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“We plan to spend our honeymoon on the Continent,” Rosetta added, reaching out to touch the fabric. “Do you make pieces suited for warmer weather?”

“They can certainly be made,” the modiste assured her. “Where do you plan to go?”

“Genova,” Rosetta declared with a smile of pride. “It’s where our family is from. We’ll be staying at our shore house.”

Ravenna watched the woman’s face, noting the flicker of confusion. The modiste clearly had no idea where Genova was. She had to resist the urge to scowl at that.

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” the woman said anyway. “Will you be staying long?”

A brief hesitation crossed Rosetta’s face before she smiled.

“We’re still deciding,” she admitted at last.

The modiste nodded, flipping a page in her fabric book.

“And speaking of that,” she said, her tone brightening, “have you chosen the colour for your wedding dress yet?”

Rosetta glanced at Ravenna, and she quickly softened her expression for her sister.

“I was a bit uncertain,” Rosetta admitted. “I was considering silver or white.”

“Oh, you must wear white,” Grandmama insisted, her voice almost pleading. “With gold embroidery.”

“And there must be a veil,” Ravenna added. “As tall as you.”

Rosetta smiled, clearly picturing it.

“White it is,” she decided. “And the veil should have gold trimmings as well.”

The modiste’s brows raised slightly, though she masked her surprise. Lace was costly, and a veil of that length would require days — if not weeks — of meticulous handwork. One as grand as Rosetta’s would be an undeniable display of wealth.

But Ravenna had no intention of pinching pennies. Her sister deserved the best — every ounce of luxury money could buy.

“We’ll pay in advance, of course,” Ravenna remarked, taking a sip of her tea. “Considering how important it is.”

The modiste exhaled, visibly relaxing.

“And the maid of honour?” she asked.

Rosetta turned to Ravenna without hesitation.

“Oh, Venna, you must wear baby blue,” she declared. “You look the most beautiful in it.”

Grandmama nodded in agreement.

“A soft blue, with silver embroidery. Refined, but not too simple.”

Ravenna set her cup down, studying them both.

“And here I thought this was your wedding, Rosetta,” she teased. “Not a ploy to dress me up like a doll.”

Rosetta only laughed, undeterred.

“Is it such a terrible thing that I want my sister to look stunning beside me?”

Ravenna sighed, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

“I will wear whatever you want me to wear,” she assured her.

The modiste jotted the details down, glancing between them with mild amusement.

“Would you like a matching headpiece?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Rosetta answered before Ravenna could do so. “Pearls, I think. Nothing too extravagant, just enough to set off her hair. The contrast will be beautiful.”

Ravenna merely smiled, lowering her eyes to watch the modiste take notes.

“And you have the jewellery you’ll be wearing with the dress?”

“New pieces,” Ravenna replied. “They’ll be made for the wedding. Preferably diamonds, if I’m to have any say.”

Rosetta’s cheeks flushed.

“It will be terribly extravagant if you are to have any say,” she replied. “But if you could provide the jeweller with a sketch of the dress—”

The modiste nodded quickly.

“Before the week is over,” she assured them.

Ravenna reached for her sister, making circles over her palm.

“You only get married once,” she reminded her. “Hopefully.”

Grandmama chuckled.

“And you know we have no other wedding on the horizon,” Ravenna added. “Let us live vicariously through you.”

For a fleeting moment, Rosetta’s eyes turned sombre and sad, and Grandmama’s expression softened to match. But Ravenna held onto her smile, unwavering.

“A sample of the fabrics, please,” she requested, keeping her tone light. “For the shoemaker.”

The modiste nodded, flipping through her book before carefully tearing some swatchs of silk, folding it neatly before she set it on the table.

“I’ll have the full design sent to you along with the sketches,” she assured them.

Rosetta exhaled softly, smoothing a hand over the fabric of her gown.

“It’s all happening so quickly,” she mumbled. “Sometimes, I feel as though I’ll wake up and none of it will be real.”

“It’s real,” Ravenna said firmly. “And it will be perfect.”

Rosetta gave her a small, grateful smile.

The modiste cleared her throat delicately.

“And for the evening gowns in the trousseau?” she returned the subject. “I suppose you’ll be dressing for warmth.”

“Lighter fabrics,” Rosetta agreed. “Since we’ll be in Genova, I’d prefer something suited to warm weather, as we said. Silks, perhaps muslin.”

“With lace,” Grandmama added. “Not too heavy, but something that will add elegance.”

Ravenna tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair, watching as Rosetta carefully selected colours and details, her earlier wistfulness giving way to quiet excitement.

“You’ll be the most stunning bride,” she said, reaching for her tea.

Rosetta laughed softly.

“With you and Grandmama in charge, I doubt I have much say in the matter.”

“Oh, you have many says,” Ravenna teased. “Just not the final one.”

The modiste chuckled, closing her book with a satisfied nod.

“I’ll have everything arranged within the week. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Rosetta sighed, relaxing in her seat.

“Thank you. Truly.”

The conversation drifted to smaller details. Gloves, slippers, how many gowns would be necessary for dinners and outings... but Ravenna found her thoughts wandering.

It was all happening so quickly.

Soon, her sister would be Mrs Winchester, and she would have her own life.

Ravenna bit the inside of her lip for a moment, Rosetta’s words coming to her mind once more. They weren’t certain of how long they would be staying in Genova.

It made her want to fidget.

Rosetta was her heir, and it was important that she stayed close to home. The travel between London and Genova was no short journey, anywhere between three and four weeks.

Zio Alessandro wasn’t getting any younger, and if something happened to Ravenna, her sister would need to be there. But if she wasn’t in Genova... it could take anywhere from six weeks to two months to return.

Besides, she was to be the next Marchioness, and her oldest son — or daughter — would carry the name and title. They should be Genovese, not English.

Had she spoken about it with Samuel?

Was he the one who wanted to stay behind?

Certainly, he understood what being in his position meant.

“If this will be all,” the Modiste stood. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Let me walk you, Grandmama spoke up quickly.

They left together, leaving Ravenna and Rosetta behind, and Ravenna turned to her little sister as Rosetta took her hand, a bright smile on her face.

“It’ll be wonderful,” Rosetta sighed, her eyes sparkling. “Aren’t you excited?”

Ravenna smiled, the excitement in her sister’s voice lifting her spirits, even if only for a moment.

“It’ll be the most beautiful wedding this country has ever seen,” she promissed.

She would make sure it would be the most grand wedding of all.

Rosetta’s gaze lingered on her, her light brown eyes studying Ravenna’s face carefully, and she pushed her fingers between hers slowly.

“Mister Novak left a calling card,” Rosetta said, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “Grandmama said he seemed worried about you.”

Ravenna swallowed hard, the name hitting her like a cold wave. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Castiel had heard what Dean had said at the party, he seemed to be the only guest who had.

“And I’m certain Grandmama has assured him of my well-being,” Ravenna replied.

But Rosetta squeezed her hand, her voice gentle but insistent.

“You could welcome him today,” she suggested. “He seems to nurture great affection for you.”

Ravenna’s eyes drifted away, her thoughts momentarily tangled. It was true. Castiel did care for her, but not in the way Rosetta seemed to hope. And the affection Ravenna felt was not the kind of love her sister was imagining.

“I am not marrying Mr Novak, Rosetta,” she replied firmly. “Our relationship is exclusively friendly. He doesn’t wish to find a wife. He is more than satisfied raising his children on his own.”

It had been the very foundation of their connection, their mutual understanding, the agreement that had kept things clear between them.

Rosetta, however, wasn’t deterred.

“He seemed quite interested in the last few weeks,” she remarked, her tone soft but insistent. “And the greatest of loves often start from friendships.”

She pulled her hand away, clenching it as she stood.

“I’m a spinster, Rosetta,” Ravenna reminded her, her voice sharp. “Lord Winchester made that very clear. Since I arrived in this city, I’ve been treated like one, and I will hardly cease to be one. It would help greatly if you and the rest of the family stopped pretending I have any hopes of changing that status.”

Rosetta’s eyes softened at the mention of Lord Winchester, her expression mirroring the sting Ravenna felt.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Ravenna added, her tone final as she turned, ready to retreat to the privacy of her room.

But before she could take a step, Rosetta’s voice cut through the tension.

“What if he truly loves you?” she questioned.

Ravenna froze, caught off guard, her mind briefly struggling to comprehend the words. She turned slowly back to her sister, a frown knitting her brows in confusion.

What?

“Lord Winchester?” Rosetta stood now, her tone serious. “What if he truly loves you?”

The question made Ravenna laugh, bitter, without humour.

“Loves me?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Has the wedding preparation clouded your mind so much that you've lost your wits?”

Rosetta’s expression fell.

“You know what he has done,” Ravenna reminded her. “The things he said. He sees me as nothing more than what everyone else sees me.”

“But there must be a reason!” Rosetta insisted, her voice trembling with emotion. “Venna, he has pursued you so insistently. He has grovelled for your forgiveness, he begged for it! Why would he do that if it weren’t because of real feelings?”

Ravenna couldn’t contain the frustration any longer, snapping at her sister.

“He wanted a conquest, Rosetta! A prize! Are you so naïve that you cannot see it? Haven’t I taught you to see the world for what it is? Haven’t I raised you to be a realist?”

The question echoed in her mind as she spoke. What had she said?

Where was she pulling these thoughts from?

Why Rosetta, of all people, could not see the truth as it was?

“Are you so set on your ways that you refuse to consider that it might have been only a mistake?” her sister questioned back. “Samuel said…”

That made Ravenna stiffen.

“Samuel? You told him what I told you?” her voice shook, the disbelief and hurt escaping right through her words. “How could you have done that?”

She had entrusted her sister with a secret, moments humiliating to even recall. How could Rosetta have shared something so personal, especially with Samuel?

“No!” Rosetta quickly defended herself, her hands raised in a gesture of innocence. “His brother told him.”

Ravenna stood frozen, her heart sinking as the words sank into her. Dean had spoken to Samuel? He had shared those moments — those painful, intimate moments — with his brother?! The very moments that Ravenna had allowed him to pry from her, the improper touches, the sinful words whispered into her ears?

“Samuel says Lord Winchester confessed his feelings,” Rosetta continued, voice softening, but the weight of the words hit Ravenna like a slap. “That he is unwell.”

“Unwell,” Ravenna echoed, her tone flat.

How could he possibly be unwell when it was she who had suffered for his actions?

“I… I didn’t believe it at first,” Rosetta continued, her voice quieter now, uncertain. “But what if he just made a mistake? What if his intentions were… different? What if he, I don’t know, Venna. I don’t know him.”

“None of us do,” Ravenna muttered, her throat tightening as the knot inside her grew.

She fought to keep her voice steady, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on her chest.

“Samuel does,” Rosetta insisted, her voice filled with an unshakable hope. “Lord Winchester raised him as much as you raised me! They’re as close as we are.”

Ravenna scoffed. As close as they are? She highly doubted that.

If they were so close, why had Samuel not seen the man’s true nature?

“Perhaps… perhaps he fumbled,” Rosetta said slowly, her voice soft and tentative, as if trying to find a way to justify the unthinkable. “Maybe his intentions were noble, but his words were... foolish.”

Ravenna's chest tightened as she listened to Rosetta’s words, each one sounding more distant than the last. It was as though her sister was grasping at straws, trying to piece together a story that would make sense of something that was too painful to face.

“I frankly do not know how you can believe that,” Ravenna sighed, her voice tight.

Rosetta’s face softened, her eyes searching Ravenna’s as if looking for something—an opening, perhaps, or a crack in her resolve.

"He’s not a monster, Venna," she said gently. "What if he regrets it? What if he wants to make amends? What if he truly does care for you?"

Ravenna felt a sharp pang in her chest. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably at the thought, but she quickly smothered it, pushing the idea away as fast as it came. She couldn’t — she wouldn’t — let herself believe that.

“If he cared,” she said, keeping her words cool and steady. “He wouldn’t have treated me like that in the first place. He wouldn’t have said what he said.”

Ravenna closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, her body heavy, her stomach boiling.

“Venna...”

“I will not entertain such foolish notions just because your fiancé doesn’t want to see you hurt,” she interrupted, her words sharp. “Samuel loves you, and that’s all that matters to him right now. You should be grateful for that.”

Rosetta didn’t respond, the silence stretching between them as Ravenna stood and smoothed her dress, the motion feeling almost mechanical. Her hands trembled slightly, but she refused to acknowledge it.

“I’m going to my room,” she said, her voice firm, yet tired. “I’m not entertaining any guests or correspondence. And if you wish to join me at any point of the day, I’d highly request you leave such delusions at the door.”

Without waiting for her sister’s reply, Ravenna turned on her heel and walked away.

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 49 (Dean XI): Sam tries to push Dean into fixing his problems. Castiel's visit might be exactly what he needs. (9th of June on Tubmr/AO3)

…

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You pressed your lips together, and — like it or not — the image flashed through your mind again: Thor standing at the edge of the bounce house, effortlessly tossing Dustin inside while Clint did the same with Nathaniel, making the same old heat creep up your cheeks and ears.

How could a man who did not have kids look so… dad material?

Damn him. Damn you.

“Mama! Mama!” Duz sprinted up to the porch and grabbed at your arm. “Can we ask Mister Thor to come play with us?”

You put your laptop aside, exhaling softly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said gently. “Mr Thor helped a lot at your birthday. He should have the day for himself.”

Dustin frowned, little lips turning in a pout.

“But you don’t have the day for yourself!” he argued.

You pressed your lips together, holding back your answer for a moment.

Well… he wasn’t wrong, was he? You couldn’t exactly just pass Dustin off to someone else and stop thinking about him for a day — your mind didn’t work like that.

But you couldn’t exactly say that to him.

“I do, sometimes,” you told him, at last. “And those are called Grandma and Grandpa sleepovers.”

He frowned a bit more, still pouting.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you told him, smoothing back his hair. “But Mr Thor should rest. And you two can go bounce a bit more before I make popcorn.”

Both the boys lit up with the mention of the snack.

“With butter?” Nathaniel asked, eyes wide with hope.

Oh yes, Laura had absolutely warned you about that boy’s obsession with butter… and how you were absolutely not to let him have more than two teaspoons of it on his popcorn.

Preferably margarine, which (luckily) you had.

“Yes, with butter,” you confirmed, earning a small victorious whoop from him. “Now go play. I need to finish this first.”

You looked back at your sheet, trying not to grimace.

They took off at full speed, already halfway to the bounce house before you even finished your sentence.

You turned back to your screen, sighing as you stared at the spreadsheet. Honestly… you needed to start this first, by the looks of it.

You rubbed between your eyebrows, exhaling, and caught sight of Clint’s older boy looking back at you from his spot.

“Cooper,” you called out.

He perked up a little but immediately tried to play it cool, covering it with an obviously practised shrug.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“No one’s looking,” you teased. “You’re under 200 pounds?”

He frowned, confused.

“Yeah?”

You bit back a smile — it was obvious he was under 200, but the way he looked at you was too funny to have that part of the joke skipped.

“Then you’re fine,” you assured him, playful. “Just… don’t duplicate or anything. The waiver says it can only take 300 pounds, and I’m pretty sure those two over there are at least 60 each.”

Cooper snorted, shaking his head, but you caught the hint of a smile before he jogged over to the bounce house with the boys.

Sending them off gave you a good ten minutes to wrestle with some of the numbers before you finally gave up and slammed the laptop shut.

You whistled to the yard, and all three heads popped out of the bounce house like little prairie dogs.

“I’m gonna go make the popcorn,” you warned them. “Please, try not to break any bones while I’m inside.”

They giggled, and you shot a pointed look at Cooper. He nodded dutifully, all business, before ducking back inside with the little ones.

You made the popcorn in the microwave – Julius had talked over and over about using paper bags and putting ther kernels inside, and after you were a stubborn bitch about it for months, you tried it.

And he was right.

So yeah, you made popcorn like that now.

You measured out exactly two teaspoons of margarine for the little boys’ bowls, melted it, tossed the popcorn with a pinch of salt, and set Cooper’s aside, leaving it plain so he could spice it up however he wanted.

“Alright!” you called, raising your voice just enough to cut through their squeals. “Popcorn’s here. Leave the bounce house alone!”

Nathaniel and Dustin ran to you so quickly that they almost looked like little blurs before they got to you, and you chuckled as you gave them the bowls.

“You can sit on the chairs or steps,” you told them. “But no more going back to the bounce house. You don’t want to get sick after all that jumping.”

Cooper lingered nearby, glancing between your hands and the table, looking for his food.”

“Yours is in the kitchen,” you told him, pointing inside. “Didn’t know how you’d want it, so you’ve got free reign to fix it up however you like.”

He gave a small nod and headed back inside, and you exhaled quietly, sitting on your chair as with the boys, watching them dive happily into their popcorn. Their content little faces made your chest feel full in the best way.

Cooper came back and settled into the last chair on the porch while you stayed quiet, letting the breeze wash over your face and cool you down.

“You’ve got a nice car, Mrs T,” Cooper said suddenly, pulling your attention his way.

You arched an eyebrow at him.

Oh?

“Thank you,” you replied, a little amused.

“I wash cars,” he added quickly. “And clean up yards. I separate trash for recycling too. I can come over after school and do it.”

“You do all that?” you asked, surprised.

Voluntarily?

He nodded, serious.

“I’m trying to get my own money. Dad won’t let me follow him around,” he explained with a little shrug. “Apparently, he doesn’t want me doing plumbing.”

You tilted your head a bit, watching him.

Well, that was… nuanced.

“Oh — and I rake leaves, walk dogs, shovel snow…” he started ticking things off on his fingers. “If you’ve got a lawn that needs mowing, I’ll do that too.”

“Damn, kid,” you chuckled. “When do you play your video games?”

“After homework!” Nate piped up proudly before Cooper could answer.

You shook your head.

“Don’t work yourself to the ground,” you warned him. “How old are you? 16?”

“Seventeen,” he corrected proudly. “Gonna go to college soon.”

“Wait until you get the diploma to do that grinding, it pays more.”

He scowled, shovelling popcorn into his mouth, and you just shook your head.

“How much an hour?”

“Eighteen bucks,” he said. “And I take tips.”

You chuckled.

Smart kid.

“I’ll text your mum about it,” you told him.

“You’re gonna replace me as your odd job guy?”

You glanced up. Thor was leaning casually against his fence, feigning shock like you’d just betrayed him.

God, you couldn’t even help how everything in you softened at the simple sight of him.

“Mr Thor!” Dustin gasped, his face lighting up. “I thought you were having the day for yourself!”

Thor raised his eyebrows, caught off guard, but you shot him a look and he cleared his throat quickly.

“I was, buddy,” he replied. “But… uh… I wanted to check on you after your party. You looked really tired when we said goodbye.”

“I played a lot!” Dustin grinned proudly.

“It was so fun!” Thor exclaimed, matching his enthusiasm. “I’m glad you had a good time!”

“And we bounced today too!” Nate told him. “We were bouncing on the bounce house! But we can’t bounce after we eat.”

“Very smart,” Thor agreed, nodding seriously. “You don’t wanna get sick.”

You smiled a bit, reaching to pet Duz’s hair carefully, and he gave you his empty bowl.

“Mr Thor,” your boy called, rushing to the porch railing, eyes bright. “Can you toss me in the bounce house tomorrow when my belly isn’t full?”

Thor raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“Of course, kid. You’re keeping it for the weekend?”

“The company’s gonna pick it up Monday morning,” you told him, shrugging. “We went through all that trouble.”

He threw you a look, smirking and arching his eyebrows very slightly before smiling innocently at your son.

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he assured him. “You got more popcorn there?”

Dustin shook his head proudly.

“All gone!”

Thor gasped in mock horror.

“No! Aw… I wanted to come over.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you leaned against the porch railing. Duz stood on his tiptoes, lifting his chin.

“My mama can make it for you!” he declared confidently. “Right, Mama?”

You raised your eyebrows. Oh, you could now?

“Oh, I can’t impose,” Thor said quickly, hands up.

“I’ve got some kernels in the kitchen and an almost-new paper bag,” you replied, smirking. “You can go make some.”

He squinted at you, playful suspicion in his eyes.

“I don’t know… you were just offering my jobs to Cooper,” he pointed out, giving the boy a smirk. “How am I supposed to make myself useful around here now?”

You just shrugged.

“Well, I’ve got a house with plenty that needs fixing,” you told him. “Pretty sure you won’t run out of work.”

Thor chuckled, finally stepping through the fence open and into your yard.

“You say that now,” he scowled playfully. “But then I offer to help and you go, ‘You don’t have to do this, Thor.’”

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Still my house. I get to pick,” you shot back.

He just shook his head, still grinning, and headed into your kitchen while you stayed on the porch, keeping an eye on the boys as Nate finished his popcorn.

“Why don’t you three go inside,” you told them, standing up. “I’m gonna grab some juice, and you can watch Bluey for…”

You checked your phone.

Laura had asked you to send the boys home at four.

“Two episodes,” you decided.

“Yes!” Nate cheered, pumping his little fist. “I love Bluey!”

The boys rushed inside, and Cooper followed with a bit of an annoyed look on his face. You were the last one to step into the kitchen, and Thor was making his popcorn now.

“I’ll watch over as they walk home,” Thor told you as you stepped to his side. “I texted Clint. They’re not far, just some ten minutes West.”

You nodded, feeling your shoulders relaxing a little.

Good, that was good.

Thor glanced at you then, the corner of his mouth lifting in that easy, familiar way that made your belly flip.

“You holding up?”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back against the counter next to him.

“Trying,” you admitted, offering him a small smile. “You know… one spreadsheet, one list of tasks, one bounce house injury at a time.”

He chuckled a little bit as the kernels popped in the microwave behind him.

“You need any help?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

“Just gotta find a way to focus,” you told him. “Got a lot in my mind.”

“Duz?” he asked sweetly.

You threw him a look for a moment and pressed your lips together.

Well…

“You,” you said simply.

There was a moment of silence by your side, and when you looked at him, Thor was wide-eyed, pink on the face.

“Try doing math with you in my head the whole time,” you teased, leaning just a little closer. “Very hard to budget.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

“Well, I… well…” he looked for words. “Sounds…”

You waited.

“Hope I can help?” he asked.

You chuckled.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “I’m sure I’ll finish when Duz is in bed later today.”

Thor licked his lips, nodding as you turned to the fridge, grabbing the juice boxes and heading into the living room to hand them to the boys.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, he was still standing exactly where you’d left him, watching you like he hadn’t moved at all.

“I… I hope it’s okay?” he asked quietly. “That you’re… distracted. That it’s a good kind of distracted.”

You nodded quietly, smiling a little.

“It is,” you confirmed. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “It’s okay.”

“Alright,” you nodded.

Good.

“Alright.”

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 13: You have to fix your roof after a day of raining. Thor has an accident. (8th of June on Tumblr/AO3)

…

T

AG LIST IS OPEN

It hadn’t been a surprise. The ultrasounds had already shown it while he was still in her belly, and every doctor had assured them his hands and feet would be perfectly functional, that his life wouldn’t be impacted at all.

If anything, if he ever wanted to play piano, he’d have an advantage over other kids.

Helaena glanced over at Jaehaera, but her daughter was distracted by the colourful mobile spinning above her, utterly absorbed by the shifting shapes and colours as her little hands opened and closed in fascination. She was curious in a quieter way than Jaehaerys, less expressive, but no less engaged.

They were a whole month old now, already a third of the way through the newborn stage.

Helaena was finally beginning to feel like herself again. The c-section stitches were long gone, and the scar no longer itching the way it had before.

She had even just started riding her bike around Dragonstone again, even if it was just slow loops, just so she could enjoy the wind blowing through her hair.

And they were sleeping much better now that the night nannies had started coming, even if the babies still only truly settled with them.

It made this feel like the right time for the ceremony.

Jace, for one, was almost bouncing in excitement about it. Ever since they had spoken to Brother Aurion, he had barely stopped talking.

It meant presenting the children to the gods, promising they would be raised in their principles. Swearing, as parents, that they would guide them into becoming good people in this world, children who would honour their faith, customs, history, and traditions.

If there was one thing Daemon Targaryen had drilled into Jace and his siblings, it was how important it was to follow, share, and pass on their traditions.

That, and cooking.

And Helaena was deeply grateful for the second one, because she could barely fry an egg without overdoing it.

“Oh, it’s done,” Jace exclaimed just as a beep sounded from the kitchen.

He rocked JaeJae gently at the noise, kissing the top of his head before moving to set him in the rocker.

“I’m going to feed Mama,” he hummed to the baby. “And you’re going to be a good boy and not cry while I’m gone.”

Helaena chuckled.

Their babies, not crying the moment they were set down? Impossible.

Still, Jace turned on the gentle rocking motion and stepped over to her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before backing away with a grin.

“Your food is on its way, Your Grace.”

She smiled, shaking her head as he disappeared and walked off to the kitchen.

Silly man.

Jaehaera squeezed her little fists in the air by her side, just engrossed in whatever mysterious little universe occupied her thoughts, and Dreamfyre stepped up to nose at her feet, purring.

Helaena was becoming more and more certain that the cats believed the twins were their babies, and that she and Jace were merely the very well-trained household staff.

Dreamfyre certainly behaved like it.

She settled herself by Jaehaera’s like a mother taking her post, tail wrapped around her paws, silver-blue eyes fixed on the little girl like she was personally responsible for every breath she took.

Jaehaera, in turn, kicked one socked foot directly into Dreamfyre’s nose.

Dreamfyre blinked once, and then purred more, lowering her head to rest across her baby’s little legs as if kicks were simply part of the arrangement.

“Yes, clearly she adores you too,” Helaena said dryly, though amused.

Vermax appeared in the doorway then, pausing to survey the room like a Kingsguard protecting a King, and crossed to Helaena’s side after a minute, rubbing his head against her thigh and settling by her.

Helaena let her fingers drift move through his fur, her book long forgotten in her lap.

Rhaenyra had sent over a pair of gowns from New Valyria, newly made and perfectly tailored to mirror the previous gown created in the eighties for Laenor, as the first Targaryen baby born in… however long it had been.

Two gowns. One for each baby. So they would be seen as equals, even if tradition would prefer to argue otherwise.

Jaehaera gave a small, offended whine and squirmed, and Helaena caught the smell at the exact same moment Dreamfyre let out a little huff at the smell.

Someone needed changing.

She set her book aside completely and leaned down, lifting her daughter just as the fussing escalated into full protest.

Well, didn’t she stink?!

Jaehaera was Jace’s heir, officially.

She was their firstborn by three whole minutes. And maybe that distinction meant very little to Helaena, and nothing at all to Jace, but they both knew it would matter to the rest of the family.

She wondered if that was why Rhaenyra had commissioned two gowns before even telling them, so neither child would stand above the other, that neither deserved the old ceremonial gown more than the other.

And perhaps it was also her sister’s way of feeling included after Jace had barred everyone from attending and turning it into a family event.

If they had opened the ceremony to family, it would have had more people than their wedding day! So no, no one but them would be going.

Jaehaera’s outraged little cries softened the moment Helaena laid her on the changing mat, tiny legs kicking in sharp protest as she worked quickly, the rhythm of tabs and wipes and fresh cotton burned into the brain by now.

Dreamfyre stayed standing by her side like a supervising mother, watching every movement with very serious eyes.

“Yes, yes,” Helaena mumbled as she fastened the clean nappy. “Your daughter has been rescued from the horrors of poop.”

Dreamfyre answered by rubbing her head against her back.

Vermax, meanwhile, had moved closer to the JaeJae’s rocking chair, one big paw pressed against the base as if personally ensuring it would not tip over. Her baby boy just blinked up at him, six tiny fingers flexing around empty air before Vermax lowered his head to sniff him and rub his nose on his belly.

From the corridor, Helaena could hear Jace rolling the tray into the nursery, then, likely looking far too proud of whatever meal he had assembled.

She lifted Jaehaera against her shoulder, patting her back as she settled slowly.

“There, there,” Helaena whispered, kissing her little temple. “A perfectly perfumed lady again.”

Jaehaera squirmed in response, face scrunching with all the drama of a princess inconvenienced by the existence of bodily functions.

“Lunch,” Jace declared as he stepped through the door. “For the Princess of Dragonstone.”

Helaena looked over and had to fight a smile.

Steaming hot chicken pot pie in one plate, and cold salad on another, with a perfectly matching pair of fork and knife, along with a cup of juice.

“I can eat at the table,” Helaena reminded him. “You’re spoiling me.”

“I’m supporting the mother of my children,” he corrected, utterly shameless, his expression going softer the moment he looked at Hera. “And my little dragons.”

“Your heir smells better now,” Helaena replied. “You missed her latest nappy.”

He laughed and stepped closer, taking Jaehaera gently from her arms and rocking her.

“And His Grace, the spare?”

She rolled her eyes.

Alright, she had walked into that one.

“He might be preparing to ruin his nappy as we speak,” she informed him.

Jace clicked his fingers.

“I already started the bottles,” he told her. “So if all goes according to plan, he poops now, we change him, feed them both, get them dressed, and go.”

She blinked at him.

“You’re not eating?” Helaena asked, looking up.

They lived within walking distance of the temple. There was plenty of time.

But he shook his head.

“You eat. I’ll dress them. Then you change, I change, and we go.”

Helaena blinked.

“Jace…” she exhaled.

Honestly, he was beginning to behave exactly the way the vets had described Vermax during Dreamfyre’s nesting.

“I’ll eat real quick when we come back,” he assured her. “And you know I was late to breakfast, I’m not hungry. It’ll be quick.”

Helaena gave him a flat look, but it was really hard to keep herself from softening at the sight of him holding Jaehaera against his chest, clearly ready to hold the fort.

“No,” she decided, taking that Princess title to heart for a bit. “When we’re back, I’ll stay with them, and you are going to eat sitting down.”

He opened his mouth, and she just raised her eyebrows at him.

He closed his mouth again.

“And tomorrow,” she continued, “Odette and Aemond are watching them so we can sit down and watch an episode of… some show.”

That made Jace snort.

“Some episode of some show.”

Helaena scowled.

“Something something old dinosaurs,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t care. We’ll watch it.”

They hadn’t even looked at the television in… well… she would rather not start counting days. It never ended well.

Jace’s smile softened into something fond and tired and deeply amused.

“If Her Grace commands,” he teased, “I’ll go tell one of them they can help me. You know Aemond has been waiting for his chance to sweep in and be uncle of the year.”

Helaena shook her head.

Yes, he absolutely had.

Aemond and Odette had both wanted very badly to be part of the ceremony. Her best friend had even asked if she could be a godmother.

Helaena had had to explain that it didn’t exactly work that way with their gods. In their naming ceremonies, godparents were less symbolic and more practical, usually the people who would take in or guide an orphaned person or a new convert under their wing. They were, technically, parents.

Jace had actually offered himself as that for Cregan’s kids if they ever wanted it.

It was all a bit complicated.

Still, Aemond and Odette were a very present pair of aunt and uncle.

There had been one day after the twins got new shots that Jaehaera had been so fussy when Helaena took her, and she thought she would just faint from exhaustion, and Aemond had simply taken her from her arms, settled a hat onto her head to protect her from the sun, and walked with her.

Up and down the castle, around the entire livable section, down the beach… for an hour and a half, until Jaehaera had finally fallen asleep, just so she could have a moment as Jace dealt with Jaehaerys.

And he hadn’t complained even once.

Honestly, Helaena was beginning to suspect Aemond absolutely loved the drama of pacing the corridors with a baby like some brooding knight on patrol. It suited him far too well.

“Fine,” Helaena exhaled. “But only cause we have a plan.”

He was lucky she had to start eating now, or they would be late.

...

Chapter 2 (on Patreon) - 4th of June on Tumblr/AO3

…

“name day” is a short married!Jace/Helaena story set in the Modern Era, and was posted on my Patreon on April 2026.

Subscription is only $2 a month for early access to everything I do and exclusive access to some works, and I promise you won’t regret it.

What Crowley had on Ravenna and Rosetta, Sam had no idea. But now that he understood their past, their choices, the lengths they had gone to in order to reach England — it all made sense.

They hadn’t trusted anyone with the Matarazzo secret before telling Sam, and he intended to do the same.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could trust Dean with it. For all he knew, his brother might only find out when they boarded a ship for Genova — if that was what Rosetta wanted.

Sam stepped out of the carriage with a slow, measured sigh, rolling his shoulders back as he straightened his posture. He forced his expression into careful neutrality, locking away the frustration simmering beneath his skin.

He was here to investigate.

No matter what lies or half-truths Crowley spun, Sam was here to listen.

The butler barely spared him a glance before stepping aside, allowing him in without announcement, and the moment Sam stepped into the quiet drawing room, Crowley was already waiting, lounging in his chair like a cat that had just devoured a canary.

His sharp eyes flicked over Sam, and his lips twisted in a smirk as they settled on him, it would have made his blood boil to see him so satisfied if he couldn’t see the marks of the good beating Dean had given him.

“Well, well. If it isn’t young Winchester,” Crowley drawled, swirling a dark amber drink in his glass. “Come to pay your respects? Apologise? Or did curiosity finally get the better of you?”

Sam clenched his jaw.

“You know why I’m here.”

Crowley hummed, tapping a finger against his glass.

“Do I?” he asked.

He gestured to the seat across from him, but Sam didn’t move, and Crowley sighed theatrically.

“Must we always do this dance? Sit, Winchester. We wouldn’t want your temper getting the best of you, your brother has done enough, don’t you think?”

But Sam didn’t comply, just standing on his spot.

“What do you know?”

Crowley chuckled, slow and deliberate.

“Oh, plenty. I always know plenty. But what’s most interesting, my dear boy, is what you know,” he leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “And what you’re willing to do to keep it buried.”

Sam’s stomach twisted, but he refused to let it show.

He had expected games — Crowley never gave anything away for free.

So he sat down, finally, and that earned him the most disgusting of smirks again.

“There you go,” he wavered his hand.

Sam stared at his face, thinking over what he was going to say.

“What did Dean do?” he asked, setting his hat down.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

Sam did. Of course, he did. But Crowley didn’t need to know that.

“Your brother…” Crowley began slowly, savouring the moment, “wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of his own actions.”

Sam swallowed, keeping his expression neutral.

Well. That, at least, was true.

“Typical Lord Winchester shit, really,” Crowley sighed, setting his glass down with an air of boredom. “Pin the blame on someone else so you can be angry and take it out on them. He learned well from your father.”

Sam remained stiff, watching him. Yes, he knew their father more than well.

“But tell me,” he changed his focus. “What did your brother say?”

He didn’t need to think over it — Sam had already done it on his way.

“Not much,” he lied smoothly, exhaling as if exasperated. “When he stumbled home, he was drunk out of his mind, babbling something about a rumour about the Matarazzos.”

Sam could see Crowley’s eyes glinting right away at the sound of it.

He was an easy man to crack, in the end. Sam knew Crowley, he knew he was so, so eager to spread whatever story he had heard — so much so that he hijacked the night of their engagement despite not even being invited to dinner just so he could tease it to someone.

“Oh, yes,” Crowley leaned in his direction. “Your little bride and your brother’s… heartbroken beloved?”

It took everything in him for Sam not to clench his hand at his words.

“I’ve been hearing about them quite a bit, you see? People were so curious when they arrived,” Crowley continued, his voice almost playful. “Asking me all the questions, as if my ears stretched so far down south to hear their secrets all the way from their little land.”

He adjusted on his seat, and Sam watched him, unmoving.

“Well,” he sipped his drink. “I have one rumour that might mean your future is bright, and another that is just… meh,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Terribly boring. Much more realistic, however.”

Sam exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral as he exhaled.

“Go on.”

Crowley smirked, letting the silence stretch just long enough for Sam’s patience to wear thin. Then, finally he chuckled.

“Now,” he drawled, speaking with deliberate slowness, “Winchester, how long have we known one another?”

Sam stiffened. Crowley’s grin widened at his reaction.

“I know I owe you for last night and all, but I don’t work for free,” he remarked. “You know how deals work.”

Sam swallowed down his frustration, gripping the arm of his chair.

“I’m not the gossip kind,” Sam spoke between teeth.

But Crowley grinned, mischievous.

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “I work with truths, Samuel. Those are much easier to share than any creative lie.”

Sam swallowed down, looking away.

Maybe this was a mistake.

“I’ll tell you what,” Crowley went on smoothly. “I’ll give you both stories for the price of one. Consider it… an engagement gift. An olive branch.”

Sam looked away, holding back from rolling his eyes. He knew better than to take Crowley’s generosity at face value — there was always a string attached, always some angle he was playing.

Still, he needed to hear what the bastard had to say.

“You must be feeling particularly charitable,” Sam remarked, his voice flat.

Crowley chuckled, tipping his glass toward him in mock acknowledgement.

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for young love,” he said simply. “And you seem to love the girl.”

Sam barely kept from scoffing.

“I already told you, I’m not the gossiping kind.”

Crowley scoffed, shaking his head as the room fell into silence, each of them waiting for whoever would be the first to give up.

At last, his host sighed, putting his glass down.

“Let me propose one thing I need from you, then,” he mused, tapping a finger against his knee. “Novak was all over little Miss Matarazzo a bit around after she and your fiancée arrived. They danced together constantly, and exchanged visits… one of his brothers even claimed they wrote letters when they couldn’t meet. A love story, truly.”

Sam shifted slightly in his seat. Yes, he remembered that well. Ravenna and Castiel had seemed like a fitting pair — she was older than the usual debutante, poised and mature, and she seemed to fit naturally into Castiel’s world. Jack and Claire adored her, too.

Before, it hadn’t interested him much. Courtship was a process. Sometimes it led nowhere.

But after what Dean had said? It was different now.

“Novak is terribly difficult to crack,” Crowley continued, rolling his eyes like the mere thought of someone valuing their privacy was offensive. “But I’ve heard whispers. Some claim he had a visitor. One of his brothers mentioned him saying something about ‘not standing in someone’s way…’”

Sam watched Crowley closely. Castiel had always been an understanding man, patient to a fault. He couldn’t begin to guess what had been on his mind regarding Ravenna, but one thing he was sure of — Castiel cared for her. He wasn’t courting her, perhaps, but they’d been friendly at dinner last night. That much was clear.

“What do you want from me, Crowley?” Sam asked, cutting through the pretence, his patient wearing thin. “I’m not Castiel.”

“Precisely,” Crowley said, pointing a finger in mock triumph. “You’re a Winchester. And who else would be so invested in Ravenna’s name, playing the gallant protector, if not your dear brother?”

Sam exhaled slowly. Of course.

He shifted in his seat, trying to think of an answer.

He shifted in his seat, considering his next move. He could lie, deny any knowledge, and pretend Dean had said nothing to him. But then what? What price would he have to pay to get the information he needed?

“Well,” Sam cleared his throat. “I can’t say exactly what happened. I don’t know the details.”

Crowley leaned in, eyes gleaming, eager as a dog scenting blood.

“But?”

“But,” Sam allowed, “yes. Dean said he spoke to Castiel about Ravenna.”

Crowley’s smirk deepened.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied honestly.

He knew very little — only that Dean had been jealous of Castiel and had confronted him about it.

“All I know is that he was jealous,” he said simply.

“Jealous?” Crowley repeated, savouring the word.

“Jealous.”

Crowley let out a slow, knowing hum, deep in thought before he spoke again.

“Of course,” he decided.

Sam watched him with his eyebrows raised. Crowley was predictable in his own way — always itching to prove he knew more than anyone else in the room. And right now, he was practically preening.

“That does explain some things,” he mused, tilting his head. “Your brother was quite the… presence anytime the three were in the same room before. All fire and fury, like a dog trying to kick another out of its territory.”

Sam didn’t respond. He just let Crowley talk.

“And Castiel, well,” Crowley smirked, “he’s always been too righteous for his own good, hasn’t he? If your brother came to him with his usual reckless charm, I imagine the good lord must’ve had quite the moral dilemma on his hands.”

Sam exhaled, keeping his voice even.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No,” Crowley agreed, smiling like the cat who had cornered the mouse. “But I do.”

He let that sit between them, watching, waiting. Sam didn’t bite.

Finally, Crowley sighed, reclining back.

“Oh, don’t look so sour, Winchester. I did promise you a gift in exchange for what I wanted,” he remarked. “Now I can give you what you want.”

Sam breathed in deeply, waiting — finally, this time — for what he had to say.

Crowley set his glass aside with deliberate ease, stretching out the moment.

“Let’s start with the oldest, shall we?” he grinned, teeth flashing. “Word has it that your precious Miss Rosetta and her devoted sister arrived in England with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a pitiful excuse for dowries — barely scraping four figures when combined,” he clicked his tongue. “So tragic. So desperate.”

Sam swallowed down, trying not to show as he relaxed internally, and Crowley chuckled.

“And, of course, how convenient for your dear fiancée that her self-sacrificing sister forfeited her own dowry just so little Miss Rosetta could land a good husband.” He gestured vaguely toward Sam. “You.”

Sam remained still, listening. That was easy enough. He and Rosetta had discussed her dowry at length — it was more than sufficient, the highest he’d ever seen, and he intended for her to benefit from it as much as possible. He had his own money. She deserved every bit of what was rightfully hers.

“And then, along comes Lord Winchester, whispering sweet nothings to the poor spinster, filling her head with delusions, and ruining whatever chance she had at a good match,” Crowley sighed, shaking his head in mock pity.

Sam’s grip tightened on the chair. He swallowed against the slow-burning anger rising in his throat.

“But the other rumour,” Crowley went on, sounding far less interested, “is rather dull. Hardly scandalous at all, really.”

He flicked a dismissive hand in Sam’s direction, waiting.

Sam waited, too.

Finally, Crowley scoffed.

“Fine,” he took a sip and then put his glass aside again. “Some believe the sisters might actually be rich. Possibly even titled. That they came here because the old Lord Matarazzo found his wife in England, and this is all some grand, poetic tradition,” he tilted his head. “I even heard a few whispers that the old man isn’t dead at all. That they’re pretending to be orphans so they can choose their own husbands.”

Sam didn’t react — not outwardly. He simply breathed, keeping his expression neutral. He had expected worse.

It didn’t surprise him that Crowley put more stock in the first rumour. It was far more entertaining to believe someone was hiding their poverty than their wealth. And besides, neither Lady and Lord Pembroke nor their son would ever abandon their granddaughters — if they had lacked dowries, their family would have ensured they had them.

Sam forced himself to exhale slowly, as if unimpressed.

“That’s it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Crowley smirked, fingers drumming against his knee.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I thought you had something worthwhile,” he reached for his hat. “Instead, you’re telling me some halfwit with too much time thinks Ravenna and Rosetta are secret princesses? Really?”

Crowley chuckled, but Sam caught the flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

“It’s dull, isn’t it? No real bite. Though I do find it amusing that some think old Lord Matarazzo is still alive,” he sighed theatrically. “Imagine that — lurking in the shadows, hand-picking suitors for his daughters. A bit dramatic for my taste, but then again, so is your family.”

Sam’s jaw twitched, but he let it pass. He wasn’t here to play into Crowley’s hands.

“If that’s all,” he said, standing.

Crowley hummed, watching him.

“Not even a little reaction? I must be losing my touch.”

Sam gave him a flat look.

“You overestimated how much I care for gossip.”

Crowley smirked again, but this time, it wasn’t quite as smug.

“Yet here you are,” he tilted his head, cocky. “Seeking it out.”

Sam’s jaw flexed. And Crowley’s grin returned, satisfied.

But he just put on his hat and walked away.

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 48: The Pembroke-Matarazzos plan Rosetta's wedding. (2nd of June on Tubmr/AO3)

…

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You couldn’t say a single bad thing about the man — he had been a rock all morning. He helped string up decorations with surprising enthusiasm while you were still groggy, and the moment the truck with the bouncy castle rolled in, he was already out front directing them like it was his full-time job. And somehow, he looked hotter than ever as he made sure your son’s bouncy castle was in the perfect place, and very safe.

And once the castle was up and secure, he didn’t stop. He moved through the yard like it was second nature, checking in, helping parents, corralling stray balloons, and making sure everything looked perfect for Dustin’s big day.

The last few days with him had been... nice.

Really nice.

You’d talked more, laughed over way too much leftover sushi the next day, eating cross-legged on the porch while the house stayed blissfully quiet — Julia and Dustin didn’t come back until the next afternoon.

It was slow. Comfortable.

You left him alone for maybe five minutes — at least, you hoped it was only five — after Julia came downstairs with Dustin so you could finish getting ready.

But by the time you came back down, it felt like the entire neighbourhood had already arrived, and he was already redirecting Clint from the snack table when you stepped out.

You stared for a moment until Julia nudged you from behind.

“Did you know Nathaniel is the plumber’s kid?” she asked.

You nodded a bit.

“Yeah, he’s Laura’s husband,” you looked at her. “You never met him?”

She shrugged.

Nathaniel was Dustin’s best friend — the two of them were practically glued together at school. Always running in sync, sharing snacks, making up weird games with rules no one else understood. Peas in a pod, as the teachers liked to say.

Your eyes drifted back to Thor as they moved to the bouncy castle. Thor was quick to start helping kids in and out, all smiles and gentle reminders, keeping sticky hands with juice boxes and half-eaten snacks firmly outside the inflatable borders.

He looked…

“Damn, he looks like a dad,” Julia said under her breath.

Your cheeks flushed — not that she was wrong — but before you could say anything, your attention snapped to a familiar voice.

“My baby!” mum called out dramatically as she crossed into the yard.

She was flanked by dad and Julius, , who’d finally managed a rare day off. You barely had time to react before Dustin’s squeak cut through the air.

“Mum,” you exhaled.

“Grandma! Grandpa! Unkie!”

You stepped aside just in time to watch your son run off from his friends, arms flung wide, beelining for his grandparents.

She scooped Dustin up the second he reached her, showering him with those big, smacking kisses you knew your mother lived for.

“Oh, my baby,” she crooned, squeezing him close.

Julia, watching beside you, sighed dramatically.

“I’ve really lost my spot.”

You scoffed.

“Move back in with her, I’m sure she’d love more time with her youngest.”

“Fuck no,” Julia scffed, just as Julius strolled over — looking like he’d been dragged backwards through the week.

She smirked.

“You look half-dead.”

He glared at her.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” your brother groaned, then turned to you. “Hey, Princess.”

“Hi, Mister Doctor,” you said with a smirk. “Residency eating you alive?”

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face like the very thought of academia offended him.

“Don’t ever tell Duz this is what I look like as a student,” Julius said, dead serious. “He’ll never want to go into medicine if he thinks this is what it does to you.”

You snorted.

“Dude, I’m a musician,” you reminded him, pointing to yourself. “She went into pharmaceutical sales. Between the two of us, we can’t rub two brain cells together to do CPR.”

You gave him a pointed look as your brother rolled his eyes.

“It’s really all gonna come down to you if you want him to follow your steps.”

Julius groaned, rubbing his eyes, but you caught the smile he forced onto his face just as Dustin finally wriggled free from your mother’s grip and launched himself at him.

“My Dust Bunny!” Julius exclaimed, scooping him up with exaggerated flair.

You felt someone take your hand, and turned to find your parents reaching for hugs, and slipped easily into their arms.

“Hello, princess,” dad said warmly, giving you a firm squeeze before pulling back with a big grin. “Now, where’s this gentleman I’ve been hearing about?”

Your face burned in embarrassment.

“Dad!” you hissed, mortified.

“Oh, give the girl a minute,” mum waved him off, swooping in to wrap you in her arms instead. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Mum,” you mumbled, burying your face in her shoulder for a beat.

She held you in that kind of squeeze only a mother could, tight and warm and gently swaying like you were five again and not a grown woman with a whole child of your own.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered before letting you go. “Look at this yard, this party, this little boy running around like a sugar comet…”

“He hasn’t even had cake yet,” you chuckled, looking at Dustin already running off with Junior chasing him. “That’s just him raw.”

Dad let out a low whistle, eyes scanning the backyard.

“Got the castle, the balloons… hell, I think I saw a popcorn machine on the way in.”

“And Thor,” Julia added, smug.

When you looked at her, she just wiggled her eyebrows.

“Helping kids on the bouncy castle like some golden retriever in human form.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up as dad raised his chin, casually tracking Thor without even trying to hide it.

“Is that why you’re wearing makeup?” mum teased, smirking as she leaned into you.

You shot her a deadpan look.

“I’m wearing makeup because most of the mothers at Dustin’s school are rich and hot,” you declared back.

It had genuinely shocked you, the first drop-off. You drove him up looking like a survivor of fucking hurricane, only to find a front line of mothers who looked like they were headed to Vogue brunch. Their morning routine was your in-person-meeting level of effort. Of course you were wearing makeup to the party!

“Well, I want to be introduced!” your mother decided, excited. “I need to know who managed to wiggle himself into my daughter’s life so easily. And my grandson won’t stop talking about him!”

You rolled your eyes, about to protest, but she was already dragging you across the yard toward the bouncy castle.

“Thor!” Julia called ahead, turning this into a full parade.

Thor turned around to look at you with a smile, seeming surprised for a moment before raising his finger and clicing his tongue.

“Oh, now I see it!” he said, eyes lighting up.

You blinked. What?

Julia snorted, tossing a look at your confused parents.

“Mother, you know how you always say that we look alike, and that it doesn’t matter I’m blonde and she isn’t?” she pointed at you. “And you always insist anyone could tell we were sisters just by our faces?”

Mum squared her shoulders like she was ready to debate. Yeah… that had been the argument of your childhood. Julia had never forgiven the gene pool for giving her Junior’s face instead of yours.

“Of course,” your mother said coolly.

“Well,” Julia said, turning smug. “You were wrong. Because Thor here thought we were married. For months.”

Thor’s face went beet red. Absolutely crimson.

“In his defence,” you cut in, trying not to laugh, “Dustin looks more like Julia than he’s ever looked like me.”

Dad snorted, and you caught mum’s cheeks turning pink.

“Anyway,” Julia clapped, then gave you a pointed shove toward Thor. “Go on.”

You shot her a glare, but she just grinned wider, completely unbothered.

“Hey,” Thor said, voice a little shy.

“Hey,” you exhaled, offering him a warm look. “Thor, these are my parents, Julius and Lucretia. Mum, Dad… this is Thor.”

Mum smiled right up at him, giving him a once-over that wasn’t even subtle.

“Thor,” she repeated, taking his hand in both of hers. “That’s a strong name.”

“Uh... thank you,” he said, clearly flustered but holding his ground with a firm shake. “My parents were very… enthusiastic. And Nordic.”

Dad chuckled at that, stepping in next.

“Julius,” he said simply, giving Thor a long look, reading him up slowly. “You helped set this up?”

Thor nodded.

“I did, yeah. Happy to help. She,” he gestured to you. “Did most of the work, though. I just looked mean while the bouncy castle was being set up and am making sure no one eats popcorn inside it.”

Dad grinned. Mum, of course, had other goals.

“Well, you know Dustin adores you,” she said, with that tone that made your stomach twist. Her matchmaking voice, one you knew too well.

“I like him a lot too,” Thor said, that sheepish smile breaking out again, and you felt your heart do a damn embarrassing flip.

Julia snorted behind you, and you elbowed her, but she just stepped away.

Your mother, meanwhile, was already squinting at him, holding onto Thor’s arm like he might try to escape.

“And what do you do, Thor?”

“I’m a contractor,” he said. “I own a company, but these days I mostly manage the crews.”

“Unless we’ve got a broken door,” Julia added helpfully. “Or a wet basement.”

Thor’s ears turned bright pink and you clapped your hands.

“Well, you all have fun!” you announced. “I’ve got parents to greet. Try not to die or kill anyone.”

“No promises,” Julia sang, delighting in the chaos.

You rolled your eyes but turned away anyway, stepping back into party mode.

If Thor had any intentions towards you, now was the time for him to seriously consider them. Your family was sweet, yes, but they grilled like chefs on a Sunday afternoon. Sooner or later, they’d get him sizzling, it was best that it was now.

You smoothed your shirt and forced your expression into something more hostess than hunted. There were still parents to thank, presents to sort, and a cake to supervise before it became frosting-flavoured rubble in the hands of those little sugar gremlins. Still, your heart thumped as you walked off, catching one last sight of Thor standing there, still red-eared, but smiling like he wasn’t quite ready to run.

The party was…

Well, it was a five-year-old’s birthday party. Which meant a yard full of other five-year-olds, completely sugared up and running around like they'd just been released from lifelong captivity.

It wasn’t meant to be fun for adults. It definitely wasn’t meant to be fun for you.

But Dustin was happy, all sweaty, messy, with his new clothes begging for a proper wash and his face covered in every possible food stain.

You had never seen him this happy.

Would his clothes need soaking? Absolutely.

Would he need a long bath and some serious shampooing to get the blue frosting out of his blonde hair? Without a doubt.

Would he remember this day forever?

Well… you hoped so.

So you were tired, with a big cupcake stain on your dress, handing out the little goodie bags as the other parents said their goodbyes, but you couldn’t have been more satisfied with how the party turned out.

Dustin was still bouncing around the castle with Nate, while Barton stood nearby, keeping an eye on them, so you managed to snag a leftover hot dog to keep yourself from starving, waving goodbye with your free hand as people trickled out.

Yeah, that looked like a success.

It was good.

“There you are,” Julia came to your side. “Guess what?”

“Hm?” you chewed.

“It was perfect,” your sister nudged you.

You chuckled, relaxing as you watched the cars pulling out. The backyard was still a mess, but a happy one, scattered balloons, paper plates, and the squeals of kids bouncing for the last time.

“Perfect, huh?” you exhaled, more to yourself than her.

Julia bumped her shoulder lightly against yours.

“You did good, mama.”

Your heart pinched a little at that, and you gave her a tired smile.

“Thanks.”

Your eyes slid over to where your parents and Junior were lingering by the gift table, and a slow smirk crept up your face.

“You know what that means, right?” you raised your eyebrows to her.

Julia followed your eyes. You could see the exact moment the realisation hit her.

“You four are on clean-up while I go soak in a bath,” you reminded her sweetly.

Oh, that was the sweetest thing in the world.

It was Mum’s idea. ‘Don’t hire anyone to clean, we can do it!’

Well… they had promised.

Julia groaned dramatically, throwing her head back like you'd just sentenced her to fix up the whole house on her own.

“Oh, come on,” she whined. “I was emotionally supportive! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Nope,” you popped the p and took another bite of your hot dog, already tasting the victory.

“You’re cruel,” she groaned.

“You’re scrubbing blue frosting off the fence, that’s cruel.”

She shot you a glare, but it melted a little bit as she squinted.

“I hate you.”

You just smiled.

“Love you too.”

You stepped back onto the porch, ready to head inside, but then your eyes drifted over the yard once more, and a quiet weight settled in your chest.

Vic would’ve loved this.

He would’ve loved to see your boy so full of joy, running wild, untouched by the kind of hurt that made you worry joy might be lost forever. He would’ve loved to know Dustin still laughed like that. That he was still okay.

You exhaled slowly, heart a little tight, and watched just as Dustin flew out of the bouncy house and straight into Thor’s arms — only to be tossed right back in with a squeal of delight. Just like Nathaniel with Clint a second later, a perfect mirror image.

Just like dad used to do when you were little.

Whenever there was a bounce house, you and the twins would take turns racing to him, shrieking with laughter, just for the thrill of being thrown into the air and landing in that pillowy chaos.

And maybe, just maybe, a part of you still worried Dustin could get hurt, but every time Thor lifted him, it was with such quiet care. As if he knew how precious he was. As if he felt it.

You covered your mouth with your hand, blinking fast as tears blurred your vision andturned quickly, slipping into the kitchen and then the living room, sinking onto the couch as the sniffles gave way to soft, messy sobs you tried to muffle with your hands.

And you didn’t even know why you were crying!

Duz was happy. He was so happy. A wild, joyful, frosting-covered little tornado with more love around him than most people got in a lifetime.

And this man… this man who wasn’t supposed to be anything…

He didn’t even think he had a chance with you until days ago, and still — still — he had stepped in so quietly, so kindly. Like loving your son was second nature. Like loving you might be just as easy, if you’d let him.

You hadn’t even been thinking about moving on. You hadn’t been ready. And then he just... what? Fell out of the sky? Out of some cosmic joke?

And he was wonderful.

He was patient and sweet and never made you feel rushed or wrong, even when you told him you needed time. And now here you were, sitting in your living room with cupcake frosting on your dress and tears running down your face because he was playing with your kid.

You heard the back door creak open and scrambled to get yourself together, wiping at your cheeks and trying to blink the redness away.

But then you saw mum.

She was already halfway across the room, and the look in her eyes told you she knew. Of course she knew. She always did.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered, and that was all it took.

You stepped right into her arms like you had when you were little, like nothing had changed, and her arms wrapped around you just as easily. No questions, no pressure — just warm, quiet comfort.

And you let go. You let yourself cry, let the weight of joy and grief and hope all crash at once.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 12: With the misunderstandings fixed, your relationship with Thor starts changing very nicely.

…

TAG LIST IS OPEN

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Delight is coming to my page on an Early early access next week, which means the PDF version will be available to purchase for a few months before the story is posted on AO3 in the same model as I always do.