‍ ‍*‍𝕮一ᴱ𝙻𝖎𝙰. ‍..

⠀ ⠀ ﹠. ⠀ 𝒾 ⠀ told ⠀ myself ⠀ i'd ⠀ 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 ⠀ be ⠀ 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ⠀ / ⠀ standing ⠀ 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 ⠀ in ⠀ 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎.

ᅟᅟᅟ ⸻⸻ ﹠ ᅟᅟᅟ

i will scratch you like one. ﹙ the whack against her arm is featherlight, before her body melts into celia's, face tucked into the crook of her neck. ﹚ don't be cute.

stop. your. smiling. ﹙ it tears apart portia's resolve like nothing, so much so that crossed arms against her chest are a defense mechanism. ﹚ yes. fine. i will.

don't look smug. ﹙ a forefinger points towards beloved. ﹚ oh, please, yes you were. it's the same thing every time: including calling me at three in the morning because you cannot sleep—— stop smiling, celia.

﹙ brows pinch together as the blonde is regarded in silence: portia's preservation instincts are screaming loudly at her to run; but arguing with celia is like harming oneself. ﹚ you know what, fine, whatever. i'll give her a »

have you taken a 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 to actually realize that your daughter seems to think featheringtons are beneath her? then again, up until very recently, you used to believe the same. ﹙ hands are held up in surrender. ﹚ or still do, »

﹙ coffee cup clatters against marble before the redhead exits the kitchen, celia stared down with a near silent huff. ﹚ what future—? the very same where i have to hear you complain because my children want to bond with you?

says you. ﹙ shoulders lift into a shrug in response, path taken to the kitchen. ﹚ i don't have to acknowledge you.

bite back whatever snotty remark you're going to say about my pyjamas. ﹙ hand perches against hip, arching a brow, before she grabs the pastries. ﹚ talk to the walls, celia. i suggest you get comfy.

did I now? ﹙ brow arches with a quiet snort. ﹚ get over yourself, twerp.

so, so violent. ﹙ huffing, door finally opened. ﹚ better?

﹙ pyjama clad, footsteps carry her over to the door, with a quiet hmph. ﹚ you have a key.

yeah, well, i still want to marry your insufferable ass.

yes.

because you say so, goldilocks?

?? i'm not calling you baby while i'm fighting with you ??