#we are in harmony: ic

[tha-wrecka-stow]

[krawlernyannyan]

The v2.1 livestream is tonight so I'm hesitantly updating the Type/Path chart despite us not having seen a new four-star for v2.2 yet. I'd wager the newest Trailblazer form is in that patch and it's eating into the character development budget, but I won't be able to put Stelle on here until a good month or two from now when we actually get confirmation about it. Still, here's the new additions we've confirmed:

Robin (⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆, Physical/Harmony)

Boothill (⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆, Physical/Hunt)

They're both doubling up on previous Physical combinations so no progress on new Bingos here (and if new Stelle is a Harmony character nothing there either). If we somehow get a new character mentioned between now and the next time I'd put one of these up, I'll squeeze them in.

Also: spicing things up by replacing all the blank spaces with the Family's logo since the padlock looks really nice for unknown positions.

[melancholymirth]

❛ i would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you. ❛ gary again... !!!!!!

prompt

If only that were possible, and if only Garrett would allow him to offer the same—but he'd never want V to hurt himself, much less to be hurt by another. By him. But, perhaps more than anything, V wanted to prove his heart true, and he wanted to prove the depth of those emotions; he wanted to prove how full, how complete, how devastating it all was, beneath flesh and muscle and bone where he harbored the most of his pain, his joys and his love, where he had Garrett and where he'd kept him safest.

The words were breathy, hot, moist on his skin as Garrett spoke them between kisses. He made a trail from V's collarbones to the base of his sternum, and onward from there. Lips would stray to his ribs, reminding him of how little meat he had on his bones. However meager his flesh, he had forgiveness in him in spades. He wished Garrett to know it; he wished that Garrett would make love with him now not because of the principle, but because of why they always would. Simple whimsy, hearts gone too far, urges immutable; but something about it now, when it came like this, was deliberate beyond making love.

It almost felt like proving it.

Fingers came upon his thighs and held them apart, and when Garrett mouthed down, down, V sucked in a sharp breath. Hips twitched, hands were brief fists beside him. He'd almost forgotten that he had cried. He wasn't sore or brokenhearted anymore. Garrett made it up to him before they'd gotten here, starved for each other's faith; he had simply been there and breathed, and supported V's weight, and held him like nothing else existed, and kissed his brow and made promises about hearts never failing and things never changing. It was enough to comfort V, but not enough in the grand scheme—for either of them. And, now, here they were, moved on from words to action, to touch and feeling and instinct. They needed this, just to fill whatever cracks remained. And if V could make a good man feel whole again, forgiven and valued and loved, he was only happy to be here, seated on the sofa without a lick of clothing on in the middle of the day, for the sake of mending hearts. Kissing and petting, groping and nipping, Garrett on his knees before him, like a sinner in the throes of repentance.

It ultimately didn't matter what Garrett had said to him; and bless that man's heart for wanting to make up for it at all. He had done no real wrong, intended no harm, and only because V crumbled in front of him with childish tears moments ago, he felt the need to fix and heal, and to remind all over again that his love was worse than any plague, any wildfire, any god-awful, stupid thing he could say. And when words of devotion weren't sufficient, his body did the talking.

My love. Shallow, fast breaths and a pounding heart were nothing V felt ashamed for. Lust-fogged eyes were torn between a steady gaze that was fiery, hungry, and a tongue that was deliberate, teasing, making his hips squirm and his voice small with little gasps and moans.

V listened, always. Always ready to forgive because he didn't have the heart to bear a grudge, no matter how petty, against the man he loved like nothing else. He might have been driven to foolish tears before, but they were dry now. Now, he was the one who wanted to tear himself asunder for the benefit of his husband and himself. But perhaps this—letting Garrett pore over him, wash the hurt away with kisses, worship every pale inch he so much liked to—would satisfy them both, for today. V quieted down when Garrett pulled away to kiss a hot trail up his chest, more words of ardor and fealty burning through V's ears, until teeth nibbled on collarbones and hands came to his sides to squeeze. The biting, the swearing of sacred oaths; Garrett's mouth was hot on his throat, fixed over the pulse point while his mate whimpered beneath him, vocal again, brows tight, a flame in his belly, happily at his mercy. Were he any more a wild, carnivorous, unbidden beast, he may have begun his feast there—and V would have allowed it if it meant all of his soul would be bared and made plain to a man hungry for affirmations he'd never spoken for. But here was the insatiable demon, wanting to be the one ripped open instead! And V would only be happy to dive right in. Peel the flesh, bust through the ribcage and—

Ah, but that is a ghastly thought. To love another so strongly that a hellacious appetite digs itself out of the recesses of every scruple known to man was a dangerous thing to evoke, to even imagine, even on a playful, teasing whim. And the desperate devotion V and Garrett had shared was anything but a playful, teasing whim. V might have feared it, a little; but he feared worse a fracturing of ties, and so he both allowed and gave himself up more than willingly to the demonstrations before him now, enduring every heated breath, kiss, caress and tease that gave him gooseflesh, made his hips buck and his back arch and his legs squirm with indecision.

As though it'd been too long, too necessary, starved lips crashed and bit and sucked, obsessed with one another and only getting greedier. No space for even an amorous word here or there; wet, swollen gates allowed none to pass. V's heart beat against its bony cage, calling on a heat from deep within to make him flush and his belly roar with emptiness. Desperately, he hooked his arms around Garrett's neck, begging without voice to be consumed, or set ablaze, or redeemed, or saved from his own foolish mind. But he found a precious moment for words, speaking without breath. "I wish... I wish you could see inside, how rich and thick my blood, how hot my heart." He reached out to Garrett's cheek, a simple, fond touch, thumb rolling over moistened lips. "But, if you can feel it, when...our roots together join..."

Hungrily, he claimed his mate's face with both hands and pulled himself in for a another bout of kisses that were abyssal. His mind wasn't so fogged that he didn't know he was standing himself up, arms around his waist helping, eager to meet Garrett at full height without an ounce of shame about him. His fingernails caught on the fabric of Garrett's shirt, clutching like it didn't belong. He'd do away with it yet. To bite at the flesh there, hard enough to mark like he meant to eat his way through—

Most he did was slide his wanton hands under the garment, feeling up tight muscles and then lingering over hardened nipples.

A part of this, maybe a lot of this, was plain insatiable hunger. Mouths heatedly broke away, only for V to fix him with knitted brows and eyes that wanted to mist for the second time that day. But, he shook his head, denying that and any more gloom to breach his safe haven.

"Oh, please, let have me a chance. If you want to be torn apart, devoured, then let me." A flicker of light in sweet, green eyes. He had forgiven; now he wanted to give. Gently, he pressed his lips to Garrett's jaw, starting a trail of his own that took him down his throat. "I love you enough for this," he whispered between kisses, breathy and warm on ink lines both bold and fine. "And never any less." And then you can try me. As if in response, he felt larger hands reach for generous handfuls of his derriere, pulling him impossibly close as though there remained any room. V whined dryly when he felt fingers reaching between, and for that little bit of encouragement he dragged his own nails down wonderful, delectable abs. Ah, Garrett—a feast of a man.

Fuck, they had appetites.

[altarcup]

😴 - to fall asleep on your muse . for almond <3

tomorrow morning,  as soon as he woke,  𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛.   the forest was dark and wet-green and suffocating,  but the air smelled clean.   they had made it far enough to reach someplace unburnt.   ​​ 🇦​​emond leaned against the mossy tree trunk at his back,  hooked his fingers into the strap around his head 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞.   he wouldn’t have many more chances to take off the eye-patch.

had it only been his hair,  keeping it would have been a risk he might have weighed.   there were 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 than enough s̳i̳l̳v̳e̳r̳ ̳h̳e̳a̳d̳e̳d̳ ̳b̳a̳s̳t̳a̳r̳d̳s̳ crawling through the seven kingdoms     (  as evidenced by 𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚜  ).

hair alone would not mean his demise.   but alongside the patch,  and what he hid beneath it   ‒‒   any gormless beggar could pick out 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭,  even if they’d never seen him.   the jewel that had insisted on his worth was now his noose.   🇦​​emond touched his eyelid,  tore off his glove and touched it,  𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲     (  cool,  curved around the stone’s cut  ),    and 𝖘𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉.   it couldn’t be soon.   eventually,  though,  he’d 𝚙𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 and tell thea to sell it.   if either of them lived that long.   

as though sensing the cold stare of his sapphire,  elethea cousland roused against him.   🇦​​emond stilled,  waited.   crossed his arm over her,  hand to her elbow,  so that her head had nowhere to go but the crook of his shoulder.   if she could sleep,  she had to.

in the morning,  he might still decide to strangle her for what she’d done.

𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊,  betraying him would have been treason.   now,  it was just a thing 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧 that they had to live or die with.   🇦emond realised,  suddenly,  that 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.   he was spiteful,  and spoilt,  and c̳o̳l̳d̳-̳h̳e̳a̳r̳t̳e̳d̳,  and maybe he deserved to love a liar.   or maybe,  tomorrow,  by light of day,  the pain of it all would 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 and end them both.   for now,  it was night.

lost in the green,  hungry forest,  𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫,  queen of dragons.   he covered elethea’s ear and recited,  𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚕𝚢,  the list of names   ‒‒   almost two centuries of riders,  and he’d been the last.   his was 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊 she ever heeded.   his were the reigns that 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙙 round her body when it dropped,  limp,  into the sea.

𝑦𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆,  and making little,  petty plans to stay that way.   he had o̳u̳t̳l̳i̳v̳e̳d̳ ̳a̳ ̳g̳o̳d̳.   he had outlived his only friend.   🇦​​emond’s voice snagged on a memory,  stalling.   at least 𝖛𝖍𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖗,  if she was ever capable of it,  did not have 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 the loss of another.   Iaena veIaryon,  dead by dragonfire.   a̳e̳m̳o̳n̳d̳ ̳o̳n̳e̳-̳e̳y̳e̳ ̳t̳a̳r̳g̳a̳r̳y̳e̳n̳,  dead by drowning.

[familylightfox]

Neither hybrid was willing to move from their position. The most they allowed was moving slightly to the sides so Shadow and Cedar could be seen as they spoke. But, Volt made it very clear that any step towards them would be met with violence. Harmony crossed her arms and glanced towards Cedar with a smirk.

They reminded the teen of Bunnie back home. That sweet southern charm that all but told someone where to shove their head.

"Ya hear 'em. Ya ain't welcome and ya can't take those bull shit excuses and shove 'em up your ass." Narrowed teal eyes snapped back to Walters. "Shadow ain't going nowhere with ya, ever again."

"Most usually find us more cute than dangerous, but ya try t' label us as it, and I'll show you what danger really is." That was a promise that Volt would make good on. His anxiety had been through the roof since they had arrived, and this man before them had only made it worse. Harmony could see it. The way his breath held a subtle shudder to it. The way his arms would tremble, but looked more like his fur was shifting. Quills were stiff, and claws were extended.

It was a wonder the lights hadn't completely blown...

But the teen noticed the red gleam at the same time Shadow had. While she hadn't felt his gathering Chaos Energy, Volt had, and it was the only time he had taken his eyes off Walters. Just enough to see the hedgehog returning and attempting to knock them all over.

He went down easily enough and watched his daughter drop herself onto her stomach. The glass of the cafe's front showering over them as bullets sprayed into the far wall. With another growl, the hybrid's hand slammed into the floor, claws sinking into the material. All the build-up from his kinesis sent out in a wave throughout the building.

Everything went dark inside, giving them a better view of the drones that had opened fire on them outside.

"The hell are those things?"

Shadow had been ready to stand, to act- but Volt and Harmony were up first. Pain flared in his side, a warning flashing to life across his vision- bright blue. Glitched, too unstable to read before it vanished. And then it was back again.

HP: 65,000/100,000.

........what.

The man- Walters, based on Shadow's low growl- at least had the presence of enough self-preservation to step back, hands raised in a universal sign of surrender.

"Alright. I can tell you're all upset-"

"Doesn't begin t'cover it..." They couldn't see Walters around Volt and Harmony. But that growl was nearly enough to fluff their fur, the blinking lights...thank God those two weren't against them. What the Hell was Volt capable of, that he could do ten times more damage than Harmony?

"-I am just trying to take Shadow home."

"That chamber wasn't a home." He wasn't about to go back. No, that had been a holding cell- and he'd never be returning. Not unless his heart had stopped beating.

"Fine. But that doesn't change that you can't all be in public. Any of you could scare all of humanity-"

"Ex-human here, Cedar Iso from fuckin' Green Hills, Montana. Wasn't scared'a Volt when he popped up in my house- n' th' staff here weren't worried until you showed up, dear." Every ounce of southern hate they had was thrown into that single word. Another screen- their name,...their species... It disappeared as quickly as it came.

They didn't need that right now.

"Wh...?" At least he could look stunned- though in the flickering light, there was a noticeable red gleam from outside- a low rumbling, steadily growing louder.

Not a word was spoken as quills slowly raised- energy dancing. Company, more than the hedgehog wanted. In a flash, he had appeared in front of the other guests- yelps filling the space before they were all unceremoniously dragged to the kitchen in the back, and then he was back- incoming. No warning to offer, nothing but him running to try to knock his three allies down as the front of the café exploded.

[buildabuddha]

@eyeslikestainedglass asked:

"Butterflies truly adore you, yes? I imagine all animals do."

「 ༀ - i would not consider it adoration; 」

the monk noted in gentle tones - letting the butterflies dance over his silver fingers.

「 ༀ - perhaps a kinship, or a mutual understanding; - they came to greet me, like one would any friend. 」

[writingsbychlo]

DECK THE HALLS | DRACO MALFOY

SUMMARY: Narcissa has big plans for her son's girlfriend this time of year, and you're determined to live up to her expectations. WORD COUNT: 7680 NOTES: The first fic of this year's Christmas series, and I think you guys will really love it! It's cute, it's sweet, and it's just the right amount of sassy-Draco.

The moment you sank into the seat beside him, Draco pushed a cup of your favourite herbal tea across to you, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered a sleepy greeting. Opposite you, Mattheo was half-asleep above his bowl of cereal, his head tipping forward precariously — and a slight thrill shot through you at the idea of him dropping face-first into the milky bowl. 

“You’re evil for choosing a six am lecture, do you know that? And they think Matt’s father is the darkest wizard there is.” Daphne groaned as she shuffled into the kitchenette of your small, shared flat in her bunny-eared muggle slippers. Chancing a glance at Draco, you didn’t miss the disgraced twist to his lips as he eyed them. Just like always. 

“Nobody forced you to get up at this time, y’know.” You teased, blowing the steam away from your mug, and Mattheo’s head lulled forward just far enough to fall when the toast popped. He jerked his head back up, only inches from getting a face-full of milk and rice crispies, and you pouted in disappointment as he blinked himself back awake, and scooped some more into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “Why do you get up at this time every day?”

“Because Dray makes us all breakfast if we do!” Daphne chirped, adjusting far better to the early rise than your other roommate, who would be cranky until noon, even without face-planting his crackling snack. 

“Correction, I make my girlfriend breakfast, and you two just pilfer food that isn’t yours.” He snarked, buttering the toast, and kissing the top of your head a moment later as he placed it down in front of you. Moments later, a teapot, jam, a plate of only slightly too-crispy bacon and hashbrowns floated over too, laying themselves out on the table along with plates and cutlery. 

Since his insistence on moving into his own accommodation at the start of university, Draco had been practising his cooking skills. After setting off the fire alarms every day for the first two weeks and screaming every insult under the sun at the beeping box on the ceiling, he’d started to become quite adept at it. 

A harmony settled across the table as you all tucked into your food, only the scrape of butter on toast and the occasional squeak of metal on pottery sounded, the tea in your mug sinking dwindling as the clock on the wall ticked on. Finally, when it was time to leave, you floated all the dishes to the sink, and let Draco trail you to the door of your cramped apartment. Wrapping a thick scarf around your neck, he used it to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your lips when you grumbled;

“I have to go, Dray.”

“I know.” He mused, licking across your lower lip in that same way that always made your legs tremble a little. 

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your boyfriend teased, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you in close. Your hand, that had been reaching for your coat, somehow found itself tangling into those soft blonde strands instead. 

“I’m going to be late.” Your murmur was swallowed by his mouth closing over your own, a wider kiss, covering your mouth and you sagged into him. He was practically radiating smugness, the squeeze of his arms around you, the arrogance in his breathy chuckle. “Dray…”

“Mmmh?”

“I—”

A tapping at the window cut you off, and Draco pulled back with an indignant sound, whipping his head around to look at the window. He sighed with agitation, “Do you think my mother simply does not care that our apartment building is Muggle, or does she still think Muggles use carrier pigeons?” 

You smothered a laugh as he made his way over to the window, taking a little more effort to open it as ice frosted the seals closed, but when he finally did, the tawny brown owl acknowledged him with a rather irritated hoot. The moment Draco had taken the letter, it was stretching its wings, flapping again and taking off into the murky dawn light. 

Tugging on your coat as he closed the window back up and shuddered, you shouldered your bag. Upon seeing your progress towards leaving, and another morning of failing to hinder your departure, Draco pouted. His attention turned to the letter in his hands as you opened the front door. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“My mother, she sent the letter to you. Do you want me to leave it on your—”

“Give it here!” You squeaked, lunging for the letter, and letting the door fall back shut as you snatched it from his hands. Just like he said, elegantly scrawled across the front in Narcissa’s handwriting was your name, and a flush of nervous heat flooded your body. Suddenly, despite the ice and snow outside, you were wearing too many layers. 

“I thought you had to leave?”

“It’s a letter from your mother! I can’t leave this until later!” Turning it over and running a shaky finger under the seal with the Malfoy signet, you popped it open, the envelope falling open into a folded parchment with the same lovely handwriting contained inside.

Scanning your eyes over the words, seconds seemed to drag on into endless minutes, as you read it again and again. At last, you clutched the letter to your chest, peering up at your confused boyfriend with wide eyes. “So, what did she say?”

“She wants me to plan the annual Christmas Eve party this year.”

Your breathing was light and shallow as you sat inside the restaurant, smoothing down floo-rumpled hair that had taken Daphne almost an hour to style for you. Your dress was new, courtesy of a panicky shopping trip with Draco after insisting you had nothing appropriate to wear to eat dinner with his mother. Your lipstick was the perfect shade and you’d made sure your perfume was just on the right side of decorous, not the sultry date night scent you typically wore to places like this. 

And still, despite all your preparations, your hand trembled as you picked up your water glass and brought it to your lips. 

And then, the green flames at the front of the restaurant flashed once again, and out stepped Narcissa Malfoy. Sophistication incarnate, she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, one that made your own feel like a burlap sack. Several members of staff flooded to her side before she’d even finished stepping down from the line of fireplaces, and she smiled politely as she handed over her coat. Inquisitive gaze flicking over the room, that smile became genuine as she set her sights on you sitting at the table already, and she walked through the room like she owned it as she made her way to you. 

Standing as she approached, she let out a regal scoff —how she managed to make a scoff sound so posh was beyond you— and waved a hand in the air. “No need for formalities, dear. Sit, please.”

She kissed both of your cheeks, before pointing to your chair, and you sank into it as she settled into hers. “It’s so lovely to see you, Narcissa. I was surprised you wanted to see me, alone. Draco is—”

“Draco is probably pacing in that little apartment you both live in that he insists upon. Why he forces you to live there when he could have much nicer accommodations is beyond me.”

“It’s a nice apartment. We bought some lovely throw blankets.” Hiding your smile in your glass, your laugh at her expression bubbled your water, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you lowered it and patted at your lip. “I’m so sorry.”

The woman before you only chuckled privately and raised her hand to a waiter. The young man hurried over, cracking open a bottle of white wine without even having to be told, and Narcissa smiled at your confusion. “I have the same wine every time I come, this quaint little place is a favourite of mine. Did you know Lucius attended this same university when he was your age?”

You tried not to hang on the word quaint, thanking the waiter as he poured you a glass too, before hurrying from the table once again. Instead, you moved on to something else, “Which university did you attend, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t attend university, dear. In my day, a woman was never supposed to be more intelligent than her husband. Educated, of course, but not too smart.” A fond look passed over her features, “Though, Lucius has never seemed to mind. I have read enough to possess multiple degrees by now, he is not intimidated by my curiosity for knowledge. It is one of the reasons I love my husband. But, enough about me.”

Your breathing hitched as her eyes sharpened on you once again. She toyed with the bracelet on her wrist and plucked off a small charm. Placing it on the table, with a single muttered incantation, a gorgeous, pure-leather briefcase with her initials embedded on the side in gold, filled the available space. The clasps popped open, and she peered at you over the lid. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we, dear? We have much to discuss. You know what you’d like to eat, I presume?”

You did not, in fact, know what you wanted, but you nodded regardless, and picked the first thing from the menu that came to mind. When your order was given, Narcissa placed a delicate pair of reading glasses onto her nose and began to pull out papers and folders to stack beside her wine glass. 

“You shall host the Christmas Eve party this year, but despite it being loosely called a ‘party’, it is so much more. It is a social event, a business event, and one of the most desired gatherings of the year. It is exclusive, thousands of wizards globally vie for a spot on this guest list and most are disappointed year in and year out. It must be spectacular, splendid, and unique. Repeated themes are the death of any social event, as I’m sure you know.” Peering over the rim of her glasses at you, she raised a manicured eyebrow inquisitorially. “Are you taking notes?”

With a jump, you reached for your far less elegantly-stored bag on the back of your chair, and rooted through for your notebook and QuickQuill, setting it to work atop the table as she continued to speak. 

“I have brought my records for the last ten years, and a list of the themes dating back the last thirty, in order to help you. I have also included a copy of any and all documents I typically use, to help you out a little. Nobody helped me when I first began. Merlin, Lucius’ mother hated me until the wonderful day the old hag died, she wanted to see me fail. I do not want to see you fail.” She looked up as the scribbling of the quill on your paper stopped at her small rant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I, uhh, I—” You stumbled over your words, clearing your throat as she closed the briefcase and linked her hands, setting them upon the tabletop with poise as she waited, “I’m just wondering why?”

“Why?” She sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose and raising one brow into a high arch. “Why what?”

“Why you’re giving this to me? It’s an honour, truly, but I’m just wondering why you would put something so important, your family’s name, into my hands?”

At that, Narcissa’s lips turned up into a fond smile, and her head tipped to the side. “My son loves you.”

After a moment’s pause, you nodded, throat feeling thick. “He does.”

“I am happy for him. He adores you, as he should. You are a wonderful girl, my dear. I do not want you to have the harsh break into this world that I did. I thought I had been prepared to become a wife, I was an heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, but a union between the most noble House of Black and the most powerful House of Malfoy created something else entirely. You, you are clearly Draco’s one. The men in this family love wholly, powerfully, and obsessively. You will be a Malfoy one day, and I wish for you to be ready. I wish to guide you in a way nobody guided me.”

Words froze in your throat, and tears prickled behind your eyes are her words. “You really think that? You think Draco will marry me one day?”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t already thinking about it. He is, at the end of the day, still a high-society boy raised to find a suitable wife.” She left her statement short and succinct, and you sniffed lightly to hold back your feelings. “Do not cry.”

“Sorry, I—”

“I mean it. Do not start crying. We have work to do.” 

You nodded, but then she smiled fondly, and a small and emotional squeak escaped you.

The number of notes Narcissa had given you at dinner alone had required their own folder entirely to properly organise. So this morning, you’d braved yourself on a journey out in the ice and snow to a local stationary store to pick up two more. Surrounded by open folders, QuickQuills, and some coloured tabs and inky pens deemed highlighters that you’d noticed some Muggle girls picking up, you had set to work hours ago. 

Your neck ached, your back was sore, and two of your QuickQuills had broken while the notepad in your lap had more pages torn out in frustration than actually had useful ideas and notes. 

That, and Draco had been needy since the moment he’d gotten home, laying himself out dramatically on the floor in front of you and trading refills on your tea for kisses. Some time ago, he’d convinced you to take a break for dinner and to do your homework together at the table. 

Now, the sun had set, Mattheo had long since returned from his part-time job at the record store, and Daphne had come back from her weekend study group, gotten ready, and gone back out for a date, and you still felt like you hadn't quite done enough. If the stress of party planning didn’t kill you, it was certainly going to cripple you. 

Stretching your arms over your head from where you perched before the coffee table, you pushed your legs out into any space available. As you did, a relieved groan slipped free at the delicious pain of tight muscles unfurling in your back. Draco cupped your chin, tipping your head back to drop a kiss onto your lips as he passed by to go to the kitchen, leaving his book marked and closed on the side of the couch. 

You listened to him make another cup of tea, rubbing blurry eyes and attempting to focus once again. Just before you could re-enter the zone, tapping on glass broke your focus, and you heard Draco sigh. Cracking open a window, he retrieved whatever had been sent, feeding the bird a few treats before sending it on its way again and closing out the cold chill of the December night. 

He appeared moments later, his black and white Christmas-themed socks filling your peripherals. 

“Another letter for you, from my mother.” Draco drawled, passing the envelope to you as you glanced up from your folders. He waved it before your face, and you snatched it with a scowl, adding in a glare for emphasis when he only laughed. “You know, she writes to you more than she writes to me these days.”

“Yes, well, we complain to one another about the terrors of you Malfoy men and how we’re supposed to put up with you.” Your words were muttered amid distraction, skimming your gaze over the letter in your hands and frowning. “Word has already gotten out about this party, and now the Prophet wants to run an article on it.”

Your voice climbed higher and higher as you spoke, until your boyfriend winced at the shrill tone you had taken on. “I wouldn't worry too much about that.”

“Wouldn’t worry— it’s the party, Draco! And now the media wants a piece! If it’s a failure, the entire Wizarding World is going to know about it by eight the following morning!”

“More like six, if they hurry it though printing—”

“Draco!”

He rolled his eyes, flopping ungracefully down onto the couch and stretching his body long out on it. Holding his arms open, you collapsed into them with a whine, and he kissed your forehead as he wrapped you into a tight embrace. With the letter crumpled between you both, you pressed your face into his neck, taking in a deep breath of his cologne and letting it calm you slightly. 

“You’ll still love me even if I throw the worst party ever, right?”

“Yes, I’ll still love you!” He spoke through peels of sudden laughter, and the shake of his chest underneath you brought a smile to your face. Propping yourself up to peer down at him, he puckered his lips, a request for a kiss that you eagerly indulged. “And I meant it. This isn’t personal to you, this is just Skeeter trying to push a new weak point. I don’t even think she knows you’re the host yet, she does this every year. She tries to wrangle her way into an invitation through her job, and every year, my mother sneers at her letters and burns them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my love.” Rubbing his hands up and down your back, Draco leaned up to press another loving, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Now, can you please put those folders away for the night? We haven’t set up our Christmas tree yet, and you haven’t given me proper cuddles all day.”

“Just five more minutes?” You bargained, and his lips tightened with annoyance for a fraction of a second. 

“Only as long as it takes me to make two hot chocolates.”

“Deal.”

“Hi, baby.” You whispered, leaning against the doorframe. Draco peered up at you from over the top of his reading glasses, folding his book silently and placing it down on the bedside table. He laced his fingers together, resting his hands across his stomach, and waited. “Whatcha’ reading?” 

“A thousand and one ways to ruin your girlfriend’s Christmas party.” He deadpanned, and your smile fell, arms crossing over your chest. Straightening up and stepping into the room a little more, Draco smirked at the glare you gave him. 

“If you would just help me out a little—”

“You’ve yet to apologise for what you said earlier.” He crosses his ankles casually, lounging on the bed. 

“Yes, well, earlier was—”

“That’s not how apologies start.” Draco chastised, clicking his tongue. With a strangled sigh, and a slightly childish stomp of your foot, you caved. Ignoring the urge to ask him what he knew about good apologies, you instead made your way closer to the side of the bed. As you approached, he reached out, wrapping his arm around the backs of your legs and looking up at you, waiting. 

“I’m sorry for shouting at you and calling you a bad boyfriend when you messed with my sticky notes. It really wasn’t that deep.” Your words were begrudging, certainly holding an underlying bitterness to them that wasn’t hidden, but Draco grinned nonetheless. “I’m just really stressed out.”

“You’re putting too much thought into this, darling. You need to relax. It’s just a party.”

“It’s not just a party! Do you realise that these people will—” Will be our wedding guests one day? Will be the people who pass judgment on my suitability to be your wife someday? Will remember this social event for the rest of their lives? It all sounded too shallow to say out loud, but somehow, it still meant something to you. “Will be so disappointed if it’s not good.”

Your boyfriend’s brows furrowed, he knew there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t push. Instead, he wrapped his arms more securely around you, tugging you down onto the bed, and you squealed as he rolled you over, your back in the blankets and his lips closing over your own in a slow kiss. 

Your fingers laced into his hair, nails dragging over his scalp and he hummed happily, lips pressing more insistently into your own. Every tug and drag, every beat of his heart onto his chest pressed to yours, helped to settle the raging nerves that were sending tremors through your body. 

“I know you don’t think it, love, but it’s going to be fantastic. You needn’t be so worried.”

Smoothing your hands along his cheeks, you unhooked his glasses, folding them away with a sweet kiss to his nose. Putting them down on top of his forgotten book, you decided to try your luck one more time. “Does this mean you’ll help me? Because I could really use a second opinion on—”

“Nuh-uh. My mother entrusted you with this job. And I know why.” 

At your gasp, he smirked. “You do?”

“Of course, I do. This party is a tradition for generations of Malfoy women, so if you’re going to be a Malfoy woman, you’d better learn now.” At your scoff, he pressed a kiss to your lips, chuckling when you puckered and attempted to steal more. 

“If you don’t help me, then you’d better find a new future woman.”

“Shan’t. Can’t. I’ve already chosen you, and the men never party plan. We’re terrible at it. Just ask my mother about when my father suggested a Weasley-orange banner for—”

“Alright, alright!” Your arms flung around his neck, pulling him in for more kisses, and leaving the conversation behind. For a little while, you were perfectly willing to let Draco help you forget your stresses. 

“My darling, what are you doing?” Draco’s groggy voice split the silence of the room, and you blinked as you refocused on him. Pyjamas pants low on his hips and no shirt, a spattering of pale hair trailing down his lower stomach and disappearing into his waistband… Some absent part of your exhausted brain sparked with excitement at the sight of him. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“What? No, it’s not. I said I’d come to bed at—”

“At midnight?” Draco yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing at the clock with the other. True to his word, it was actually past two, and a sigh slipped out. 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm.” Draco shuffled across the room, standing behind you and running his fingers through your hair. “This is what we’re doing now? We’re staying up all night?”

“No, no. I’ll pack away and come to bed now.” Stacking up your papers, you turned to look up at him with a smile. “I did it.”

“You did it?”

“Yes. I have officially finished the whole of my planning stage. Now, I just have to… y’know, actually put everything together and pull it off and hope it’s a success and—” His brows raised, and you took a deep breath, remembering all the steadying words he’d muttered to you over the last few weeks. “I’ll just put all this away, and come to bed, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.” Draco promised, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

He padded away silently through the room, and as you scooped up a pile of papers, they slipped out of your sleep-trembling hands, spilling across the floor. “Oh, crap.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He grumbled, returning across the room and leaning down, smacking the papers out of your hands where you attempted to clear them up. Dipping down, he hooked an arm underneath your legs, lifting you swiftly up into the air and cradling you to his chest. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Sleep, now.”

An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but he was right, and the moment your cheek touched his shoulder and your eyes slipped closed, you knew it too. You were half asleep before he’d even reached the bedroom, dropping you both onto the mattress, still warm from his body, and cradling you to his chest. A sweet kiss and a deep rumble in your ear were the last things you recalled, before curling into his chest and falling asleep. 

Shaking out your hand, you whimpered a little at the pain taking over. “I’m going to end up with my hand locking in this shape.” 

Daphne glared at you from across the table, clearly still unhappy about the fact that two hours ago you’d managed to rope her into helping you with this job as well. Your eyes were blurring, your hand was cramping, and you were still only halfway through writing out the invitations. You’d put Daphne on folder organisation, her voice was hoarse from reading out addresses, and creating a filing system for RSVP’s and replies for your records. 

If you had to hear any more dietary requirements, special requests, or seating demands, you were going to lose your mind. Only a few more envelopes had been completed, joining the pile of ones still waiting to be sealed with wax and sent on their way, before a shooting pain shot up your arm as cramps set in. 

Dropping the quill in your hand and messing up the letter before you, you cursed at the smeared ink. Rubbing your palm and digging your thumb into the tense muscles, you conceded that now was most definitely the time to take a break. 

Swaggering into the room, Mattheo peered over at the mess that had become the shared kitchen table, his brows shooting up his forehead. “You two look busy.”

“I’m being held against my will,” Daphne muttered, tucking away the pages into the folder and beginning to pack away, despite your protests. 

“You want some help?” Mattheo offered, and your gaze snapped to him.

“Oh, Matty, that’s so sweet…” Your lips pressed together, wincing a little bit as he eyed all of the stationary and neatly-arranged piles on the table. “It’s just…”

“Your handwriting is shocking and your organisational skills are even worse.” Daphne put bluntly, and you hid a laugh at the sulky expression on his face, even if he knew it was true. “Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“Well, yes.” He spun to give you both his back as his cheeks flushed pink, opening and closing random drawers in an attempt to look busy. 

You gave an excited squeal as Daphne smirked at his bashfulness. “Is it with—”

“Yes!” He huffed, the tips of his ears now turning red too.

“You really like this girl, huh? You never see the same girl twice, and this is, what, your fourth date?” Your teasing made him relent, and he at last turned around. He was picking nervously at the sweater he must’ve bought just for this occasion, as you’d never seen it before. 

“Fifth, actually. We, uhh, bumped into each other last week after class and went for some impromptu coffee, and…” He scratched the back of his neck, a sweet smile taking over. “Do I look okay?”

“You look lovely, Mattheo.” Standing up, you fixed his collar for him, brushing off the shoulders of his sweater, and he preened into your touch. “Oh, wow, Daph. You have to come and see this. Is this… what I think it is?”

“What?” Mattheo panicked, turning his head to his shoulder as you rubbed the fabric between your fingers. Turning him around, he attempted to peer over his shoulder as you turned the inside of his collar out. “What is it?”

“It doesn’t say it on the label, but…”

“You know, I think you’re right,” Daphne said, feeling the fabric stretched across his shoulders. “No, no, it definitely is.”

“What? I don’t have time to change! My jumper is what?” Mattheo gasped anxiously.

“Boyfriend material.” You said, very seriously, and it took a moment for the fear to melt out of his eyes and be replaced by annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Mattheo pushed you both away from him, scowling as your laughter filled the room, and the pair of you made your way back over to the table. “You two are the worst.”

“You love us.”

“I don’t know why.” He mumbled, glancing at the clock, even as his cheeks stretched into a smile. “I have to go soon. But how about I make you both a snack before I do? I can at least make a good sandwich.”

“That’s… everything.” You mumble, staring in awe at the two —almost three, filled folders of notes, invitations, floor plans and more. “I can’t believe that’s it.”

“It is?” Draco asked, through a mouthful of fried rice as he fixated on the screen. Since Mattheo’s introduction of a Muggle television into the flat, Draco had been hooked on a ‘sitcom’ a half-blood in one of his classes had introduced him to. He had written to Theo three times this week alone to update him on ��Ross and Rachel’. Theo had given up replying last week.

“Yes. Everything, it’s all done.”

“Mhm.”

“Draco!” You snapped, and he paused the show, wide eyes moving to you as he stared innocently. “I’m done.”

It took him a moment to process before his face split into a wide grin. “You finished the party planning?”

“I did!” He put down his container of food as you dove across the couch to cup his cheeks, smacking giggly kisses onto his mouth as you took him down into the cushions with you. Large hands gripped your waist, a smile on his face as he chuckled by your ear.

“So, does this mean I get my girlfriend back, at last?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You rolled your eyes through a smile, flattening yourself out against him on the couch, content to melt into his body as he pressed play on the show. He picked up a new box, hand-feeding you dumplings in turns as the episode played on, and you chuckled between jokes and comedic pauses as you finally allowed yourself to unwind. 

“Don’t you think Pansy is just like Monica?” Draco asked after a while, wincing as you screeched a laugh beside his ear at the impromptu comparison. “The need to control, that inherently irritating early-morning mentality, looking shockingly good in red—”

You pinched his side, just over his ribs, and he yelped but did not continue comparing how good other women looked in red. After a second or two of deliberation, you added, “Tom is Ross.”

“What? No. Tom is Chandler! Tom is smart and ridiculously awkward and incapable of talking to women!” Draco argued, and you sat up in his lap, shaking your head. 

“No! No. Tom is Ross, the complete obsession with one specific thing and also being a massive control freak, plus, the commitment! He was adorably committed to Carol, and Rachel, bar that whole cheating moment—”

“They were on a break—” You pressed your finger over Draco’s lips to silence him. 

“Anyway, I can totally see Tom accidentally getting someone knocked up, and also, you have to save Joey and Chandler for Theo and Matty!”

Draco mulled it over, “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

He pulled you back down onto his chest, and you snuggled in. Between the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the dulled tones of the easy-going TV show to send you off into a hazy place, with Draco’s fingers smoothing up and down your back. 

“You look perfect.” You smiled, hands clasped under your chin as you looked at Draco in his newly fitted dress robes. This was the first time he was seeing them, the look on his face unreadable as he took in the design, fit and patterns, but you thought it was just right. “Do you like it?”

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again, straightening out the sleeves and buttoning the rather modern front, tucking one hand into a pocket. At last, he turned to you and smiled. “Well, it’s nothing like what my mother normally makes me wear, but I love it. Are you finally going to tell me the theme?”

“No! You said you didn’t want to give any opinions, so now, it’s a surprise! Nobody knows, except me!” Smoothing your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you admired the pretty picture he painted before you, even in the dim light of your bedroom so late at night. “I have a couple of handkerchief options for your pocket, and I was thinking we could pin a sprig of holly onto your—”

Your words died in your throat in a sudden rush as a thought crossed your mind, and Draco waited, brow furrowing the longer you remained silent. “What’s wrong, you don’t like it?”

“I forgot a dress.” You whispered to yourself, shock draining from your body as realisation set in. “I got so caught up with everything else that I never ordered a dress! It’s next week, Draco! How am I supposed to find something by then, between classes and—”

“You’re okay.”

“No, this is so not okay!”

“Darling, breathe.” Draco cupped your face, kissing your lips quietly, “I have something for you.”

Opening up the wardrobe dedicated to his clothes, Draco pulled out a garment bag. Embroidered on the front in sparkling gold was the name of his family tailor, and he hooked it onto the front of the door. Unzipping it slowly, beautiful waves of green silk and jewels filled your vision, a sparkling corset and a flowing skirt that spilled out of the bag the moment it was open. 

“I noticed a few days ago that you’d ordered me new robes, but not a dress for yourself. I asked my mother and Daphne, and you hadn't planned anything with either of them. So, I ordered you something.”

“Oh, Dray…” You whispered, stepping closer to admire the dress. Your fingers hovered just over the top of it, and Draco carefully lifted it out, laying it over his arm for you to better admire. “It’s perfect. How in Merlin’s name did you know?”

“Well, red, green and gold were some of the specified colours on the invitations, and I knew damn well you weren’t going to dare dress me in red, so green it was. Plus, I mentioned to my tailor that I needed a dress for you that matched whatever secret outfit you had planned for me.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, and your cheeks flushed as you looked between him and the dress. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good, because I already picked up some jewellery for you too.” You quirked a brow, smirking at him as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t have you pulling the same nonsense you did last year, so I fetched a couple of items from the vault.”

“Can I see?”

“No. It’s a surprise. Unless, of course, there’s anything you want to tell me?” He bargained, and your jaw dropped at his audacity, shaking your head. 

“I love you?”

“Hm. No. But I love you too.” Kissing the tip of your nose, he held the dress up for you. “Try this on, I want to see you in it, and see us both side by side.” 

Taking it from his hands, the soft material slipped through your fingers and floated like clouds as you held it up. “Draco, I…”

Words died in your throat, unable to properly convey just how much this meant to you. Despite his refusal to get involved with the ridiculously stressful planning of the party, Draco had made sure to dote on you and take care of you all the way through. He seemed to see right through you, his expression softening as he leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “Hey. You take care of everyone else, and I’ll take care of you.”

Straightening out Draco’s collar for the eighth time, you huffed anxiously when he batted away your hands. “Darling, my robes are fine. Tug on them anymore and you’re going to crease them.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”

“Don’t be. You planned a perfect party, and you worked so hard. Let yourself enjoy it now.” Draco took both of your hands in his as he chuckled, kissing your knuckles as you conceded to his point. He was right, this ridiculous batch of nerves was far more out of a need to impress his mother than it was to impress anyone else on that invitation list, but you couldn't shake the buzz of trepidation in your veins. “Let me distract you.”

“Distract me?”

“Yes. Let me distract you.” Draco grinned, tipping your chin up with a finger underneath your jaw, and dipping his head down. His lips encased your own, a soft sound of pleasure bubbling from inside you as the taste of mint and lingering wine from his drinks with Theo spread to your tongue. Two large hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your lower back. He tugged you closer to him again, until you were crushed to his chest, no doubt wrinkling his robes, as your arms looped around his neck. 

With every crush of his mouth against your own, your worries slipped further from you, letting the proximity and adoration of your boyfriend settle the unease brewing within you. Something cold brushed against your collarbones, the dipped neckline of the dress Draco had chosen for you showed goosebumps in its wake, and you pulled back with a gasp at a tug on your earlobe. 

You raised your hand, a simple but elegant charmed bracelet was wrapping itself around your wrist, as your fingers brushed your sternum to feel the pendant of a necklace perfectly setting itself on your chest. In your ears, a string of diamonds now swung lightly from each one, completing your look at last. 

“Perfect. Now you’re properly adorned, as Malfoy woman should be.”

“Don’t tell me this necklace is your family crest like a brand.” You teased, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger, but only the precise cuts of a perfectly-carved gem were felt beneath your finger pads, not a name or brand to be found. 

“Well, I was tempted, but no. I went a little subtler, instead, I chose a very recognisable piece from the Malfoy public collections.”

His smirk made a flush rush to your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to address it before one of the Manor’s house elves popped into the empty space before you, curling a finger around its ear as it bobbed excitedly where it stood. “Misses first guests be arriving, the floo has been opened and the guest’s carriages be coming through the gates. Does miss or sirs be needing anything else, or should Fip be starting pouring the drinks?”

“Pouring drinks would be excellent, thank you, Fip.” Draco murmured, sending the elf away with one final pat on your back as he stepped away, Draco smoothed a hand down the front of his robes. With the mere wave of a hand, the large wooden doors separating you both from the grand hall began to creak open, and Draco offered you an arm. “Shall we greet our guests, my love? I’m rather excited to see your party theme at last.”

You slid your arm through his, taking one more bracing deep breath, before at last turning to see the culmination of all your hard work. 

As the doors parted further, you were left breathless at the sight of the room before you. It had been transformed, from something you’d seen so many times before in so many luxurious visions, to the dream of your own making. The enchanted ceiling was that of swirling clouds and a dark, starry sky. Snow that could pass for real floated around the outside of the room in glittering flakes that disappeared into thin air before touching the floor, creating a wintery setting that was countered by the cosy and warm feel of the crackling fireplaces around the room. 

Floating around the dance floor were sparkling, swirling lights that would bob and weave between the guests, keeping the lighting low and romantic as candles flickered on the tables and gave the room a wonderfully golden glow. Tablecloths brushing the floors, centrepieces made of golden flowers, wreaths and holly berries. Snow-touched Christmas trees, twinkling lights and ornaments, red ribbons, green silk, accents of gold and silver, and it all came together so perfectly. Draco walked you slowly towards the centre of the room as he took it all in, his jaw dropped as he peered around the room. 

“Well, we’ve certainly never had anything like this before.” He whispered. “It feels so… cosy.”

“Do you think they’ll—”

‘Who cares what they think? Do you like it?” Draco pressed, cutting you off as the two of you stood squarely in the centre of the room, the spelled instruments in the corner starting to play classical versions of your favourite Christmas songs, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Are you happy with it, my darling?”

“I love it.” You finally relented, pressing your lips together to quash nerves and choosing instead to revel in your masterpiece. “I wanted to tap into that old-fashioned, classical, comforting Christmas. I wanted to make my mark, I wanted something beautiful but simple, I wanted it to feel like an intimate gathering, not a social event.”

The doors at the other end of the hall opened slowly, voices from the other side filtering through, and your attention turned to that of your friends and their families. Theo whistled under his breath as he looked around, stopping abruptly at his father’s command, and he rolled his eyes when the older man wasn’t looking. Across the room, he caught your gaze, and gave an approving nod and a smirk. Pansy’s lips were curled into a smile as Daphne’s jaw dropped, admiring the enchanted sky-scene with her sister. 

You moved to greet them, accepting their approval and using the warmth their comfort offered to soothe the jagged feelings inside of you and put them to rest. 

The more the crowds piled in, the better you felt, slipping into polite chatter and breezy small talk as you greeted each guest to pass through. The drinks were flowing, the music was playing, and most of all, people were smiling. You’d only heard compliments, no whispered talk under anyone's breath of backhanded compliments, only genuine kindness. 

By the time Narcissa and Lucius came gliding into the hall, you’d almost been reassured enough to let your guard down. However, as the regal older lady greeted all her old friends and favoured guests on her way to you, the nerves all seemed to reappear. 

By the time she reached you, her hands had extended out and clutched your own as she smiled. “My, my, dear. What a party you threw, and to think you’ve been so worried. You had no need to be.”

Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. “I-I wouldn't say worried, just a little concerned, that’s all—”

“Please, let us not hide things from one another. Draco has been writing to me, he told me you were panicking like a, what was that odd Muggle term you used, like a headless chicken?” Her nose wrinkled as you blushed, and Lucius rolled his eyes. Your glare turned to Draco, who only shrugged and sipped his drink, feigning innocence. “This is a marvellous party, I hope you’re proud of it.”

“I am. It was exhausting, though. I don’t know how you do it.” You sighed, and she smirked as she squeezed your hands before letting go. 

“Did it.”

“Hm?” You questioned, and her shoulders rose and fell delicately. 

“Oh, you did such a fantastic job here. You’re all anyone is talking about, and truly, I am so tired of planning these events. I think it’s due time you take over them now. The next one is February, I’ll be sure to send you all of the details.” Your jaw dropped open at her words and Draco choked a little on his champagne. His father scowled, poking him in the ribs with his cane and telling him to stop slouching and spluttering, as you tried to find words. 

“Oh, I’m not sure that—”

“Lucius, dear, I think I see Tauria Parkinson. Come, I must ask her about her gardens.” 

“Yes, dear.” He mumbled quietly, and she had whisked her husband away before you’d even finished your sentence and turned to Draco. With your jaw still dropped in horror and shock, he covered his snicker behind his hand. 

“I can’t believe this.”

“What? She’s right. You planned a great party, and you were going to have to take over all of this one day anyway—”

“Draco!”

“Yes, dear?” He drawled, and you smacked lightly at his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re a menace. I hope you know that you will be helping with party planning. If we’re to proceed down this road, we’ll be a modern couple. None of your old-fashioned ways.” You scoffed, taking his drink from his hand and swirling the bubbly inside, before drinking the rest in a single gulp.

“None of them?” He pressed, an arm snaking around your waist as his lips brushed your neck. His lips moved to your neck, whispering some sweet, some slightly inappropriate things into your ear about honeymoon traditions, drawing a laugh from you. 

“Alright, maybe a few.” You caved, tipping your head up to him just in time to catch the growing sprig of mistletoe over your head. Snaking one hand around to cup the back of his neck, you pulled his lips down to yours, brushing your mouths together lovingly. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

[covenofagatha]

Masterlist

*Minors DNI*

AO3

Agatha Harkness x reader

Nicky's mom has got it going on (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Birthday girl (NSFW)

My fair lady (NSFW)

A helping hand (NSFW)

Sweet dreams (NSFW)

Stepmom!Agatha

But you're my stepmom! (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Do I wanna know? (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Bad day (NSFW)

A gala to remember (NSFW)

Nurtured desires (NSFW)

Home is where the heart is

A lesson in jealousy (Part 1) (NSFW), Part 2 (NSFW)

Knocked up and turned on (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Swimming into her arms (NSFW), Part 2 (NSFW)

Forgive me, Father (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Cherry cola (NSFW)

What makes you beautiful (NSFW)

That's When (NSFW)

Taking care of business (NSFW)

What's your fantasy? (NSFW)

'tis the damn season (NSFW)

Hands-on care (NSFW)

Glitter on the floor (NSFW)

Learning to focus (NSFW), Part 2 (NSFW)

The power she holds (NSFW)

Sex Ed (NSFW), Part 2(NSFW)

Going up (NSFW)

Under her knife (NSFW)

Baby, you're a star (NSFW)

The hustle (NSFW)

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)(Masterlist) (NSFW)

Touchdowns and teasing (NSFW)

Psychology Prof!Agatha thoughts (NSFW)

Practice makes perfect (NSFW), Part 2 (NSFW), Part 3 (NSFW)

Finger Free February headcanons (NSFW)

No Nut November headcanons (NSFW)

A different kind of workout (NSFW)

Hexed Hearts (Masterlist) (NSFW)

The Psychology of Love (Masterlist) (NSFW)

First time giving Agatha a blowjob (NSFW)

Ice cream dream (NSFW)

Ghost Agatha thoughts (NSFW)

Some relief (NSFW)

Sex therapy (NSFW)

A New Addiction (NSFW)

So It Goes (NSFW)

Agnes x reader

I'm a good girl, Detective (Masterlist) (NSFW)

(Not so) Good girl, bad cop (NSFW)

Only say my name (NSFW)

Summer Starts With You (NSFW)

Agnes x reader age gap headcanons (NSFW)

Agathario x reader

Two professors and a student (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Chains for your love (NSFW)

The Witch, Lady Death, and their pet

A dance with death (and her wife) (Masterlist) (NSFW)

All that's left to burn (Masterlist) (NSFW)

Two is better than one (NSFW)

You'll Taste Me Too (NSFW)

Jennifer Barkley x reader

The Mile High Club (NSFW)

Rio Vidal x reader

The games we play (NSFW)

Harmony Cobel x reader

The Break Room (NSFW)

Ann Perkins x April Ludgate

I Could Be A Better Boyfriend Than Him (NSFW)

[cheralith]

APARTMENT 345 — EP ONE : APPLES

feat. karasu, otoya, yukimiya || wc: 3.6k synopsis: moving into a new apartment with three men isn't exactly the most easy feat, but you think there's something quite unusual about your new roommates that makes life seem a little more fun. (prequel) ↳ episode synopsis: you suspect that one of your roommates has it out for you, making things a little more than awkward when you and him have a day off together. contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, roommates au, modern au, fluff, misunderstandings, an attempt at crack (pls laugh), aged-up characters (20s), pov switches, more of a focus on karasu in this series masterlist ☚ previous next ☛

You think your roommates are weird.

Not weird in a bad sense, but just... odd.

Their dynamic with each other is especially a little peculiar, considering none of them act the same way with one another, their personalities always twisting just a bit when interacting with the other roommate. But it's still clear there's this unspoken harmony between the three of them that upholds the peace in the loft. You just struggle to fit yourself in it to help the foundation of it all—as it's clear you're not a part of their little circle. At least not yet.

Yukimiya is by far the most normal one out of the trio and perhaps the one you've talked to the most.

A true gentleman at heart, he's always the first to greet you in the morning as you sleepily daze into the kitchen, a steaming black coffee at the ready in your cup for customization. You come home later than the others, but he'll always save some leftovers for you in the fridge for you to munch on, your name written in neat handwriting with a smiley face adorning glasses on an orange post-it plastered on the container.

You blame it on not really knowing each other that well, but you find he's the most docile with you. Him, Karasu, and Otoya have known each other since their high school days, so it's quite normal of them to bicker childishly with each other, but when it comes to you, you always see a rather gentle smile on his face. You think it looks a little fake, though, as if it's there by default.

Otoya is humorous by nature. He's funny without trying, without having to crack a smile from himself. In fact, you rarely ever see him smile, just always has a sleepy look to his face as he says the oddest things known to mankind and is often the starter to meaningless conversations.

"I feel like we should domesticate bears," he had said one time out of the blue. "I think they're too cute to not be pets."

"They'd bite yer head off an instant, dumbass," Karasu told him as he flipped a page in his magazine, to which Otoya nonchalantly shrugged.

"If it means I can pet them, then I'd take the risk," he said simply stated before stalking off to his room that always smells just a little bit fruity and sweet (It didn't take you long to figure out whose Pineapple Ice Lost Mary was on the kitchen island).

He wears weird t-shirts too. Aside from the "I ♡ MILFS" shirt you saw when you first met each other, some of your other personal favorites include his firetruck red shirt that simply reads "i have a bomb." in plain black Arial font and his beige long-sleeve that displayed a cartoon cat yelling "Chicken Parmesan!" in a graphic speech bubble. Clearly wearing them with no shame, you ask Otoya where he gets such... unique... t-shirts, to which the latter replied,

"Goodwill."

Karasu is the one roommate you haven't cracked fully yet. By far, he's the weirdest.

Even though he was the first person you had met when you were first being interviewed, he tends to keep to himself. Something in your gut says that he's staying away from you, purposely keeping himself at arm's length. He's still cordial, but unlike the other two, he doesn't really seem to spare much words with you. The most he'll usually do is just remind you that it's garbage day, but other than that, he rarely ever speaks more than sentence to you on the weekly.

Because of such, you think you have to walk on eggshells around him, always apprehensive that you'll make one wrong move that'll for sure root a dislike towards you with him when it's clear he doesn't really seem to favor you all that much. He'll give a nod of acknowledgement at you if you pass each other in the halls and will ask if he can borrow a charger, but nothing more personal. You figure that might be best—it's better to have a roommate who barely knows who you are but exist with you peacefully instead of a roommate who constantly butts heads with you.

So when you finally have a day to yourself that just so happens to coincide with Karasu's, you are nothing less of tense.

And to think you were going to spend the day finishing up on your soap opera with your pals Ben and Jerry! You were looking forward to having the loft to yourself, so when you see Karasu lounging on the couch and watching a soccer match, your stomach plummets. Otoya gets home at around 5:00pm, while Yukimiya gets home at around 6:30pm, meaning you'll be stuck with Karasu for at least a full seven hours.

Karasu notices you as you walk out of the hallway, turning his head towards you when you come into view. You freeze suddenly, body going rigid as his deep navy eyes bore into you.

Your surprise still lingers in your body, even as you open your mouth to try and greet him, but nothing comes out.

A brow raises from him. "Hi...?"

"Oh! Uh," you twitch, trying to recompose yourself. "Good morning—!"

"Mornin'," he quietly greets back after a confused moment of silence at your reaction.

When you stiffly shuffle towards the kitchen, you want to crumble and whine. Back still facing your roommate as you pour yourself a cup of coffee, you ask, "You don't have work today?"

"Nah," Karasu says boredly, "Boss took an early vacation, so everyone got the day off today."

"A-ah, I see," you quietly reply back with a thick tongue. Fighting the urge to wail aloud at the fact you'll be sharing a space with the one roommate that seems a little too far from your reach, you escape back to your room with your breakfast, not really wanting to be around him.

You were planning to do so much today! Clean up the loft, do some stretching on the balcony to catch some sunlight, cook up some meals in the open kitchen, but of course your luck doesn't bestow upon you today, as doing all of those would mean Karasu would be in your vicinity.

The mattress creaks when you miserably land on top of it, pillow soaking in your whines and sighs. You suppose your room will have to suffice.

On the other side of the wall, Karasu swiftly pulls out his phone, head clamoring with thoughts and questions as he opens up the "alvin & the chipmunks" groupchat in his contacts.

karasu (10:34) : eita —otoya (10:36) : wat karasu (10:36) : u told me her day off was next week friday —otoya (10:38) : ya, the last friday of the month —yukimiya (10:39) : Check your calendar, Eita karasu (10:39) : yea exactly. it's today u fucking buffoon —otoya (10:39) : wait fr —otoya (10:39) : fackkk im late on my credit payment again

Karasu smacks his hand to his forehead, cursing Otoya under his breath. Of course he misread the dates. Now he's stuck here with you for the next few hours and he doesn't quite know what to do.

—otoya (10:42) : idk what ur deal is shes nice —yukimiya (10:42) : Agreed. I think you just need to talk to her karasu (10:43) : u guys dont get it —yukimiya (10:45) : Why? Does she make you nervous?

A dry swallow passes through Karasu's sandy throat as he reads Yukimiya's text. Even though it was quite a loud secret, Karasu couldn't deny the fact you did, in fact, make him somewhat on edge. But not for the reason you think.

It wasn't his fault. He didn't expect you to be so attractive in real life given that your contact information's profile picture was simply just your first initial. How was he supposed to act when such a pretty thing is around him at nearly all times? He's never been very good with women the way his roommates are. Terrified of making an accidental wrong move, Karasu distanced himself away from you, trying to make himself scarce in fear of doing so.

He groans before typing his reply back.

karasu (10:47) : no

Otoya replies back in an instant, and Karasu thinks he should put hair removal cream in his shampoo at his response.

—otoya (10:47) : liar lmfaooo bet someones got a crush uwu

He grits his teeth, trying to fight the blush that he can feel creeping on his cheeks.

karasu (10:47) : stfu moron karasu (10:48) : as if u weren't making goo goo eyes at her yesterday morning —otoya (10:48) : not my fault! —otoya (10:48) : theres just sumn abt a cute girl in a large tshirt and short shorts... 🤔 really makes u think... karasu (10:49) : bro thinks hes aristotle —yukimiya (10:50) : Please stay respectful

Yukimiya then texts something that makes Karasu's brain fizz out ever so slightly. He frowns.

—yukimiya (10:50) : Tabito, why don't you take this time to do something with her to get to know her? To help break the ice —otoya (10:50) : yaaa like yk how me and her went to that flea market together —yukimiya (10:51) : Yes exactly. Or how she and I visited that pop-up shop down on 5th

As much as he'd hate to admit it, Yukimiya did have a point. You got along with the other two men just fine, even having the ability to crack teasing jokes with them without a misunderstanding flying about. But he knew if he even tried to do something of such with you, if you took it the wrong way, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

karasu (10:55) : idk —yukimiya (10:56) : It doesn't have to be extravagant. Just something casual —otoya (10:59) : ye like what chappell roan says🫡 —yukimiya (10:59) : That's not what that song is about —otoya (10:59) : oh...

Karasu shuffles his phone to the side and settles woefully into the couch. He shifts his eyes to your closed door, where he knows you're in probably not giving him the time of day.

On the other hand, you're wallowing in your misery still, trying to think of what to do that escapes Karasu's radius around you. Perhaps you should go to a museum? Or maybe try out that new pottery place down the block.

You opt for going to the grocery store, thinking that be a good distraction and would allow you to get some fresh air. Maybe you should try out that pasta recipe you've been seeing all over social media nowadays.

You launch up in your bed, determined to make this day about yourself and not to allow yourself just simply mope around in your room as you march towards the door. Hand grasping the doorknob, you fling it open, ready to clean yourself up in the bathroom but instead find yourself facing Karasu, who has a hand up that was clearly ready to knock on your door.

You jump back. "Oh! Hi there!"

"Ah," Karasu slowly puts his fist down, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. Didn't mean t'startle ya."

"No, you're fine," you choke out, wondering what business Karasu may have that landed him at your door. "Did... did you need something?"

You wince at your tone, since it comes out a little sharper than you intended. Karasu seems to have noticed it, seeing as how he thins his lips ever so slightly.

"Uh... well," he starts slowly. "Was just wonderin' if you needed anythin' from the store. I'm 'bout to head down there to do some shoppin'."

You blink owlishly at his comment before giving a stiff, brief chuckle. "What a coincidence," you mention, "I was actually gonna go there myself in a few."

You think of this as your chance to perhaps finally get some breathing space for yourself. An elation fills yourself at the thought, and you begin to conjure up your list to give him, but then he says something that brings the former feeling of tension back into you, heaving you down like sand.

Karasu juts his hands in his pockets, turning to directly face you, his red ears hidden from view from you, curtained by his dark hair.

"Well, if that's the case," he begins all too nonchalantly, going to share your gaze. "D'ya want to tag along?"

And now you're here, side-by-side in a semi-crowded market with the one roommate who you don't even know the age of.

Something in your common sense attempts to get the thought of he doesn't actually hate you through your head. But you still can't help the fact that every time you brush against him, when he looks at you, you think he's sending you a warning.

In Karasu's eyes, however, when he scanned the area of the market, he notices that it's quite busy, so he understands that there'll probably be some times where you just accidentally bump into him to avoid running into others, his eyes flickering to you each to just make sure you're okay.

"Jeez, this much for apples?" you exasperate as you put down the bag of the fruit.

Karasu looks over your shoulder, his cologne suddenly filling your senses. Sweet... you think, yet woody. A slight hint of sage, perhaps?

"Yer better off just gettin' the individual ones," he points out and juts his thumb behind him, breaking you out of your trance. "Y'can get the same amount for cheaper by a buck or so."

"Oh, really?" you perk up and whip your head around to view how much the individually stacked apples were, but before you can process it, you spin around too fast and twist over your own feet.

An elderly woman on a motorized shopping cart is just a few feet shy away from you, and you brace for impact from running into it, but you feel a yank of your arm tug you back just in time.

"Woah there," Karasu is quick to pull you in close to his chest, letting the elderly woman glide by without another care in the world. "Don't get too hasty now."

You feel heat skitter over your face, embarrassed at the fact that you can't even move your own limbs properly around him. You should've just stayed back home, sighing internally at how impulsive you could get. To think you could withstand an entire shopping trip with your roommate that you think stays away from you when you couldn't even stand being in the same room as him!

You mumble an apology, Karasu's cologne wavering about you again in an attempt to calm down.

He suddenly lets out a deep chuckle, the vibration of it thundering from his chest. You lift you chin up to see him... smiling? And it isn't one of those stiff ones that he often gives you nor the smirk he'd throw at Otoya or Yukimiya, it's a genuine one, one that shows his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle.

"Didn't think someone could get so excited 'bout mere apples," he remarks with a grin.

An incredulous stare glazes over your eyes, a lighter feeling in your chest suddenly gracing upon it.

Karasu takes notice of your staring and freezes. A dread leaks itself within his body, making him go rigid all of a sudden. Oh, he's really done it now. He can't go making such teasing jokes around you like you were Otoya or Yukimiya. You're not a guy either, it's not polite to be making such jokes around a girl barely knows.

An apology attempts to conjure in his tightened throat, but it dissolves the moment that he sees you break out into a smile yourself.

"Sorry," you breathe through a breezy laugh. "Economy's so bad nowadays that any good deal will get me reeling, y'know?"

Karasu's eyes soften when he spots your relaxed smile, one he's seen in passing but never to him, until now. And when you adorn it towards him and him only, he can't help but feel a fluttering feeling in his chest.

Yukimiya's words echo in his head. Break the ice.

"If that's the case," Karasu starts slowly. "The weather's gettin' peachy now. There's an actual farmer's market openin' soon downtown, and they sell their stuff for way cheaper than this crap."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to avert his gaze away from your curious, awaiting one. He thinks those doe eyes could definitely beat a puppy's any day.

His breath hitches, confidence slowly building and falling as the seconds tick by.

Just break the ice.

"Would..." he coughs, clearing his throat. "W-would y'wanna go there with me... to check it out... next Saturday...?"

Karasu dares to turn his eyes back to you, where he finds you fondly smiling at him, assurance all over your features.

"I'd quite like that," you reply warmly.

The chicken plops into the pan with a hearty splat. Karasu winces.

"Shoot," he mutters, feeling a bit of the orange sauce flickering onto himself. "Didn't mean t'drop it that hard... did it get on ya?"

"A little bit," you laugh as you scoop up a bit of it from your arm and tasting it. Karasu looks for a sign of approval on your end to see if the pasta sauce is good on your favor and sighs when you nod contently. "Mm. Not bad."

The door to the loft clicks open and you avert your gaze to it after you sprinkle some salt into the boiling pot of water. In comes Yukimiya and Otoya, chattering about.

"Hi there," you greet, waving a hand.

Yukimiya is first to notice you both, surprise on his features when he sees his two roommates that had barely seemed to acknowledge each other since your move-in standing next to each other in the kitchen, cooking out of all things.

It's a domestic scene, one he thinks that you and Karasu would only accomplish in a year's-time or so given the current atmosphere. So it comes to a pleasant shock to him that the bull-headed Karasu actually took his advice for once and broke the ice by himself like a big boy.

"Smells good," Otoya hums contently and spots you and Karasu after Yukimiya. "Whatcha both cookin'? And can I have some?"

Otoya peers over Karasu's shoulder, the latter lightly shoving him back before Otoya can dip his dirty finger into the sauce. "Hold it, ya idjit. We're nearly done, relax."

"If you're able to actually, Otoya," you call over and jut your head towards the oven. "The garlic bread should be done by now. Would you mind taking it out so it can cool?"

"Can I get a piece?" Otoya asks, cheering under his breath when you nod as you roll your eyes.

Yukimiya watches as your pour in some pasta into the pot, noticing the way Karasu whistles haughtily as you laugh when the water violently bubbles.

"Ah, is this the marry-me chicken pasta I told you about the other day?" he asks, fighting a disappointment the builds when he acknowledges that he wasn't the one that got to cook it with you but rather Karasu, despite you and him have built a weekly-habit of cooking with one another.

"Yep!" you chime happily without a care in the world.

"I still think that the sauce is missin' somethin'," Karasu mutters. "Like there's not enough zing."

You peer over to him and take a little bit of the spare lemon leftover, squeezing a bit of it over the sauce and chicken. You take a spare spoon and sipping a bit of it. You then bring the spoon and its leftovers to Karasu's lips absentmindedly for him to try. "How's that?"

He pauses for a minute, breath hitching as you bring the same spoon that your lips touched for his to as well. He stutters but goes to lean in anyway, slurping it and tasting that tang that was missing.

Otoya's eyes narrow slightly as he places down the platter of bread.

Yukimiya's lips pull into a small frown.

You blink up at him. "Is that okay? I just added some more lemon."

"Yeah," Karasu breathes as steadily as he can muster. "yeah, it's good. Thanks."

"(Y/N)," Yukimiya announces aloud suddenly, averting your gaze to the brunette. He fixes on his usual demure smile on his face the moment you spotlight him. "Remember that new cafe that was being built around the corner? Turns out they're opening next weekend, d'you want to come with me?"

"Ah..." Otoya mutters lowly as he crunches on a piece of bread. "Why are you only inviting her?"

"I thought you guys don't like coffee," Yukimiya says casually, lips still fixed ever so lightly, but Otoya can tell there's a mild mockery behind that pretty face of his.

"I guess so," the latter says, sighing. "But... there's also the record shop also has its monthly 50% off sale on Saturday, remember, (Y/N)?"

Otoya's eyes go to glance at the record player you placed in the living room for decoration, yours and Otoya's collection of records piling up beneath it, your music tastes being one the things that you were able to break the ice with Otoya about. "I spotted that record you were talking about the other day, pretty sure it'll be a part of the sale if we can go next week."

A small bit of pity grazes on your face as you guiltily look back on the both of them from the kitchen island. Karasu fights the urge to smirk when he turns over the chicken in the pan, already knowing what you're going to say to them.

You scratch your cheek, smiling a little sadly at the two of them.

"I'm sorry guys, I'd love to go but," you wave a hand towards Karasu, who gives into temptation and throws a sly smile over his shoulder from behind you that makes the men you face frown and purse their lips. "Karasu and I have plans already that day to go to the opening of the farmer’s market..."

☚ previous next ☛

a/n. my re-run of new girl has inspired new heights it seems. also don't talk to me if u dont think otoya would vape bc ik that mf would hit a geek bar any time of the day /j (don't follow his example tho. keep them lungs clean, kids)

sorry that this was more focused on karasu than all three of them, but i prommy yukki and otoya will get their spotlight next time i write abt them (which will be soon hopefully! im having fun with this au)

thank you for reading as always! comments and reblogs are the best way to support your writers; they're always appreciated and never unnoticed <3

[ticifics]

The Return

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..." "Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

Warnings: angst, hurt, reconciliation, sensitive topics, mention of betrayal (not consummated), rebuilding trust, intense and emotional dialogues

A/N: anon, I hope I do justice to your request - I hope you enjoy reading <333

The train moved through the vast whiteness, cutting through the snow like a pioneer in unknown lands. The rhythmic sound of the wheels against the tracks filled the silence of the cabin as you gazed at the landscape through the window. Snowflakes gathered on the glass, creating ephemeral patterns that quickly disappeared with the warmth of the cabin. The winter was always harsh, but there was something poetically beautiful in the monotony of the icy horizon.

You pressed the small bundle of letters against your chest, feeling the rough paper in your hands. Alexei's words echoed in your mind, the familiar phrases you'd read and reread countless times over the past three months. "I hope the snow is gentle with you," he had written in the last letter. "Natasha misses you, and so do I. Come back to us soon."

Alexei's handwriting had always been precise, almost meticulous, but it seemed to have lost something. Perhaps a fluidity, or the warmth with which he used to end each message with affectionate declarations. Not that he had been cold; far from it. But there was a restraint in the words, as if he were trying to hide something. You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away. There was no room for doubt. Alexei was your husband, and your nearly three years together had been surprisingly harmonious for an arranged marriage. You had built something real, something that seemed unshakable.

The longing tightened like a knot in your chest. It was almost impossible to be away from Natasha, your daughter, who was under two years old and already the light of your days. You could imagine her now, perhaps playing with the blonde curls she had inherited from Alexei or dragging some toy across the floor of the hall. Alexei would surely be close by, attentive, although not the type to show excessive affection. He had a magnetic calm, a charisma that drew looks and trust from everyone around him.

You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering his face. The sharp features, the hair he always kept immaculate, but which seemed to rebel against control in the most intimate moments. His eyes, as clear as ice melting under the sun, held a depth that disarmed anyone who looked at them long enough. And yet, there was gentleness there, a softness he reserved only for you and Natasha.

The train made a turn, shaking lightly. You held your purse at your side and glanced at the clock. Only a few hours remained until you reached the station, and the thought quickened your heartbeat. What would the reunion be like? You felt your hands anxious, the words you might say to him forming and dissipating in your mind.

You opened the last letter again, your eyes following the familiar words. "The house is emptier without you. Natasha calls for you every night. I’ve been distracting myself with... events, but it’s not enough. Please come back to us soon." Something in the sentence felt hesitant, as though there was more he hadn’t said. But before you could reflect further, the train gave a final jolt, announcing the approach of the destination.

You took a deep breath, putting the letter away and straightening your posture. Soon, very soon, you would be home.

The station was alive with the sound of carriage wheels on the pavement, hurried footsteps, and voices muffled by the steam of the trains coming and going. The air was heavy with the smell of burning coal and the biting cold of winter. You gripped your suitcase tightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you stepped off the train. It had been almost three months away from home, away from him, away from Natasha.

Your gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar figure. Men in top hats and heavy coats hurried past, women wrapped in shawls shielded their faces from the cold, but it wasn’t any of them you were looking for. Then, you saw him.

Alexei stood near a cast-iron column, his imposing stature setting him apart from the chaos around him. He wore a dark gray overcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a black hat partially shaded his face. But it was impossible not to recognize those eyes—clear as ice in the sun, watching you with intensity, as though the world had stopped.

You paused for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to believe that you were finally here. He took a step forward, removing his hat with an elegant gesture, revealing his perfectly styled blonde hair, though a stubborn lock fell over his forehead. Time seemed to freeze around him, the bustling station blurring into an indistinct haze. All that remained was him.

"Alexei," you whispered, your voice choked with the emotion rising to the surface.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward you with long, determined strides, his face controlled, but his eyes betraying a storm of feelings. When he stopped just inches from you, the silence between the two of you seemed to speak louder than any words.

"You’re back," he finally said, his deep voice heavy with something you couldn’t name. He seemed so calm, so restrained, but the way his eyes traced every line of your face, as if making sure you were real, betrayed how much he had missed you.

You let the suitcase fall to the ground and took a step toward him, unable to hold back. The distance between you vanished when you threw yourself into his arms, your fingers gripping the heavy fabric of his overcoat as you buried your face in his chest. He seemed stiff at first, as though the moment had caught him by surprise, but in seconds, his arms closed around you, strong, protective, as if he never wanted to let go.

"Alexei," you murmured again, the sound muffled against him. The words failed, but it didn’t matter. The way he held you, with an almost desperate firmness, said everything he couldn’t express.

He tilted his head, his face buried in your hair. You felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head, the subtle touch of his lips against your strands. "I was counting the days," he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. "Every damn day."

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes full of the tears you’d tried to hold back. "Me too. I counted them too, Alexei."

He raised one of his hands, his broad, strong fingers sliding along the side of your face, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped. "You’ve lost weight," he observed, concern evident in the softness of his voice. "But still beautiful." The corner of his lips curved into a brief smile, a shadow of the charisma you knew so well, but still devastating.

You laughed, even though the emotion still tightened your throat. "And you look... more tired. Is everything okay? And Natasha? Is she okay?"

"She misses you. We both do," he replied, the smile fading as seriousness returned to his face. "She’s at home, waiting for you. She kept looking at the door every day, asking when you’d come back."

Your heart squeezed at the words, at the image of your daughter so small and eager for your presence. "I need to see her," you said, the urgency growing.

"Let’s go home," Alexei said, effortlessly taking your suitcase and holding your hand with the other. "We’ve waited long enough."

As he guided you through the station, his hand firm on your back, you felt that despite the chaos around you, there was something solid in being next to him again. The connection between you both seemed to have withstood time and distance, but deep down in your heart, you still felt a shadow, something you couldn’t name. Something hiding in the corners of your thoughts and in the glances that Alexei, as loving as they were, couldn’t completely mask.

The carriage jolted gently as it moved through the icy streets of St. Petersburg. Outside, the sky was painted a dark gray, and the snow covered everything like a white blanket. Inside, warm and cozy, you couldn’t stop looking at Alexei. He was sitting beside you, one hand holding yours, his gaze fixed on the window as if he were lost in thought. The silence between you was only filled by the sound of the horses’ hooves on the road.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence, "what happened while I was gone? How is Natasha? Is she eating well? Is she sleeping properly? And you? Alexei, is everything okay?"

He turned his face slowly, his clear eyes landing on you with an intensity that almost made you shrink. "Natasha is fine," he replied, his voice low and controlled. "She missed you, but she’s strong. I... I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

"Of course I worry," you retorted, narrowing your eyes. "Three months, Alexei. Almost three months without seeing her. Without seeing you. Don’t tell me not to worry."

He sighed, his free hand rising to loosen his tie. "It was... a busy time," he admitted, looking away. "But now you’re here. That’s what matters."

Busy. The word hung in the air, heavy and vague. You studied him in silence, noticing small details that hadn’t been there before. The stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle dark circles under his eyes that the soft light of the carriage couldn’t quite hide, and something in his eyes – a shadow, a weight that seemed to have settled in during your absence.

"Busy how?" you insisted, feeling an increasing need to understand.

"Society matters," he said, evasive. "Ball after ball, endless appointments... nothing worth mentioning now. We’re almost home. Natasha’s waiting for you."

His words were like a barrier, a calculated response to end the subject. You wanted to insist, wanted to ask what exactly had been consuming him, but something in his tone – and maybe something in you – made you pull back. It wasn’t the time, not yet.

When the carriage finally stopped in front of your house, your heart raced. Alexei stepped down first, extending his hand to help you down, the gesture so natural and courteous it seemed like an extension of who he was. You accepted, stepping down carefully and looking at the familiar facade of the residence. Everything was the same, yet at the same time, something felt different.

Inside the house, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the scent of burning wood wrapped around you in a feeling of comfort. Your eyes scanned the space, searching for her – your daughter, your Natasha. And then you saw her.

She was in the arms of a nanny, sitting near the fireplace. Her blonde hair shimmered in the warm light of the fire, and her rosy cheeks were rounder than you remembered. She turned her head when she heard your steps and blinked, as if trying to confirm that it was really you.

"Natasha," you called, your voice thick.

The little girl blinked again before a wide smile lit up her face. "Mommy!" she cried, squirming in the nanny’s arms until she was placed on the floor.

You couldn’t wait. You knelt on the rug and opened your arms, barely believing you’d finally have her in your arms again. Natasha ran towards you with hurried, awkward steps, stumbling slightly but not stopping until she threw herself into you.

"My girl," you murmured, holding her against your chest and burying your face in her soft hair. She smelled of soap and something sweet, something you could only describe as her.

Natasha began to speak excitedly, her words tumbling over each other as she told you about things that, to her, were grand adventures – the new toys, the walks in the garden, the stories her father had told her before bed. You laughed and cried at the same time, absorbing every detail, every word, as if you needed to make up for all the lost time.

"You're so big now," you said, holding her face in your hands. "My big girl. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mommy," she replied, her words coming out a little jumbled, but still clear enough to warm your heart.

For a moment, you forgot everything – the station, the unanswered questions, the subtle changes in Alexei. All that mattered was the comforting weight of your daughter in your arms and the feeling of finally being where you were meant to be.

You lifted your eyes to Alexei, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene with an expression that was impossible to decipher. "We're together again," you said, your voice soft and full of emotion. "Finally together."

Something passed through his eyes, something that made him look away for a brief moment before he replied. "Yes," he said, but the word seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He took a step forward, kneeling beside you.

"Natasha," he called gently, and the little girl turned to him with a radiant smile. "Are you happy now? Mommy is home."

"Happy," Natasha replied, laughing and grabbing one of his hands while still holding yours.

The moment was perfect, almost. But the way Alexei looked at you – as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t – left a small shadow lingering over your heart. You pushed the thought aside, determined to enjoy the reunion. After all, you were home. With them.

Dinner went by in a mix of light conversations and moments of pure joy. Natasha, always chatty, monopolized much of the attention with her stories and childish laughter, and you could hardly contain your smile seeing her so excited. Sitting at the table with your family again felt like a balm for your heart, something you had longed for through endless weeks. Alexei, in turn, remained a bit quieter than usual, but still participated with occasional comments, always attentive, always directed to you or your daughter.

After dinner, you took on the task of putting Natasha to bed, refusing any help. It was a moment you wanted for yourself, a ritual you had missed so much during your absence. In the little one’s room, you dressed her in a soft cotton pajama, decorated with tiny flower designs, and sat by her bed while she snuggled under the covers.

"Sing to me, Mommy," Natasha asked, her sleepy eyes already blinking slowly.

"Of course, my little flower," you replied, stroking her hair before you began to sing a soft lullaby, one that your own mother used to sing to you.

When Natasha finally fell asleep, breathing softly against her pillow, you stayed for a few more minutes in the room, just watching her. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, and her little face, lit by the dim light of the lamp, seemed like the perfect picture of peace. Your heart filled with an almost overwhelming love, so intense that it was hard to put into words.

As you left the room, you made your way to the master bedroom. The house was quiet, and the hallways seemed bathed in a cozy dimness. When you opened the door, you found Alexei sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a glass of wine balanced in his hand. He had changed out of his formal dinner clothes into a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and lighter pants. His golden hair was a bit messy, as if he had run his fingers through it several times. The fire cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting his strong jawline and marked cheekbones.

You paused for a moment in the doorway, watching him without saying anything. He seemed lost in thought, his clear eyes fixed on the fire. There was something about him that always made him seem a bit younger and yet filled with a maturity that made him irresistible – a mix of vulnerability and strength that seemed uniquely his.

"You’re very thoughtful," you said, finally breaking the silence as you closed the door behind you.

Alexei lifted his eyes, and his expression softened when he saw you. "Just thinking about how much I missed you," he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You walked over to him, feeling the warmth of the fire as you drew closer. "Three months," you murmured, stopping beside the armchair. "It felt like an eternity."

He set his wine glass aside and reached out his hand, pulling you gently into his lap. You let yourself be guided, snuggling against him as his strong arms closed around you. His scent – a mix of wood and something subtly citrusy – was so familiar that it made your eyes close for a moment.

"You’ve lost weight," you said, a touch of concern in your voice as you traced your fingers along his collar. "Haven’t been eating well?"

"Do you think food tastes the same when you're not here?" Alexei replied, a slight smile curving his lips. He tilted his head, his clear eyes searching yours. "You’re the heart of this house. Nothing feels right without you."

His words, so simple and direct, made your heart race. You lifted one hand to touch his face, your fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "You have a way of saying things that completely unravels me, Alexei," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed to carry so much affection it almost hurt. "Just being honest," he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened, becoming more intense, filled with longing and need.

When his lips finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his warmth surrounding you completely. "Promise me you’ll never stay away for so long again," he asked, his tone more vulnerable than you were used to.

"I promise," you replied, feeling a lump form in your throat. "But you have to promise me something too."

Alexei tilted his head, his clear eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Anything," he said, his voice low and deep, filled with sincerity.

"If something is wrong, if something is weighing on you, I want you to tell me," you continued, holding his gaze. "We’re a team, Alexei. We always have been."

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watched you as if trying to memorize every detail of your expression. Then he slid one of his hands to your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the evident strength in his fingers.

"I promise," he murmured, but the way he said the words – slow and measured – suggested something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

Before you could respond, Alexei leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was a fusion of longing and need, filled with everything that had gone unsaid during the three months you had been apart. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he needed to prove to himself that you were there, real and present.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said against your lips, his voice rough and broken.

You closed your eyes, absorbing the warmth of his confession as your fingers slid into his hair, messing up the golden strands even more. "I know," you whispered, your heart tight with the weight of lost time. "I missed you too... everything about you."

Alexei didn’t respond with words. Instead, he rose from the armchair with you still in his arms and walked toward the bed. The movement was so natural, so full of intention, that you found yourself unable to look away from him.

"Three months," he murmured as he gently laid you down on the sheets, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. "It was the longest three months of my life."

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his strong jaw and the contour of his lips, now curved into an almost imperceptible smile. "Then let’s not waste another moment," you replied, your voice soft but filled with conviction.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Alexei leaned down, his lips finding yours again, but this time with a passion that was both raw and controlled. His hands explored every familiar curve, as if he needed to remember every part of you.

The night unfolded in a mix of whispers, touches, and moments of pure connection. He was gentle, as always, but there was a new intensity, something that spoke of lost time and how much he had longed for you. Every gesture, every word whispered in your ear seemed to carry the weight of everything you both hadn’t been able to express during the months of separation.

In the end, you found yourself nestled against his chest, your heart still racing while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. His breath was deep and steady, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax completely for the first time in months.

"Promise me you won’t leave again," he whispered, breaking the silence.

"I promise," you replied, your voice thick with exhaustion and the overwhelming love you felt for him.

And while the world outside continued with its concerns and challenges, there, in Alexei’s arms, you finally found the peace you had longed for.

The following days brought a routine that you embraced with more joy than you expected. After three months apart, every detail of life at home seemed more significant. The familiar scent of the freshly tended garden, the soft laughter of your daughter echoing through the halls, the sound of Alexei talking with the servants — all of it formed a comforting mosaic, bringing back the feeling of belonging.

Still, there was something different.

Alexei remained attentive and engaged, but you noticed moments when he seemed lost in thought. His eyes, so expressive, carried a restlessness that he masked well. It wasn’t anything glaring, but you noticed. A lingering stare into nothing, slightly delayed responses, a subtle change in tone by the end of the day. It was subtle, but you could feel the difference, as only someone who knew him so deeply could. Still, you decided not to press him. The reunion was still recent; maybe time would erase any shadow that was troubling him.

It was in this context that the first big event since your return took place: a ball.

The night arrived with a light chill, which seemed to accentuate the elegance of the event. The mansion hosting the ball gleamed like a jewel under the starry sky, with torches lighting the path flanked by snow-covered trees. Carriages arrived one after another, unloading elegantly dressed guests, while servants hurried to collect coats and organize the entrance.

Inside the hall, the atmosphere was even more breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers reflected the candlelight in a sparkling display, casting golden and silver patterns on the ornate walls. A string quintet played softly, filling the air with elegant music, while the scent of fresh flowers and wine lingered in the atmosphere. Guests in luxurious dresses and impeccable suits moved gracefully through the space, their voices in animated murmurs, interspersed with restrained laughter.

You entered the ballroom alongside Alexei, his arm firmly resting on yours, a gesture that seemed natural and yet carefully displayed for society. He looked impeccable in his formal uniform, with golden details accentuating his broad shoulders and proud posture. His hair, always carefully styled, reflected the light as if it were made of golden strands, and his light eyes scanned the room with a gaze that was both warm and vigilant.

You had also prepared carefully for the occasion. Your deep blue dress contrasted with the lighter tones around you, the silver embroidery seeming to capture the light with every movement. The elegant neckline and long sleeves accentuated your silhouette, and you felt the gazes following you as you walked past him.

"Everyone’s watching you," Alexei murmured in your ear, his tone both protective and proud.

You smiled, not looking directly at him. "Maybe they’re watching you."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering your response, but the playful gleam in his eyes revealed that he liked the idea.

However, as the evening went on, something changed.

As you conversed with some acquaintances, you noticed diverted glances, muffled whispers, and a growing discomfort began to settle in. It wasn’t paranoia; people were definitely talking about something. Their polished smiles and courteous greetings barely masked the tension on the faces of those you knew well.

It was during a pause in the music that you saw it.

Alexei was on the other side of the room, speaking to someone you immediately recognized: Anna.

She looked stunning in a red dress, her dark hair perfectly arranged, and a smile that seemed to enchant everyone around her. Alexei was slightly leaned toward her, which in itself wasn’t unusual—he had always been attentive in conversations. But there was something in the way he looked at her, an intensity you had never seen before.

Your heart tightened, and you felt the world around you slow down for a moment.

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in a glass of champagne that a servant offered. Your face betrayed nothing; you knew how to control your emotions in public. But inside, questions began to form, each one more difficult than the last.

Alexander approached with a cordial smile, his imposing figure standing out in the already rich environment of ornaments and luxurious dresses. His suit was impeccable, a deep gray that contrasted with his brown eyes, so different from Alexei’s. Despite the physical and personality distinctions, there was something about him that inspired the same aura of confidence and power as his brother.

"Allow me to steal you for a walk, my dear sister-in-law," he said, his voice low and polite, but still carrying the warmth that always made you feel welcomed.

You accepted without hesitation, offering him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "It would be a pleasure."

Alexander extended his arm, and you took it, allowing him to guide you away from the conversation circle you were in. The murmurs and laughter from the ballroom seemed to grow in the background as you moved at a slow pace, wandering between the marble columns and the glow of the chandeliers.

"How has your return been so far?" he asked, the conversation casual, but his observant eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Tiring," you replied, with a practiced lightness. "But I’m relieved to finally be back."

Alexander let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. "I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave everything behind for so long."

"It wasn’t," you admitted, turning your face to watch the guests dancing in the center of the ballroom. "But some things can’t be ignored, as you well know."

He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then you felt it: the looks he gave you, longer than they should’ve been, almost condescending. There was no judgment in them, but a kind of compassion that made you feel an increasing discomfort.

"Does something about my appearance seem off?" you asked, trying to hide your unease with a light joke.

"Not at all," he replied quickly. "You look stunning tonight."

You knew he wasn’t just being polite, but the weight behind his words was hard to ignore. Alexander wasn’t one to speak too much, but his ability to convey the unspoken was almost unbearable.

"Did Alexei mention anything about my absence?" you asked, finally gathering the courage to address the matter that had been on your mind since you entered the ballroom.

"Alexei..." Alexander began, but then stopped, his eyes fixed on something—or someone.

You followed his gaze. There was Alexei, still by Anna Karenina’s side. She was laughing at something Alexei had said, her head slightly tilted toward him. And Alexei… He had that look in his eyes. Something soft, something captivating. Something you rarely saw when he looked at anyone else.

The world around you seemed to slow down, every sound muffled, as if the entire ballroom had fallen silent. You felt Alexander’s arm move slightly beneath your hand, bringing your attention back to him.

"Anna is a remarkable lady," Alexander said, his voice low and controlled.

"I know who she is," you replied, almost not realizing you had spoken out loud.

"Of course you do," he murmured, but there was something in his tone that suggested more than mere confirmation.

You continued walking, but your attention kept drifting back to the sight of Alexei and Anna. The way he leaned slightly toward her, his smile—not forced, but genuine.

"Alexander," you began, your voice sounding more hesitant than you would’ve liked. "Is there something I should know?"

He hesitated, just enough for the tension in the air to rise. "You know Alexei has a restless heart. He’s like a bird who sees an open window and can’t resist the curiosity."

"That doesn’t answer my question," you retorted, your hand tightening slightly on his arm.

"Because some questions don’t need to be answered," he said, giving you a look that was both understanding and protective.

There was a latent pain in his words, as if he understood perfectly what you were feeling, but knew that no explanation could ease the weight in your chest.

You glanced at Alexei again, and this time, you met his gaze. He saw you, and for a moment, something in his expression changed. It was as if the magic of that moment with Anna had been broken, as if he were a boy caught in a forbidden act.

You adjusted your dress with an automatic gesture, while the muffled sound of the orchestra seemed like a distant soundtrack to the turmoil inside you. Alexander stepped away after a brief farewell. Each step he took toward Alexei and Anna was a decision that reverberated in your chest like the echo of a heavy bell. The distance between you seemed like an abyss, but still, you kept going. There was no turning back now.

Alexei straightened up, adjusting his suit as if that could somehow protect him from the intensity of your gaze. Beside him, Anna turned, offering a calculated smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Darling," Alexei began, his voice sounding controlled, but without the familiarity you so longed for. "We were just talking about—"

"Don’t worry," you interrupted softly, your tone impeccable but with a hint of ice. "I don’t want to interrupt."

Anna tilted her head, as if analyzing every word you said. "It’s always nice to meet such a courteous soul," she said, the smile remaining but with something sharp hidden in her expression. "I was just commenting to Alexei how charming this ballroom is. It’s no wonder so many important events happen here."

"Ah, yes," you replied, keeping your tone polite but feeling the lump in your throat grow. "This is the kind of place where people meet, isn’t it? But I must say, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your husband, Anna. Isn’t he joining you?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Unfortunately, he couldn’t come today. Business, you understand."

"Certainly," you murmured, letting the word hang in the air, laden with meanings that no one dared mention. "I imagine it’s difficult to keep up with all the engagements when one is so busy. I’ve felt the same since I returned. It seems there’s so much I’ve missed."

Alexei cleared his throat, his unease evident. He shot you a quick, almost pleading look, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes fixed on Anna. "But it’s good to know that Alexei has been in good company while I’ve been away," you added, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching your lips.

Anna responded with a polite laugh, but you noticed the slight tension in her shoulders. "Ah, of course, Alexei is a gentleman. He was just telling me about some… society matters."

"He’s truly very helpful," you said, tilting your head, as if reflecting. "Always so thoughtful."

Alexei intervened, his voice low but firm. "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..."

"Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

The words fell like stones on a glass surface. The ballroom around you seemed to grow quieter, or perhaps it was just your perception, distorted by the growing pain inside you. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you hid them between the folds of your dress, struggling to maintain the flawless appearance.

Anna smiled, but this time the gesture seemed more like a mask than anything else. "Well, I won’t steal any more of your time. It was a pleasure, as always."

"Certainly," you replied, nodding your head in farewell, but the look you cast at Alexei was not one of farewell. It was something deeper, something you knew he would understand.

As she walked away, the silence between you was deafening. Alexei reached out to touch your arm, but you took a step back, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

"Not here," you murmured, your voice low and controlled, though the tremor in your hands betrayed the chaos inside you.

He hesitated, as if wanting to argue, but the weariness in his eyes seemed to silence him. You turned on your heel, head held high, and began to walk away, but the weight in your chest was overwhelming.

As you moved through the ballroom, the noise around you slowly returned, but it felt distant, as if it came from a world you no longer belonged to. With each step, you felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, and each one pierced your soul like a sharp blade.

As you walked between the guests, your dress impeccably adjusted and your smile carefully positioned, the emptiness in your chest seemed to expand with each passing moment. The conversation with Alexei and Anna had revealed more than words could express; it was as if a veil had been torn, exposing something you had suspected, but refused to accept.

The glances that always seemed to last a second longer than necessary, the muffled whispers when you passed... now it all clicked. It wasn’t just your imagination, it wasn’t just the insecurities of a wife who had been away too long. It was something tangible, something that everyone there knew and that you were just beginning to understand.

You moved between the groups, smiling and waving mechanically, refusing to stop long enough for anyone to notice the crack growing in your mask. Alexei, for his part, kept his distance, respecting the space you clearly required, but still, you felt his gaze on you, heavy and silent, as if each time your eyes met, he was trying to say something.

The dinner table was a lavish sight, filled with delicacies that would have been irresistible on any other occasion. But now, just looking at the dishes made you feel nauseous. The last thing you could bear was pretending to have an appetite. You grabbed a glass of wine, more out of a need for something to hold than a desire to drink.

You tried to engage in the conversations, but the words of the others reached you like indistinct echoes. It was as if everyone in the room spoke a language you no longer understood. When someone mentioned Alexei, even casually, you felt the weight of the words, as if they were stones thrown at you.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly, each minute a silent torture. You deliberately avoided Alexei, moving from group to group.

When the moment to leave finally arrived, relief mixed with anguish, as if leaving the ballroom could ease the pain, even if only for a moment. Alexei waited for you by the entrance, as he always did, but this time there was something different about him. He didn’t try to touch your hand, didn’t make any casual remarks to break the silence. He simply opened the carriage door, and you stepped in without looking at him.

The ride back home was enveloped in an almost unbearable silence. The carriage swayed gently along the road, but every movement seemed to intensify the tension in the air. You kept your eyes fixed on the window, watching the passing lights and trying, in vain, to find some sense of normalcy in what had once been so familiar.

Alexei tried to speak once. "I..." he started, but his voice died the moment you turned to him, your gaze firm yet silent, saying everything that needed to be said. He sighed, leaning back in his seat, and didn’t try anything further.

The ride home was a blur, and when the door to the bedroom clicked shut behind you, echoing in the heavy silence of the house, it felt like an inevitable trigger. What had once been carefully controlled—the expressionless face, the calculated steps, the impeccable posture—crumbled as soon as you found yourself alone.

The first tear slipped silently down your cheek, warm and heavy, followed by another, then another. You tried desperately to stifle the sound rising in your throat, but the sob came, breaking the silence like a desperate wail.

Your legs gave way, and you leaned against the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as they gripped the fabric of your dress. All the weight of what you felt seemed to collapse at once—the pain of betrayal, the humiliation of the glances in the ballroom, the emptiness growing inside you.

Then, without warning, you heard footsteps behind you. Alexei. He must have heard the muffled sound of your crying or simply knew he couldn't leave you alone in that moment. He entered the room, and upon seeing you like this, his eyes filled with something impossible to describe — regret, pain, perhaps even desperation.

"No," you managed to say, your voice choked, your teary eyes meeting his. "Don't come closer."

But he didn’t stop. He ignored the warning in your voice, the protests in your expression. His large, firm hands gently landed on yours, which were still trembling, trying to push him away, but he didn’t give in.

"Don’t do this, Alexei," you whispered, your voice breaking. "No... I can’t..."

He didn’t respond with words. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms, the firmness of his touch contrasting with the gentleness with which he held you, as though you were something precious and fragile he feared breaking even more.

"Why?" you asked, your voice desperate, almost a muffled scream against his chest. "Why wasn’t I enough? Why, Alexei? I tried... I always tried..."

Your hands pushed against him, or at least tried to, but he remained still, his own hands holding you tighter, as if fearing you would escape. You struggled, but it was futile. He was stronger, and you didn’t have the energy to fight against his grip or the storm of emotions consuming you.

"I loved you," you continued, the words coming out in broken sobs. "I still love... And that wasn’t enough, was it? I gave up everything for you, and you... you..."

But the words were lost in the crying. Your voice disappeared, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you collapsed. Alexei still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t try to explain, didn’t try to justify. He just held you, pressing your face against the top of your head, his lips touching your forehead in a gesture that seemed desperate.

"Why don’t you say anything?" you murmured, your voice weak and hesitant, mixed with the sobs. "Say something, Alexei... Please..."

But he couldn’t. His hands held you as if he could keep you whole with just his touch. His breathing was irregular, almost as frantic as yours. He seemed as lost as you, as incapable of dealing with what was happening as you were.

Eventually, his strength gave out. The crying subsided, the sobs becoming more spaced out until exhaustion overtook you. You stopped trying to pull away, stopped fighting against his grip. Your body went limp in his arms, exhausted, defeated.

Alexei remained there, holding you as if he could rebuild everything with the strength of his embrace, as if he could erase the pain with his closeness. But the space between you, invisible and overwhelming, seemed to grow with each passing second. Your breath, once broken by crying, was now just a tired whisper against his chest.

He finally loosened his grip, just enough to look at you. His eyes, so familiar, were now filled with a weight you had never seen before — something almost unbearable to face. He raised one hand, hesitantly, to touch your face, but you turned away slightly, pulling back in a way almost imperceptible. It was enough for him to freeze.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, barely more than a thread of sound. "Please, Alexei, go away."

His eyes widened slightly, as if your words had hit him hard. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something, to protest, but the silence in the room seemed to swallow any attempt.

"I can't..." He stopped, his voice faltering. "I can't leave you like this."

You turned your gaze away, unable to bear the way he looked so desperate, so lost. "I can't sleep with you here tonight. Not like this," you admitted, feeling each word tear at you like glass as it left your mouth. "Please, Alexei. Just... just go."

He took a step back, as if the words had physically pushed him away. The pain on his face was evident, as if you had taken something essential from him. He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and anguish, before slowly shaking his head.

"You can't push me away like this," he murmured, his eyes shining with torment he couldn’t hide. "We never... we never sleep apart."

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice, the weight of the memories those words brought. "I know," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But tonight... I need it. I need space, Alexei."

For a moment, he seemed about to argue, to take another step toward you. But then he saw something in your eyes — something that made him stop. The pain you were feeling was there, raw and open, impossible to ignore. And seeing it, something inside him seemed to break.

He stepped closer one last time, hesitantly, as if each movement was a battle. "I..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. "I never meant to hurt you. Never."

You didn’t respond. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you were too broken to find the words.

When he raised his hand, this time to touch your cheek, you instinctively pulled back. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice. The pain in his eyes turned into something deeper — pure despair, as if that small gesture had taken away any ground he still had left.

"I will," he finally said, his voice low and rough, each word weighed down with something that felt like a ton. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not here. I... I’m not going anywhere, understood?"

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes, your body still tense with the weight of everything that had happened that night.

Alexei stood still for another moment, as if trying to memorize the moment, or perhaps gathering the courage to leave. When he finally turned, the sound of the door opening and closing behind him was both a relief and a final blow.

You stayed there, alone in the room, the silence once again filled only by the sound of your irregular breathing. And for the first time in a long time, the bed felt immense, cold, and empty.

The night was an endless torment. The silence of the room felt larger than any physical space, filled only by the echo of what had happened. You stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness, unable to lie down on the surface that still held his warmth. The feeling of Alexei’s absence was suffocating, but the thought of sharing the same space with him again so soon was even more unbearable.

The minutes dragged on until they became hours. Every sound in the house seemed amplified: the distant creaking of wood, the rustling of the wind against the windows, the occasional footsteps of someone downstairs.

When morning finally began to break the sky, painting the room with a gray, hesitant light, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slowly, almost hesitantly, they approached the door. The knock was soft, almost restrained, but still it echoed like thunder in your chest.

"I'm leaving," his voice came through the wood, low and hoarse, carrying a weight that seemed to suffocate every word. "Please... take care of yourself."

You remained silent. Every part of you screamed to respond, to open the door, but the pain weighed heavier. Silence became your only answer. On the other side, you heard a nearly imperceptible sigh, and then the footsteps receded. When the front door closed, the sound reverberated through the house like a final warning, leaving everything even emptier.

When you finally found the strength to leave the room, the sun was higher, casting a soft glow over the halls of the house, but you didn’t feel any warmth. The cold seemed to have settled inside you, a constant weight that made each movement feel like a Herculean task.

Little Natasha was in the living room, playing with a set of dolls, her face illuminated by the innocence you knew you should protect at all costs. But at that moment, even before she looked up at you, something changed in her expression.

"Good morning, Mommy," she said, her sweet, hesitant little voice.

You forced a smile, but it felt as if every muscle in your face was being pulled against your will. "Good morning, my love."

She put down the dolls and ran to you, her small arms wrapping around your legs. It was such a simple, genuine gesture that it made something inside you break again. You bent down and held her, squeezing her to your chest as if she were your anchor.

"Are you sad?" Natasha asked, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

"No, my angel," you replied, but the hoarseness in your voice was deceitful. "Mommy is just a little tired."

Natasha pulled away slightly, her blue eyes — so incredibly similar to Alexei’s — locking onto yours. They were curious, deep in a way that seemed impossible for someone so small.

"You look sad," she insisted, her little fingers reaching up to touch your face, as if she could wipe away a tear that hadn’t even fallen yet.

You held her tiny hand, squeezing it gently. "Mommy is fine, I promise," you said, but the lie was so fragile that it felt like it could shatter at any moment.

She didn’t respond, only nestling back into your arms. You closed your eyes, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, and allowed yourself to simply feel the moment. But even in that tenderness, there was a throbbing pain.

Natasha was a living reminder of Alexei. Every feature of hers — the eyes, the soft hair, the curious expression — was a painful reflection of the man you loved, but who now seemed so distant. With each glance at her, you were reminded of what was at risk, of what seemed to be crumbling beneath your feet.

You held your daughter a little tighter, trying to find comfort in that closeness. But the pain was there, persistent and unbearable, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off.

The attraction to Anna had been as unexpected as it was unsettling. It wasn’t something Alexei had sought or even desired, but there was something about her that seemed to challenge every fiber of his sensibility. She was enigmatic in a way that eluded him, a vibrant presence amid the salons and social gatherings that otherwise seemed so monotonous. Her beauty was undeniable, but that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way she seemed to exist in her own world, as if she were always one step ahead of the expectations society imposed on them.

In the early casual encounters, he had thought it was just a passing curiosity, an innocuous distraction. But as the months dragged on and the absence of his wife was felt more acutely, Anna became a beacon of something undefinable, something he couldn’t ignore. They never crossed any lines. Not a touch, not a kiss. But the long conversations, the glances that lasted a second longer than allowed, were enough to create a chasm of doubt within him.

Now, looking back, Alexei hated himself for letting it happen. It was a betrayal not only to his wife but to everything they had built together. He couldn’t deny that the distance between them during her absence had fed something dark. With her gone, the days had become unbearably empty. Her absence was a constant echo that resonated in every corner of the house, and he, in his weakness, had sought comfort in a presence that should have meant nothing.

But Anna wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t the woman who had shared his fears, his dreams, his life. She wasn’t the mother of his daughter, the companion he had sworn to protect above all. And now, in the present, the price of that weakness was almost unbearable.

The days since the ball had been torture. She avoided him with an almost supernatural skill, and he couldn’t blame her for that. All he knew about her came from the servants, who neutrally mentioned the places she was or the hours she spent with Natasha. He didn’t see her, and it was killing him.

That morning, while holding his daughter in his arms, Alexei felt an almost suffocating despair. Natasha, with her silky hair and eyes so incredibly like his, was a reminder of everything he could lose. She nestled against his chest with unwavering trust, her small fingers clutching his collar as she murmured something about playing in the garden. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to find some peace in that moment, but the guilt was overwhelming.

“How could I do this?” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His wife’s face came to mind, not the hardened look from the ball, but the way she used to smile at him when she thought no one was watching. The memory was so painful it almost made him lose his balance.

His mother had warned him countless times, her words as sharp as they were precise. He still remembered her stern tone during a recent argument, one of the few moments when she had truly lost her patience with him.

“Anna is not for you, Alexei,” she had said, her eyes flashing with something bordering on disdain. “Your wife deserves more. Your daughter deserves more. And you... you should be ashamed.”

He had stormed out of that conversation furious, but now he understood the weight of her words. He was ashamed. Deeply. And the worst part was knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way to go back in time and undo the damage he had caused.

Natasha, sensing the tension in his body, lifted her face to look at him, and her innocent gaze completely disarmed him. She was so small, so confident that her father was the best man in the world. He felt a sharp pang of desperation as he realized that, if he continued like this, he might lose that too.

Alexei couldn’t take it anymore. The silence that once was an almost invisible wall between you two now felt like an impenetrable barrier. He saw the servants walking through the halls, casting furtive glances of pity and caution, bringing scarce news about you. “She’s still in the room, sir,” they would say. “She hasn’t eaten anything again today.” Every word was a stab, and that morning was no different. When the maid returned with the untouched tray, Alexei felt something inside him break.

Without a word, he took the tray from her hands and climbed the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. The door to the room you used to share was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. Since that night, he hadn’t crossed that threshold. He hadn’t dared. But now, he had no choice.

Pushing the door open, he found you sitting in front of the vanity, impeccable as always, but so different. The dress perfectly aligned, your hair styled with perfection. Not a strand out of place. But what hit him the most was the absence. The absence of color in your face. The absence of the sparkle in your eyes. And the absence of any trace of the love he used to feel, even without you needing to say it.

“You need to eat.” His voice came out harsher than he intended. He placed the tray on the small table next to the bed, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. “If you keep going like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers busy with a small brooch pinning your collar. The silence that followed was suffocating, until your voice cut through the air like a blade: “Alexei, I want a divorce.”

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible at first. Then, stronger, more desperate. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t say that. No…”

You remained firm, your eyes fixed on him, but the trembling line of your lips betrayed the colossal effort you were making to keep your composure.

“Alexei…” your voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight of what you said was like a direct blow. “I can’t anymore… I just can’t.”

“But you love me.” He said it like a prayer, as if repeating those words could undo everything that was happening. He stepped forward, his eyes pleading, shining with a desperation he could barely contain. “You said you loved me. You still love me.”

“I love you.” Your confession came quickly, but as harsh as a blade. “And you know that. But it wasn’t enough, Alexei. It was never enough.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, his chin trembling, his hands outstretched toward you as if begging for his very life. “Then what do I do?” He asked, his voice breaking. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything, anything you ask. But don’t ask me to let you go. Please, I can’t…”

You turned your gaze away, but he saw the tears threatening to spill, even as you held them back with all your might. “I don’t know if there’s anything to fix.” Your voice faltered, but you quickly regained composure, lifting your chin. “I don’t know who we are anymore, Alexei.”

“We are us.” He almost shouted, desperation taking over him. “We are us! No matter what happens, we are us. I can’t... I can’t imagine my life without you. Without Natasha. I can’t bear that.”

“And I can’t bear being with someone who destroyed me like this.” Your tone was firm, but the pain you felt was as evident as his. You saw him close his eyes tightly, as if trying to push away the weight of your words, but they had already lodged themselves in him like splinters.

"Please." He reached out again, this time gently holding your arm, his touch trembling, almost reverent. "Please, don't do this. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Tell me... anything."

You finally looked at him, and his eyes were so full of desperation that for a moment, something inside you wavered. "I need time." Your voice broke, and you hated how much saying that hurt. "I need time, Alexei. I can't even think straight with you like this. With us like this."

He slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to accept it. "Time?" He asked, the word coming out like a sentence. "I can give you time, but... what if you decide you don’t want to come back to me? What if you decide that... it's over?"

You took a deep breath, the tears you were trying to hold back finally streaming silently down your face. "I don’t know, Alexei. I don’t know."

The room fell into unbearable silence, broken only by the uneven sound of his breathing and your stifled sobs. Finally, he stood up, his hands trembling, his eyes red. "I’ll wait." His declaration was low, but carried a firmness that seemed impossible given his state. "I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t give up on us."

You didn’t answer, unable to find the words. And as he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, you collapsed to the floor, feeling as if every part of you was falling apart.

In the days that followed, Alexei’s absence in the room was like a constant shadow, a gap you didn’t know how to fill. He had respected your decision for space, yes, but he wasn’t truly absent. It was impossible to ignore the small gestures that betrayed him: a tray of tea and biscuits appearing on your table, accompanied by a short but warm note. “At least this,” the latest one said, with slanted handwriting and a palpable care.

The servants didn’t comment, but you knew. You knew he asked about your meals, about your health, about anything that could ease the guilt he carried. He was present in a discreet way, almost invisible, but so tangible that you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always near, still caring, still watching.

Alexei’s mother’s visit came without warning, on a gray morning, when the heavy clouds outside mirrored the weight you carried in your chest. The maid announced her presence, and you felt your stomach churn. Though there was respect between you two, Mrs. Vronskaya had always been an imposing figure, surrounded by a natural authority that seemed to demand reverence.

You hesitated before going downstairs to meet her, but you didn’t have the strength to refuse. Deep down, you knew this conversation was inevitable.

When you entered the room, Alexei’s mother was already there, sitting impeccably in one of the armchairs, her heavy coat carefully folded beside her. She raised her gaze as soon as you entered, and for a moment, something in her eyes seemed to soften.

“You’re so thin,” was the first thing she said, instead of a greeting, her tone direct but filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your voice soft but firm.

“No, you’re not.” Her response was immediate, with no room for debate. She gestured for you to sit, and when you did, the silence that followed was as thick as the cold morning air.

Mrs. Vronskaya wasn’t a woman who minced words, and you knew she was there for a reason. Still, it was you who broke the silence. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on yours. “And for Alexei.”

You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to maintain composure. “If you came to defend him, know that you don’t have to. He’s already done that on his own.”

His mother slightly tilted her head, as if weighing her words before responding. “I didn’t come to defend him. I came to listen to you. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in this house? That I don’t see the pain in both of your eyes?”

The mention of pain stung like a sharp needle. You looked away, staring at the floor, but her voice continued, firm and soft. “I never supported Alexei’s involvement with Anna. I made that clear from the start. Not because she’s married, but because I knew something like this wouldn’t end well. My son has always had this weakness... this tendency to be captivated by the new, the different. It’s part of who he is. But I also know he’s a man who loves deeply. When he loves, he gives himself completely.”

You raised your eyes to her, and there was something there, a mixture of hope and desperation that you couldn’t hide. “And what guarantees me that this love will be enough?”

“I can’t guarantee,” she admitted, her words direct but without cruelty. “But I can say that, since you entered his life, Alexei has changed. He found balance in you. I saw it with my own eyes. And I know that, even with the mistakes he’s made, the love he feels for you is real. I know that you still love him.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, you almost wanted to deny it. But what would be the point? “Loving doesn’t seem like enough,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.

“Maybe it’s not,” Alexei’s mother replied, leaning slightly forward, her hands resting on her knees. “But sometimes, love is what gives you the strength to find a way, even if it’s painful. I’m not here to ask you to forgive my son. I’m here to tell you that, whatever your decision is, you won’t be alone.”

The sincerity in her words hit you like an unexpected blow, and you felt your eyes burn. But no tear fell. “I don’t know if I can get over this. Sometimes, it feels like the distance between us is insurmountable.”

“The distance is great,” she agreed. “But you’re speaking as if he’s on the other side of an abyss. He’s not. Alexei is trying to reach you, even if awkwardly. Don’t you see that?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions threatening to overflow. “I see. But every gesture of his just reminds me of everything that’s been lost.”

Alexei’s mother nodded, her gaze softer than you’d ever seen. “That’s natural. But I also want you to know that you’re important to me. Not just as my son’s wife, but as the woman who made his life better. If you decide that you can’t continue, I’ll understand. And even then, you’ll still be part of my family. Always.”

Those words broke something inside you, but they also brought a small relief. You stood up, and she did the same, holding your hand firmly for a moment before letting it go.

“Thank you,” was all you could say.

“Take care of yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying an unexpected gentleness.

Later, as you walked down the hallway, you heard Natasha’s laughter echoing through the house. Peeking through the slightly open door, you saw Alexei sitting on the floor, holding the little one in his arms, her golden hair shining in the light coming through the window. Your chest tightened painfully. It was impossible to deny how much Natasha looked like her father — in her features, her smile, even in the way she seemed to light up the room.

You stayed there for a few seconds, watching. Alexei could hardly believe it when he lifted his eyes and saw you standing there, at the door, your gaze fixed on him and little Natasha. For a moment, he froze, as if any movement could shatter that fragile moment. The weight in your eyes hit him like a punch, and for a second, he wondered if he should call you, ask you to join them.

But before he could even open his mouth, you looked away and disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar. The absence was an immediate emptiness, a cold that spread through him even with Natasha still nestled in his arms.

“Daddy?” The sweet, small voice of his daughter broke the silence. Natasha tilted her head to look at him, her golden curls falling over her forehead. “Who was there? Was it Mommy?”

Alexei swallowed hard, trying to hide the tightness in his chest. He adjusted Natasha in his arms, snuggling her close. “It was, my little one. But... Mommy had to go.”

“Doesn’t she want to play with us?” Natasha asked, her big, bright eyes searching for an explanation.

Alexei closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength. How could he explain something that he himself didn’t fully understand? How could he justify the choices that had led them to this point?

“It’s not that, sweetheart. Mommy is... tired. And sometimes, when we’re tired, we need some time to rest alone.”

Natasha furrowed her brow, clearly thinking about the answer. “But Mommy told me she loves us. She still loves you, doesn’t she?”

Those words, so simple and direct, pierced Alexei. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. “Yes,” he finally replied, his voice low and hoarse. “Mommy loves you very much. And I’m sure she still loves Daddy too.”

“Then why don’t you stay together? Grandma said that love makes everything better.”

He felt his stomach twist when he heard the mention of his mother. Her visit was still fresh in his mind, a reminder of how much he had failed — not just with you, but with himself. She hadn’t spared any words, and the silent disapproval in her gaze still burned in his memory.

“Because Daddy made a mistake,” Alexei finally said, choosing his words carefully. “And sometimes, even when you love someone, you need to show that you can get better before things get better.”

“Will you get better, Daddy?” Natasha asked, her little fingers touching his face as if she wanted to make sure he was paying attention.

“I will,” Alexei replied, his tone now firm. “I promise you, Natasha, that I will fix things. I’ll do everything I can to bring Mommy back to us.”

“Can I help?” Natasha smiled, as if the simple thought of being helpful could solve any problem.

Alexei chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Your help already means everything to me, little one. Just having you here with me gives me strength.”

He hugged her tighter, letting that moment between father and daughter carve itself into his memory. Meanwhile, behind the affection he shared with Natasha, Alexei felt the weight of a decision solidifying. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to fail again. He couldn’t disappoint you, or himself, or that little creature who looked at him with so much love and trust.

When Natasha finally got distracted with one of her toys, Alexei stayed there, silently watching her. His conversation with his mother echoed in his mind, every word heavy with meaning. He felt ashamed, crushed by the realization that he had ignored advice and gut feelings that could have prevented all this pain.

But the shame wasn’t enough to paralyze him. It was a flame, something he would use to fuel his determination. Alexei knew the road to you would be difficult, painful. But looking at Natasha, so much like you and so full of life, he found a new resolution.

He didn’t just want to fix things — he needed to. And he would do it, no matter how much time or effort it took.

The change didn’t happen all at once, but it was like spring after a long winter. Alexei didn’t let a single day pass without trying, without showing how much he was willing to repair the mistakes that had brought so much pain.

He started with simple gestures. A fresh rose picked from the garden, carefully placed in your room. He would stop in front of closed doors, hesitating, but not knocking, respecting the space you had asked for, yet unable to stop leaving something, no matter how small, to let you know he was there.

Over time, he began to include Natasha in his attempts, inviting both of you to join him for a walk in the garden or for a special snack. And although you still didn’t join him, he noticed that the coldness from before was fading, replaced by something more neutral. More human.

The maids would mention that you were starting to eat normally again, that the pallor that marked your face had begun to give way to its natural color. Alexei saw this too, in brief glimpses — a soft curve at the corner of your lips when Natasha said something funny, a distant look, but less painful, when you thought no one was watching.

And then, that night, fate brought the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The storm had started earlier, with thunder echoing in the distance and gusts of wind blowing through the windows. Alexei was in the living room when he heard the door open, and before he even turned around, he knew it was you.

You entered the hall, your hair drenched and stuck to your face, the dress weighed down with water. He immediately got up, his heart racing at the sight of you like that.

"My God, you're completely soaked." His voice was low but full of urgency as he approached. You hesitated for a moment, as if considering pulling back, but eventually allowed him to come closer.

Alexei grabbed a wool shawl from a nearby chair and gently wrapped it around your shoulders. "Come. Let’s get these clothes off before you get sick."

His tone was practical, almost automatic, but there was something in his movements — the way his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the fabric over you, the care he took to avoid looking directly into your eyes — that betrayed the depth of his feelings.

You followed him to the bedroom, your steps light and almost silent on the carpet. The tension was palpable, an almost visible thread between you both. He gestured for you to sit in the chair near the fireplace. You did, your eyes fixed on the flames as he moved around the room, grabbing clean towels.

Without saying a word, he knelt before you, gently removing the pins that held your hair with firm, yet tender fingers. Each pin made a soft metallic sound as it fell onto the towel he had spread across his lap. You didn’t pull away.

Alexei then stood up, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the ties on your dress. He paused, looking at you for permission. You nodded slightly, enough for him to continue.

The knots loosened slowly, and the sound of the wet fabric coming undone seemed to fill the room. He helped you stand and wrapped a dry robe around your shoulders before stepping back, giving you space to sit again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "I’m so sorry."

You lifted your eyes to him, something shining there that he couldn’t decipher. “What about her?”

Alexei froze. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Anna?”

You nodded, your expression still unshaken, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed the effort you were making to stay strong.

“It was nothing,” he said finally, his eyes searching yours as if he wanted to beg you to believe him. “Nothing that justified... nothing that was worth this.”

“And why?” Your voice was soft, but cutting, like a blade piercing straight through his heart. “Why her? What did she have that I didn’t?”

Alexei ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. “I don’t know. She was... different. Something new, something I had never known. But it wasn’t love, it wasn’t... you.” He knelt in front of you again, his hands gripping yours tightly, but without hurting you. “Nothing ever came close to you. I was a fool for letting this come so close.”

You looked at him, your face still unreadable, but your eyes starting to shine. “What if I had stayed away longer? What if it were someone else, Alexei? How can I trust that this won’t happen again?”

Alexei remained kneeling in front of you, his eyes glowing with a desperation that seemed to suck the air out of the room. He didn’t move, neither closer nor farther, as if even the slightest shift could break the fragile connection that still existed between you.

“You are everything to me,” he repeated, his voice heavy with raw vulnerability. “But I know that just saying that isn’t enough. I know I can’t erase what I did, the pain I caused.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was in turmoil, each of his words crashing against the walls of your own pain, echoing. Finally, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Did you... did you two ever...”

Your voice faltered before you could finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Alexei’s eyes widened, as if the question had cut deeper than anything else. He shook his head quickly, almost frantic.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder, but still choked. “Never. I never did that. I never even kissed her.” He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I was a fool, a complete idiot for letting her occupy so much space in my head, but it wasn’t... physical. It wasn’t love. It was... it was a weakness of mine, a fascination with something I didn’t even know I was seeking. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you this way.”

You felt the weight of every word, the warmth of his sincerity reaching something deep within you, but the pain was still there, alive and pulsing.

Alexei leaned in slightly, his hands still holding yours, but loosely, as if preparing for the inevitable moment when you would pull away. “I’d give anything to go back in time, to make the right choices from the start. To never have allowed anything to come between us. But all I can do now is this. Ask, beg for a chance to be better for you.”

His eyes shone, tears threatening to fall, but he didn’t look away, as if he couldn’t allow himself to hide anything from you. When he finally moved, it was to wrap his arms around your waist, a hesitant, almost fearful gesture.

“Please,” he whispered against the fabric of the robe you were wearing. “Please, tell me there’s still something in your heart that will let me fix this.”

You stood still, your body rigid as if you were trying to decide what to do. He didn’t dare move any further, his face hidden against you, breathing deeply as if it were the last time he could do so.

And then, almost imperceptibly, you raised your hand, your fingers hesitantly touching his hair. It was a small gesture, but to Alexei, it felt as though the whole world had stopped. He lifted his face, surprised, but didn’t say anything.

Your fingers threaded through his blonde hair, the touch soft, but steady, and something in him gave way. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against your stomach as he let out a sigh that sounded almost like a sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice low but filled with emotion. “I don’t know how to get past this, Alexei. But... I can’t stop loving you.”

He lifted his gaze to you, his eyes misty, but with a spark of hope. “I don’t need you to know right now,” he said, his voice trembling. “I just need you to let me try. Let me prove that I will never disappoint you again.”

The silence that followed was thick, but not empty. It was full of all the unspoken things, all the emotions that still needed room to exist between you.

Finally, you nodded slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, but enough for him to understand. He didn’t smile, as if he knew there was still no room for joy, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and he held you more firmly in his arms without hurting you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it, but the weight of that word hung in the air between you, carrying all the love, regret, and promise he had to offer.

The night was calm, wrapped in a stillness broken only by the soft sound of rain against the windows. You were in Natasha’s room, the little one’s hair illuminated by the warm light of the lamp. She was lying on the bed, hugging the battered teddy bear she insisted on carrying everywhere.

“Now close your eyes, my love,” you said, your voice low and gentle as you adjusted the blanket around her small body. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Will you sing for me?” she asked, her eyes, identical to Alexei’s, shining with expectation.

You smiled, a small but genuine smile, as you began to hum a melody your mother used to sing to you. Her little hand held yours, as if that gesture were essential to the moment.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Alexei stopped in the doorway, his tall figure illuminated by the hallway light. He hesitated when he saw her there, his eyes resting on the scene with an expression of tenderness so raw that it seemed to contradict the strength of his presence.

For a moment, he considered turning back, letting that moment belong only to the two of you. But then Natasha turned her head, her sleep-messy hair spreading across the pillow.

“Daddy,” she called, a sleepy smile lighting up her face. “Are you going to put me to sleep too?”

Her request was an unexpected bridge between the two of you. Alexei looked at you, a silent question in his clear eyes, the same ones Natasha had inherited. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze that the air seemed to grow a little heavier.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, making space beside the bed. He stepped into the room, each movement carrying a rare hesitation from him. When he approached, Natasha reached out her arms, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead before sitting beside the bed, opposite you.

“Now we’re all here,” she said, content, holding both of your hands.

“Does that mean you’re going to sleep for real now?” Alexei asked, his tone soft but tinged with amusement.

She shook her head, a mischievous smile appearing. “But I like when you’re both here with me. Daddy, mommy...”

The sound of that word hit him like a sweet blow. Mommy. It was simple, but hearing it from his daughter’s lips, in the context of that intimate scene, felt like a reminder of everything he was trying to protect.

Natasha shifted between you, her eyes slowly closing as she mumbled random words about the day. “I want a brother,” she murmured suddenly, her eyes blinking lazily before closing again.

Alexei let out a soft laugh, surprised, and looked at you. “A brother, huh?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered with a yawn, her eyes already closed. “To play with me.”

You and Alexei exchanged a glance, his expression softening in a way that rarely happened. When she finally fell asleep, her breath light and steady, he carefully adjusted her in the bed, leaving a kiss on the top of her head before standing up.

He moved closer to you, extending his hand to help you rise. You accepted, and he didn’t immediately release your hand, holding it between his as if afraid that the moment might slip away.

“She’s just like you,” you commented, your voice low as you looked at Natasha.

“No,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the small, sleeping face. “She’s the best of both of us.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the usual tension replaced by something softer, more hopeful. He looked at you, his clear eyes carrying a tenderness that seemed almost shy.

“About what she said…” he started, hesitating for a moment.

“Alexei,” you interrupted, your tone almost exasperated but with a small smile.

“I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, but his smile was back, something rare and so genuine that it made your heart ache.

The door to Natasha’s room closed softly, muffling the sound of her calm breathing. You and Alexei stayed in the hallway for a moment, as if the moment required silence, a reverence for the scene you had just shared. He seemed to hesitate, his hands sliding into the pockets of his suit jacket, a nervous gesture you knew well.

“She’s always known how to disarm us,” you commented, breaking the silence, your voice low but full of tenderness.

He looked at you, the corners of his lips curving into a nearly shy smile. “It’s an innate talent. I don’t think she got that from me.”

“Maybe from me, then,” you replied, your tone playful, something he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His smile widened, but there was something deeper in his eyes, something that kept him quiet for too long. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he turned slightly, his body leaning as though about to leave.

“Alexei.”

He stopped immediately, turning to face you again. You took a deep breath, gathering the words you wanted to say.

“You don’t have to go back to the other room,” you said, your voice soft but carrying something more. “If you want... you can come back to our room.”

The words came out before you could reconsider, and for a moment, the silence in the hallway seemed absolute. Alexei blinked, disbelief written on his face, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his, which seemed to scan every nuance of your expression. “It’s a step, Alexei,” you replied, sincere. “I think we’re ready to take a step.”

He let out a breath that seemed to have been held for a long time, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I...” He stopped, shaking his head as if the words were too difficult.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice light but carrying something almost mischievous, “if we really want to give Natasha a sibling, I think it makes more sense for us to be in the same room, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened, surprised, and for a moment, he stood completely still, as if the words had been a shock he hadn’t expected.

“You...” He started but didn’t finish, his gaze fixed on your face as if trying to process the subtle, but significant change.

You raised an eyebrow, the playful look returning to your expression, something he immediately recognized. “It’s just a practical matter,” you finished, your voice slightly provocative.

He stepped forward, the hesitation giving way to something more determined, his gaze intense and fixed on yours. “Practical,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

The air around you seemed to carry a familiar tension, something that had always been there but now felt more tangible, more urgent. You saw the shadow of a smile play at the corners of his lips, and you couldn’t resist.

“You’re taking this very seriously, Alexei,” you teased, your voice lower now, only to be interrupted.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The kiss was both tender and desperate, as if he were pouring everything he couldn’t say into words. Your hands went to his shoulders, a gesture to steady yourself, but instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer, allowing yourself to finally give in to the moment.

When you pulled apart, your breaths were shallow, and Alexei kept his forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, full of emotion.

The night seemed silent, the kind of silence that embraced the house like a heavy blanket, protecting the sounds that belonged only to that space. The room you once shared was almost exactly as before, but something felt different now. It was the same space, but it carried the weight of everything you had lived through—and survived.

Alexei was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, watching you as you took off your robe and prepared to lie down. His gaze was intense, but not unsettling. It was a gaze of reverence, as if he couldn’t believe he was here again.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He looked up at you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Strange... and familiar at the same time.”

You moved closer slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from him even before you sat down beside him. For a moment, you stayed there, side by side, your hands almost touching. The small space between you seemed heavy, but also filled with something new—hope.

“I thought about this so much,” he murmured, turning slightly to face you. “About what it would be like... having you here again. Being with you like this.”

“And how is it?” you asked, your playful tone trying to mask the vulnerability behind the question.

He chuckled softly, but there was a gleam in his eyes, something deeply sincere. “It’s better than I allowed myself to imagine.”

You felt your heart tighten, but it was a different kind of tightness now, something less painful and closer to healing. You reached out to him, your fingers touching his gently. He intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture so familiar it brought tears to your eyes.

“Alexei...” you started, but he interrupted you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I know it will take time. That this is just the beginning. But please, tell me there’s a beginning.”

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “There’s a beginning,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper.

He leaned forward, his forehead touching yours, and the world seemed to shrink to that moment, to that touch. “I won’t fail you again,” he promised, his voice heavy with something so deep that it made your eyes well up with tears.

“I know,” you said, the sincerity of your voice making him close his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing it.

You both moved together to lie down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When Alexei pulled the covers over you, he did it with the same care as always, as if every small gesture had meaning. You curled up next to him, his body fitting to yours as if it had never stopped being like that.

He ran his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands that had come loose throughout the day, the movements slow and almost reverent. “I feel like I’m holding a piece of the future in my hands,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“And what do you see in that future, Alexei?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart tighten with both longing and hope at the same time. “I see us. Natasha... maybe a little brother for her, if you still want,” he added, his tone lightly teasing, but his eyes shining with tenderness.

You laughed, a light and almost new sound. “Maybe,” you replied, teasing. “But one step at a time, right?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture that seemed to carry all the promises in the world. “Right,” he agreed, his voice soft and full of emotion.

Silence fell again, but it was a different silence now. It was a silence of peace, of new beginnings. And as you curled even closer, your hearts beating in a slow, synchronized rhythm, you knew you were finally finding your way back to each other.

[writerasss]

DARAKARAK and TROPES

In Vedic astrology, the Darakarak planet (the one with the lowest degree in your chart, excluding Rahu and Ketu) represents your spouse and the dynamics of your romantic relationships. Each Darakarak brings a unique "trope" or theme to how love and marriage play out. Here’s how different planets as Darakarak relate to popular romance tropes:

---

Sun as Darakarak: Enemies to Lovers

Traits: The Sun symbolizes ego, pride, leadership, and individuality. With Sun as your Darakarak, relationships often involve power dynamics, mutual respect, and growth through overcoming initial clashes.

Trope:

Your relationship may start with conflicts, competition, or a sense of rivalry (classic enemies-to-lovers energy). Over time, both individuals learn to admire each other’s strengths.

There’s often a journey of healing egos and finding harmony.

Examples: "You started as my rival, but now you’re the person I trust the most."

---

Mercury as Darakarak: Friends to Lovers

Traits: Mercury signifies communication, intellect, and playfulness. It fosters bonds built on mutual understanding, curiosity, and fun.

Trope:

The relationship may begin as a close friendship where trust and laughter dominate. Eventually, deeper feelings emerge as you both realize the connection goes beyond platonic.

Expect witty banter, inside jokes, and shared intellectual pursuits.

Examples: "I didn’t realize I was in love until I started missing your voice at the end of every conversation."

---

Venus as Darakarak: Fated Soulmates or Star-Crossed Lovers

Traits: Venus governs love, beauty, and romance, making this Darakarak deeply tied to themes of passion, devotion, and harmony.

Trope:

Love feels otherworldly or destined, often with a magnetic pull. There could be external obstacles (e.g., family, society) that test the bond, leading to the "star-crossed lovers" vibe.

The connection is filled with luxury, art, and sensuality, emphasizing romance and emotional fulfillment.

Examples: "We were always meant to find each other, no matter how impossible it seemed."

---

Moon as Darakarak: Comfort and Healing Love

Traits: The Moon represents emotions, nurturing, and intuition. With Moon as your Darakarak, relationships are about emotional safety and mutual care.

Trope:

A "healing love" that feels like home. You may meet during a vulnerable phase, helping each other grow emotionally and find solace in the connection.

It’s the ultimate "you complete me" dynamic.

Examples: "You’re the calm in my storm, and I’ll always come back to you."

---

Mars as Darakarak: Passionate Opposites or Love-Hate

Traits: Mars symbolizes energy, drive, and passion. Relationships often involve intensity, physical attraction, and a fiery dynamic.

Trope:

A fiery, love-hate connection. You might clash over strong opinions or desires, but the chemistry is undeniable. Passion fuels the relationship, whether through fights or love.

Examples: "We argue like fire and ice, but we burn brighter together."

---

Jupiter as Darakarak: Mentor-Protector Love

Traits: Jupiter is about wisdom, expansion, and guidance. Relationships are built on mutual respect, shared values, and growth.

Trope:

A nurturing relationship where one partner often plays the role of a mentor, guide, or protector. Love grows through shared goals, learning, and emotional maturity.

Examples: "You inspire me to be a better version of myself every day."

----

Saturn as Darakarak: Slow Burn or Second Chances

Traits: Saturn represents discipline, patience, and karma. It brings lessons and maturity in love, often through delays or challenges.

Trope:

The relationship is a slow burn, taking time to develop trust and understanding. There might be obstacles, separations, or second chances involved, but the connection grows stronger with time.

Saturn’s karmic influence may make the relationship feel fated, with lessons to be learned together.

Examples: "It took time for us to find each other, but now I can’t imagine life without you."

---

Rahu as Darakarak: Forbidden Love or Obsession

Traits: Rahu symbolizes unconventionality, obsession, and breaking norms. Relationships are intense, transformative, and often nontraditional.

Trope:

A "forbidden love" or "taboo" connection, where societal norms or personal fears are challenged. The relationship often pushes boundaries and teaches transformative lessons.

Examples: "You’re the one thing I was told to avoid, but I can’t stay away."

[melancholymirth]

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ] : receiver notices sender looking at them longingly. uwu

prompt

If April showers bring May flowers, what did anyone have to say about June? Spring was near its end, summer hot on its heels. Drizzles would be rain storms, and V was hoping to get this Qliphoth business all over and dealt with before the weather took a turn. But, nature had heard him: a shower came on in the middle of a trot, though at least he had seen the clouds coming ahead of him.

Beneath the canopy of a bistro that stood neglected, but in better shape than others, V waited out the rain with his elbow on a table, his chin and cheek in his palm, and a demon sitting at the next table out of respect for V's clearly marked boundaries. They were beside one another but sitting on opposite ends, and even through the hair that liked to cover his face could he see his very dark form leaning his upper body upon the table, arms crossed beneath his head, supporting his chin.

They hadn't uttered a word for a good while since they sat. It amused him that Daemon was showing posture worse than his own for once. Still, he did not glance in the demon's direction, and he was not quite tempted to. The pitter-patter overhead was a droning sort of sound that both soothed and became like white, background noise for a mind perpetually in thought. No thunder clapped today, but there was a bit of a storm within him.

After all, how was he going to address the fact that it had been over a month of nothing done—the headway he and Daeman had made amounted to little, in the grand scheme, and it was looking more and more like Nero was not coming. Not as quickly as they'd needed him, though they did agree to a month of wait.

A month, not a month and some change.

The roots were burrowing deeper, stretching farther, more people were out there dying where they were unreachable, unheard and unseen. It struck him like an icepick to the soul, to consider that he was incapable of getting to everyone who needed it while they were still whole. It struck him like a knife to the stomach to imagine so many survivors falling slain, drained of blood for the sake of feeding some God-forsaken tree for some God-forsaken underworld usurper. It struck him like the crack of a whip, fiery and branding, to quantify all the time they were wasting right now. And maybe the weather didn't help—but there were as many periods of clear, good weather as there were wet and hot, and they could've done something with that! They could have, possibly, potentially, ended this entire farce weeks ago!

V's chest deflated in a way that was louder than the rain. It did no one any good to brood like this, he knew, but if he could do nothing right now to make any bit of difference to anyone, the least he could do was to think about them. But why was Nero taking so long? Why did they agree to wait a month to begin with, when the situation was pressing but not this desperate? His small party might have been enough to do something on its own, earlier on... V didn't realize it then, but Daemon was much more valuable an ally in strength, stamina, skill, and strategy than he'd first believed; and if he only knew these things when they'd set off as partners, maybe he would have dared to take on Urizen again. Maybe Daemon was all they'd needed—

And maybe we'd have failed all the same.

He sighed again, unaware of it. His eyelids felt heavy, his entire body felt like lead despite weighing nothing. That must have been the burden on his shoulders, oh but he could feel it like a stake through the heart, and he elected to blink, look elsewhere, but not at the table beside him. A set of eyes had landed on him for longer than five seconds, and it was, perhaps, no wonder that he'd felt his own thoughts disturbed. The attention on him was enough to suddenly have him focus on it, but he dared not look!

He didn't want to deal with...whatever he was going to see, with the way it would make him feel, with what he was ultimately going to say about it to turn that wolf's sights off. He didn't like being in the crosshairs like this, and maybe Daemon had noticed how V had suddenly stiffened but simply didn't care about it to change anything. But...he was used to Daemon's lingering looks, the glimmer in smart blue eyes, the smarmy smile on his face and the infuriating way he spoke— But V didn't see that when he finally looked. He thought he was ready to chide him for the umpteenth time, but he saw something that was...distant, forlorn, almost, and...soft, in a way; in a way he wasn't used to.

It looked like longing, and V simply believed put it in his head he was thinking about something he missed. The rain oft gave way to nostalgia, and V would not chide him for that. Still, he furrowed his brows, but gently. "Why are you staring?"

His heart felt so nervous in his chest.

"You know how uncomfortable that makes me... Maybe now's a good time for a nap. You hardly close your eyes."

He didn't chide, didn't scoff or spit venom or hiss or do anything that would have otherwise come off bitterly. Instead, he spoke like a friend, like he was concerned and compassionate, veiled by only a quiet, somewhat impassive tone of voice. He brought his face to his palm again, and looked out into the rain again, but his elbow was seriously bothering him now. He didn't want to contend with those eyes, however. They didn't upset him in the usual way: it struck him like he was tossed into a tub of glacial water, but something inside had his body hot with insecurities and anxieties and a general feeling of I'd rather be anywhere but here.

If anything, V closed his eyes. He felt sorry, in a way. He didn't understand any of it, so he thought he preferred to torture himself with guilt over circumstances he couldn't control. Daemon was rarely so quiet, so pensive, and V began to saddle himself with guilt over his circumstances now. Maybe Daemon was also grappling with those I'd rather be anywhere but here feelings. V wouldn't have blamed him one bit for it. And in this dreary weather to boot; but it seemed as though Daemon was here to stay, no matter what clouds hung over his head, or what burden weighed on his shoulders. He had expressed as much, repeatedly, and...the warlock thought he didn't deserve that, convictions be damned. It was a little late to be chasing the wolf away, however, and V preferred not to if given the choice. Not anymore. Oh, what had either of them gotten themselves into?

This poor, pale, pitiable form that you follow in a storm. Do iron tears and groans of lead bind around your aching head?

[weirdero]

I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Gemma’s storyline will lead to a cloning reveal, which like, it’s a decent theory and wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But god, this show is so specific and detail oriented Ben Stiller himself has even said nothing in the show is a coincidence. The cloning theory has also been shut down a couple times by some producers and writes from what I understand and idk I feel like a cloning reveal would just be so boring. And honestly, I don’t know if this is insane, but I’m fully leaning towards the idea that when it comes to Ms. Casey/Gemma, it’s more of a resurrection situation.

Okay so hear me out I believe our Ms. Casey is still physically Gemma her original body, her bones, her blood she’s alive baby that’s her but like also it’s not her. It’s like in horror or fantasy stories when a character dies and comes back but comes back wrong YK?. Physically it’s still them but it’s not them. In my opinion, her brain has been completely reset, wiping away whatever kind of person she used to be.

To back this theory I’ve been heavily leaning on the interaction between Ms. Cobel and Helena in the parking lot and just the general existence of the Mammalian Nurturable department.

Now, I might be reading into this too much, but I just love these characters so much and this show so please bear with me, this is a long one.

this season Harmony/Ms. Cobel is a problem. Like there is just no way she isn’t. Lumon is already struggling to keep it together after the scandal the main four caused, and a change in management isn’t helping. People are (probably) starting to pay attention, and they do not need that kind of heat. Ms. Cobel literally crashing tf out making herself homeless and sneaking around in the dark probably isn’t helping.

Helena’s choice of words have always stood out to me. She’s calculated, smart, and precise in how she speak just like Harmony. Both of them are masters at saying exactly what they need to without ever outright saying it yk? So when she she spots Cobel in the parking lot in the middle of the night she clocks her immediately.

Harmony walks out as if she still has a job in that bitch and has the audacity to tell Helena what her needs are and exactly how they should be met. And in my opinion, Helena is appalled but not surprised. She calls her out on her behavior.

“I hear ego, hubris, and arrogance. Kier teaches us they only cause pain.”

To me, this isn’t just a read it’s a warning. Harmony doesn’t take it. She bites back, calling Helena a NEPOTISM BABY. wild.

And I mean look at Helena’s face.

So Helena lays it out for her as plainly as possible

“We didn’t have to ask you back.”

No translation even needed, she just said it flat out Baby, we don’t need you here. You do not, no matter what you think, represent us. You are not Lumon.

And Harmony, being just as cunty clocks her shit right back

“You didn’t have a choice.”

At this point, Ms. Cobel isn’t just skating on thin ice she’s walking across a frozen lake in metal combat boots, her ass skipping around as if the ice won’t break. And that’s her mistake.

Helena, after giving Harmony multiple chances to walk away. Multiple chances to come back in on lumons terms. Multiple chances to stop playing in her fucking face, finally pulls back with a kind smile and offers her a chance to “restart”.

As they walk towards the car, Ms. Cobel locks eyes with Helena’s bodyguard and the instant terror is actually insane. Full deer in headlights.

A lot of people saw that shot and took it as a straight-up Sopranos esque death threat like, if she gets in that car, she’s not gonna survive the drive (RIP Audriana). And sure, it could be as simple as that, but this show is just way too good for it to be that simple.

I think Cobel recognizes the bodyguard. She knows him and I mean like fr knows him.

I saw a theory on Reddit suggesting that the bodyguard might be someone she knew maybe a former coworker, someone from her personal life (they suggested it could’ve been someone she was super close with before she even became the woman we know today) idk just somebody she knows knows and out of nowhere suddenly, he’s here, presented as Helena’s bodyguard. But it’s not him. It’s his skin, his bones, his blood but it’s not HIM.

And the way it plays out, it doesn’t seem like the bodyguard recognizes her at least not in the same way she knows him. That stare man that stare. I didn’t even know Harmony could experience fear. Who knows, maybe in that moment she’s reflecting on everything that’s happened. She bitched out the boss’s daughter in this empty ass parking lot on the brink of a mental break down, and suddenly there’s a chance to start over. All she has to do is get in that car, with that man, talk to the higher-ups, and hit the “reset” button.

Basically my theory is that Lumon are essentially grave robbing the fuck out of that town. Taking people who have been in serious accidents car crashes, house fires, construction site falls, factory explosion, hell even a drive by. I also think they’re also taking drug addicts, the homeless people who have no loved ones looking out for them, or even looking for them at all, the ones who are confirmed to be gone in every way, physically or emotionally. They’re taking these people and giving them a full system reset rebooting the computer.

By doing this, Lumon gets to create a free labor force that works 24/7 without question or resistance, exploiting people who have no emotional ties or support systems. Blank slate baby! They’re also using these individuals as test subjects for whatever weird shit they wanna launch out as a new product.

This helps explain a lot of the weird shit going on with the employees at Mammalian Nurturable. They look so rough and are also really off-putting towards outsiders. Which is understandable but I genuinely believe they haven’t even “clocked out” in days, if not ever.

Even though this theory makes the most sense to me, It still has its plot holes like if Gemma isn’t a clone and it’s her “resurrected” where does she go when she’s not her innie. In Season 1, she tells Mark she’s only conscious as her innie for a couple of minutes at a time, and the longest she’s ever stayed “alive” was the 8 hours she spent with his department. So where tf is she if not there as Ms Casey i don’t know man I do not know.

Anyways I have some other general curiosities about the town itself and why Lumon decided to build their main building there. I saw a TikTok video of someone saying it reminded them of company-built towns like Hershey Pennsylvania or Kodak Town, and I agree. Anywho I love this show so much it hurts I hope it never dies I literally missed having an obsession this intense I hope it gets all the love and awards it deserves!!

[v6quewrlds]

❝ last to know, a. svechnikov. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it's always nice to hear about the canes' team bonding activities. but when andrei comes home with a november challenge, you know the only solution is to kill seth jarvis.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: yay first svechy fic. hope y'all know that's my baby boy. it's me and google translate against the world <3 this is day one of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, jarvy's an idiot, andrei gets a little grumpy, google translated russian, andrei calls reader kisa (kitten), moya lyubov (my love), and malishka (baby), bratty!reader, dom!svech at the end, choking, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: andrei svechnikov x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 5.3k.

The evening air was cool, hinting at the early arrival of winter. Inside the cozy apartment, the smell of onions and garlic sizzling in olive oil filled the kitchen. You wore a simple pair of black leggings and an oversized t-shirt as you chopped vegetables for the stir-fry. Your hands moved with precision, each chop echoing in the quiet space. Andrei stood towering over the stove, carefully tossing the chicken in the makeshift wok. His muscular arms flexed with the motion, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at his broad back.

Andrei caught you staring and winked playfully. "What are you looking at, kisa?" he asked in his deep, accented voice. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, but a smirk danced on your lips.

"Just making sure you don’t burn our dinner," you quipped, tossing a pepper slice in his direction. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. The two of you had been living together for six months now, and your playful back-and-forth banter was as much a part of your daily routine as your career obligations.

"You know I'm better in kitchen than on ice," he said, a smug smile playing on his lips.

You scoffed, throwing a handful of sliced mushrooms into the pan with a dramatic flair. "Right, is that why I've had to clean burnt pans more times in the last six months than I have my entire life?"

Andrei shrugged, his smile growing wider. "You know I'm just teasing, moya lyubov." He reached over and pinched your side gently, making you squeal and swat his hand away. The stress of the day had dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your easy banter. The two of you worked in a harmonious dance, you adding the final touches to the meal while Andrei plated your dinner. You sat down at the small kitchen table, the TV playing highlights from the latest Hurricanes game in the background.

As you ate, your conversation turned to the upcoming team events. Andrei mentioned the Thanksgiving gathering at the captain’s place at the end of the month with a hint of excitement in his voice. "You could not go last year but you will love it, kisa. It's going to be so much fun."

You nodded, swirling your fork through the noodles on your plate. "I’m looking forward to it. But some of the girls were talking about a challenge you guys are doing?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Andrei's face grew slightly red as he took a sip of his water, avoiding eye contact.

"Is just something...stupid," he mumbled. "Some of the guys on the team are trying to not...you know."

Your eyes narrowed, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'not'?"

Andrei sighed, setting down his fork. "They're doing a thing called 'No Nut November'. It's where you...try, um, not to climax for the whole month."

Your mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?" you exclaimed. "Why on earth would you agree to that?"

Andrei shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "Just ispytaniye, you know? The guys talked to me," he said, his English faltering slightly in his bashfulness. "But it is okay. We have fun."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You knew Andrei had a competitive streak, but this was ridiculous. "So, what, you're just going to ignore me for a whole month for a challenge?" you said, trying to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Andrei looked at you with those puppy dog eyes you had come to love. "Nyet, kisa, it's not like that. We can still...you know, do everything else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everything else?" you questioned. "So, you want to be abstinent for a month because of some dumb bet?"

Andrei looked at you sheepishly. "It is not a bet," he clarified. "Team bonding. Like when we go dry January."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Yeah, but you hate those challenges," you pointed out. "What's the deal with this one?"

Andrei sighed, his shoulders dropping.

"Honey, tell me who put you up to this," you pressed, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

He took a deep breath before admitting, "Jarvy." Your eyes widened with understanding. You were going to kill Seth Jarvis.

You put down your fork and leaned back in your chair. "Why didn't you tell me it was him? Is he bothering you?" you said, your voice filled with the mock concern of a mother tending to her distressed toddler.

Andrei's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as he groaned at your tone. "He just was talking, and I thought...I could do it," he said, his voice trailing off.

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable. "Alright, fine. You can do your 'No Nut November' thing," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you're not getting off that easy."

Andrei looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Your smirk grew more mischievous. "I mean, I'll make sure you really feel like you're participating in this challenge," you said, your voice low and filled with a hint of laughter. Andrei's eyes widened slightly as you pushed your chair back and stood up from the table.

For the next few days, you made it your personal mission to test Andrei's resolve. You wore outfits that you knew would drive him wild, your short shorts and tight tops leaving little to the imagination. You would strut around your apartment, hips swaying with each step, eyes sparkling with amusement at his obvious discomfort. Andrei tried to resist, his eyes darting away whenever you caught him looking, but you could see his jaw clench and his fists tighten.

One evening, after a particularly tiring day of teasing, you lay on the couch with a knowing smirk, your legs crossed and your fingers tracing circles on your bare thigh. Andrei sat in the chair opposite you, his eyes glued to the TV but his mind clearly elsewhere. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog.

"Kisa, why do you do this to me?" he murmured, his voice deep with frustration.

Your smirk grew wider as you shrugged. "Just trying to make sure you're really committed to this whole 'challenge,'" you said, emphasizing the last word. You leaned back, your fingers continuing their torturous dance. Andrei's eyes followed the movement, his own eyes darkening with desire.

The tension between the two of you grew palpable. Andrei shifted in his chair, his discomfort clear. "You're being mean, kisa," he said, his voice thick. You sat up, placing your hand on his knee.

"I know, I know," you said, your voice softening with faux understanding. "But think of the prize at the end. You'll have earned it." Andrei groaned, his eyes pleading.

You stood up, your hand sliding over his thigh. "Come on, baby, let's go to bed." You could feel his resistance wavering, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

Andrei's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you thought you had won. But then he leaned back and took a deep breath, his Russian stubbornness shining through. "No, kisa. I finish what I start."

Your smirk faded, replaced with a look of determination. "Fine," you said, your voice a purr. "But I won’t make this easy for you, Andrei."

The next two weeks were a battle of wills. Every move you made was calculated to push Andrei to his breaking point. You would lean over to grab something, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. You would sit on his lap while you watched movies, your body warm and inviting against his. And each time he'd try to make a move, you would push him away, reminding him of his commitment to the challenge. Andrei's patience grew thinner with every passing day, his eyes darkening with need whenever you were near.

The day of the Thanksgiving gathering finally arrived. Andrei was on edge, his usual stoic, confident demeanor cracking under the pressure of his raging hormones. The two of you arrived at Jordan Staal’s home, the aroma of roasting turkey and sweet potatoes greeting all the guests at the door. You looked stunning in a carefully selected silk dress, your confidence deepening when you saw the other wives and girlfriends' reactions to your attire. You knew Andrei would struggle all night, and you were more than ready to watch him squirm.

As you mingled, the conversation inevitably turned to No Nut November. The other wives and girlfriends laughed at the idea, sharing stories of their partners' failed attempts. Andrei's teammates exchanged knowing glances, and you felt a twinge of annoyance that you were the butt of their private joke. But you held your tongue, smiling sweetly as you listened to their banter.

“You look good, girl.” Gianna, one of the player’s girlfriends, whispered to you with a knowing smile as she passed by with a tray of drinks. The room was filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of silverware as everyone stood around in anticipation of the dinner.

“I can’t believe he’s still holding out on you, sweetie. Most of the guys gave up by week two,” one of the wives named Melissa said with a wink.

You couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of pride at the thought of Andrei’s tortured self-control. You took a sip of your wine, watching as he talked with Jordan and his wife, Heather, his eyes occasionally straying to you. You knew he was desperate for release, and you were enjoying every second of his torment.

As the evening progressed, Andrei's touches grew bolder, his hands lingering a little longer on your waist or brushing against your thigh. You would look up at him with a knowing smile, watching him bite back his desire. When you were alone in the kitchen for a brief moment, Andrei leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Kisa, I need you. Let's go home."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you leaned back into his touch, your voice a seductive murmur. "But the party's just getting started," you teased. "You're not giving up now, are you?"

Andrei's grip tightened on the countertop, his knuckles white. "I can't...not with you looking so sexy," he admitted, his accent thickening with his arousal. Taking a brief moment to take in his surroundings, Andrei bent down to whisper his plea in Russian into your ear, hoping that the language barrier would shield your conversation from prying eyes and ears.

“Da, ya ponimayu, Andrei,” you whispered back your understanding in what little Russian you knew off the top of your head, your voice dripping with sweetness. “But you need to be stronger than this. Think of the victory you’ll feel when you win the challenge.”

You stepped back, placing the platter of food you had been holding onto the counter with a gentle clink, leaving his hand hovering in the air between you. Andrei’s frustration was palpable, but you felt a thrill of power knowing you had him right where you wanted him.

The dinner was a blur of flavors and forced small talk as Andrei’s eyes followed you around the room. You could feel his gaze on you, his need for you almost tangible. You were enjoying your victory, watching him squirm, his self-control hanging by a thread. As the night went on, the tension grew thicker than the gravy on the turkey.

The two of you found yourselves standing at the edge of the living room, the TV playing a football game neither of you was particularly interested in. Seth Jarvis strolled over, a smug grin plastered on his face. "How's it going, buddy?" he asked, slapping Andrei on the back.

Andrei gritted his teeth. "It's...going," he said through clenched teeth.

Jarvy chuckled. "You know, I didn't think you had it in you. We thought you’d tap out by week one." He winked at you, drawing an eye roll out of you. Andrei's jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, Jarvy cut in again. “We actually bet on it. I lost like a hundred bucks, Svechy. You’re a beast, man."

Andrei's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'we'? Who else is not doing this?"

Jarvy's smirk grew wider. "Well, most of us stopped after the first week. We decided to test how long it would take for you to catch on," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Your mouth fell open as you threw your head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the room. Andrei's face went red with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"You asshole," he groaned, visibly annoyed but trying to hold back his self-deprecating laughter. "Why did you not tell me?"

Jarvy shrugged, his grin unabated. "It's not fun if you know, right?" He clapped Andrei on the shoulder before walking away, leaving the Russian standing in stunned silence.

You couldn't help but continue to laugh, the tension of the past few weeks finally breaking. You stepped closer to Andrei, your eyes gleaming with mirth. "So, you've been suffering for nothing?"

Andrei's eyes searched yours, a mix of relief and annoyance swirling in their depths. "It will be worth it," he murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, and you knew that the challenge had pushed him to his limits.

“Maybe this will be a good thing after all,” you whispered into Andrei’s ear, your voice filled with amusement as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You felt his body relax slightly against you, his grip on you tightening for a brief moment before loosening.

Andrei leaned down and kissed your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Ya budu zhdat’,” he murmured in Russian, his voice thick with need. You giggled, feeling his hard chest against yours.

“You’ll have to wait a little longer, my love,” you said, pulling away with a mischievous smile.

Andrei sighed, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. “You are cruel, kisa,” he said, his eyes still dark with desire. You knew you had won this round, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. You pushed yourself off the wall, stalking back to the group of wives and girlfriends.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and food. The tension between you and Andrei had dissipated slightly, replaced with a newfound excitement. As the guests began to leave, Andrei’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. You knew what was coming, and you were more than ready.

As you two said your goodbyes to Heather and Jordan, Andrei's grip tightened, pulling you closer. His eyes were dark with desire, and you felt your body responding, your core heating with anticipation. You walked to the car in silence, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet the only sound between the two of you.

The drive home was tense, the air in the car thick with unspoken words. Andrei's eyes never left the road, but you could feel his need for you in every tense line of his body. You leaned over and placed your hand on his thigh, your thumb stroking the fabric of his dress pants. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t move away.

When you arrived at your apartment, Andrei practically dragged you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. He slammed you against the door, his mouth claiming yours in a fiery kiss that left you both gasping for air. You moaned, your hands fisting his hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Andrei’s hands roamed your body, desperate to feel every inch of you. He slid the silk dress up your thighs, his rough palms grazing your soft skin. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against the lace of your panties.

"Now, kisa?" he growled, his voice a mix of need and frustration. You could feel his arousal pressing against you, and you knew you couldn't wait any longer either.

With a sly smile, you whispered, "Alright, let's go to the bedroom."

Your passionate kisses didn't stop as you stumbled down the hallway, Andrei’s hands moving to peel off your dress, his desire unbridled. As you reached the bedroom, the dress fell to the floor in a puddle of silk, revealing your barely-there lingerie. Your heart raced, your body craving his touch.

Andrei laid you on the bed, his eyes dark with want. His fingers traced the outline of your bra, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in Russian, his voice deep and demanding. Your back arched, your eyes closing in pleasure as you felt his mouth replace his hands.

He kissed a path down your body, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach before he reached the apex of your thighs. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body begging for his touch. Andrei didn’t disappoint, his mouth closing over your clit through your sheer panties, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were moaning his name.

Your hands were in his hair, guiding him, urging him on as he devoured you. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and the roughness of his prickly stubble. Your legs trembled, and you knew you were close to the edge. But Andrei had other plans. He pulled away, his eyes smoldering as he removed your underwear, tossing it aside.

“I want to see you come apart for me, kisa,” he murmured in your ear, his voice thick with lust. “My way of saying sorry.”

Your eyes flew open, meeting his intense gaze. You could feel his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs wider, exposing you to his hungry eyes. Andrei leaned down, his mouth replacing his thumb, his tongue delving deep into your folds. Your grip on the bedsheets tightened as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body responding to his every touch.

Andrei took his time, savoring every gasp and moan that escaped your lips. His tongue danced around your clit, flicking and swirling, driving you closer to the brink of orgasm. Your hips bucked against his face, your legs tightening around his head, urging him to never stop. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the smell of your desire thick in the air.

“Dai, Andrei, please,” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. Your body was a tight coil, wound up by the masterful way he teased you. Andrei chuckled darkly, his eyes glued to your glistening pussy as he added a finger to the mix, sliding it in and out of you with a rhythm that matched his tongue.

Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your lip to keep from screaming out. His finger curled inside you, finding your sweet spot, and you could feel the orgasm building, ready to crash down on you like a wave. Andrei’s other hand found your breast, squeezing and playing with your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure to your core.

With a final, desperate plea, you came, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax. Andrei didn’t stop, his tongue and finger working in unison until you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.

Pulling away, he gave you a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with triumph. Russian rolled off his tongue, “Ya zastavil tebya zhdat' slishkom dolgo, moy milyy kotenok, hmm?” He licked his lips, savoring your taste.

You could only nod, catching the phrase ‘made you wait too long’ and ‘kitten’, your breathing still erratic. Andrei leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, sharing the flavor of your desire. You felt his erection pressing into your thigh, and you reached down to stroke him, your hand wrapping around his thick length.

He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Malishka," he murmured, his voice strained. He pushed your hand away, standing up to remove his own clothes. His pants hit the floor, revealing his boxer briefs, the outline of his hard cock clear. He stepped out of them, standing before you naked and proud.

You took in the sight of him, your eyes lingering on his toned abs, the V that dipped down to his shaft, the heavy erection that stood tall between his legs. You licked your lips, feeling your arousal spike again. Andrei climbed onto the bed, his movements swift and purposeful.

He positioned himself between your legs, his cock poised at your entrance. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, spread out before him, your chest heaving with every breath, your skin flushed from the orgasm he’d just given you. He leaned down, whispering something in Russian that you didn’t understand, but the way his voice vibrated against your skin sent shivers down your spine.

Andrei slid into you with a groan, his thickness stretching you deliciously. Your nails dug into the bed, your body arching to meet his, your eyes boring into his. He began to move, his strokes deep and measured, each one pushing you closer to another peak.

“Andrei, faster,” you panted, your eyes fluttering shut. You felt his hand wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as his other hand found your clit, his thumb pressing down firmly.

"Open your eyes, kisa," he ordered, his voice gruff with need. Your eyes snapped open, locking onto his as he began to thrust harder, his hips moving with a fierce rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. His thumb on your clit grew more insistent, the pressure just right to send you spiraling toward another orgasm.

Andrei’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, his eyes focused on yours as he whispered, “You want me to make you feel good, malishka?”

Your eyes widened, the dominance in his voice sending a thrill through you. You nodded, your body already obeying his command. He picked up his pace, his strokes growing more erratic as his own climax approached. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your muscles clenching around him, your walls contracting as you fought for release.

Andrei’s thumb played with your clit with renewed vigor, his hips slamming into you as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. You could feel his cock swell even further, the pink, angry head brushing against your g-spot with every thrust. The hand on your throat tightened, cutting off your air, and making you lightheaded with desire.

He growled in approval, his own climax still a ways off. Andrei’s strokes grew erratic, his movements more primal as he chased his release. Your eyes remained locked with his, the connection between the two of you intense and unbreakable. You could feel the sweat trickling down your spine, your body begging for more, even as you trembled from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

With a sudden movement, Andrei pulled out of you, flipping you onto your stomach with surprising agility. You yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, you felt the head of his cock nudge against your slick entrance from behind. "Andrei," you whined, your voice a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He chuckled darkly. "You want more, kisa?" He didn’t wait for a response before slamming back into you, his hips slapping against your ass. Your moan was muffled by the pillow Andrei had buried your face into. The angle was new, the sensations overwhelming. Each thrust hit deeper than before, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your hands strained against the pillow, pushing yourself back to meet him as he claimed you from behind. You could feel the heat of Andrei’s body surrounding you, his muscles flexing and releasing as he moved in a punishing rhythm. His grip on your hips was firm, guiding your body to his will, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words that only added to the erotic symphony of your lovemaking.

"Do you want to touch me? Do you want to feel how hard I am for you?" Andrei’s voice was a gruff whisper in your ear as he pounded into you, his hand reaching around to stroke your clit again. You nodded frantically, your voice lost in the pillow.

"Vpered, prodolzhat'," Andrei hummed over you, giving you the permission you craved to reach out and feel his skin on yours.

You reached behind yourself, your hand finding his forearm, the muscles tight with effort. Your fingertips danced along the slick skin, feeling the power in every flex of his bicep as he pounded into you. The sensation of his cock filling you from this angle was exquisite, and you could feel your body responding, already building towards another peak.

Impatient, Andrei yanked you up by your arms, so you were on your knees, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. You moaned, your hands reaching back to grip his hips, your nails digging into his skin. He groaned, his movements growing more urgent. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, a testament to your passion.

"Harder," you gasped, your body begging for more. Andrei obliged, his strokes growing rougher, his grip on your hips tightening. You could feel his cock swell even further, his balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust. Your body was on fire, your orgasm building again.

Andrei leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear. "Khoroshiy?" he murmured in Russian, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he asked if you were good. You nodded, your body tightening as you approached the edge once more, unable to form words to respond to him.

He whispered something else you couldn’t process, and you felt him shift his angle, his cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep within you. A whiny moan escaped your lips, and your head fell back against your boyfriend's shoulder. Andrei’s breath grew ragged, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that had your toes curling.

"Come for me," he demanded, his fingers trailing up to your throat once more. The gentle pressure was enough to send you spiraling over the edge, your body convulsing around his. Your scream of pleasure was broken as it fought its way through your constricted airway. Your soul practically left your body, the orgasm so intense it was almost painful. You could feel the fluid leaving your body, dampening the sheets as droplets landed on Andrei who simply grunted, his strokes never slowing.

"Andrei," you panted, your voice hoarse from screaming. He leaned down, kissing the side of your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "Ya lyublyu tebya, kisa," he murmured, his voice thick with passion.

"Love you," you hummed, your words faltering as you came down from your orgasm.

You felt his thumb tracing lazy circles against your pulse point. His other hand found your clit, his movements precise and demanding. Your body responded instantly, your hips bucking back to meet his. You could feel him smiling against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

When you finally came back to Earth, you could feel Andrew’s cum sticking to your thighs. You collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, your legs quivering, your breathing ragged. "I didn’t even realize you came too," you murmured, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

Andrei pulled out, his cock glistening with your combined juices. He didn’t bother to cover himself as he stumbled over to the bathroom to clean up. When he returned, he was still hard, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his aroused state. You had never seen him like this before, so raw and needy. It was both interesting and exhilarating.

He climbed back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He reached out, his hand grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads were touching. His voice was low and gruff as he whispered, "You think this is funny?"

Your smile grew wider, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "A little," you admitted. Andrei’s grip tightened, but you didn’t flinch, your own desire sparking for a brief second as you felt his length finally begin to soften against your leg.

"Legs," Andrei hummed, instructing you to open up so he could clean you up. You giggled, your cheeks flushed with pleasure and a hint of embarrassment, spreading your legs wider for him. His gentle touch and the cool cloth against your sensitive skin were a cool relief from the fiery passion you had just shared. He took his time, wiping away every trace of your lovemaking, his focus on taking care of you in the aftermath of your passion.

Once you were cleaned up, Andrei lay beside you, pulling you into his arms. His chest was still heaving, his heart racing from the intensity of your encounter. Your eyes drifted shut, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you felt the warmth of his body envelop you. His hand caressed your back, his thumb making soothing circles that had you melting into him.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow, your skin sticky with sweat, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Andrei’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his leg thrown over yours in a possessive manner. You felt his breath against your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. It was moments like these you cherished, the quiet moments after passion had taken over, when your bodies were still joined, your hearts beating as one.

“Why did you do this to me?” Andrei’s voice was a mix of playfulness and exasperation. You chuckled, turning your head to look at him.

“Me? Do this to you?” you replied, feigned innocence in your tone. You wiggled closer, your eyes sparkling to match the cheeky smile that graced your face. “You’re the one who started this whole 'No Nut November' thing. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t forgetting how good we are together.”

Andrei sighed, his hand tightening briefly around your waist before he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I never forget, kisa,” he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. You felt a warmth spread through you, his pet name for you a sweet reminder of his affection. You snuggled closer, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

For a moment, you lay in silence, the only sound the distant murmur of the Raleigh nightlife. Then Andrei spoke up, his tone more serious. “No more challenges for me.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a hint of skepticism. “What about your pride, Svech?” you teased, using his nickname.

“You are my pride, kisa,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart race.

You leaned up on your elbow, studying his face. “Really?” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder. Andrei nodded, his thumb brushing over your full bottom lip.

“You win, kisa. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to.” His eyes searched yours, a silent promise in their depths. You felt your heart swell, the love you felt for him overwhelming you. You leaned in, your lips pressing to his in a gentle kiss. It was filled with all the love and passion you felt for this man who had stumbled into your life and turned it upside down in the best way possible.

Andrei’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, and deepening the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing with yours in a silent apology for his earlier stubbornness. You melted into the embrace, your bodies still humming together from the show of your love.

[limerlove]

divine intervention, a higher power, some type of god looking above us threatening to crush human kind with an obedient hand — it’s what you think of as violet brushes her teeth in front of your bathroom sink— the mirror showcasing her god-esque reflection. flourished by love, renewed by white roses and promise, renewal of optimistic promise floods her with every look she throws your way.

cursed by perfection by the gods who created us. the muscles of her back contract with each slight of movement, the black ink mesmerizes your line of vision, she quickly catches your eye as you step out of the shower, body glistens from steam, droplets falling on the blindingly white marble floors.

easily, you ditch the towel hanging on the metal hook before stalking violet as if she's the prey you desperately need to sink your teeth into.

“we’re supposed to be leaving soon.” but violet doesn’t believe it, not when you’re giving her that in-disposable gaze, eyes saturated with lost as the need revives within you like gasoline on raging fire.

bare as the day you were born, you hop onto the counter top, vi spits the remainder of toothpaste coating her breath minty fresh. “or we could not.”

carefully, spreading your legs open for her, vi groans, not caring when her towel loses it’s hold around her waist, exposing the pink bush coming from her the muscular v-shaped line, leading you into what you’re craving most.

“we’re already gonna be late as it is. this isn’t helping, princess.”

“but all i wanna do is help.” you pout, feigning concern as vi slids herself between your legs and just like that she’s caught in your venus fly trap.

“baby, that’s nice but, ahhh—”

fingers she should have been prepared for glide over her slick pussy, your digits gathering the golden honey wealth, coating your skin thicker with each stroke.

“shit, you shouldn’t, we have to—”

“what? go? or come?” vi curses at herself before she drops her damn strands of pink against your shoulder, whimpering as you slide two fingers inside her soft walls, “two every different things, violet. i’ll give you a third option, yeah? how does me staying inside work? is that good for you, baby?”

“yeahhh, you know it is.” violet crumbles, hips bucking forward as she reaches down, playing with her clit as your fingers make home in her soaked pussy as she falls under your spell. each slight of your hand is a hex to her psyche, a reminder of what belongs to you, what only you can do.

what only you can make her feel.

“you’re just too pretty to not to fuck, baby. do you know that? how much i adore you, how much i treasure you — that i would do anything to make my babygirl happy?”

the words feel like a symphony to violet, her clit throbbing intensely as you flick her hand away, circling dramatic circles against the the pearly bundle of nerves. the tables have shifted, you have her right where you so damn well please, and violet submits to you with all the love her heart possess.

a tidal wave of reassurance coats her skin as the comfort of your wave wraps her up, as soothing as a warm blanket on a frosty night. the ice within her is gone and all she feels is warm, saturated heat. violet sobs into your neck as you fuck her through the impossible high, powder-blue eyes sob find a flood within them and the dam releases when you tell her much you love her. pussy and heart in harmony as affirmations of love are whispered in her ear, all else is forgotten.

it's all it takes for two infinitely promised lovers to melt for the other, transcending anything full of purpose, a pair of futures blending into an uncontrollable tsuamni of unknowns, trapped in the iron fist of nothing more than reduced to a blinding heat until a trail is discovered, a soulmates path to intertwined perfection.

violet's stuck and begging for more as she rides out each thrust of your fingers, a cracked shred of her whimpers echo throughout the walls. for a moment, you wonder if it's phantom, a moment plucked from your imagination but the skin of her inner thigh feels softer than her calloused hands. it's welcoming each graze of your blunt fingertip, begging for more of whatever she's willing to give.

almost as if your knees bend at the pew in a cathedral, she pleads for mercy, sharp teeth marking your shoulder with territorial need. then, violet falls. every sturdy and strong muscles becomes limp, blindful trust full of passionate love surrounds her heart until she has nothing else to give. this is all she's ever wanted.

to be truly yours.

[tessasturns]

sturniolo christmas

matt sturniolo x reader

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summary... the triplets had invited you over to film a gingerbread house making video, but the tension between you and matt was insane.

warnings... swearing, tension between matt and reader !!

wc... 690

(masterlist)

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the sturniolos house was ready and decorated for christmas, decorations painting the home. you were filming a video with the triplets, a fun holiday activity.

"hey guys, today we are going to be building and decorating gingerbread houses with our best friend, y/n l/n!" nick says as he explains the video to the camera. "hi!" you say as you wave to the camera.

"we're going to be in teams for this, so we have y/n and matt together, which leaves chris and i in a group together" nick explains. "we will have about an hour to finish and you guys will vote on our instagram, @ sturniolo.triplets to see who's is the best."

a couple minutes go by and nick already has the entire group laughing. "what the fuck is that?" nick wheezes as he points out chris' gingerbread man. "it's gingy" he laughs. "look at all his aura nick!" you and matt were now gasping for air at the sight of chris' gingerbread man; it was covered in icing and candy.

"don't fucking put that anywhere near our gingerbread house" nick says. "i'll do whatever the fuck i want to" chris responds, sass laced on his tongue. chris and nick start yelling at eachother, so you and matt take the advantage that they're not working while the time was running out.

you and matt are working in perfect harmony, your house almost done, whereas chris and nicks had fallen about three times. they're still yelling at each other, but you and matt are in your own little world. the roof had begun to slip and matt soon became aware of it, breaking his silence to help you. "make sure you- here" matt wraps his arms around you from behind, helping you hold the roof together while you ice the top.

your breathing subconsciously starts to get heavier, the boy now practically wrapped around you. "okay...there we go" matt says as he stands back up to continue putting gumdrops on the roof. the boys behavior didn't go unnoticed, however nobody said anything.

"chris you're a fucking idiot" nick states as the boys go back at it again. "how am i the idiot? i'm just trying to add gingy to our house" chris chuckles. "oh my-" nick gets cut off by chris throwing the gingerbread man at him, causing a fight between the two.

"oh my fucking- you're gonna die. you're going to fucking die chris!" nick exclaims as he launches the bag of icing in chris' direction. however, chris quickly moved out of the way, leaving the icing to go right for your head. matt is quick to respond, and catches the icing bag right before it smacks you. the two of you are now looking right at eachother, the tension being way too much.

"chat is this rizz?" chris gasps as he stares at the scene unfolding before him. the four of you laugh it off, matt's reflexes being insane once again. you try to keep the odd feeling for your best friend in but nobody in this room knows how much he means to you. everyone goes back to decorating, but not without chris and nick fighting a bit more.

"alright everybody, thank you so much for tuning in and watching this weeks friday video, we will put a poll on our instagram story to see who won so make sure you're following the group account, and we'll see you next friday!" nick says, as matt screams at the camera before shutting it off. you all begin to clean up the mess and nick takes pictures of the gingerbread houses for instagram.

the four of you are now sitting on the couch, matt subconsciously placing his arm around you. you try to choke back words, not wanting anything to change. this night was truly perfect. "i just know we're gonna win" chris states. "i don't give a flying fuck about what you 'know' " matt states as chris starts to huff about how his and nicks gingerbread house was better, a pointless argument that matt showed no mind to. the night ends with watching die hard and sipping hot cocoa, a classic christmas night.

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tessas notes... this is for the @mattscoquette and @letstrip13 holiday writing comp ! however i couldn't get the proper tag to work for some reason, im not on this app very much so i do apologize for that :(

more influencer!reader

blessings and riches, tessa