious meals alone as he read at her bedside. Or now that she’d been discharged, meeting her at the Last Stand for a bell or two before returning to his duties.

“You’ve been stuck by my side for two moons,” D’alia returned, and before he could protest with a gently insistent tangent that stuck is far from what he’d use for keeping her company through her recovery, she squeezed his shoulder with a smile. “Enjoy some respite of your own, Raha. All will be well.”

G’raha bobbed his head, his ears twitching. “As you say, my friend. But if you have need of me—”

“Raha.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He huffed haughtily through another laugh. “That said, Alia, I hope you enjoy your reunion as well.”

A burst of raucous voices carried across the wind, almost as though a dam had broken to unleash the cacophony on the harbor’s stillness, briefly drawing her attention as the passengers finally began to disembark. Sailors and gleaners alike clambered amidst their hauls, preparing the cargo for customs. When she turned back, however, G’raha had already made his way halfway up the dock. She watched his braided red hair vanish into the crowd with another sigh.

‘Twas only her parent. She’d last seen D’liveq before the Scions had left for Sharlayan, and after such a lengthy time apart, she was relieved to finally see him again.

But none of the days she’d spent rehearsing how she’d regale him with what had transpired at the end of the universe could assuage her fears. After all, how could she look him in the eyes and confess that her heart had stopped aboard the Ragnarok, and if not for the sheer determination of her friends and colleagues, she might not have been successfully resuscitated? It had been difficult enough explaining that she was still too weak to travel by aetheryte in her invitation to visit her.

Naught else to do but face it, she supposed.

D’alia weaved through the throngs of bodies and cargo towards the ship that she’d secured passage for him. She spotted him with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and documentation in hand that he used to shield his eyes, scanning the area around him gilded in sunlight as she approached. His shaggy hair was peppered in silver amidst the black at his temples and tied loosely out of his face, and his brown skin had more creases now than she recalled, but otherwise the sight of him made her chest feel too tight and too full like it could burst.

Recognition passed over his face only a moment before she collided with him. She didn’t even remember closing the distance, only that she was suddenly enveloped in his thick arms as he dropped his bag, throwing her own around his neck even though she had a few ilms on him, too. Nuzzling into his shoulder, she could still smell the salt of the sea, warm leather, and herbs of his favored tea clinging to him, and she let her eyes flutter shut to absorb it.

“‘Tis good to see you, kid,” D’liveq rasped in her ear, nudging his head against hers.

Any rehearsed speech fell by the wayside. All at once, she was the savior of the star at three and thirty so unsure of the next steps in her path, and the tearful girl who he had accepted as his own daughter at five when his dearest friends had passed, and she was home.

[creatingblackcharacters]

I wanted to ask if you have any suggestions on how to draw black hair when the character is roughed up

(Using this as an example cause it is on my mind) like in Interview with a Vampire I’m able to get at least some reference to what hair would look like in those situations.

But I haven’t been able to find examples of different hairstyles look like. what do braids or locs look like when someone just went through the wringer? Do you have suggestions for references or even tutorials?

I mean, depends on what wringer they went through. You mentioned IWTV, so I'm sure you know what different types of afros look like under mud, blood, rain, sweat and abuse (matted, sticking out every which way, tangled).

Twist outs and straightened natural hair are affected by humidity and sweat so... If your character is running for a while, or they're sweaty or wet, it'll start puffing up at the root. If they jump in water, it's curling up. Relaxed hair will do a sort of wave, but not as much bc it's been chemically changed.

For braids and locs, liquids aren't gonna do anything other than add weight and pull down (and look bad, if it's something other than water). They'll also hold on to that dirt and mess until cleaned, will lead to rot or mold if not addressed soon enough. Maybe if it was in a curly style, water would ruin that look bc it would fall (like I was supposed to get a rod and curl set recently, but it thunderstormed 😭) Braids and locs won't really "look" any different in the midst of a stressful situation, unless someone burnt or cut them (then they'd look frayed or singed at the ends). Think of what happens to the ends when you abruptly cut or burn rope.

Mainly though, it's the roots that you pay attention to. The roots might be unbraided or not twisted recently, so it'll just look like an afro growing out (which.... It is). Might not see the parts anymore. Cornrows can grow loose if they're not redone. If hair in general has been pulled out, there'll be patches and blood, just like on any nonblack character.

[jomiddlemarch]

they two play out the game 

“Be honest—”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I fell in love with you at school, when you loathed me, when you loathed me because I made you feel that way because I couldn’t bear your pity or worse, being beneath your notice, a shrug of your shoulders, an eyeroll? That the Amortentia I brewed in Potions smelled like ink and rose geranium soap and the bloody catnip you must have grown for your Kneazle in the greenhouses because you never would have nicked it from Sprout? That I envied Weasley for his family loving him and welcoming you, when my father wanted you dead and my mother refused to remember your name?”

Draco paused, lifted a hand from where he’d been gripping the railing and loosened his tie. It was dark blue, because they were no longer children, defined by Houses. He wore his robes open, like an Oxford don, and she could see the suit he wore was Savile Row, not Wizard-tailored. His brogues were polished to a shine short of a House-elf’s efforts.

“Should I tell you I’ve dreamt of you for years, in that periwinkle petal dress and on my ballroom floor, screaming for mercy, and in bookshops, in teashops, in the pub, laughing, smiling at Potter and Longbottom, making a face when you take a sip of your bitter? In the Wizengamot, at my trial, like a Fury. At all the other trials, demolishing their smug assurance, making them cower, making them see? Do you want me to explain how I told Astoria we would marry but I’d never be able to love her and she told me she already knew it, that she understood everything and that if I didn’t mind too much, she supposed we’d do well enough together? You want to hear how when my son was born, I wanted to Owl you, before anyone else, even though you’d have been baffled to receive any message from me, would have probably thought it was a prank from George Weasley, an overture to return to the Weasley bosom after you and Ron ended it ostensibly amicably, except that you’d left England and hadn’t been back in six years for more than a fortnight?”

He took a step nearer and Hermione resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest or draw her robes closer in some nonverbal attempt at protection. He’d grown taller after the War ended and she hadn’t, not a whit, probably stunted by the stress and starvation of the Horcrux hunt, but he was still a few steps below her on the stairs, so he continued to look up at her, a supplicant. He was still giving her that power, that dominance over him which she hadn’t believed when he’d offered it earlier in words alone.

“Shall I tell you how I followed your career, the papers you wrote, the conferences you attended, collecting clippings like a lovesick groupie with his favorite Quidditch team? How I heard your voice when I taught Scorpius his first spells? How I told him the brightest witch I’d ever known was Sorted into Gryffindor and he was confused because his mother had been a Ravenclaw? How my wife fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t care, or rather, I was happy for her because Theo loved her back and it was nothing for me to look away and let them have the time they could? How I thought if you knew, you’d perhaps admire me for once, for not being selfish, for making some sacrifice, except that you’d be wrong, it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, not when I cared about them both in one way and not at all in another? You want to hear how I thought I’d seen you—at the train station and in the City, in the Prophet, your hair braided, that streak of white like a halo, like a queen’s ivory filet, your eyes, sweet Nimue, your eyes, Hermione—”

“I’m not a saint,” she put in.

He climbed another stair and now he looked directly at her. She could rest her hands on his shoulders if she wanted. She could raise a hand and stroke his cheek, graze the steel temple of his spectacles, the silver hair at above his ears. 

“I know. And I know why you don’t wear a glamour or charm your hair the color it was when we were young. You want me to tell you how my wife died and I wanted you to comfort me? To come to her funeral and hold my hand, to wear the veil for her and to let me fold it back over your head to face the truth? How I wanted you in my bed, fresh from your bath, in a nightdress you’d let me ruck up to your waist, naked beneath me, your skin like silk, arching up into my hands, gasping, laughing when I accidentally tickled your waist. Crying out when you felt my mouth on your breasts, suckling, when you felt my cock hard between your thighs, when I begged you? When I told you to spread your legs, love, when I praised you for being so good, my beautiful, darling, delicious witch I wanted to fuck all night, that there was no one else, there never had been, there never would be, only you, my darling with your dark eyes and your brilliant mind and your magic, your heart, your cunt—You want me to say that I love you, that I’ve loved you to the best of my ability for the best part of my life and that I don’t want you to go, not now, not ever, but I know that’s not up to me?”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks, a gleam in his grey eyes that might be tears, but his voice was steady, restrained, and there was space between them yet that she knew he would not breach. She used the effort required to cast tandem wandless in a duel to the death, more than she’d used when she was eighteen and expected to save the world.

“If it’s the truth—” she said.

“It’s the truth,” he answered. “There’s more, I suppose, but it’s much the same.”

“Then it’s what I asked for,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, part of her sure he would not be there when she looked again, a dream, a vision she’d conjured, Nimue and Merlin both, trapped within her desires while the world lived and grew around her. She opened her eyes and there he was, waiting. There was a shadow in his gaze, the expectation of rejection, abandonment. He was not a man accustomed to hope. She’d asked, though, and he’d answered.

“I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that I can’t hope for the best. Settle for what I’m given. I must take what I want, with both hands,” she said and reached over, up a little, to cup his face with her palms, her fingers touching the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. He was very still, almost rigid, and she felt a frisson of fear, of being deceived, denied. 

“With both hands,” she repeated a little hesitantly. “Unless, you don’t, after all—Scorpius will not, and you have to put him first, of course—”

“I do,” Draco, beginning to smile. “And I was told not to come home without you, though Scorpius is willing to take my word for your arrival. He’s not waiting there for us.”

“No?” Hermione said, feeling terribly warm, terribly, wonderfully desired. Needed. Accepted.

“No, I shall have you all to myself,” he said. He finally put his arms around her, very carefully as they were still on a staircase and perhaps he was a little unsteady now. “D’you suppose, before we go, I might kiss you?”

“Here? Where anyone might see?” Hermione asked, though the hallway had been deserted for the past hour and the charm on the wall sconces needed to be recast. Though she had let herself look at his mouth, the curve of his lips. Let herself admit her own appetite had gone beyond any curious hunger, to craving, the sweet she had been forbidden for so long.

“Yes. Be honest, would that bother you?” he said.

“Do you think I will say it would? Do you expect me to tell you no when I’ve just said you’re what I want? All that I want?” she said, echoing him. Making him grin, a hint of the smirk she first remembered seeing on his face as a young boy, now subsumed into such tenderness she felt nearly overwhelmed.

“Is it the truth?” he said.

“Yes,” she said and then she didn’t say anything else because they were beyond needing any other word than “Home—” the Side-along as easy as a breath, as waking from a dream into the day.

They named their first daughter Verity, explaining it was a family name.

[quibbs126]

Could you possibly make a fankid for Earl Grey and Esterhazy? I imagine the pair having a relationship similar to Morticia and Gomez Adams, and also that Earl adopted the Chess Choco twins.

This one was a particularly interesting one, this is Cremeschnitte

So I’m gonna be real, I’m not entirely sure what her character is. Originally when I was making her, I was just thinking she was a big girl who likes being fancy but has a really big and buff body that she she’s not the most fond of

Which I’m realizing is still fine, it’s just that as I was drawing her outfit I got a different vibe, particularly like a school/academy theme? But I don’t know if she’d be a student or a teacher. But now her colors remind me of the Holiday Express, so now I’m saying she works there

But yeah, I don’t have the most solid ideas for her character, sorry

Oh and also that she used to be much smaller as a child

Anyways, on to design things

So first off, her original name was going to be Medovik Cookie, that being a light colored cake, and she was generally going to be more Cookie based, with me trying to figure out how to mix werehound traits, but then I had remembered seeing someone else’s fankids involving Choco Werehound Brute, and so I thought “why don’t I make mine more werehound like?” And so in the process her name changed from Medovik Cookie to Cremeschnitte

And similarly to Medovik, that’s her name because it was a light colored cake

Cremeschnitte:

So I realize that her dough color is lighter and more yellow than either Earl Grey or Esterhazy, but I made it that color because of how yellow the reference cake was. Though to be honest it ends up reminding me more of the regular Cake Hounds, especially with the white on top

The only real Cookie mixing I gave her was trying to make her snout less rectangular and have the top be more circular, if that makes sense. Also her lacking the ears or whatever Esterhazy has. I also feel like I may have made her head a bit too big, but I mean, I guess it works with her half Cookie status?

Also for my first time drawing a werehound, I don’t think I did that bad. Though granted, plenty of her body is covered by other things, so I don’t know how good it’d look doing it again

Honestly her hair required a lot of minor tweaking because it kept just looking off to me. Her hair was also supposed to be like some sort of braid, but I don’t know how well that came off. But overall looking at the final product, I think her hair looks nice

As for her outfit, I was kind of just making stuff up as I go, all I really had was that she wore a dress, and everything else just kind of happened along the way

But overall, I think she turned out quite well, and I hope you like her too!

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 3

Masterlist 

Warning: mention of blip, death, life support, jealousy, panic attack 

Word Count: 3.9 k

So the problem with taking a long nap, it was hard to fall asleep. It also didn’t help that your stomach was a little upset from dinner. FRIDAY informed you that the common floor had ginger ale and crackers. You sat on the couch with your sketchbook on your lap and crackers next to you. You preferred drawing comics or line art, realism wasn’t your thing. But drawing portraits of people helped you remember them and the memories. You were drawing your mom when she was in the courtroom. It was rare that she let you come with her and watch her do her thing. She was afraid that you were going to be a target if people connected you to her. 

You missed her so much and you wished she was here to help you through this. When the doctors came into her room at the hospital and told you your options, it was the hardest decision you had to make. But you knew your mom better than anyone, she was your best friend, and you knew she wouldn’t want to be in a vegetative state. So, she was taken off life support and her organs were donated to help save lives. You whipped a tear from your eye before it fell onto your sketchbook. “Why are you crying in the dark?” A voice laced with a Russian accent asked. You jumped, not expecting a voice. In front of you was a blonde-haired girl wearing sweatpants and a SHIELD training shirt. She was fresh out of a shower; her hair was damp and braided. 

“Maybe because I don’t like crying when it’s bright outside,” she shrugged and made her way to the kitchen. You spun around to lean on the back of the couch. The blonde was taking out the leftovers from dinner. “Who are you?” If you were to make an educated guess, she was related to Natasha in some way. 

“Your Stark’s kid,” she deflected your question with a statement of her own. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have more of you running around.” 

“Probably does,” you said. “I wouldn’t put it past dear old dad,” she placed her food in the microwave and turned to face you, arms crossed against her chest. Her green eyes flickered to the beanie you still chose to wear. “I find it unfair you know who I am and I don’t know you.” She smirked and turned to take her food out of the microwave. 

“Where is the fun in that, Stark?”

“Easton,” you corrected her. She raised a questioning eyebrow at you. “I go by my mother’s maiden name since she is the one who raised me and Tony didn’t.” Your mom never spoke ill of the man when you questioned why he was never around. Instead, she told you the truth that she never told him she was pregnant. You stopped asking questions because you didn’t need him. Your mom was all you needed. 

“Well, Easton,” she smiled. “It was nice meeting you. Try to get some sleep.” She walked back over to the elevator and stepped inside. 

“Sleep tight, blondie,” you sat back down on the couch and focused on your drawing. But you didn’t miss the look of surprise on her face as the metal doors closed. You chuckled, popping a cracker into your mouth. You weren’t worried about the mysterious blonde that got food quickly and left. You figured she was supposed to be here since Tony’s AI didn’t alert anyone or alarms didn’t go off. Now you weren’t an Avengers super fan but you knew of them through the news and research for your comics but you didn’t recognize her. She must be a new addition post the Blip. You sighed, biting the end of the pencil. 

You weren’t part of the half of the population that was taken. There was a part of you that wished you were. The car accident happened a few months before the Blip. So you grieved your mom and those you lost. It was hard. You threw yourself into your drawings, and your research, and traveled the world to help others to ignore your grief. It worked. Was it unhealthy? Yes. But you helped a lot of people, wasn’t that worth it? 

You cleaned up the crackers and cleaned the glass you used. There was an ache in your bones and you knew it was time for bed. 

*

You were back on the common floor in the kitchen, sipping on coffee and waiting for your oatmeal to be done. You thanked every god that existed that your taste buds still liked coffee. The microwave beeped and you took it out. As you ate it you made a list of things you needed to do before the weekend was over and your doctor appointment tomorrow morning. Your new room was fully furnished even with kitchen appliances so you could donate your furniture except the desk and bean bag in your office. You could put the desk you had in your bedroom or near the window in the living room. The hall closet would be before seasonal clothes, extra supplies, and a few things you kept that were your mom’s. You had a lot of stuff which meant you needed to go through everything and donate the stuff you didn’t need. But you weren’t sure how long you would be at the tower? Was it a permanent placement? Or until you got better, if you got better. You didn’t like to think about that. “How did you sleep?” Natasha asked, walking up to the coffee pot and pouring herself some. 

“Okay,” you took a bite of your oatmeal. “I think that nap messed up my sleeping schedule.” You giggled. You couldn’t help but stare at the redhead in front of you, trying to compare features from the blonde you met last night. They had similar eye color and teasing look in their eyes. They even smirked the same.      

“You're starring,” Natasha smirked. “I’m sorry but I’m spoken for and I don’t think Tony would like that.” You looked away from her so she didn’t see your embarrassment but a playful smile danced on your lips. 

“Sorry, I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” you looked back at the Black Widow. “Or you're just that mesmerizing to look at.” Natasha groaned, gently slapping you on the shoulder. 

“You flirt better than your father, I'll give you that,” you giggled. “Well I was thinking if you weren’t that tired,” she leaned against the counter. “We could borrow a few of Stark’s cars and go to your apartment to get your things. I can bribe Bucky, Steve, and my sister to help.” Sister? Interesting. But you didn’t dwell too much on that. 

“Why are you offering to help?” You asked with a tilt of your head. 

“This can’t be easy,” she stated. “With your diagnosis, reaching out to your biological father, and moving into a new place with new people,” you smiled. It was not easy. “But I bet having stuff you're familiar with can make it easier.” She was right. The bed was comfortable but you missed your mom’s guilt. The walls were bare, missing your photos and artwork. 

“Thank you, Natasha.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’ll go round up the delinquents. Do you need clothes to wear?” You looked down at your sleeping clothes. You could change into the clothes you were wearing yesterday but they were dirty. 

“Uh yeah,” you scratched the back of your head. “I wasn’t expecting him to offer me a place at the tower.” It was common practice for you to take an overnight bag when you went somewhere due to your random spots of fatigue. You expected to be back at your apartment by lunch night. Natasha frowned. 

“Did you not expect Tony to help you?” The Black Widow asked. You shrugged. 

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” you told her. The frown remained on Natasha’s face. 

“Wanda will have something for you to wear. FRIDAY, can you inform Wanda to meet Y/n at her room with clothes?” The AI confirmed she would alert the witch. You smiled. 

“Thanks again, Nat,” you weren’t expecting this level of kindness from the other Avengers. 

“Just tell FRIDAY when you're ready,” you finished your breakfast and cleaned up the dishes. By the time you took the elevator to the floor you were on, Wanda was outside your door with an armful of clothes. You laughed. 

“Got enough options?” You teased, opening the door for her. She huffed with a roll of her eyes. 

“I wasn’t sure what would fit or your style,” she dumped the clothes onto the couch. “So I brought a lot,” she surveyed the mess she created. “Okay, I may have gone a little overboard.” You giggled and started to go through the pile. You settled on a SHIELD shirt, that matched the blonde’s last night, and a pair of black shorts. But a few dresses did catch your eye and you made a mental note to ask her to burrow them. After a quick shower and changing into clothes, you informed the AI that you were ready. 

“Miss. Romanoff and company are in the garage,” you grabbed your wallet, keys, and phone. “Step into the elevator and I’ll bring you down.” 

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” you said, walking out of your room and to the elevator. Once inside, your mind began to race. You leaned back on the metal wall, looked up at the ceiling, and stared at your reflection. Was your apartment clean? You couldn’t remember. It was another effect of chemo - you called it chemo brain. Sometimes you couldn’t remember if you turned off the oven or locked the door. It was why drawing helped so much to pinpoint and focus on specific memories. 

So was your apartment clean? Gods, you hoped so. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. You tried to push down your anxiety at the thought of 4 Avengers walking into a messy apartment. The elevator doors opened and you saw Natasha, Buck, and Steve next to a moving van and the blonde you met leaning against a red Mustang. The sight made you smile. “Hey Blondie,” her head snapped to you. 

“Blondie?” Natasha questioned looking at who you assumed was her sister. 

“Easton,” she smirked. “You are the reason I was pulled out of bed.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I believe that was your sister,” you tilted your head to Natasha. The three Avengers watched the interaction with confusion all over their faces. “We met last night. She knew who I was but refused to tell me her name so from now until she tells me her name she will be Blondie.” Natasha shook her head with a defeated sigh. 

“Ya delayueta (idiot),” she said, hitting her sister’s arm. Whatever she said made Bucky chuckle. It was Russian that you knew but you and Steve looked at each other, the only ones not understanding the language. Her sister frowned, rubbing the spot Natasha hit. “You’ll be riding with my sister,” you huffed. Her name was still a mystery but the blonde looked smug. “We’ll follow you.” 

“Sounds good, you smiled, getting into the passenger seat. You didn’t catch whatever Natasha said to her sister before they got into the van. The blonde got with a sigh and turned on the car. “What did she say to you?” 

“Put your address in,” she handed you her phone with the maps app already up instead of answering. You did as she asked and plugged it into the charger. “She told me to stop being difficult.” She began the drive to your apartment. 

“Difficult?” You didn’t think she was. “Why are you being difficult?” But you were curious why she kept her name a mystery. You couldn’t find much about her online with a quick Google search. 

“It’s more fun,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Do you not think so, Easton?” 

“Whatever you say, blondie,” you smiled. “Whatever you say.” 

*

You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped out of the way for the Avengers to enter. It was a 2 bedroom, 1 ½ bathroom. You used your second bedroom as your office and art studio since no one was coming to visit you. You were lucky to afford a place like this on your own and a glance around it wasn’t a mess. Bucky carried in some moving boxes. “So all the furniture is gonna stay beside the stuff in my office. The pots, pans, and utensils will be donated. I guess we’ll pack as much as we can today and I’ll come back another day to finish it.” 

“Anything you want to prioritize?” Steve asked. 

“My clothes,” you smiled. “As much as I love Wanda’s clothes, I don’t think this is my vibe.” Natasha laughed. 

“I’ll handle your clothes.” 

“Steve and I will get your furniture from your office,” Bucky suggested. 

“And I’ll stand here and look pretty.” 

“Ya delayueta (idiot),” you teased. Bucky, Natasha, and the blonde looked at you, mouths open. “I pick up on languages easily,” A quick Google search also didn’t help. “It’s Russian for idiot,” you told the blonde super soldier. Steve smiled, shaking his head with a laugh. 

“She’s not wrong.” She gasped, clutching her chest. 

“Steve Rogers, how could you?” You smiled. 

“I’ll buy pizza if you do some work, blondie.” You said and walked over to your hall closet to get a cooler and some reusable bags. Packing up the kitchen was going to be your job so you could go through the fridge and pantry. Natasha headed off to your bedroom and Steve and Bucky went to your office which left the blonde in your living space. She put a box together and began to take the pictures off the wall. You couldn’t help but watch her. The living room was decorated with pictures and items from your travels and the research you’ve done. She would look at the picture for a little bit before putting it into the box. It was odd, a stranger was going through some of your most prized possessions, packing them up so you could move into the Avengers’ tower. What a strange life you were living. 

“So,” you looked at the blonde. “What languages do you know?”

“I’m fluent in English and German but I’ve traveled a lot and I can put up with delicate differences.” She nodded, picking up a handmade mug you got while volunteering in South Africa. You continued to watch her. There was an odd look on her face. You frowned, going back to cleaning out the fridge not wanting to think too much about it. 

*

Yelena walked into the spare room you deemed as your office. The space was cleaned out of a desk, a bean bag, and an art easel. There was something about you that Yelena found intriguing but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She put together one of the moving boxes and began to take the artwork off the wall. They were all line drawings of various sea creatures with watercolor accents. Her favorite was the blue whale with her calf. Once they were safely in the box, Yelena opened the closet. She wondered how you could afford this place on top of your medical expenses. A majority of the stuff was extra art supplies and canvas, all still in their original packaging. But what caught her eye was the flying cabinet. She couldn’t help herself as she knelt in front of it and opened the bottom drawer. Was it an invasion of privacy? Probably but Yelena was a spy at heart and her curiosity got the best of her.  

She wasn’t surprised that she found more of your artwork but the contents of the pictures were surprising. It was the Avengers in comic book format. The mission they were on Yelena didn’t recognize so she assumed you made it up. The details were impressive. She put the comic back and picked up another drawing. It was a realistic portrait of a woman. Yelena didn’t know her but she saw similar features of you in her. She made the educated guess she was your mother. Natasha called her on her flight back from St. Petersburg and explained your story to her; diagnosed with cancer and the only family you had left was Tony because a car accident killed your mother. It was weird learning about your life through pictures she had to pack. You’ve traveled and seen the world by choice. You had a loving mother and now a father that brought you in without question. Those relationships weren’t brought together by a Red Room mission. She understood the feeling that grew when she saw you. Jealousy. She was jealous. Jealous of a girl who was dying unless she got a bone marrow transplant. It was ridiculous, uncalled for. But she couldn’t help it. Every time she learned something about you, a warm feeling built in her chest and she envied everything. “For a spy, you're pretty easy to sneak up on,” Yelena jumped, turning around quickly. You were standing in the doorway with a playful smile on your face. “Whatcha got there, blondie?” You asked, walked over to her, and sat down. Smiling, you looked at the picture in her hand. “That’s my mom. It was right before the car accident.” 

“They never found out who caused it, right?” You nodded, taking the picture from her. Yelena frowned, not liking the sadness radiating from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your stuff.” You placed the photo back where it belonged. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you stood up, holding out your hand to help her up. Yelena hesitated (she wondered if you noticed) but finally took it. Your hand was smooth against hers beside the small callus on your finger. “You would have seen them eventually. The pizza is here. I guess you did enough to deserve it.” You teased her. Yelena chuckled, rolling her eyes. She wondered how you kept your heart. It was what Melina said to her and Natasha before the Red Room took them - ‘don’t let them take your heart.’ Life had not been easy for you but you still managed to keep your smile and sense of humor. It was another thing on her list to envy. 

“Your evil, Easton,” you giggled, looking back over your shoulder. 

“You don’t know half of it.” 

*

FRIDAY told you that Tony was in his lap. You held a box that was decorated in red and gold, tight underneath your arm. In hindsight, you should have known who your father was based on the color of the box but you only saw it once or twice. When the lab door opened, Tony looked up from his workbench. “Hey kid, how was moving out of the apartment?” He asked. 

“Good,” you sat down on an empty stool next to him. “I have to go back again but a majority of my stuff is here.” You watched his eyes glance at the box. 

“Well, let me know if I can help,” you nodded, tracing the lid of the box with your finger and looking away from him. Tony pulled up another stool. “Hey,” you looked at him. “What’s wrong?” You sighed, handing him the box. 

“The letters she wrote to you,” he took the box, eyes wide as he stared at it. “You can read them or not or destroy them. It’s your choice.” 

“Thank you,” you nodded, standing up. 

“One more thing,” you let out a shaky breath. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Do-do you want to come?” You were afraid to ask him, unsure of his response. But your mom didn’t allow him to be in your life, you wanted to give him the chance. The ball was in his court. You could tell he was shocked by the invitation. 

“Of course. I’ll be there,” you felt the weight leave your shoulders. Since your diagnosis, you’ve gone to your doctor's appointment alone. “Just let me know,” you smiled. 

“Sounds good. I’ll see you later, Tony,” you left his lap, hearing a ‘see ya’ from behind you. You took the elevator to the floor and into your room. It was a mess, boxes everywhere. You sighed, grabbed your mom’s quilt, and sat on the couch. The quilt belonged to your great-grandmother, who passed away before you were born. She gifted it to your mom when she graduated high school. It was blue and white with stars. You had great memories of you and your mom wrapped in this quilt reading a bedtime story by the campfire. You sighed, falling deeper into the couch and allowing the quilt to keep you warm. The mess could wait and be dealt with another time. 

*

His leg began to shake as he stared at the box still resting in his hand. He felt a panic attack building inside him. It was a long time coming with everything going on but he didn’t have time for it. On shaky legs, he stood up and opened a drawer at his desk pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. It was rare that he drank but he needed something to take the edge off. He picked up the box and sat down on the small couch. 

There was a part of him that thought about destroying the box of letters. He didn’t have to know what he missed in the past; he had you now and could look towards the future, no matter how short it may be. No, he couldn’t think like that. He poured his drink. “Tony, your heart rate has elevated. Should I contact Pepper?” 

“No, FRIDAY, I’m okay,” he wasn’t sure if he was okay but he opened the box. He wondered if there was an order to the letters. Each one was titled - 1st Christmas, High School Graduation, 5th birthday, and every milestone he missed Jessica wrote him a letter. Tony wasn’t sure how long it took before her words began to blur and he wasn’t making sense of anything. He missed you graduating high school and traveling with Captain Mills to help research how global warming was affecting sharks. He missed all of this because he wasn’t given a choice to be in your life. The beating of his heart was the only thing he heard in his quiet lab. His breathing was erratic as he picked up his full glass and threw it at the wall. The glass shattering startled him as he sat on the ground, back against the couch. He pressed the palm of his hands to his eyes, hoping it would help but it wasn’t. He couldn't stop the growing panic inside of him. It was too much.  

Soon he felt fingers running through his hair. FRIDAY must have notified Pepper and he was so out of it that he didn’t hear Pepper enter. “I’m here,” he mumbled. Pepper hummed, pushing some strands off his forehead that were stuck due to sweat. 

“That was a big one,” she stated. “Just sit with me, okay?” Tony didn’t have the energy to resist her as he rested his head on her shoulder. The sweet smell of her lavender perfume washed over him. He felt better, felt grounded. His heart rate evened out and his breathing wasn’t as erratic. “Do you want to talk about what triggered it?” She asked softly. 

“Later,” he said. “Can we just be?” Pepper nodded, holding him tighter. And they would talk about it later. But for now, they were just Pepper and Tony. Not the CEO of Stark Industries or Iron. Not a mother of 1 and a new father of two. In the quiet and empty lab, they were safe in each other’s arms. Just being Pepper and Tony. 

_ 

Taglist:  @likemick