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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

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I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

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“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

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Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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oneshotnewbie · 2 months

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how about an addison montgomery x reader and finding out reader has abusive parents thanks!!!!!

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of abusive parents. This plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright sun shone through the large windows of the waiting room at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital as you paced nervously in the waiting room. The thought of the upcoming check-up with Dr. Addison Montgomery made your heart beat faster even though you repeated this year after year. Despite your fears, you knew it was important to get regular checkups, especially after you noticed some unusual symptoms.

When you were finally called, you followed the nurse through the corridors of the gynecological clinic until you finally stood in front of the door to the treatment room. Once inside, Dr. Montgomery greeted you with a warm smile. "Welcome back, y/n. How are you today?"

You forced a smile, concern for your health and life's obstacles overshadowing your usual demeanor. "Thanks, I'm feeling okay so far. I'm here for a checkup because I've noticed a few symptoms that are worrying me."

Addison nodded understandingly and asked you to take a seat. However, as she began to ask the usual questions, she immediately noticed that something was wrong. Your posture was stiff, your answers were short, and you seemed uncomfortable. Quite the opposite from the last times she had seen you. "Can you tell me about the symptoms you've been noticing lately?" She asked softly and you hesitated for a moment before answering. "Well, I have unusual pulling and pressure in my abdomen. I feel very tired in general but I think that's probably just normal."

The redhead frowned slightly as she began to do the examination. When she gestured with her hand to ask you to sit on the exam chair, you flinched and promptly avoided making eye contact with her. "I´m sorry..." you simply interjected and as you continued to sit on the chair, Addison felt an inexplicable restlessness arise within her.

She watched you carefully as she took swabs and checked to see what was going on. As she did so, she recognized subtle signs of fear and insecurity manifesting in your behavior that she had never seen in you before. It was as if there was something in the air, something unspoken, standing between them and demanding their attention. She could practically feel the tension surrounding you, and her instincts told her that there was more going on here than what seemed like a checkup.

After she had also completed an ultrasound on you, Addison sat down on the lounger next to you and quickly decided to ask carefully. "I want to be honest with you. I noticed some signs during the exams that could indicate something might be wrong. I think it might be helpful if you talked about it." She murmured questioningly, placing a soothing hand on your thigh, making you jump at the touch as well.

You looked at her in surprise, your eyes fixed on her with relief. But only hesitantly did you begin to talk about your concerns, which went far beyond the physical symptoms. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" The person you spoke to nodded at you, giving you time to express yourself. She sensed that there was more here than your body had yet revealed, and she wanted to give you the opportunity to open up when you were ready. "I'm your doctor, y/n. Everything you tell me is confidential."

You swallowed hard before finally finding the courage to say the words you had suppressed for so long. "It's my father," you began hesitantly and the gynecologist listened attentively without interrupting. "Since the pandemic and losing his job, he's... he's not exactly... friendly to me."

The reticence and fear had crumbled as you revealed the truth about your home situation to her. You confessed to the constant insults, humiliation and physical abuse you endured from your father and Addison continued to listen intently, offering you an empathetic embrace of comfort and support as you revealed the painful details of your abuse.

When you finished, an oppressive silence fell across the room. Addison felt the weight of your words on her own shoulders. She felt powerless in the face of the suffering you had to endure at such a young age, an inner anger boiling up towards your parents and at the same time a burning desire deep inside her to help you. "Thank you, y/n, for trusting me," she finally spoke in a quiet voice and rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. This time you didn't flinch. "What has been done to you and continues to happen to you is unacceptable and you deserve to be safe and protected. I will do everything in my power to help you get out of this situation."

The shock of what she had heard was deep within her, but she forced herself to remain calm and empathetic. Her first priority was to reassure you that you were safe and that she would help you. She hugged you gently and held you close to her, giving your tears a place to disappear. "Please believe me when I say that you are safe here," she began to speak to you calmly. "No one will hurt you in front of me and if it happens again, you come straight to me, okay?"

You lowered your gaze, tears glistening in your eyes as you let yourself fall into her embrace, feeling the instant warmth and comfort she offered you. For a moment you felt safe, surrounded by the care of this remarkable woman who was willing to stand up for you. “Thank you, Dr. Montgomery,” you whispered, your voice shaking. "It means so much to me to know I'm not alone."

Addison smiled softly and rubbed your back. "From now on it's Addison. I think we're past the formal part. And of course, I'll help you through the difficult times, and I'll be by your side as long as you need me."

At that moment, you knew you had made the right decision to reach out to her. You felt strengthened by her words and beneath all the vulnerability you showed there was also a spark of hope. Hope that you weren't alone, that there were people who cared about you and were ready to help you when you needed it. You felt relieved that you had confided in someone, and Addison promised to support you every step of the way, whether through further testing, therapy, or any other form of police or court help you needed.

As you left the office, you felt a little more confident with her personal phone number and address. Addison Montgomery, who promised to protect you if your father became abusive again and you needed a place to stay. You knew that from now on you were no longer alone but had found an ally in her in the fight against the darkness that surrounded you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In the weeks that followed, Addison Montgomery and you developed a deep bond that went beyond the boundaries of an ordinary doctor-patient relationship. She had given you her personal address and phone number in case you ever had to run away from home and didn't know where to go. The gesture of care had touched you deeply and shown you that you were not just a patient, but now also had a friendship that you could rely on.

The conversations between the two of you became more and more open and intimate as you worked together to come up with a plan to get yourself out of the dangerous situation you found yourself in. And one Saturday morning, after you had escaped from your father's attacks and came to her, Addison offered to take you in and give you a safe haven, away from your parents' abuse and humiliation.

At first you were unsure whether you should accept the offer. The fear of the unknown, the worry of the consequences, and the fear of becoming too much for Addison held you back. But in the end, your trust, the hope for a better life and the love that she conveyed to you every day prevailed.

At midnight on that same warm spring night, you packed your few belongings and made your way to Addison's house. As you opened the door, a feeling of relief and freedom washed over you. The redhead welcomed you with open arms and a warm, loving smile that showed you that you were finally safe and that she would never let anything happen to you again.

Over the coming weeks and months, you began to settle into your new home, helping Addison with Henry while she was at work. Under her loving care, you slowly blossomed, gained self-confidence, and finally found the courage to leave your past behind you.

Addison supported you every step of the way in your healing, whether it was through therapeutic conversations, medical care, or just her unconditional love and support. Together you went through ups and downs, but you always stood by each other, determined to overcome the darkness together and step into the light of a better future. Your connection was strong, characterized by mutual respect, trust and love and you knew that you would be connected forever.

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sanccharine · 4 months

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blueberry muffins | sn

single parent au, christmas au

pairing: babysitter!sana x single parent!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 7.2k

warning: so sweet it'll rot your teeth ! ew that ryhmed, i'm sorry

summary: when your own life becomes a b-rated hallmark holiday movie (not that you're complaining)

a/n: finally, what was supposed to be last year's christmas fic and the sequel to pizza party! is here !! all thanks to this request !! this was co-written by @eternallyghosting (she wrote three (very important) sentences and the summary, which is easily the hardest part of writing fics) strangely, it was nice writing domestic fluff again and also i gave up on the banner :D also is this happy belated christmas bc this was for last year or is it early bc christmas is in five days ?? anygays, happy holidays !!

The moment the car stopped, a door was being shoved open. You didn’t have to check the rearview mirror to know that your son had sprinted out. Shaking your head, you shifted the gear to park before turning your gaze at your girlfriend.

Minatozaki Sana was a confident woman. Or at least that is what you’ve gathered over the last year. She was never one to hide how she felt; it was she who had made the first move. So to see her eyes glazed over, trained on the raindrops collecting at the edge of the windshield was concerning, to say the least.

“Hey,” was all you uttered, even quiet to your own ears. But Sana was attuned to your voice so she straightened before she turned to meet your gaze.

In the many years that make up a life, a year may be inconsequential. Between those three hundred and sixty-five days many things can happen. You can meet new people, spend time with them and get to really know their likes and dislikes, understand what truly makes and motivates them. During this time, you could gain lifelong friends, whom you instantly sync with only to lose them by the end of the year. Twelve months is enough time to drive you away from your family, to uproot your life and start anew, or perhaps return home to loving arms where everything remains unchanged. A year is a million moments of frustration and tears and happiness, a combination of beginning and endings, and gain and loss. But many years later, those instances would be fleeting at best.

A whole year; a passing moment.

Perhaps that’s why you were pleasantly surprised with how well things were with Sana. Having known each other for almost two years, from kind greetings building up to genuine conversations. The slow build of your relationship, from when you first asked her about her bad day to when she finally asked you out for a coffee date. There was not a moment you regretted, and to think that this was all the result of your son, the last shove the pair of you needed.

Now Sana has moved in, you wake up to her running around your home alongside your son. She’d gone from his babysitter to someone who takes an active role in his life, someone who shapes him to be better. Someone he can learn from, grow with, and rely on, especially when you weren’t there for him.

Simply put, you couldn't be more sure of your decision to be with her. Now, there were only a few more steps.

Without saying a word, you reached for her hand, her fingers interlocking with yours instinctively. “I’m not worried, I just need a moment,” Sana said, the frozen glaze slowly dissipating from her eyes.

Exhaling, you reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Silky soft to the touch, even with her constant dyeing. How she managed to maintain the texture remained a mystery. From her natural brown to blinding orange to auburn to back to her brown, you’ve seen Sana’s hair shift faster than the seasons. Though in the dark of the night, your car was only illuminated by the lamppost a meter away, her hair seemed so depthless it was inky black.

Sana leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut as you held her. Just as you were about to assure her, a loud thump on the glass startled you both apart.

“Aren’t you coming?” Your son asked loudly, though it sounded muffled since he had the side of his face and palms pressed flat against the glass. With another slap to the glass, he moved away but not before saying. “Open the trunk, I need to show grandma my chef’s hat and cookbook.”

Sana had gone from clutching her heart to clutching her stomach as she doubled over with laughter. You, on the other hand, had to rest your forehead on the steering wheel to let out a long and exaggerated groan.

“He will be the—”

Your son hit the car twice, yelling. “Trunk, please!”

“Okay, okay, I’m opening it! It’s opening,” you stumbled to find the button. With a huff, you took out your car keys while Sana was still giggling as she got out to help with the suitcase.

Your son had catapulted himself into your father’s arms as you headed up the porch, luggage in hand. Sana followed behind you, not necessarily hiding, but slightly obscuring herself from your parents. Smiling, you extended your free hand to take hers as you reached the door.

“Oh, look who’s home!” your father exclaimed, as he swiftly lifted your son up and placed him on his hip.

“Don’t do that! Who’s going to pay for another surgery?” you said, scowling while your mother slapped at his arm, trying to pry your son away.

“With all that hard work, it will be you, of course,” your father said, before whispering at your son who then burst into giggles after peeking at you.

“Well, if it's all the same, help me out with our bags—”

“Not happening,” your father said before walking into the house.

“Here, let me,” your mother passed right by you and attempted to take the bag Sana was shouldering. Sana tried to decline politely, but your mother wasn’t having it. Soon the bag was in her hands and she took Sana’s hand in hers. Your mother gave you a smile as she guided Sana into the house. “She’s beautiful.”

“I know, Mom,” you groaned, the smile hard to suppress.

Home felt familiar. There was a smell, something you couldn’t pinpoint exactly. Of course, there were notes you recognised. A blend of your mother’s baking and your father’s obnoxious perfumes against the smell of rain. Something you’ve experienced so many times before and have long yearned to return to. As for furniture, nothing seemed to have changed. You spotted a few new frames, photos of your son now competing with numerous photos of yourself. Then one that really stopped you in your tracks.

Your mother, artistic in all of her endeavours, had a growing collage of her favourite photos on a pinboard. You don’t come home often to notice all the small edits she makes, but this one was glaringly obvious. It was a picture that was clearly printed out recently. On normal paper it seemed, it lacked the gloss. It was cut to the shape of the three people in the photo, bordered with orange craft paper and stuck on at the very edge of the board.

It was a picture of you, your son… and Sana.

One night, when Sana decided it was time for her classic bright orange to return, she asked whether you wanted to dye your hair as well.

Of course, in an instant, you answered no. Unfortunately, your son had overheard the question and practically begged you to let him dye his hair. So that night, both you and your son earned a few strands of orange hair that matched Sana.

Almost on instinct, your hand drifted to the spot behind your neck, hiding a few stray strands of fading bright orange hair. When you had sent the image to your mother, you’d laughed at it because your face was barely in it to your mother’s disappointment. In fact, you were showing your back and looking over your shoulder so the orange was peeking through. Sana wore a blinding grin that also matched your son’s, who was pointing at the streak of orange in his fringe. But here it was, printed and cut out and pasted.

The sight invoked a feeling you couldn’t place.

Someone stepped to your right to observe the same picture.

And then Sana turned to look at you, her eyes glassy.

Even if it wasn’t said, you know what this means.

The words were in your mouth when your mother spoke from your left. “I hope you don’t mind me putting up that picture there,” she said with scrunched eyebrows. “I really liked it.”

Sana’s lips twitched upward as she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all.”

Introductions were quite brief, having heard each other quite a bit from you. Besides, you knew once your son tired himself out and was asleep, your parents could really get to know Sana. So, you decided to move your bags up to your scheduled room.

Unfortunately for you, Sana stopped by another door.

Gasping, Sana pushed the door open and took in every corner of your childhood room.

The room was exactly as you left it. Except less messy. No furniture was moved, no posters torn down, no trinkets replaced—it was as if you had never even left.

Sana moved to your study desk, her finger brushing the spines of textbooks that had made your high school years a living hell.

“Did you study a lot?” Sana asked, her voice light as if she were absent-minded.

“Not really, just enough to pass I guess,” Sana sent you a look over her shoulder, head slightly tilted in suspicion before turning her attention back to the desk.

She poked the trophies and participation awards, smiling at your photos crammed to a side before picking one up.

“Someone looks awfully upset here,” she brandished a photo of you standing on a podium, glaring holes at the person in front of you while you gripped your smaller award. “Sore loser much?”

“I deserved first place! You weren’t there, alright?” you rolled your eyes, plucking the photo away from her while she moved towards your bed.

“I can’t imagine you’d ever have such a tidy room,” she chuckled as she took a seat by the foot of the bed, bouncing a little on the comfortable mattress.

“Yeah, well, you have my mother to thank for that,” you smiled, as you leaned on your desk, facing Sana. Watching her.

Perhaps, it was nostalgia. Or exhaustion. Who knows, maybe even the holiday spirit. But you liked staying here, being in your old room, surrounded by things you’ve long forgotten, from a time you don’t particularly miss, but now, with Sana. Someone who promised a new start.

Sana watched you in turn, her lips pressed thin as she suppressed a knowing smile.

Leaning back, she asked. “So, is this where we’ll be sleeping? In your old room?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Not a chance,” you jutted your chin at the single bed, “you feel like being crammed into that?”

Sana shook her head as she turned around to feel the quilt, lips quirked up at the shark pattern.

“No, we’re taking the guest room,” you said, walking to your door. From here, you could just about see over the stairway railing and into the kitchen. Both your parents buzzed around your son like moths to a flame, grins on all of their faces. With a soft sigh, you said. “The one that will be coddled, pampered, and spoiled for the next week will be sleeping in here.”

Content for the moment, you turned your attention back to Sana but she was already looking at you. An expression akin to worry was on her features.

“They’ll like me right?”

Sana closed in on herself, hands dragging down the quilt to feel it one more time before folding in front of her stomach. Her eyes darted around the room before settling back on you. You hated seeing Sana like this.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” you pushed away from your place at the door and took Sana’s face in your hands, helping her to look up at you. “They’ll love you.”

You leaned down, your nose brushing against hers as a chuckle escaped her.

“Just like you do,” she giggled cheekily.

You kissed her to stop her teasing.

“Hmm, sure,” but still, you admitted. “Just like I do.”

Once your son had tired himself out and you had unpacked your things, you decided it was time to put him to bed. With his blue set of pyjamas that matched your ancient shark-patterned bed sheets, he clambered and got under the sheets, tucking himself in neatly. You took a seat by him on the bed, hand reaching out to comb his unruly hair out of his face.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, a bit slowly.

“Good,” your son admitted, “it’s nice to see grandma and grandpa again.”

The muscle in your jaw tensed.

You wished you could visit home often, a long drive or not, it wasn’t too hard to come back home. However, work dragged you away and you didn’t even have time to consider a plan for the weekend. Even now, your ‘long’ weekend as an excuse for a holiday was extended into a week of freedom after you’d lined up your leave days and practically begged for the holidays. There was no shame in it, the end of this year was important. There were big changes ahead.

“Good,” you parroted.

“Grandma loved my hat and said we can bake some treats from the cookbook,” he exclaimed. You nodded as he continued. “I asked her if we could make a cake—a blue one!—like Percy!”

“Like Percy,” you scoffed as you completed the sentence with him.

“She said she knows a trick so the food doesn’t come out green,” he added and you didn’t doubt him.

Ever since his class was given free rein over the library, your son has been reading quite a lot. On top of his fascination with cooking, of course. This was the longest he’s stuck with a hobby or interest, and reading that his favourite character managed to eat special blue food, catered to him by his loving mother, only spurred your son more to mimic it.

With your help, and Sana’s… mostly Sana’s, your son has mastered green pastries, desserts and sweets. Or ogre food, as you lovingly call it. For reasons that you couldn’t guess, no dye seemed to do the trick, perhaps you were buying cheap brands?

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” you rolled your eyes before pinching his nose, at which he swatted your hand away.

“So which book are we reading tonight?” Sana asked, walking into your childhood home with a book in her hand. You could guess which one it was.

“The Lightning Thief!” your son squealed when Sana held the book up.

“Don’t you get tired of reading the same one again and again?” you asked, watching Sana as she took a seat on the other side of the bed.

“Nope!” your son said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.

“Okay, but aren’t you curious about what happens next—?”

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Sana said, as she conspirately shook her head with your son, clearly over your grumbling.

“I’m just saying—!”

“Oh look at the time,” your son pulled up his empty wrist. “It’s bedtime, we only have time to read a few pages, let's get started!”

Scowling, you pinched your son’s cheek and he had the audacity to giggle.

Sana had started reading the chapter you’d stopped on. Her voice was soothing to listen to, even if the story wasn’t too uplifting. Getting comfortable, you curled up next to your son over his quilt and watched his drooping eyes struggle to stay open.

As Sana finished the chapter, she glanced over. A smile tugged on her lips when she found that your son was deep asleep.

With a nod, you kissed him on the forehead and made sure he was comfortable. Following suit, Sana placed a kiss of her own on his temple. The pair of you exited the room on your tiptoes and slowly closed the door behind you.

“I’ll take the book back,” you said, extending your hand out.

Instead, Sana placed a kiss on your cheek, her eyes lidded.

“What was that for?” you asked, surprised but you weren’t complaining.

“Just because,” she shrugged and then handed the book over to you.

“Are you stalling seeing my parents?” you asked with a smirk as your hand came to rest by her neck, your thumb tipping her jaw to face you.

“Not at all,” Sana said with such conviction that if you didn’t know her better, you’d have believed her.

“They won’t take much time, I won’t let them interrogate you. I can tell them we’re tired and we need rest,” you said tilting your head to the side. “Which we do, honestly.”

Sana nodded with a sigh, her eyes shuttered close as she leaned into the warmth of your palm.

You pulled yourself in for a kiss, a gentle one, on her lips. Sana hummed before pushing away.

“I’ll see you in a second,” you whispered. “You got this.”

She nodded and turned towards the stairs. You waited till she reached the bottom of the stairs before making your way to the guest room. Staying for such a short time, there was no need to unpack completely, and for that, you were slightly grateful. That meant you could hide things without anyone being the wiser.

Dropping the book down on the open suitcase, you kneeled to rummage through the clothes. Making sure to lift layers of clothes as it is, you find a small velvet box at the very bottom. The sight of it brought a smile to your face. It can only mean so many things, though you still have some things to complete.

Leaving it in the same room would be a gamble. The guest room was basically empty, anyone would be able to find it. Every other room in this house had someone staying in it or had them frequent it often. Anything moved out of its place would ring the alarm bells, no, you needed to hide this somewhere no one was likely to check.

So you walked back to your childhood room and entered as quietly as you could. Your son was sound asleep. The left door on your cupboard creaked when it opened, but if you applied pressure on the hinges as you opened, it made barely any sound. Locating the bottommost drawer, you pulled up your old clothes and shoved the box at the very back before hiding it under the clothes.

Happy with your task, you exited the room just as stealthily and made your way down to join your family as if nothing were amiss.

Even with the help of your mother, it seems your son had difficulty mastering blue food.

Somehow your mother managed to convince your son from an elaborate tiered cake to a classic sponge cake to plain old blueberry muffins. You’d hoped that maybe you could escape for the day, maybe with Sana, around your old neighbourhood. Unfortunately, you’d been roped in as assistant chefs and taste-testers instead.

Seated on the couch, you watched three of the most important people in your family take a crack at making blueberry muffins which were actually blue in colour. Sana had been assigned mixing duty, which made no sense to you because you knew for a fact your mother had an ancient stand mixer lying around somewhere in the house. Though Sana didn’t seem to share your sense of justice as she was happy to do so.

Your mother was taking her time going through the recipe book and teaching your son her own techniques. The sight helped you recall some of your own moments under her wing in the kitchen, though you were neither as interested nor skilled to be there. Oh but your son, he was completely enraptured. You’ve never seen him in school and struggled to attend parent-teacher meetings, but you guessed this is how he was in class as well. The swell of pride on your chest was an indescribable feeling.

When Sana said that the batter was ready, your head perked up. Leaving your place on the couch, you made your way to the kitchen. Making sure your mother and son were distracted by the oven, you moved behind Sana. You had to be quick!

Rounding one hand on her waist, you placed your chin over her shoulder and at that, she chuckled while snuggling into your side. And then, you struck.

Your free hand’s index finger dipped into the bowl to carry a dollop of aqua-blue batter straight into your mouth.

By the time Sana had realized what you’d just done, you were already out of her reach. Her indignant shriek altered the other two chefs of your crime, though even they couldn’t do much now.

When the muffins had been completed, you were surprised to see they were properly blue. Not some horrid inedible shade of green.

Your first question after inhaling a few muffins alongside your father was to your mother.

“How did you get them so blue?” you asked, staring at the dishes in the sink, looking as if a smurf had been murdered. “We never managed.”

“Well, depends if you bothered to buy the brand I told you to,” your mother showed an empty tube on the counter and you rolled your eyes at the dig.

“I did buy that brand!” you said, moving to pick up and examine the tube… only to find two more tubes hidden, flattened beyond recognition.

“Well, then it depends on quantity,” your mother said as you turned on the balls of your feet, incredulous.

“Is this much dye even healthy?” you asked, already reading the ingredients on the tube.

“Guess we’ll find out,” your mother only shrugged as she looked at her husband, still scarfing down the muffins. You sent your mother another incredulous look but she just laughed at her own silly joke.

As the holiday came to an end, you finally got your chance to spend some time alone with Sana.

Your father claimed he barely got any time to spend with his grandson. Of course, that was a complete lie. With how much time and money he spent, you’d even debated getting your son a gift at all. Though that was out of the question, you and Sana had already set your mind on what it was and had it ordered beforehand. You just had to go collect it.

So your father said he’d take you all to the park. Once there, you let them go their own way. One moment, your son was accompanying your father and the next he was running at the nearest dog, eager to pet it.

Holding hands, you and Sana watched as you made your way through the park. With every step, you were getting further away until you could see your son no more. Suddenly, the velvet box in your jacket pocket weighed you down, as if it had materialized into your jacket out of thin air.

“Not going to lie,” Sana started, “I thought you’d show me more of your old home.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know, something like your old friends? Your old school? Old hang-out spots?” Sana drew on. “Maybe how that high school enemy of yours and how they work at a general store, having never escaped this small town?”

“I don’t know what winter budget film you watched, but that’s not happening here,” you rolled your eyes at her imagination. “Also, what enemy?”

“The first-place winner,” Sana said with a cheeky smile.

“Oh please, I’m not that petty to be thinking about something that happened so long ago,” Sana watched you intently, nodding along almost in a mocking manner. “And besides, they’re a professor at the university across the city, I believe.”

Sana’s grin widened as you just realised what you admitted.

“I wasn’t keeping tabs on them! I just saw a post of theirs recently, alright!” you cried, though it fell on deaf ears.

The most important thing to come out of the walk was your destination. To and back, it was mostly filled with Sana’s inane questions (filled with imaginative scenarios to paint you as some egregious husk of a human, might you add) and you answering them with proper facts and maybe some anecdotes. Sana stopped by the crafts store to collect wrapping paper while you collected your son’s gift.

It was the following series of his favourite books; Heroes of Olympus.

Yes, he has yet to finish the last two books of the current series. And yes, you’d only just berated (teased) him about rereading the first book. But you could just imagine how his face would light up when he sees these books. In fact… you don’t even know if you’ll be reading these books to him by the time he gets to them, which was strange to think about but really, there wasn’t a better gift for your son.

When you arrived back home, your son was taking a nap on the couch, which made it all the more easier to wrap the present for him and get dinner ready.

When your son woke up the table was already set and the first thing he did was take his seat. All eyes were on him, everyone was wearing smiles watching him practically bounce on his seat. He gets to have his dinner, the muffins that he made, and then open his gifts early. Your father, chuckling, ruffled his hair and took a seat beside him.

Dinner, for the most part, was uneventful as usual. That's not to say you didn’t have any fun. You did, you really did. As you ate your meal, you took a backseat in the conversation, observing just how comfortable Sana was alongside your family. She had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Your parents adored her. Almost as much as how much you and your son did.

“So when is it?” your father’s question filtered in and you looked away from your nearly clean plate.

“When is what?” you asked before taking your final bite.

“I asked when are you two getting married?”

Sana had to rub your back so you didn’t choke on your food, or worse, spit it across the table.

“What?” you tip a sip of water. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a valid question, really,” your mother admitted, not really looking at you, but you could see the smile toying at the edge of her lips.

“Yeah, when is it happening?” your son looked up at you, eyes wide and shiny.

“Um…” you turned to Sana for some help. Instead, she took her hand from your back and placed her chin on it, leaning in and expecting your answer as well.

The velvet box seemed to burn in your jacket pocket.

Somehow, you’d managed to get out of that dreadful situation.

Once the plates were cleared and blueberry muffins disappeared. It was time for presents.

As if aware of what he might get, your son gravitated toward the large box set you’d gotten. And you were right.

Nothing could compare to the expression on his face when he realized what he’d gotten.

Without hesitation, he jumped into your arms and thanked you a thousand times. You reminded him that Sana had pitched in as well and he was flying at her to give her the same treatment.

Perhaps, you were petty.

Because you took pride that no other gift earned the same amount of excitement.

The night settled down and your family received one last gift from your mother.

When all of you were out, she’d tidied up the backyard and made hot chocolate.

All throughout this holiday, every moment seemed to be building up to this one.

Under the twinkling fairy lights, you joined your son on the steps to the backyard. He was sitting with his knees up, his hands toying with a small figurine of Poseidon. Sana had bought it for him the moment she laid eyes on it, having thrifted it from some store, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

Seeming to be in deep thought, your son watched the sight before him. With steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands, your parents conversed with Sana. You didn’t know what she said, but it had your father throwing his head back and letting loose a loud snort. Your mother’s eyes crinkled in amusement as she flitted her attention back and forth between them.

Clearing your throat, you began to speak. “Your hot chocolate is turning into cold chocolate, you know.”

You were sure that comment would earn a look from him, but instead, your son moved a hand towards his cup, the figurine still in the other. He sighed and brought the cup to his mouth anyway. But before he could take a sip, you switched out his for your own cup.

“Here, have mine,” you said, carefully placing the warm cup in his hands.

Your son mumbled his thanks and sipped the drink silently, his eyes back on Sana. There was something he wanted to say. You had something you wanted to ask him too. But you decided to wait him out, let him come to you first because you surmised both of you wanted to discuss the same thing.

And so for a moment, on Christmas day, you sat in silence with your son, on the steps to your childhood backyard, sipping warm (and yours, cold) chocolate.

When he was done halfway with his hot chocolate, he placed the cup back down. You followed him. His hands were fidgeting with the figurine again, spinning it round and round, only stopping from time to time to run his index finger over the trident.

“Grandpa was right, you know,” you’ve never heard your son’s voice so small. Wavering, as if he were confused, nervous even. “Why haven’t you asked Sana to marry you?”

He paused to bite his lip while his eyes flitted to the figurine, thumb caressing the figurine’s armour.

“Is it because of me?” he asked. The utterance is almost like an exhale, light but onerous.

It would be so easy to provide empty consolation, that no, it wasn’t anything to do with him. But he knows you too well for that to pass, he’d see right through your attempt. Your son is already quite wise beyond his years, especially at the most inopportune times for you, and was only getting older. For as long as you can remember, it's only ever been the two of you.

Your dates, however rare, come and go. His babysitters, much to his distaste in the beginning, come and go. Having a partner at the start seemed so important, if not to share the burden of caring for a child, then to at least have another figure for your son to look up to. And when you questioned that sort of thinking, you’d figured that all that really mattered was that you were there for your son. With little time as you did have with him in your day, you fought to make time for him. You hadn’t even entertained the idea, that perhaps, you’d date just for yourself. When it came to your son or some romantic dalliance that would never amount to anything real, the choice was easy.

Because at the end of the day, it's only ever been the two of you.

But all of that changed when Sana arrived at your doorstep.

You doubted that neither of you, all three of you even, expected this outcome.

So you understood where your son was coming from, asking this question.

And you decided to be honest with your son, as you always have.

“Yes, in a way.”

Finally, your son turned his full attention to you. His hands were still holding the figurine, but they weren’t fidgeting anymore.

You also turned to face him.

Round eyes had turned sharp, searching for something. Yet his face was a little less expressive, more difficult to read. There were lines of worry decorating his forehead, he seemed older. He’s always by your side, it’s so easy to miss. But this close, on this night, it was obvious. He had grown up.

“Before I asked her, I wanted to ask you,” you confessed. The velvet box that was previously hidden underneath your old clothes in the third drawer of your cupboard was now heavy in your pocket. Your son tilted his head in question. “For as long as I can remember, it has been just you and me.”

You sighed. These words were harder to get out than you’d expected.

“I know you like Sana, and I know she already stays with us, and I know you know how much I love her,” the corner of your son’s lips twitched up a bit. “But there’s a difference between being together and being married. I think it’s a big step. And I don’t want to take that step with your blessing.”

It only took your son a fraction of a second to react. He nodded, eager to say yes.

“Of course, I want this for you,” he said, grinning. “She makes you happy. You make her happy too. And that makes me happy!”

And he was back.

He was giggling to himself as he poked your side with a finger. You rolled your eyes as you tried to brave the tickling sensation.

“But seriously, I want this,” he nodded before turning his attention back to his cup of hot chocolate. He was going to take a sip, but stopped and looked at you. “And… and thanks for asking me.”

“Of course,” was all you could say as both of you went to take a sip from your mugs.

“Ugh!” your son let out an ugly bleh! and frowned. Your parents and Sana turned to look over at you. “This is so cold! Is yours too?”

Your mother chuckled and nodded. From across the yard, she asked. “Shall we go heat them up?”

“Yes, please!” your son stood up and pocketed his figurine. He extended a hand for your cup as well. When you gave it up, he whispered conspiraterly before your mother could whisk him away. “Good luck! You got this!”

And then with a giggle, he’d skipped off into the house.

Your mother stopped at the steps just as you got up and dusted yourself up.

“What were you two whispering about?” she asked with an uptick of her brow as if she hadn’t had her guesses. You shrugged.

“What were you laughing about?” you asked. Your mother glanced back at your father and Sana, then back to you. She shrugged.

“Okay, be like that then,” you said and your mother only chuckled.

Then, she turned back again and called out to your father. “Did you take your tablets?”

“Shit, no!” your father excused himself and rushed over.

“Language!” your mother said as your father zoomed past, though he was more hobbling. Then your mother looked back at you. “She’ll say yes.”

And with that, she followed your father in and closed the balcony door to shut away the cold air.

You turned to Sana. She was already looking at you.

Without a mug, she had nothing to fidget with, so she had her hands steepled in front of her stomach. Her eyes were wide, expectant, as you made your way over.

“Hey,” you said, both your hands finding their place in your pockets. Of course, it was only a front to find the box they were hiding.

“Hi,” she said, the corner of her lips twitching up.

There was nothing left to do. Nothing more you were so sure of.

So instead of stuffing up the moment with unprepared words and emotion, you pulled out the box.

Sana didn’t gasp or squeal or tear up. She just raised her steepled hands to her lips, her cheeks pushed up so high, elated crinkles forming beside her eyes.

You weren't a grand person either. No big dinner, no big celebration, no build-up. You’d considered it, you really had, merely for the sake of Sana. But everything else just felt so unlike you, well, unlike the pair of you. Your start had been so simple, so unassuming, only because there was already so much between you. And everything that had followed, with her, and her with your son, had been the same. Everything just made sense.

But you did think, perhaps, you should get down on one knee.

So you started lowering yourself to the ground as you opened the box. But before you could complete the pose, Sana grabbed you by your collar and pulled you into a crushing kiss.

You surmised that was a yes and smiled into the kiss.

“Come on, come on,” your son was ecstatic, practically shooting off from his seat on the couch. Sana only smiled to herself as she set up the laptop on the coffee table, making sure the camera showed everyone and that she looked all right. “We’re in!”

Handing Sana the mugs in your hands, you seated yourself down and lifted your son onto your lap. Just as you were taking back your mug, a shrill voice shrieked. “Sana!”

Your son giggled while your eyes widened. Because Sana returned the greeting with the same energy. “Nayeon!”

You’ve heard of that one before, Nayeon, and seen photos of her too. Well, you couldn’t remember exactly, Sana had quite the group of friends but when Nayeon’s face appeared along with another person, you just smiled and waved awkwardly.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Nayeon said politely to you just as another screen popped up. You knew them, the newlyweds!

You parroted her greeting as more screens popped up with familiar faces, but none close. You’ve only heard stories or seen photos. The laptop erupted with voices, none of which you recognized, it was quite overwhelming. Though, Sana had no trouble at all catching the flow of the conversation and laughing along. Your son seemed to follow her, although silently. Someone with the name of Choi Tzuyu housed two people on their screen, they both waved at your son, who responded eagerly.

“I think everyone is here!” one of the women said, her profile name read Jihyo. She was clearly wearing a suit, though her tie had been undone. “Yup, headcount done, everyone is here. How are we moving forward with this?”

“Well, that depends on Sana, really,” a woman from Nayeon’s screen said, she’d just joined the pair that was already there. She was wearing a smug smile, and in response, Sana rolled her eyes.

Both you and your son turned to Sana, expectant.

Grinning at the ground, feigning bashfulness, Sana held up her left hand. And there it was, glinting in the light, your engagement ring.

The audio lagged from how much volume erupted. Someone wolf-whistled, while the others laughed and clapped. You knew people were congratulating you, but you were too busy fending off Sana burying her forehead into your shoulder. Only your son seemed to delight in the revelry.

And then, to your horror, someone yelled. “Show us your ring too!”

Before you could even lift your hand, your son had taken your left hand and held it above his head, showcasing the matching ring!

Someone shrieked again, although this time around the celebration was a bit more subdued.

“Damn, I thought we were all gonna scream again but okay,” the one with the profile name Hirai Momo said, while the person next to them swatted their arm. “What? It’s—”

“Please ignore Momo, congrats on your engagement,” Jihyo said, leaning forward, trying to look right at you. “I know Sana has been excited about this for quite a while.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, as Sana pulled away from you, a blush coating her cheeks.

“We knew this was coming,” the profile Dahyun said, “but I think this is the first child in our little group—hello!”

Your son perked up as all attention was on him. “Hello!”

He was readying himself to be asked questions, to share his interest in cooking with a whole new group of people, though the conversation switched again.

“He’s not the first child, we have children too,” Momo whined. “Look, Boo and Dobby are here.”

And then she continued to make the most obnoxious noise to call over her dogs.

“You did not just compare an adorable kid to your feral dogs,” said the person next to Momo, even though they reached out to a dog themself and picked one up. “I’m sorry for this one, kid.”

Your son didn’t seem to mind, instead, he was absolutely taken with the two dogs in the hands of the couple.

“Then, I guess I have children too,” someone from the profile Choi Tzuyu said and called over another dog too.

“Oh, Tzuyu, you’re back home?” someone asked and once again, the conversation changed.

Smiling at the sight, you were content with just seeing Sana interact with her friends. She’d been pretty adamant about staying with you for this Christmas, and she’d mentioned how horrid the one before had been. It was the reason this group had decided to call this time around.

Then out of the blue, Jihyo asked. “So when is the wedding?”

“Why are you asking? So you can bring that plus-one of yours from last time?”

The call erupted again.

“Right, right, how long are you just going to be attending weddings? When are you going—”

“Jeongyeon, I’m going to stop you right there, you’re giving me traumatic flashbacks to my mom,” Jihyo said, holding up her hands. “And, that plus-one was a one-time thing, I’ll probably never see them again.”

“They’ll probably be there for Sana’s wedding, let's be honest,” even the slightest mention of your wedding had you sweating. Sana seemed to notice.

Muting yourself, Sana turned to you. “They’re going to go at this for a while, thanks for agreeing to meet them… they’re basically family to me.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” you said, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. You ignored the one who whistled again. You were muted, not off-camera. You tried not to display your embarrassment. “I’ll get this one ready for bed then.”

Your son was pouting, but Sana just nodded. “I’ll finish up this call, and we can finish up your favourite chapter.”

At that, your son’s smile returned.

“Come on,” you said, picking him up and giving him a boost to land across the couch. You took the empty mug from Sana’s hand and left as she re-entered the conversation as if her little pause never occurred.

“Mina! Ask Mina, she’s single too—!”

“But we’re here to talk about you, Jihyo—!”

“What do you mean? You just got engaged!”

Their voices faded with every step you took away from Sana, your son in tow.

Maybe it was the end of the year, maybe it was the communal holiday spirit, but every Christmas, you found yourself reminiscing about past memories. Watching your son take his first steps, to watching him become confident in his own skin, you were glad he was surrounded by people who loved him as much as you did. And now, that permanently included Sana. These holidays have changed so many things, all of which you were so deeply grateful for.

Surged with a wave of emotion upon reaching the threshold of your childhood bedroom, and unable to suppress your elation, you grabbed your son by the hips and lifted him into the air. You were sure the sound of his surprised giggles would stay imprinted in your mind for many more Christmases to come.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: first and foremost, i am so very sorry dear anon for getting this to you almost two fucking years later ;-; and second, happy percy jackson day !!

tagging: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

#mala's collection #sanccharine #sana x reader #twice x reader #sana imagines #twice imagines #sana fluff #single parent au #christmas au #blueberry muffins

168 notes · View notes

i-cant-sing · 11 months

Note

So In the royal gay Au how did hawks and Dabi form their relationship and what triggered him to be obsessed with the reader?

Okay so I imagine that Keigo was actually part of an assassin brotherhood (mostly becuase I am absolutely obsessed with Assassin's creed atm). Keigo's backstory is that he was actually an orphan and was taken in by an assassin and raised to become one and eventually kill Dabi (probably hired by AFO)

However, when Keigo actually entered Dabi's place, disguised as a concubine and saw how Dabi and his wife fought on the daily and in the process, their little bundle of joy sat outside their room, covering their ears and crying quietly, Keigo couldn't help but pity you.

So he picked you up and walked away from the screaming, consoling you in his arms and returning you to your bed while silently being appalled at how easy it could be for someone to kidnap or harm the king's only heir.

Luckily for you, Keigo found you instead of some creep.

As Keigo hummed a lullaby to soothe you to sleep, you may have mumbled "I love you, mama" (and as a young, very impressionable child, you called him "mama" a few more times later in life too- mostly as a slip of tongue, other times not.)

From there on out, Keigo becomes fond of you and eventually, a platonic yandere because you're just that damn cute and perfect. Of course anyone getting close to you doesnt go unnoticed by either of your parents. Your mom thinks that Keigo might be using you to get the king's favour, so she keeps you away from him at first but eventually allows him to be close to you when he saves you from being kidnapped/hurt/mistreated by the other concubines. Your father, again thinks that Keigo is using you to get closer to him which pisses him off at first but realises that this concubine actually has no desire to sleep with him (which is weird because thats the purpose of a concubine). This in turn actually spiked Dabi's interest in Keigo even more and seeing how soft he was towards you (and also because he once saw Keigo bathing and the way his back muscles flexed when he spread his wings- it permanantly altered Dabi's brain chemistry) and he was hooked.

So yes, Dabi fell first.

And then Dabi began to pursue Keigo, and as to not blow his cover, Keigo slept with Dabi and eventually, he fell for Dabi once the king risked his life to save Keigo and when he was healing, Dabi told his backstory to Keigo (about the immense pressure by his father to be the best and marry your mom even though he didnt love her and yadda yadda).

And now that both Dabi and Keigo were in love, with their mutual bonding over you, your mother was even more miserable than before. Because at least before Keigo came, she was able to fight with Dabi without fearing him. Now, she cant even argue with her husband without the constant fear of being replaced by someone as lowly as Keigo.

Earlier, she was only embarrassed by Dabi in their private chambers as he refused to kiss her or even sleep with her. Then Keigo came, and initially when he was close to the queen because he protected you, she sorta revealed some of her insecurities to him and now Keigo uses them against her, and not only that but both Keigo and Dabi have no qualms of humiliating her in front of everyone as they kiss and fuck and now she's the laughing stock in front of the entire kingdom.

And when she heard you call Keigo "mama", watched as you left your mother's side to run to the winged concubine who was currently making out with your father, heart sinking at the sight of Keigo opening his arms and scooping you up, tickling you and hearing your giggles as Dabi enveloped you both in his arms, oh- she never felt so out of place. She watched herself being physically cut out of this family- as if she never married Dabi, never birthed you, never existed- it was a heartbreak she wouldn't ever wish upon her worst enemy.

She felt truly alone, for the first time.

i am working on pt8 of this series but feel free to send asks/scenarios that are sorta like side quests/stories. I do adore them

#yandere royal gay au #yandere dabi x reader #yandere dabi #yandere keigo takami #bnha headcanons #yandere keigo x reader #yandere bnha #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere hawks

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 2 months

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I think for all the discussions we have of "everyone hears the jokes and the piano; after that, they stop listening" surrounding Louis, we tend to still simplify his connection to the piano.

Yes, it's very cute that he sings Clementine a little song when they first meet, and it's very cute that he plays a little prank on her while "tuning" the piano. It's super cute that they carve their initials into the piano and Clementine carves a heart around them. It's mega cute that he names his song he wrote after her when she confesses her feelings. Louis playing Don't Be Afraid at the party is, in my opinion, one of the best moments in all of TFS.

But here's the thing: That piano is Louis' heart.

I don't mean to go all metaphorical on you, but I'm dead serious—the piano is Louis' heart, and when you think about his arc and his romance route with that in mind...?

That piano is his one comfort in a world where the dead walk. It's been with him from the beginning of the outbreak. We know from his backstory that Louis wanted to take singing lessons so he could be a real musician, and his father denying him of that was what set him off to be a "vindictive fuckhead." Louis never got those singing lessons, and it's a very real possibility that Louis taught himself how to play.

Sure, others could've taught him; we know Minerva was musically talented, perhaps she showed him a thing or two. But learning piano, or any instrument, is brutal even with professional guidance. It takes hours of practice until numbness wears fingertips raw; dedication to memorize every key and finger placement to make music pleasing to the ear; self-discipline to keep going through every fumble, every failure, every single cruel thought of self-doubt; intelligence and a creative ear to write his own songs.

And yet, it's severely under-appreciated by everyone. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's unimportant. It's an excuse for Louis to mess around and not do any real work. He doesn't have any actual talent. The music and the piano are brushed off, unheard.

Yet, Louis keeps playing. He keeps singing. He keeps making jokes.

Creating music, the one thing he wanted so badly as a kid that he destroyed his parents marriage, was possibly the greatest comfort he had... a welcome distraction to disassociate from the horror and death happening around him.

It's bittersweet, like a purpling bruise that you can't stop pressing on; it hurts, but there's something else below the pain. The piano is out of tune and it's something that brings him joy... but will always act as a constant reminder of who he was and what he did, why he's at Ericson to begin with.

We first meet him while he's playing; Louis' heart is exposed, but is it really? Is he playing to his true potential? Louis hides behind the mask of a charming, charismatic goof. It's what is expected of him, so he plays a silly song intended to poke and prod at Clementine, to gauge a reaction. That's something we see him do at multiple points in episode one. In fact, we can consider a majority of episode one to be like the song he's playing when we meet him; it's mostly cheery or fast-paced.

Louis is able to soothe AJ with his "alluring" music after the kid bit Ruby is an indication that the two of them will share a bond. Louis is a natural at communicating and bonding with the younger kids [another talent that's overlooked] so it's interesting that he praises AJ for being a natural at piano, as well.

But the song stutters just a bit when Louis and Clementine are in the woods together, though; "There's only one guarantee: this moment. That's the only you got, only thing any of us got. Might as well enjoy it." ...Only for Louis to compose himself and send her away.

It's only when Clementine has a gun in her face, held by Marlon, that the music isn't fun anymore; it's rainfall and thunder and the words "I thought you were more than that" sung through the wind in a melody only Louis can hear.

Then Marlon's dead. The song is over, and reality has arrived.

I've talked at length about Louis in ep2 and his vote in the past. It's one of the most compelling things about Louis' arc and romantic route. It's a tragic mistake driven by trauma and guilt. It's people simultaneously telling him to shut up and telling him to be angrier than he is. Telling him to stop burying his head in the sand when he's never been more aware of everything happening. It's AJ peering up at him with pleading eyes that Louis can't stand to look at. It's Clementine wrapping his heartstrings around her fingers and tugging just enough to hurt, but not break.

Louis missed Clementine. He says as much when Clementine admits she missed him first. I don't even know where to begin with that! I can think of no other way to describe it other than they are half agony, half hope over this... and if you get that reference, you get a gold star. I just- the ache, the tension, the conflicting feelings of finally having a quiet moment to talk but Louis not being ready yet.

Y'know how someone carved "you suck at playing" in the side of the piano? It's something you might not initially notice while playing the game, just as Louis' insecurities aren't apparent at first.. but they're carved in him; never fully healed, still scabbed and bleeding... Until Clementine offers him a bandage.

She won't clean the wound for him, but she'll be there. She'll help him figure out how to do it himself so he can heal. She'll listen to him, not belittle his feelings or pain. She'll make an effort to know his keys and notes and practice playing his song until she understands.

When Clementine chooses him to spend time with him, it's a mirror of their first time meeting... but this time, Louis plays something real: a song he wrote, one that I believe he crafted during the two week time skip... a song he wrote with Clementine on his mind, for better or worse.

If the piano is Louis' heart, he literally asks her to sit there and try to tune it, which ends up being a joke but I say she's already tuned your heart, my guy. It's there before them, changed in the warm candlelight. He plays for her and opens up about how no one actually listens, but Clementine did.

And remember, this is the night of the raid. They don't know it's coming, but they know it'll be soon. Louis understands that he could very well die, so what does he do? He carves his initial into the one thing he's always had, and he asks Clementine to do the same.

I'm sorry, how are we NOT more feral about this? Prior to this scene, the only thing we see carved into the piano, into Louis' heart, is an insult. This thing that Louis cares so deeply about, this instrument that's become so intertwined with who he is... he wants to leave his mark on it just in case he dies. A reminder that it was his and he belonged to it just as much. Something so important, and he asks Clementine to carve herself into his heart where no matter what, they will be immortalized together in this moment.

And when Clementine carves a heart around their initials? Yes, his reaction is very cute and that's great... but she's not ashamed of him, or her feelings for him. She wants everyone who looks upon his heart to know that. She tells him how she feels and Louis is so giddy, and warm, and he names the song after her and I am going to start biting anything that moves, I can't-

Oh, and let's discuss the party scene in episode three, shall we? Y'know, where the heart covered initials are on full display? Where Louis tells the story of why he was sent to Ericson to everyone?

Louis is so... vulnerable. Sincere. Ashamed of what he did. This is the exposed nerve, the one he was so afraid of showing Clementine but there it is... and she doesn't reject him. Sure, she can say it's fucked up if you choose to, but she doesn't break up with him over it.

Also the fact that everyone sitting around him finally listens when he's at his most unshielded only for Tenn to ask him to play Don't Be Afraid for them after...? How do you not see the connection? Are you trying to make me cry? In that moment, Louis' heart was heard and appreciated and beautiful and strong and-

Listen. I am fine. I'm so normal about this. And fine. I'm fine.

But I also have to add that during the walk in episode four, if you let Louis choose what to add to the imaginary house, he picks a brand new piano because he wants a new heart to reflect the confidence and growth Clementine helped him achieve and because he loves her and AJ so much that wants the new heart to not just be his but also theirs and I am so fine with this, okay.

#twdg #twdg clouis #twdg clementine #twdg louis #clouis #long post #happy valentine's day y'all i got you a totally normal louis/clouis analysis #i initially got you flowers but then i ate them sorry #real talk though I started out normal and slowly descended into unhinged waters while writing this... I don't know how it happened #years later and clouis still pierces my soul i am half agony half hope tell me not that i am too late-#I'm fine okay it's only louis asking clementine to carve herself into his soul it's fine #i can already hear 'it's not that deep bro' like i dunno try getting out of the shallow end and learn to swim you coward #2024 is the year cj goes full gremlin. no self-control. writes whatever bullshit her very normal mind comes up with.#apologies in advance for my bullshit skskskss

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bonefall · 3 months

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Struggling to find posts u've made in the past about Stoneclaw, but I love her sm. Definitely one of my BB Blorbos

I don't think I've ever put together a particular thingie on her, she's a beloved background character who tends to show up on her own in various places. Like when I talked about sign, before making the deafness guide!

BB!Stoneclaw is a gray-and-gold tortie, and the sister of Thrushwing. They come from one of the field guides, where it's revealed the two of them were sitting their vigil on the night that ShadowClan drove WindClan out of their home. In canon, Thrushwing is the survivor, but for BB, we all just kinda liked Stoneclaw's name more than Thrushwing's, so I decided to hit him with the Woman Beam.

On the night of the WindClan Massacre, Stoneclaw and Thrushwing were sitting vigil.

Daughters of Flytail and Eagleswoop, and grandkits of Tallstar himself. They were a promising young pair.

Before they even knew what hit them, they heard Brokenstar's yowl.

A squadron burst from the shadows, sliced Thrushwing's throat open, and smashed Stoneclaw's head to the ground

ShadowClan wasn't showing mercy, survivors were incidental. Their goal was to kill as many cats as possible.

Stoneclaw was dazed for a few seconds, going limp, but when she came to she leapt right back into the fray. She watched the rest of her family fold.

Tangleburr and her squadron went right for her father, Flytail, out of revenge for Lizardstripe, mobbing him and pulling him down

Eagleswoop just had a stroke of bad luck, failed to dodge, and was killed like prey

It was a horrific night, and what was once a large family was decimated to a couple of cats. She lost auncles, both parents, and her sister in one fell swoop.

Injured and aching, Stoneclaw said nothing as WindClan escaped the scene. The other survivors took it as a sign of great honor from the young warrior; that she had upheld her vow to the bitter end, even after losing so much.

But it lasted long after that night. The vigil has never truly 'ended' in her mind, so her vow of silence hasn't either.

Unfortunately, WindClan gets rough shake after rough shake from this point on, and she barely has a chance to heal in the constant barrage of violence and aggression. Between Nightstar's invasion, TigerClan, the BloodClan battle, the destruction of the White Hart woods, the Great Journey, and the Civil War... things only really started settling down years into her life, during Po3.

During the Civil War, Stoneclaw was actually ideologically aligned with Mudclaw, but took Onestar's side. She wanted to believe that Tallstar was lied to, but... she knew her grandfather better than anyone. Once the shock wore off, she had to face the horrible truth that he made a sudden, naiive decision.

It didn't take her long to stop regretting her choice, though. Her feelings are complicated, but her line too far is Mudclaw's willingness to attack his Clanmates.

Had she taken his side, she would have gone into battle with her future mate as a target. She doesn't think about it-- dismissing that she ever could have made such a choice.

Her internal monologue is a lot more afraid, frustrated, and exhausted than other cats would guess it is. Her actions don't match her thoughts.

She's hardworking, always trying to make her Clanmates comfortable, frets over her friends and family endlessly. Pair this with WindClan's assumption that her selective mutism is a "vow of silence," and most cats see her as an "ideal warrior." Someone kits should look up to and aspire to be.

She got into a relationship with Snapstorm waaaay too quickly; but luckily, Snapstorm is a really good mate.

After everything she'd been through, Snapstorm's cheerful, easygoing attitude was soothing and attractive. Snapstorm just had to say, "Hi Stoneclaw! Mice to see you around!" and then hand her a mouse for lunch and it was all over

Snapstorm was a BloodClan trader who joined along with Brushblaze, and one of the targets of the Civil War. She's a bit flighty and doesn't always think through everything she says, and doesn't worry about much either.

Their oldest kit is Buzzardclaw, who takes after Snapstorm a lot. So far I also gave them Crouchfoot in a later litter, but I've been thinking about giving them a bunch more.

The oldest litter was definitely accidental.

But not unwelcome. They both responded to it enthusiastically, Stoneclaw because she suddenly felt like she would have a big family again, and Snapstorm because she loves kids and just wanted to be a parent one day.

As mentioned before, they got into their mateship very quickly. They made each other happy and that's the whole reason.

Unfortunately, they would start seeing the difficulties of their personalities clashing while raising kittens. Which I just find FASCINATING which is honestly kinda why I want to throw more kits at them (not to mention how small WindClan is, padding is super appreciated)

See, Stoneclaw is dealing from serious CPTSD. Her mutism is NOT a vow. She can't speak and it's frustrating to her.

At the same time, watching the very helpful tail-signals that WindClan uses to communicate across the distant moor reminds her of battle signals, like she had to deal with during the fights with TigerClan. It's triggering, and that's ALSO stressful.

She's also lost so, so much of her family within the span of a few years, and is dealing with attachment issues as a result. Especially to that first litter, which she would be terrified of losing.

This makes an individual who can't communicate, but is desperate to. She hasn't been able to work well in groups for years, and unlike a more solitary cat like Willowclaw, this is not the result of a choice.

Snapstorm, being an outsider, is the first and only cat to not treat her behavior like... well, some kind of solemn vow to be "respected."

And that means a lot to Stoneclaw. Even if she was poetic, these are complicated feelings which would be hard to describe.

And Snapstorm is a sweetheart, but, she is putting a lot of effort into this relationship. She's not really great at focusing on one thing for too long, and a bit "forgetful" in the way that details go missing for a while until they come back later.

So sometimes an important bit of info slips her mind, or she misses a social cue and makes a joke that's a bit gruesome, or the fact that Clanmew is her second language rears up and she forgets words or translates a Townmew idiom directly and it Does Not Work.

While all this is happening, especially with the early litter, Stoneclaw is being a helicopter parent. Too worried to give her kits the freedom they need to develop, and Snapstorm is both trying to be a good parent and a good mate.

I'm fond of the idea that when Buzzardkit was very little, Stoneclaw was the Mi. But as she started to realize that her fear of losing him was hurting both of them, Snapstorm started taking over as Mi.

I think their dynamic is interesting. I like the idea of each litter ending up having a different upbringing, because of the state of their parents each time. Stone's also going to be sticking around for a very long time; definitely the last survivor of the WindClan Massacre, by many years. It's nice to think she's eventually surrounded by kits and grandkits, growing up in a better world than she did, even if it's not without its problems.

She's also going to start using Pawspeak, being one of its foundational members after developing a little friendship with SkyClan's Fallowfern. It's cathartic to her, finally feeling like there's a new context for WindClan's old tail signs, being used to communicate in a language rather than just be used for battle and hunting.

Stoneclaw is one of my personal little BB blorbos that I think about a lot. It's fun having conflicts like this going on in the background.

#BB!Stoneclaw #Holding her like a potato #I Just Think She's Neat #Better Bones AU #BB!WindClan #BB!Snapstorm

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toastandjamie · 3 months

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It’s the daily Tuon and Mat thoughts.

So at the end of Memory of Light we’re hot with the reveal that Tuon’s pregnant. And I mean, she’s always been pretty clear that Mat’s main role as consort is to give her heirs. Okay so like- Mat and Tuon’s kids right, let’s put aside the channeling conundrum for a minute and actually talk about them as parents. Specifically how wildly different their upbringings were and how that affects their parenting styles. Imperial Seanchen and the Two Rivers have very different takes on family and parenthood. The two rivers is a small tight knit community, “it takes a village” type place, with close families and attentive parents meanwhile the Seanchen imperial family is incredibly isolated from eachother, with Tuon rarely ever seeing her mother and her and her siblings actively encouraged to compete against each other and eventually kill each other.

From his interactions with Olver we already have a rough idea about how Mat takes the responsibility of caring for a child. He’s very responsible about it, even if he’s a bad influence at times, he prioritizes Olver’s safety and education even while they’re on the road. A core trait for Mat is his soft spot for kids, he likes being around them and does seem to enjoy the act of parenting though he’s loathe to admit it. I think it’s safe to assume that as a father he’d make sure to be very present in his kids lives and encourage a proper familial bond between the siblings. He’d be attentive and a bit doting. Though his behavior will probably be seen as spoiling by the Seanchen rather than just the bare minimum. Mat is a Two Rivers boy at heart and I think he’d find it difficult to hand off parenting responsibilities to nursemaids and da’covale shadows, especially given the high percentage of assassination attempts made on the imperial family. It’ll end up being his fear and paranoia that causes him some issues as a parent because he’ll likely end up becoming over-protective, trying to compensate for the constant dangers his children face by being over-bearing and sheltering.

Tuon conversely grew up with the expectation of self preservation, you either learn to be self sufficient or you die. She’s a lot harder to pinpoint in how she’ll take to motherhood than Mat, just because she has very little experience with kids in general. It’s possible that she’d follow her mothers footsteps and try to remain distant from her children and promote competition but it’s also just as likely that Mat’s influence could convince her to have a more personal relationship with her children. Her biggest issue is that she’ll have a hard time emotionally connecting to her children, especially if she believes that they won’t make it to adulthood. She might also be more neglectful towards those of her children that she doesn’t claim as her heir, though I think Mat would likely grow a bit agitated if he believed Tuon was playing favorites. As I think he’d also be upset by Tuon not really participating in parenting their children in general.

#wheel of time #mat cauthon #tuon athaem kore paendrag #wheel of time spoilers #minor wot book spoilers #mat cauthon my beloved #problematic fave tuon

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yumeka-sxf · 4 months

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A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 21

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

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The next morning, Twilight muses to himself that there are still things in the world he doesn't understand, but nevertheless, a spy must overcome fear of the unknown. While his face and tone are dead serious, it's comical that the thing that caused him to burst into this heavy-handed inner monologue in the first place is none other than his misinterpretation of Anya's reactions the previous day. AniTrendz described the humor of this scene perfectly by stating that "Loid really spent all morning acting dramatic when he's just sad that his daughter called him lame."

And yes, he really was bothered by the fact that he's still having trouble understanding Anya's emotions. While her mental well-being is important for Operation Strix, he also cares very much how she views him as a father. Unfortunately for Twilight, this trend will continue – after a whole day of fun activities, he's devastated to see the scowl on Anya's face when they're having dinner that evening. And, once again, he blames himself and even thinks that Anya could possibly hate him.

As I've mentioned before, Twilight is always cool and confident when it comes to his spy missions, but whenever Yor or Anya are upset, he becomes a second-guessing nervous wreck! It's telling how frazzled he gets when trying to figure out what's going on in their minds versus anyone else. If Anya and Yor's happiness is tied to a mission, and he's always calm and collected about his other missions, why would he get so bent out of shape about them in particular? I think we all know the answer to that.

It's also important to note that the couple of days on the cruise are likely the longest amount of time Twilight has been alone with Anya, without having Yor for parenting support. If she were with him during all this, there's no doubt that her patience with Anya's antics and the encouraging words she always offers, would put his mind at ease. But without her around, there's no one to buffer his constant freak outs when trying to analyze the mind of a child. His anxiety gets so bad that Anya even starts to feel bad about it.

Meanwhile, the big showdown on the deck between Yor and the assassins has so far been the most gritty and violent scene in the series. Endo has stated in the fanbook that making Yor likable while also giving her a profession that involves killing people, was difficult (though I think he's done a stellar job!) A reoccurring theme in Spy x Family is how the tragedy of war has led to otherwise good people partaking in immoral acts, whether for survival or because they're brainwashed into thinking that the side they're on is the right and just one. It's not only Twilight and Yor, but other characters as well, such as Yuri, Sylvia, even the young terrorists from the doggy crisis arc, as well as the assassins on the cruise – the factions that they work for, the politics behind their decisions, and the jobs they're assigned to do, are not framed as heroic nor completely evil, only the aftermath of political turmoil that the next generation has to suffer for.

In Part 13, I mentioned an interview in the fanbook where Endo states that the Forgers should not be seen as virtuous role models…he doesn't think it's correct to only see their "nice family" side. Despite all the comedic antics in the series that sometimes stretch the veil of realism, one very realistic aspect is that none of the characters are depicted as "black and white," "heroes and villains," and their professions are portrayed as more tragic and ugly than "cool." This is in contrast to other shonen series, where the main protagonists are often portrayed as role models who fight for noble causes we can't help but support, while banishing only the most wicked of villains. And often these protagonists started out "normal" only to suddenly gain superpowers, opportunities to go on grand adventures, and have big battles against villains. But Twilight and Yor are the opposite. The series starts with them already having extraordinary abilities and exciting, dangerous jobs, so the end goal is instead for them to be able to attain a peaceful, normal life…because their professions aren't framed as wish-fulfilling but as heartbreaking, grim, and sometimes terrifying.

Twilight and Yor's professions, as well as those of pretty much every other character in Spy x Family, have a lot of gray areas on the moral compass. This is why having a balance of both fun, slice-of-life scenarios, and spy/political action and drama conflicts, brings out the true complexity of the characters. Twilight may lie and act cold as ice towards people during his missions, but because we get to know him while he's living as Loid Forger, we can see that he's doing it for a noble cause, and underneath all that callous calculating, he's a compassionate guy who cares about the feelings of others. Likewise, we see that when she's not killing people, Yor is a total sweetheart who doesn't have a mean bone in her body, is a loving mother to Anya, selfless sister to Yuri, and, like Twilight, she does what she does because she truly believes she's doing good in the world.

If we only see Twilight and Yor as a spy and assassin, our view of them could be skewed negatively. On the other hand, if we only see them as a "nice family," we would be doing exactly what Endo warned against in his interview. But because we get to see both sides of them, we're able to relate to them even more, which makes us want to root for them. Is the immorality of their jobs too much to be forgiven, or are they righteous people who are simply victims of a cold war? Obviously if you're a fan of the series like me, you're opt to lean towards the positive view that Twilight, Yor, as well as many of the other characters, have been sorely damaged by the post-war era that they live in, but the commendable things they do far outweigh the ugliness of their professions, so they deserve a happy ending. And that's really the main appeal of the series – with all the gray areas of morality, seeing whether they can truly live happily without lies is something to look forward to.

Continue to Part 22 ->

<- Return to Part 20

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #twiyor #sxf analysis #loidyor #loid x yor #sxf meta

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gyubaseone · 10 months

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park gunwook. truth or dare?

❛ i dare you to take me out on a date ❜

pairing — park gunwook x f!reader

genre — fluff, bestfriends to lovers!

synopsis — a game of truth or dare sparks out of boredom which leads to a confession.

warnings — none! lowercase intended, third person pov, not proofread <3 also mentions of gyuvin !

word count — 1,590

notes — it's been so long since i posted 😵‍💫 but i hope to be back and uploading another imagine/reaction soon! thank you all for your support <3

★ ( please fill out this form to be on my taglist ) ❕

the room was silent, well not fully. all y/n could hear was the tapping and constant sighs coming from her bestfriend ; park gunwook.

the two had been sucked into studying since the college entrance exam was coming up and both their parents had been scolding them for fooling around too much. so that's the story, why they were sitting in the library "studying" when in reality, neither were really studying.

they just constant threw glances at one another, waiting for the other to speak up so they could leave. but it was just silence.

gunwook had yawned about ten times in the last five minutes, stretching his arms out as a signal that he was done with studying and wanted to get out of there.

did y/n see those signals? yes. did she really pay attention to them? nope. y/n just stared at her open textbook that was collecting dust even though her brain had fully stopped the moment she opened it.

she didn't want to give gunwook any attention, more than she already had at least. because the truth was — y/n had garnered a tiny attraction towards her best friend.

it was unexpected really, y/n had always been asked if the two were more than friends because of how close they were but she had never thought anything of it until recently.

there was just those small moments where y/n felt like they were the only people in the room, just by looking at each other. despite this, she was almost sure that gunwook did not reciprocate her feelings and decided to just avoid them as much as possible.

"psssst, ms. y/n," gunwook called out in a low whisper, his head basically on the table as he kept moving closer to y/n to get her attention, "y/n.... l/n y/n... girl who almost failed her—"

"what.. do you want, gunwook," y/n asked frustratedly, turning her head to look at him but found herself looking into his eyes again.

she quickly blinked multiple times, bringing her attention back to the textbook in front of her, "i'm trying to study, what?"

"i think we both know you aren't studying," gunwook refuted, "you've been on the same page for the past ten minutes. please, i'm bored!"

"well, we can't go home now or else our parents will just nag us about not studying again," y/n commented, letting out a sigh, "how about a short game of truth or dare?"

"that sounds fun, alright! truth or dare?" gunwook questioned, adjusting his posture so now he was sitting up.

"truth," y/n responded, shifting her sitting position so that she was looking at gunwook now.

"boo, that's boring!" gunwook complained, taking a pause to think of a question, "have you ever cheated on a test?"

"and you call me the boring one?" y/n scoffed, "of course i haven't! if my parents found out i ever cheated, they would send me to a boarding school.."

"true.. okay, my turn. i pick dare!" gunwook added, grasping his hands together, "and make it interesting at least."

"i dare you... to get table and yell something," y/n put together, a smug smile plastered on her face.

"really?" gunwook blinked, an unsure feeling in his stomach, "you want me.. to do that?"

"why, are you scared?" y/n teased, raising an eyebrow as she leaned back to relax.

"who, me? no way!" gunwook said, sounding confident but was nervous on the inside. he proceeded to get up from his seat, climbing onto the table by putting his feet on the chair.

as gunwook took a deep breath, he spotted a librarian heading towards their table with an annoyed look on her face. "yeah, i can't do this... gotta go!" he announced as he jumped off the table, gathering his stuff before the librarian could get to the table.

"hey, wait for me!" y/n yelled, quickly grabbing her books off the table while gunwook began speed walking towards the exit. "park gunwook!"

the two had found themselves at their usual convenience store by the library which they always went to after their study sessions to charge back up before heading home.

"your such a scaredy cat," y/n dissed, "the librarian was like ten feet away, you had time!"

"hey, i have a reputation here!" gunwook defended himself, "class president can't be kicked out of the library for doing a dare."

"yeah, whatever.." y/n rolled her eyes, "i get to give you another dare since you failed to complete your last dare, deal?"

"fine, that works. nothing could be as bad as that last dare," gunwook agreed, letting out a sigh as he picked up a pack of gummies from the shelf.

"mmm, buy my snacks for me!" y/n asserted, "i used up all my pocket money anyways, i need you to pay."

"nothing new... nothing new," gunwook sighed, shaking his head, "i'm gonna grab a latte from the cooler, do you want one?"

"of course i do~" y/n gave him a thumbs up, turning back to the aisle of chips in front of her, "now... which chips do i want?"

after gunwook completed his dare; paying for all the snacks the two bought, they headed out to the patio area since their parents wouldn't be too happy if they went home early.

so they sat on the patio, their open bags of snacks scattered across the tiny table.

"okay! your turn again, truth or dare?" gunwook asked, plopping a gummy bear into his mouth.

"i'll go with.. truth," y/n responded, hearing gunwook groan at her answer.

"your so boring! why do you keep picking dare.." gunwook muttered, falling into silence as he tried to think of a question to ask.

"do you have a crush on someone?" he spoke, catching y/n by surprise as her eyes widened, "you do, don't you! who is it, do i know them?"

"that's not part of the question!" y/n countered, shaking her head.

her lip quivered, unsure of what to say next. was she really about to reveal that she had a crush to the person she had a crush on? "fine, i do have a crush on someone."

"i knew it! you've been acting strange recently, tell me who it is! please~" gunwook put his hands together as he begged, "you never tell me who your crushes are."

"oops sorry, only one question per round!" y/n excused, quickly moving onto the next round, "your turn, truth or dare?"

"since you keep chosing truth, i will too."

"do you have a crush on anyone?"

as y/n spoke, she genuinely wondered where she had garnered the courage to even ask that question. gunwook's giddy expression changed to panic and surprise only made it worse.

maybe there was just a small ounce of hope in y/n that he would have a crush; and it would be her.

"a... a crush?" gunwook repeated, stammering, "do i have a crush... uhm. i never really thought of it before."

that was a lie. gunwook had thought of it before, many times that is.

"i guess... there's a possibility that i do," gunwook said ambiguously, "next round!"

"okay..." y/n dragged her sentence suspiciously, "i'll choose dare so you can't ask me any more questions about my crush."

"i dare you to tell me who your crush is," gunwook uttered, watching y/n glare at him, "go ahead."

"uhm.... it's... it's... gyuvin!" y/n blurted out, instantly regretting the choice she made. out of all the people she could've said, she had to choose one of gunwook's close friends.

"kim gyuvin? the same guy who got stuck in the recycling bin?" gunwook questioned, "you have a crush on him?"

"i... i guess i do?"

"you don't sound very sure of yourself."

"this is a weird conversation, okay," y/n defended herself, the atmosphere changing in an instant as silence fell.

the only sounds that could be heard were people walking in the street as the two remained completely silent for almost a minute.

"it's kind of funny," gunwook spoke up, starting to laugh as he drank his latte, sounding defeated.

"what's funny?" y/n asked, turning to look at gunwook.

"all this time, i thought you never told me about your crushes because you had a crush on me," gunwook answered, "turns out i was delusional; and you have a crush on my friend.."

"...wait. repeat that? you have a crush on me?" y/n felt her heartbeat increase by the second when gunwook looked at her.

"uhm... that was the coffee talking," gunwook attempted to justify; failing miserably.

"y'know, you're usually a better liar than that," y/n let out a laugh, "as a person on the debate team."

"just forget i said anything, okay?" gunwook sighed, taking a deep breath, "let's get back to the game. i pick dare."

"i dare you to take me out on a date," y/n confidently dared, tilting her head to look towards gunwook with a slight smile.

"ok— wait, repeat that?" gunwook blinked, unsure of what he heard was correct.

"i guess you could say i wasn't telling the truth, but to the fair.. it was a dare," y/n looked into gunwook's eyes, "are you willing to go through with your dare?"

"that might just be the easiest dare yet," gunwook laughed, a smile spread on his face as he stared into y/n's eyes.

#zerobaseone #zb1 #zerobaseonefics #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 imagine #zb1 imagines #park gunwook #park gunwook x reader #park gunwook imagines #boys planet #boys planet imagine #gyubaseone #gyubaseone works. 🐰

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spoilmesweetieforficssake · 1 year

Note

Hi! Not sure if your requests are open but maybe one where Mel and reader both have crushes on each other but think the other wouldn't be interested bc of the age difference

Hi yourself! My requests are indeed open (honestly, I'm flattered to the extreme that people like what I write enough to actually ask for more of it). Sorry this one took a little bit of time but after I got the initial idea from reading your prompt this one took a life of it's own and refused to go down the path I originally started it down. Anyway...I hope you enjoy!

It's Just A Little Crush (Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch)

It would be easier if she wasn’t nice to you.

If she wasn’t nice to you, she could just be the untouchable, hot as hell, fiery goddess you admired from afar.

But no. She let you sit with her and Barb at lunch. She even brought you lunch after a few conversations had strayed into discussing cooking and favourite recipes during said lunch breaks.

How were you meant to get over your ridiculous crush when she actually gave you the time of day? When she smiled like that? When her whole face lit up and she gestured so animatedly when she got caught up talking about something?

And as if that wasn’t enough, how were you ever meant to recover after seeing her so soft with her students? Going out of her way to open up to them and help them.

It was ridiculous, though. You knew that. What good was ever going to come of it?

Kid. That’s what she calls you. It’s a constant reminder of the age gap between you. Of the chasm that you feel you can’t even begin to cross when she sees you as some eager little kid.

You’ve always had a thing for older women. From those early, confused days of watching your on-screen idols, to realising you didn’t want to be them. You didn’t want to be friends with them. You just wanted them.

You want one in particular, but as you look across at her, her red hair ablaze in the sunshine, you force those feelings down once more. If friendship is what she’s offering you’re not about to beat her with that olive branch. You’ll deem yourself lucky and move on.

Even if she has ruined you for anyone else.

*~*

“You know,” drawled Barbara. “It’s beginning to become a habit.”

“What is?” asked Melissa, turning to face her friend with a frown.

“Staring at her,” said the older woman, eyebrow raised.

The red head scoffs. “As if. I don’t know what you think you’re seeing but that ain’t it.”

It was all said in jest to begin with. Gentle teasing about a few wayward glances. That was until Barb started to see her best friend be genuinely nice to you.

To begin with, she tolerated you. You weren’t one of the eager little puppies she so often saw when it came to younger new hires. That much was evident from the start. You were an old soul. You carried a different energy.

One that Melissa apparently appreciated just as much as the view. Barb stood beside her the red head as they watched over the kids leaving school, keeping an eye on the them as they left for the day, making their way to busses, rides or parents. Or rather, Barb was keeping watch over the children. A quick glance at Melissa confirmed that her attention was directed at you where you stood a little way off, chatting happily with a young girl about the book she was waving at you as she waited for her mother to collect her.

“Girl…”

“Don’t,” sighed Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest.

That took Barb by surprise. She had expected the red head to deny it. “You mean?”

“It’s stupid. She’s some pretty young thing and I’m…older than I care to admit.”

Turning to look at her friend, her expression sad, the older woman reached out and placed a comforting hand on the other woman’s arm. “And? What’s it called? A Spring, Winter romance?”

“May, December,” corrected Melissa automatically. “But same thing.”

“Exactly” said Barb. “There’s a name for it and everything. It’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” huffed the red head, turning on her heel and heading back into the building. “It’s stupid and I’ll get over it, just like I do everything else in my life.”

*~*

You’re not sure you’re entirely on board for PECSA.

Out of school, things are different. Lines are blurred and you’re seeing a whole different side to your colleagues. You’re not sure if it’s liberating or terrifying. And that’s before you add in the factor of the other teachers who have also been set free from the constraints of the classroom and are now loose in the wild.

You’re sure your confusion must show on your face, particularly when at the end of one of the breakout sessions you find yourself caught up in conversation with a striking older woman who teaches at another school across town.

You don’t see Melissa at first, who watches the interaction with interest. She’s not used to seeing you outside of school, and it takes her back to realise that the woman is flirting with you. Openly and blatantly flirting with you. She’s touching your arm, leaning into you. Smiling and laughing.

In return, you know you’re blushing something terrible, especially when the woman hands you a page from her notebook with her number scrawled across it. Watching the woman walk away, throwing you a smile over her shoulder to you, you finally see the red head standing in the doorway where she said she’d meet you so you could head for lunch together.

“She not a bit old for you?” she asks as you approach, your blush still heating your cheeks.

You frown. “If she looks like that and thinks I’m hot enough to give me her number, they’re the numbers I’m interested in,” you reply, heading in the direction of the lunch buffet.

Barb overhears the comment, unable not to smirk at your flash of sass. “Jealous?” she asks, leaning into the red head’s space.

“Of what?” barks Melissa, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you go. “Oh leave off!” she snarks at the older woman’s raised eyebrow.

How the day has gone from serious talks and breakout sessions to cocktails by the pool you’re still trying to wrap your head around. Adjusting your cover up, you head around the side of the pool, heading for the bar. You hope the day starts to feel a little bit more normal with a drink in your hand.

Gazing out over the water, you catch sight of Melissa. Or rather, you catch sight of a lot more of Melissa than you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing before. Not looking where you’re walking as your eyes drink in the magnificent view there’s no saving yourself as you step forward and your foot finds water instead of concrete.

“Is that?” Melissa asks incredulously at the dramatic splash that comes from the other side of the pool. She’s up out of her lounger before Barb can comment and the older teacher can only watch on in amusement as the red head takes off in your direction.

You pull yourself out of the pool, allowing yourself to perch on the edge as you try your best to ignore the chuckles of those around you who have noticed your mishap.

“What the fuck happened?”

You look up and of course Melissa is there. Right there, lit up in the sun like an angel, red hair haloed around her head. It takes a moment to realise that her eyes are roving over you, and not just your face. You glance down where your cover up now clings to your skin, almost see through.

Looking up you see Melissa blink rapidly a few times before offering you a hand. You reach for her, smiling as she helps pull you to your feet. “Thanks,” you smile sheepishly. “I guess I should go change.”

“It’s a pool, you’re allowed to be a little wet,” the red head smirks back at you. “Besides, we’re this close to the bar now, be rude not to take advantage.”

Melissa appears at the bar next to you with a huff, grumbling under her breath. Her attention is focused on trying to get the attention of the barman. Mumbling though she is, she’s speaking just loud enough for you to make out what she was saying.

“He was an ass,” you tell her, watching as her head whips around, finally realising you were there.

“What?” she asks with a frown, already tipsy.

“Your ex,” you enlighten her. You may not have heard the comment that led to her current dip in mood, or ever have met the man, but you know enough.

Her frown only deepens. “You don’t know a thing about him.”

“I know he didn’t appreciate what he had and left you,” you offer, ordering a drink when the barman appears in front of you, before turning back to Melissa to ask what she wants. You find her looking at you oddly, her expression unreadable. She quickly snaps out of it and barks and order at the bartender.

Barb has had more than a few drinks, it would appear as she flags you down to sit with her as you pass her table.

“Sit, sit,” she smiles, trying to reach for your arm and push the chair out next to her at the same time in an uncoordinated matter.

Catching her hands, you still her as you slide into the seat beside her to placate her. Her gaze is a little unfocused, her words edging towards slurred. You hadn’t quite realised how drunk she was, but then again, looking around the room, it would have been more of a surprise for her to be sober.

“Don’t call that woman,” she tells you, leaning into your space.

“What woman?” you frown.

“That woman who gave you her number,” says Barbara like it’s obvious.

You try not to think about the fact that for Barb to know, Melissa must have mentioned it. That it’s been on her mind enough to mention it to the older woman. “Why not?”

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“She gave me her number,” you point out. “I don’t think she would mind.”

Barb shakes her head. “Not her. Her,” she says, nodding across the room to where Melissa is standing.

You cross your arms across your chest. “What has Melissa got to do with anything?”

Barb raises a single eyebrow, the action still smooth and effective despite her drunkenness and it makes you blush.

Averting your gaze, you shake your head. “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” you sigh. “She’s not…She thinks I’m some stupid kid.”

What you don’t see, is Melissa now standing close enough behind your chair to catch your words.

Somewhere after speaking to Barb you decide that trying to be the sober parent of your little Abbott family just isn’t working. You’ve lost track of most of them, and honestly, you’ve given up trying to find them. They’re all adults and can fend for themselves.

You still have eyes on Barb and Melissa though, the former dancing up a storm and the latter apparently winning an ill-advised drinking competition.

Not that you can judge, of course. You know you’ve drunk more than you should, feeling pleasantly buzzed from your seat in the corner of the bar. You should call it a night before you do something you’ll regret, like call the woman Barbara told you not to. Sober, you wouldn’t. Drunk, you’re flattered enough and wouldn’t say no to the company.

With a sigh, you push yourself up out of your seat and head towards the elevators. Pushing the button, you watch the numbers light up as the lift descends. You squeak in surprise when a strong pair of hands land on your hips, turning you around as a plump pair of lips meet you own.

“I don’t think you’re some stupid kid.”

You blink slowly a few times, taking in the woman before you. Melissa. Melissa Schemmenti just kissed you. You shouldn’t, but you don’t have it in you to deny yourself the pleasure of feeling her lips against yours once more. You kiss her back with enthusiasm, not protesting when she backs you into the elevator as it opens and moaning as your back hits the wall of the small metallic box, the weight of Melissa pressed against you.

You’ve always admired her curves. Pressed against you they’re a dream.

The clearing of a throat far to close snaps you out of your living dream and you feel Melissa take a step back, biting her lip as she guiltily throws a glance over her shoulder, registering Barb standing in the elevator, her back to you both as if she hasn’t just witnessed exactly what you were both doing.

Standing close, you grin at the devious smirk being aimed your way by a certain red head. There’s a dangerous glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Smudged lipstick and mussed hair from where you hands couldn’t help but run thought it complete the look. The woman is a work of art.

You look up as the elevator doors chime open, realising this is your floor. Stepping forward, you slip past Barb, who merely raises an eyebrow. You throw a look back at Melissa, who sways forward as though to follow you, before hesitating.

The doors slide shut, and honestly, it’s probably for the best.

You miss the dark chuckle Barb lets out as the lift begins to ascend once more.

“What you laughing at?” asks Melissa, scowling. She’s annoyed with herself for hesitating. She knows what she wants, and she just let it walk out of the elevator.

“You two think you’re subtle?” the older woman drawls. “She has more of your lipstick on than you do.”

If PECSA was party central the night before, it was hangover central the morning after. You’re sitting outside on the low wall, sunglasses firmly in place, your phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other as you take in the cool morning air.

“You regret what happened last night?”

You turn to see Melissa, similarly attired. “What?”

She comes to stand beside the wall on which you’re sat, her gaze wandering anywhere but you as she speaks. “I came to your room last night. You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear you,” you admit, watching as her head whips around. “Too busy throwing up everything I ever drank.” You feel the blush dusting your cheeks, but continue. This feels too important to let a little embarrassment stop you. You take off your sunglasses so she can see your face as you speak, “I have many regrets about my choices last night, but what happened in the elevator isn’t one of them.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips as she shifts to take a seat next to you. She slips her own sunglasses off, finally letting you see her eyes. “Good to know,” she murmurs. “Me neither.”

You can’t help but smile at that. You notice her gaze wandering and realise she staring at the phone still clutched in your hand.

“You planning on using that number you were so interested in yesterday?”

“Honestly?” you ask, seeing the uncertainty in her face as she nods regardless. “That woman was hot, and while I was more than a little flattered she gave me her number…she isn’t a patch on you.”

Pale cheeks blush adorably pink at your words. Melissa isn’t used to hearing things like what from you.

“Don’t look so surprised,” you scoff, nudging her shoulder. “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror, right? And you needn’t think I go falling in pools over every pretty woman I see.”

“I really distracted you that badly, huh?” she asks, a little of her confidence returning.

You bump her shoulder with yours once more. “Shut up.”

A gentle hand moves to cup your cheek, turning you to face her as Melissa presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “For the record,” she says quietly. “I don’t think you’re some stupid little kid. I think you’re beautiful.”

You take in a shuddering breath. It all feels too good to be true. “What happens at PECSA stays at PECSA?” you ask sadly.

“I’ve never been one for playing by the rules,” she smirks back at you, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before pushing herself to her feet and offering a hand to you. “Come on, we gotta go find Barb. Reunite her with her shoes, sobriety and sanity.”

You take the hand being offered like a lifeline, grinning as Melissa starts walking, swinging your joined hands between you. It’s only as you pass through the front doors to the building that her words even register. “Wait? Her shoes?”

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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rxgirlie · 17 days

Text

The Verdict- Chapter Four

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of suicide, sexual themes.

A/N: happy Saturday! I have nothing to say except thank you to everyone who reached out with praise for this fic and urged me to continue. Big shout out to @luxlisbons who is constantly feeding me inspiration and listening to my neurotic ass. If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know.

The arrangement that had begun as a matter of convenience had quickly transformed the dynamic between Leah and Vincent. Sharing Vincent's apartment brought them into a proximity that neither had anticipated, a closeness that underscored their days with an undercurrent of unspoken tension and unacknowledged attraction.

The mornings found them navigating the small kitchen together, a dance of shared spaces and quiet exchanges over coffee. These moments, charged with a palpable tension, were filled with lingering glances and the brush of fingers that neither could completely dismiss as accidental. The air between them was thick with something more than just the steam from the kettle—a budding desire that neither had yet dared to voice.

The first week bled into the second with ease as Leah and Vincent became acclimated as roommates. Leah, in the constant pursuit of finding a new temporary home, found herself discouraged each time she showed Vincent a listing.

“Bad neighborhood,” he would say, or “I don’t think that place suits you.”

Leah eventually gave up, falling asleep on the couch most nights when Vincent decided to work late in a quiet attempt to give him back his bedroom. Without failure, though, she would wake with Vincent asleep across from her on the chaise lounge. A testament to both their stubbornness.

As they delved deeper into the case, their evenings often stretched into late nights, with legal documents and books scattered across the living room table. The professional masks they wore during the day gradually slipped away in the privacy of their apartment, giving rise to laughter, shared stories, and the occasional bottle of wine that led their conversations from work to personal revelations.

"I've noticed the way you look at Daniel sometimes," Vincent broached the topic cautiously. "Do you have kids I don't know about?"

Leah shook her head, chuckling. "No, I just empathize with him. My mom... she committed suicide when I was a teenager. It's hard not to see his pain and not relate it back to my own."

Vincent nodded, his expression somber. "I'm sorry."

Leah waved off his apology with a smile. "Don't be sorry. I hate talking about it. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

Vincent shook his head. "It's okay. I appreciate glimpses into your world."

"What about you?" Leah inquired. "Any kids? Deceased parents? Any skeletons you want to share?"

"No kids that I know of. My mother is a publisher and very much alive. At least she was an hour ago," Vincent quipped.

"So that's who you were talking to. Sounded intense," Leah teased, referring to Vincent's animated phone call earlier.

Vincent chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you suddenly speak French?"

Leah shook her head, grinning. "Her tone was very motherly. She's quite loud."

"She can be nosy, but I always answer her calls. She keeps her distance," Vincent explained, blinking and clearing his throat.

"And your dad?" Leah probed. "Is he as nosy as your mom?"

"I wouldn't know," Vincent shrugged, meeting her gaze. "I've never met him."

Leah, suddenly embarrassed, felt the smallness and intimacy of the space they shared, shook her head, a tumble of apologies fell from her lips.

“It’s fine. Really.” Vincent reassured her, his hand reached out to pat her hand.

“Really put my foot in my mouth with that one.” She admitted with a nervous laugh.

“Is your dad alive?” Vincent asked, opening up the space to dive deeper.

“Unfortunately so,” Leah sighed, “at least he was the last time I checked.”

Leah grabbed her glass of wine sitting between the heap of legal papers on the coffee table, sipping generously from it.

“Long story.” Leah sighed and looked away from Vincent.

“I have time.” He said with a gentle smile.

_________________________________________

“Is it still awkward?” Kate's voice echoed from the phone resting on the kitchen table as Leah paced around the empty kitchen.

“No,” Leah admitted, “I mean, there have been a few incidents, but overall, it's not awkward.”

“Ooooh,” Kate quipped, “tell me more.”

Leah, her cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment as the memory replayed in her mind, sighed, “He was supposed to be out late for dinner with mom, so I decided to relax in the tub. The apartment was eerily quiet, and he just walked right into the bathroom while I was sprawled out like a stranded orca in the tub. We both just stared at each other, frozen in place, until he slammed the door and bolted. I wanted to waterboard myself!”

Kate burst into laughter as Leah covered her eyes.

“He kept apologizing profusely, and I begged him to pretend it never happened!” Leah rubbed her face and let out a sigh.

“There was also the time I peeled off my sweatshirt in the middle of the night and dozed off with a flimsy tank top on. I'm sure he got an eyeful then, but he was respectful about it. Unlike the time I woke up to find him in the kitchen, in his briefs, frying eggs, and it was staring at me, and I was staring at it. I had to step outside onto the balcony and pretend to admire the weather while I regained control.”

Kate, once again amused, cackled from her end of the call.

“Jesus Christ, Leah,” she exclaimed, “just fuck him already!”

Leah huffed and shook her head, “I highly doubt that will happen, Kate.”

“Nice people fuck every day, Leah,” Kate persisted.

“Maybe so, but not in this house,” Leah remained resolute. “Besides, he's kind. He went out and bought some apples when I mentioned that I like to snack on them in the middle of the night. I woke up one morning, and there was a bowl of them on the kitchen table.”

“You like him,” Kate remarked, her smile evident in her voice.

“As a roommate, yes,” Leah replied.

“I can picture you standing there, nervously biting your cuticles, pacing back and forth. You must be blushing like a dozen different shades of pink,” Kate teased, sensing Leah's inner turmoil.

“I told him about my mom last night,” Leah confessed softly, “and my dad and Charlotte.”

“Ah, yes, daddy and step-mother dearest,” Kate joked, “Eddie and Betty Machete. That's quite a load of baggage to unload on him.”

Leah shrugged, “He asked, and I told him. I'm pretty sure Charlotte isn't the first person to fuck and marry her best friend's husband. Ex-husband? It's still unsettling to me after all these years.”

“Did he share any juicy details with you?” Kate inquired.

“His mom had a fling in Ireland in the eighties and came back with him as a souvenir. He's never met his father,” Leah revealed.

“See, you've trauma bonded. Just make a move on him already!” Kate laughed.

“You're crazy. I have to go,” Leah playfully rolled her eyes.

“Don't call me back until you've fucked him!” Kate yelled out as Leah hung up.

_________________________________________

Leah was certain that Vincent was in love with Sandra. She had sensed it the first time she saw them together in Sandra's chalet kitchen. Vincent was making pasta, soothing her with soft coos as she cried over the triviality of Parmesan cheese. The day's drama had reached its peak as she sobbed into the open refrigerator door. It had seemed puzzling at that moment, but after spending so much time with Vincent and picking up on his little nuances, Leah was convinced. This realization became even clearer as she watched Sandra recount her meeting with Samuel through the camcorder's flipped screen.

"He was... he was one of the few people I knew who could change the atmosphere in a room just by walking in. I suppose that's what charm is, isn't it? I fell in love with his charm," Sandra said, reflecting on her feelings.

She spoke of not feeling understood by her family or friends growing up, of feeling truly seen only when Samuel came into her life. She longed for a time when that connection still existed, reminiscing on what was lost. Leah felt a deep resonance with Sandra's words, hanging on to every syllable as if Sandra was guiding her on a precarious tightrope, with the ground beneath widening, threatening to swallow her whole.

Vincent's lighter pinged from his seat near the window. Leah observed him lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the open window.

"Don't say it's gone," Vincent urged Sandra, prompting her to share how she and Samuel first met. She briefly recounted how he had landed a job at a London university and how they had moved there together. She praised his teaching skills and his ability to make everything vibrant and accessible. However, despite all this, Samuel longed for more, as people naturally do. It seemed as though he had chased his dreams straight out the window. Sandra contrasted her own ease with writing to his struggles with time management when working on his novel. Then, she recounted Daniel's accident in vivid detail.

Nour nodded along as Vincent offered suggestions, while Leah sat motionless, pondering whether everyone had a defining crisis in their life that altered them forever.

During a brief respite, Leah stepped outside for a breath of fresh Alpine air. The cold bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the indoors. She was soon joined by Sandra, who, in a rare moment of vulnerability outside of what Vincent had requested from her for the sake of the case, offered Leah a cigarette. The two women, standing side by side against the backdrop of snow and solitude, shared a silence that spoke volumes.

It was Sandra who broke the quiet, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "You remind me of a cat, you know. A black cat—slinky, chic, and a bit intimidating. But ultimately harmless." Her comparison, unexpected yet oddly accurate, drew a surprised laugh from Leah, the tension between them easing.

Leah took a slow drag, considering Sandra's words. "A black cat, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. They're survivors, after all."

Sandra's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the woman she might have been before tragedy had taken its toll. "Survivors, yes. But they're also misunderstood. Feared for no reason other than superstition."

The conversation, meandering between confessions and observations, offered Leah a glimpse into Sandra's soul—her fears, her regrets, and her defiant hope for vindication. For Sandra, the moment provided a rare connection, a sense of being seen beyond the accusations and the public persona crafted by the media and the court.

As they stamped out their cigarettes and turned to head back inside, the brief camaraderie forged in the Alpine chill left a mark on both of them.

_________________________________________

It was Vincent who suggested that Leah ride back to Paris with Nour before it got too late. He wanted to have a private conversation with Sandra, and although Leah felt a tug in her chest and her internal monologue firing on all cylinders, she didn't resist much. "Attorney-client privileges," she told herself, even though she couldn't recall ever sharing a drink or personal history with the people she had represented.

Nour chattered about the case for most of the journey back, while Leah tried her best to engage in the conversation. However, it was evident that something was amiss. Leah couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why she felt the way she did.

The apartment was dimly lit when Leah returned, with only a few rays of light streaming through the kitchen window, casting a stripe across the living room. She quickly shed the day away by washing her face and changing into an old collegiate sweatshirt before settling on the couch with a glass of Chablis to unwind. As she slowly drained the bottle of Chablis, she reflected on the weeks spent with Vincent and Sandra. Their dynamic became increasingly clear in her mind, stirring a jealousy within Leah that she had only experienced as a teenager caught in the turmoil of an unfaithful father and an emotionally unstable mother years ago.

"Ancient history," Vincent's words echoed in Leah's thoughts.

As she drifted off to sleep, the last thought on Leah's mind was what was truly unfolding in Sandra's home and why it was affecting her so deeply.

________________________________________

Leah, never a heavy sleeper, was immediately awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Despite Vincent's attempts to be quiet, his efforts were useless. Slowly sitting up on the couch, she switched on the tableside lamp as the bathroom sink began to run. A few moments later, Vincent emerged in the living room, offering her an apologetic smile as he observed her rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" Leah asked, to which Vincent nodded in response.

"What's the dynamic between you and Sandra?" Leah shifted on the couch, observing as Vincent's eyebrows arched upwards in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent questioned, tilting his head. "I'm her lawyer."

"I'm not stupid, Vincent." For some reason, Leah felt compelled to delve deeper. "You paid her for bail."

Vincent, confused by Leah's sudden change in tone and line of questioning, gave her a quizzical look. "Only a portion of it."

Displeased with his response, Leah shook her head. "I wouldn't go to such lengths for a client."

"She's a friend," Vincent explained.

"‘Ancient history,’” Leah echoed his words back at him. “You don’t describe a friend as ‘ancient history.’”

“What's the matter? Why does it concern you?” Vincent inquired, slightly puzzled, moving closer to where she was seated on the couch.

"It just struck me earlier as I reflected on the past few weeks that something hasn't felt right, like I'm on the outside looking in. But then I saw the way you looked at her earlier. And then it hit me," Leah said, casting a heavy glance at Vincent.

"What hit you? What are you trying to say?" Vincent asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you defending her because you genuinely believe she's innocent, or because your feelings for her have clouded your judgment?" Leah questioned.

"I'm standing up for her because she's my friend, Leah. Because I believe in her innocence," Vincent explained.

A bitter laugh escaped Leah. "Friendship can blind us, Vincent. We're trained to read people as lawyers, but sometimes the truth is staring us in the face."

Leah shook her head incredulously. "And you sent me down the mountain with Nour. Usually, you want me right there with you, just to have another perspective."

Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief. "Leah, what is this really about?"

Leah's tone turned sharp. “If there's something between you and her, I need to know. I want to trust your judgment, not your feelings."

Vincent shook his head, frustration evident. He pushed his hair back, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

Leah's voice softened, yet held a steely edge. "Did you fuck her tonight? Was that why you sent me home early?"

"What if I did?" Vincent retorted, noticing the jealousy etched on Leah's face. "How would that concern you?"

Leah stood up abruptly, tossing aside the blanket on the couch as she stormed past Vincent and into the bedroom.

"Enough of this," Leah exclaimed as she rummaged through her suitcase. "I refuse to be a part of this. It's unprofessional, and I want no part in it. You can do as you please, but I'm leaving."

She hastily slipped into a pair of jeans while Vincent observed her from the hallway. Brushing past him again, she retrieved her belongings from the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Vincent inquired, looking puzzled.

"I'm leaving," she replied, stuffing her suitcase full.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"To a hotel, maybe a hostel," Leah replied, pulling the sweatshirt over her head and tossing it into the suitcase, leaving her in a thin tank top. "I don't know."

Vincent approached her as she struggled to close and zip her overflowing suitcase, its contents spilling out haphazardly as she packed in a frenzy.

"What's gotten into you?" he questioned. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know, I just—" Leah paused, meeting his gaze, her eyes searching his face. "It hit me today that you're so blindly in love with her that if she had pushed Samuel out the window in front of you, you'd defend her to the end."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her closer as he looked into her eyes intently.

"Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what this is about?" he asked, his expression serious despite the taboo nature of his question.

"That's exactly it," Vincent shook his head as he spoke. With nimble fingers, he swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

"Say it," he paused, looking up at her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to look at me like that," Leah confessed. Despite her uncertainty, she let her emotions guide her, baring her soul to the man before her.

"I do," Vincent murmured, drawing her closer. "I have. I am."

Taglist: @weakling-grace

#the verdict #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fanfiction #maitre vincent renzi #vincent renzi x original female character #swann arlaud #vincent renzi

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estjbeaver · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓

[Tamaki Keigo]

[NSFW]

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

Reblog | Comment | Enjoy, ig

Warning! Spoilers. Slow burn. Drunken sex. Breeding sex. Desperate sex. Forgetful sex. Loveless sex. No strings attached. Plot sex. Strangers to Lovers Sex

"T-This just in..."

You were seated in your usual spot at your usual bar, subtly listening intently at what the reporter had to say.

"T-This- I can't believe- "

She kept on stuttering over her own words. It annoyed you at first, but then you realized that gasps and sobs joined the baffled reporter. Curiosity had you looking up at the screen.

"I-" she cleared her throat. "This just in. Pro Hero Hawks seems to be having a struggle fighting against League of Villains member: Dabi. The blue flames make it hard to see b- but we should only hope for the- ah!"

The reported was attacked and the camera went all fuzzy. More people in the bar started whispering and gossiping; overall worrying about their safety. Many left while others tried to drown their sorrows away with alcohol. You just sat there, finishing your drink, looking up at the fuzzing tv.

Life never was something to brag about to you. Your quirk had gotten you exactly where your parents wanted you to be. You were a graduate of medical school, supported by your Regeneration quirk. Basically, you rebuilt lost or damaged DNA.

Later that night you walked alone in the streets of rubble, shit and death. Some newbie heroes took care of the job, though it lasted hours. Hawks ended up in the hospital, wings joined in the rusty evening sky as nothing more than ashes. You'd met him before and rather enjoyed his "company". Met at the bar, a few drinks in, then woke up entangled with feathers and sheets.

A shame, really, to see such potential burn in the flames of his rival. Fuck you, she scolded Dabi for being such a dickhead.

Time skip. He was discharged about two days ago, the fight being something of the past. Weeks were wasted in the hospital where the constant reminder of his disappointment haunted him. He was told to take things easy but being sober was forcing him to nearly lose his sanity. He left for a bar. A bar he hadn't visited in quite some time, and he wasn't sure why.

Everywhere he walked people would gawk and stare. Some would even try to encourage him, but that always ruined his day even more. People pitied him now. A hero, who was supposed to save them.

Wearing a face mask and cap he took a seat at the far back. He asked for something strong and patiently waited.

"Everyone's fucking stupid," he heard you say from behind him, seated at your usual booth. At first, he didn't think you were talking to him. "Either people or blind, or luck is finally on your side." You took a sip. He glanced through the corner of his eyes, but still couldn't see you.

"What now? You gon pity me or some shit? Call me out for being such a fucking disappointment?"

"Why would I do that?" He turned his head over his shoulder and looked directly at the back of your head. "You did more than what I ever could've."

"Yet I still failed." You scoffed and downed your drink, the notified waiter refilling it within moments. "Something funny?"

"Just you thinking you're so special," you could feel him lifting his brows and twisted your head to look at him. Your arm rested atop the booths. Both your faces were really close.

"I'm not-"

"But you are," you swallowed more comfort-juice.

"I'm not-"

"But you are," he stayed quiet to avoid irritation. "Stop thinking you're so special just because some villain whooped your ass. Life happens and there's nothing you can do about it... except laugh it off and call out: 'Fuck you too'," his eyes softened after a moment's worth of pondering. Then he started to chuckle amusingly.

"Have we met?" He then asked, voice a mixture of pure depression and pure delight.

You shrugged. "You've had many, but I'm a lucky bitch who was railed by the Pro Hero Hawks." A seductive grin grinned and he lifted a brow. Your glass rested on your bottom lip and daring eyes looked up at him. "Guess you were just having a shitty day and needed some therapy."

He reached for his own drink and downed the burning liquid. "Guess you pop up exactly when I need you most, huh." You snickered and placed your empty glass down.

"Are you saying you're having a bad day?" Fuck, you were being a slut. Your finger traced circles on his shoulder, ignoring the threatening glare he sent your way. "Maybe you need some therapy."

You looked at him. Fuck, you looked at him.

And that's how you ended up under him, begging for more and pleading for him to stop. Hands clawing at his back as his mouth sucked, bit, gnawed, and kissed away at your body.

Both naked. Both steaming hot. Both already dripping with sweat. Both horny as life itself. Where exactly? He said it was his place, but you didn't quite remember it being as such. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered other than his slick fucking fingers stretching you out mercilessly. Your hands gripped at his hair and pulled, groans and moans syncing sexually. He added his thumb to rub your clit. Your back arched and a string of curses cursed their way out your mouth. The common stranger would never take you for being so verbal.

And you weren't. Unless it was a frustrated, animalistic horny beast busy railing you into the fucking ground. You came all over his hand, his fingers dripping soaking wet with the evidence you proved of being ready. He did that. He made you feel so good your body erupted with sensational orgasm.

"I think- I'm starting- to remember you," he spoke between sloppy kisses, ignoring his desperation for air. You kept on kissing him back.

"How so?"

He pulled away and flipped you over, forcing you into doggy style. He took a moment; a painfully short moment, just to take all of you in. "Who the fuck wouldn't remember something as incredible as you?"

Your head dropped with a childish grin. Big, rough hands tightly gripped your sides. Your heartbeat beat faster and faster at the anticipating expectation of him filling you up. You weren't a virgin when he fucked you before, but his size made you feel like tearing everything possible. It had you anxiously excited.

"Ha!" You responded to his previous statement. "You haven't seen the least of my incredibility," you boasted. Then you felt it. A massive fucking cock just brushing over your dripping cunt. It slid between your folds, massaging your clit with every up and down movement.

His chest pressed up against your back, mouth close to your ear. You felt his hot breaths. You felt his tongue wetting your lobe. Shivers. Fucking shivers.

"Then show me."

Fuck! What better word to describe what he was doing to you? With no mercy and no time for taking a breath, he fucked himself deep into you. Pounding endlessly until you swore, he reached your cervix. A repeated motion of buckling his hips and gripping your waist. It drove you mad.

Again and again, he thrusted into you and then for absolutely no fucking reason... he stopped. Dick buried deep inside of you, you were hoisted up and pressed against him. Your back against his chest. Both standing on your knees, only you had a twitching cock inside of you.

"Show me exactly what makes you so memorable."

When you made your remark, you meant it in two ways. You were incredible. Your quirk, to be more specific. And when he uttered those words, it somehow managed to slip out doubled meaning as well.

When all he got was sympathy, you proved to him that life was cruel and there was no point bitching about that. Yet you lightened something that he didn't even know was there. A flame, perhaps? A glimpse of... motivation?

His arms were crossed over your body, each hand gripping a tit. your one hand reached to cup his cheek, while the other rested atop his hands. His nose nuzzled into your neck, pecking it softly.

"If I did that, you might not want to let me go."

You wanted him. Before it was only a hunch and even now you could've just been under the influence of his arousal, but you wanted him. And not just in the sexual way. You wanted him. Desperately.

"You thought I was going to let you go?" He tugged at a string in your mind that sent flutters into your tummy. One peck to the cheek and you were back on all fours, gripping onto the sheets and crying out cries of pleasure. Bouncing along to his beat. Taking him in inch by inch. Like a hawk in heat, he made you his.

His thrusts became sloppy and breaths even more rigid. He was close. You gasped and yelped all at once, feeling the sudden attachment of his finger fingering your clit. Over stimulation. Complete and utter rapture. Glee that made you feel wanted and adored. How could he have such an effect on you?

Your walls tightened and pussy juices squirted all over his pounding cock. Hawks himself then joined you in orgasm and filled you with his seed. Hot, sticky cum dripped from your cunt, sweat mixing in with it.

You were exhausted. He plucked himself from your clingy pussy and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, you fell face first into the bed. You then caught your breath and adjusted your position to look at him. He sensed it and looked back at you.

No words. He simply crawled onto the bed and wrapped big strong arms around you. Gently, he shifted both your weights to lay on your sides; snuggled up against him. You felt hot, sure, but you also felt safe. You heard him chuckle with little amusement.

"Last time I held you I could at least cover you up," he mentioned towards his lost wings. The fluttering burned and you had a heavy sensation dropping in your chest. He pecked your forehead, but let go when you looked up at him.

"I want to show you how incredible I am now." You've decided. His head titled slightly to the side in confusion and he snickered.

"Thought we already established that, kid."

You pulled your lips into a thin line, but then shook your head. Sincerity in your eyes allowed him to understand how serious you were, and his expression softened. He looked at you and maintained focus on where you were touching him. Over his chest, down his sides. Across his back... until you touched the roots where his wings once were.

He cringed or flinched; you weren't sure. One hand went to his neck, and you pulled him in for a kiss. Something to distract him. Something to comfort him. Intimacy. Affection. Passion. All synced along to the kiss. You worked your magic. He didn't notice.

When you pulled away his forehead touched yours. You felt gingerly at the roots of his wings. You smiled. You started to giggle. He looked down on you and gave you a questioning look. You simply smiled up at him.

"And that smile?" As reply you gestured towards the bathroom. In specific the mirror. He felt like there was something on his face or some shit and decided to get up. You sat there, excitedly waiting for him to open his gift from you. It was honestly the least you could do for him.

He looked at his reflection and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He turned to the side and looked back at where you were sitting on the bed, shrugging. You motioned towards the mirror again, this time he only turned his head to examine his side figure.

H-How?

His eyes were wide, yours were closed. His mouth was agape, yours pulled up in a smug smile. His hands were near trembling, yours were ready to embrace him again. There they were. At his roots.

Two little bundles of freshly grown, scarlet-red feathers. An unforgettable favor.

Hawks

#hawks x reader #hawks fluff #takami keigo #hawks smut #my hero acedamia #keigo takami x reader #mha x reader #mha smut

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topguncortez · 1 year

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Here Comes the Sun | B. Bradshaw

Bradley Bradshaw Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: there is a reason why children are supposed to outlive their parents. It's so there parents never know a day without the sun. whumpril day 6: bad coping mechanisms.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: death of a child, cancer, grieving parents, tears, bad coping mechanisms, heartbreak.

note: April 6th might be just a normal day for you guys, but its probably the hardest day of the year for me. This fic is 100% self indulgent and for some reason I resonate grief and grieving with Bradley Bradshaw. I wrote this fic based on watching my parents grieve for the loss of a child for years, and then based on my own grief. it's never easy, and it'll never get easier.

That dreaded day came every year, like clockwork. There was a reason parents were supposed to die before their kids. It was so they didn’t have to live with the constant pain and reminder. Their house was quiet, no sounds of giggles or running feet. Everything was clean and tidy, no loose shoes and toys strewn out across the living room floor, or tutus and crayons in the basement. The color had left too, no more bright pinks and yellows, it was all pale grays and beiges.

Every year they were constantly reminded of what they had. He’d roll over in the morning and see that you were already out of bed, more than likely sitting in your daughter’s room on the floor, staring at the empty bed that was still made and covered in stuffed animals. Even though it had been three years, neither one could find the strength to pack it up, everything still laid in its spot like a frozen time capsule.

Bradley pushed himself from the bed with a groan, placing his feet on the cold hardwood. He looked over at the family picture that sat on his bedside table, it was one of the last family photo shoots they ever had with her. She looked so fragile, like she could break at any moment. You could tell by looking at her that she was sick, that her body was slowly shutting down, but her bright smile distracted you as she shined in the sun. He picked up the frame and gently ran his finger tips over the glass. It was also probably the last time he had seen you smile. Bradley set the picture frame back down and stood up, stretching his back slightly, and walking over to the window. He wasn’t surprised when he pulled the curtains back to see a gray, cloudy overcast sky. It always seemed to rain on this day.

He wasn’t surprised to see you sitting at the table in the kitchen facing the large window. Bradley saw the cup of coffee, still hot, sitting next to you on the table. The room felt cold, the gray from outside not helping the feel at all. Bradley walked over to you, and gently touched your shoulder. You jumped slightly and looked over your shoulder, tears evident on your face.

“Morning, honey,” Bradley said and kissed your forehead. You closed your eyes and nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, “What do you want to do today?”

“I’m not sure,” You said softly. It was your answer every year. You never knew what to do. How does one spend the day their child died? Bradley sighed and patted your shoulder, walking away and going to make them breakfast.

He pulled his phone out of his pajama pants and looked at the various messages left from friends and family. Each one telling him how they are thinking of them today, or how it’s unfair that their little girl was taken from them too early, or how they’ve never forgotten her sweet smile and laughter.

“Do you want to listen to music?” Bradley asked, trying to fill the silence.

“No,” You said quickly. Again, like every year, you shot down the idea of music, too afraid that that song will come on. Even on the other 364 days a year, you were scared that song would come whether you were driving home listening to the radio, or playing music from your phone. You hadn’t been able to listen to that song in full since the day they said goodbye forever.

“We can go visit her later?” Bradley said in more of a question than a statement.

“I don’t know.”

It was like pulling teeth sometimes to get you to go with him to visit their daughter’s grave. Bradley liked going, he liked sitting in the grass on a blanket with his guitar, and quietly playing to her, like he would’ve if she was still here. He always made sure to take fresh flowers to put in the vase. You didn’t like going. You didn’t like knowing her little girl was buried alone, in the cold dark earth. You knew that her soul wasn’t in the dark earth, that she had left and was dancing among the sun, no longer in pain and suffering.

You didn’t say anything, but buried your face in your hands and let out a loud sob. Bradley paused what he was doing, and just listened to your soft cries. He knew there was no comforting you on a day like this, no matter how hard he tried. He had learned over the years that you just wanted to be left alone, and that’s what he did. He went about making them breakfast as you sat at the table and cried. These pockets of emotion would happen throughout the day, and it was best to just let them be and let them happen.

After breakfast, the two of them sat on the couch, choosing to watch a movie to distract them. Bradley noticed that you held onto your daughter’s tattered teddy bear that she had taken everywhere. You held it close to your chest as you cuddled into Bradley, occasionally taking a deep sniff of it. It was amazing that it smelled like their sweet little girl; like lavender and antiseptic from the hospital. Bradley would occasionally get off the couch when the doorbell would ring, someone sending them a memorial flower arrangement or a fruit basket.

“Do you think she knows what today is?” You asked Bradley softly.

“I don’t know. . . I would think she probably knows the jist of it. She’s very smart,” He answered, “I like to think that she had people waiting for her when she got there.”

You nodded and looked down at the teddy bear with the ripped ear, “I bet my grandma was there. . .or my uncle. Or the dog I had in elementary school.”

Bradley smiled, “I know my parents were there waiting for her. I bet they had spent the whole time watching and talking to her, letting her know it was all gonna be alright.”

He swore that in those final weeks he had gotten more signs from Heaven than he had in the past ten years. His parents visited him in a dream the night before their daughter passed, both of them standing in the sun and smiling at Bradley, telling him that he had done all he could do and they would take it from here. Little did Bradley know until a couple weeks later, that you had the same dream that night as well.

“I hope they’ve been nice to her,” You said, your voice breaking. Bradley sniffled and held you close, rubbing your back as you cried, “Cause I know she’s being nice to everyone, and smiling at them and complimenting their eyes. God, she was always talking about people’s eyes.”

Bradley nodded and let his own tears fall freely. They sat in silence as they cried on the couch, letting the movie playout. The sounds of rain pelting the roof and windows slowly pulled them to sleep as they both fell into a nap, holding each other, the teddy bear placed in between them.

When they awoke, they noticed the rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still gray. A shiver ran down your body as you looked out the back kitchen window at the tire swing that still swung from the tree. Memories of the summer Bradley had put it up in the tree filled your mind. You had been terrified that something would happen, like the branch would break and your sweet baby would get hurt. How ironic that it wasn’t the swing that hurt her.

Bradley was putting his shoes on when the soft sound of your footfalls filled his ears. He had the bouquet of fresh sunflowers to go in the vase at the cemetery, Sarah Kazansky had dropped them earlier, picking them right from her garden. He smiled softly at you, and you sucked in a deep breath.

“I. . . I need to go with you,” You said and Bradley stood up from the stair he was sitting on. You felt a pang in your heart as you saw the painted names of your child and husband.

“Are you sure? Cause you don’t have to. I can go alone, it’s fine, I promise,” Bradley said, gently holding your face in his hands. You nodded as tears brimmed your eyes again. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly in his embrace. You laid your head against his heart, listening to the soft thudding of it. He placed his chin on top of your head and the two of you stood in silence for a moment.

He made the first move, and gently sat you down on the step with your daughter’s name painted on it. You had been the one to paint the names on the wood. Your daughter and Bradley always sat on the step and waited for you to come home from work. Her expression every time you’d walk through the door was as if she hadn’t seen you in years. You surprised Bradley with the small gift after he came home from one of his last deployments before she took a turn for the worst.

Bradley helped put shoes on your feet and then kept his hand in yours as you walked to the Bronco. He had gotten rid of his truck almost immediately after your daughter’s death. He had only bought the Ford F-150 because it was more suitable as a family car than his father’s hand-me-down Bronco. Bradley couldn’t stand seeing the truck in the driveway, knowing he wasn’t going to hear soft giggles from the back seat or feel gentle kicks against his seat as he drove her to daycare in the morning.

The drive to the cemetery was silent, as you watched the scenery pass by. It was almost the same route that you took on the day of her funeral. You drove by the small church that she was obsessed with. You and Bradley thought it was silly that a little girl was so obsessed with an old white chapel with beautiful stained glass, but it made more sense after she died. The cemetery grass was plush green and looked soft. Shades of gray and black filled your vision as Bradley slowed down on a small path right off the main road. He put the Bronco in park and sat back in his seat, turning his head towards you. He felt his heart break as silent tears ran down your face.

“Oh honey,” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He hated making things worse for you. He hated seeing you cry. If there was anything he could do to switch places with his little girl, he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant never seeing you cry again, “We can leave-”

“No,” You whispered, “She needs us both here.”

Bradley brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. He got out of the driver’s side and quickly jogged to your side, opening the door and grabbing your hand. The earth was still wet from the constant rain of the day, as they walked in the wet grass up to the black head stone. You picked up your long sundress a bit so the bottom wouldn’t get completely drenched. It was a sundress that Carole had made for you before she died, and you wore it to both Carole and her daughter’s funeral. You let out a shaky breath as they stopped in front of the beautiful black stone, with their daughter’s name engraved in gray writing.

‘Viola Caroline Bradshaw.

February 12th 2016- April 6th 2021’

You ran your hands over the engraving as Bradley placed the small vase of flowers in front of her headstone. The smiling engraved picture of their daughter looking back at them. The picture captured almost everything about Viola, even her bright brown eyes and smile. It was almost like it was real, like they could reach out and touch her.

“Hi, babygirl,” You whispered, “Sorry I haven’t been here. . . I promise I’ll come back. I promise you.” You pressed your lips to the cold stone, and then stood up to stand by your husband.

Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist, and you laid your head on his chest. The scene was like one from years ago as they stood in front of the stone. The sky is gray with heavy rain clouds. A brush of wind blew through, making the chimes in the tree they planted ring. You tensed for a moment, and so did Bradley, as the clouds rolled back just for a moment and a ray of sunshine filtered down to the earth.

You picked your head up from Bradley’s chest, and looked at the bright light as it shone on them, making them feel warm for the first time in years. You gently took a step away from Bradley, almost as if you were getting closer to the sun. He watched you as you closed your eyes, taking in the moment, as the clouds slowly started to roll together, ceasing the sunlight. You opened your eyes, and looked towards the sky, as if their daughter had sent that beam of light to them. Bradley walked towards and placed a kiss on the stone, patting it and then turning to his wife. He grabbed your hand and the two of them walked back to the car, in a little bit better feel than before.

It wasn’t a happy feeling, it wasn’t an angry feeling, it was a peaceful feeling. They both settled into their seats and Bradley started the car. Both of them froze as they heard the opening chords of that song. Bradley moved quickly, going to change the channel but you stopped him. Bradley looked at you with wide eyes, as you smiled and then looked back at her daughter’s headstone.

“Thank you, baby.” You whispered to the sky, and Bradley smiled shyly to himself. He turned the song up just a little bit, as he put the car in drive and slowly drove off from her grave.

The clouds once again rolled back, letting a beam of light shine down on the little girl’s grave, making the engraved quote on the headstone stand out even more than it already did.

‘Here Comes the Sun. . .’

269 notes · View notes