#he does care for them though. in his own way. he's very gruff and stern and serious but that's the good shit

[tricoufamily]

the villareal's butler, lawrence fakhoury, and driver, dan freeman

[alj4890]

I have an ask? What if Liam got Riley pregnant when they first met in New York? Would he still have to go through the social season? Would she have to raise a baby on her own would Liam find a way to help?

Ooooohhhh. Interesting. That would be quite the conundrum for them, wouldn't it? Especially since the social season starts the very next day after he visited her bar. Hmmm. Let's see what I can do with that time frame. I'm going on the assumption that the social season lasts at least three months with all the parties and traveling they do. Which will help out with the pregnancy part 😉 I think she would still go and take part in the social season since she wouldn’t know she was pregnant yet, but it would definitely alter how things end in book 1.

Masterlist

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @twinkleallnight @amandablink @neotericthemis  @mm2305

Aftereffects

Three months earlier...

"Well?" Riley tilted her head to study Liam's profile. "What do you think?"

He cleared his throat. Lips parted, yet no words were formed. Liam had so many emotions hitting him all at once that a mere stranger had made his one wish come true.

His eyes went from the Statue of Liberty to the woman responsible for him being able to see it.

"I'm speechless." He lowered his head, lips curving in a shy smile. "I've never been so moved in my life than I am in this moment with you."

She smiled and turned her attention toward the iconic monument. "She's really something, isn't she?"

He turned toward Riley. His eyes traveled down her beautiful face softly lit by the dull light coming from the ferry they were on and the sliver of moonlight from above.

"Yes," he moved closer to her. "She really is."

Riley looked up at him. Her heart raced at the tender longing she saw in his eyes. He seemed so lonely. So in need of encouragement. So in need of affection.

Before he could step away, she snagged his lips in a tender kiss.

He froze for two seconds before crushing her to him. He allowed all the feelings he kept to himself pour out as a fuel to draw moans from her. The desperation he had been feeling since his brother abdicated didn't seem to exist around this woman.

His kisses traveled down her neck.

"Liam." She sighed when he returned to her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pressed her back against the railing.

"I don't want this night to end." He murmured.

It took a physical effort to stop.

"Neither do I." She cupped his cheek. "I know you leave tomorrow."

He nodded, already feeling the heavy yoke that was about to be thrust upon his shoulders.

"It's not quite tomorrow though." She kissed along his jaw as she whispered. "We can still enjoy the rest of tonight."

"Riley, I--you know I must choose--I couldn't do that and simply leave you to search for a bride." He felt guilty just thinking about it.

He would be the worst sort of cad possible if he were to spend the night in her arms.

He shouldn't have pursued her. The moment she had turned around and greeted him in the bar, he had thought of nothing else except getting to know more about her.

"I want you." She whispered. "If tonight is all we have, then let's make the most of it."

"You have no idea how much I want you." He kissed her once more, completely unable to resist her.

******************

Two and a half months later...

Maxwell winced when he heard the noises coming from Riley's bathroom. Bracing himself, he timidly knocked upon the door.

"You okay in there, blossom?"

"What--" she heaved into the toilet, "do you think?"

"Maxwell!" Bertrand snapped. "What is the hold up. She should have been downstairs fifteen minutes ago."

His eyes widened at the sounds of vomiting.

"Is she ill?" He whispered.

Maxwell shrugged.

"She seemed fine last night." Bertrand thought over the past few days.

"She has been more tired than usual." Maxwell narrowed his eyes in concern. "And this isn't the first time I've heard her throwing up."

Bertrand's stern demeanor turned to worry. "You don't think she's..."

"Think she's what?" Maxwell asked.

"We have been pressuring her to wear the right clothes. I hope we haven't caused her to think she needs to lose weight." Bertrand explained.

Maxwell's eyes widened. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had made Riley think less of her natural beauty.

"Riley!" He anxiously knocked again when they heard nothing but silence. "Can we come in?"

"Sure." Her weak response was followed by her unlocking the door.

The brothers walked inside and saw her sitting in the floor.

Maxwell wet a rag and crouched beside her. He gently cleaned the sweat off her brow, his worry was now off the charts at the half hearted smile she gave him.

"Thanks." She lifted her eyes to Bertrand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to be outside for the--"

"Don't concern yourself with that." He tempered his usual gruff tone. "We must take care of you first."

Tears filled her eyes at how kind he was being. He wasn't berating her or telling her that House Beaumont needed her to win Liam. She wondered where this Bertrand had been hiding. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as the brothers discussed ways to help her feel better.

He ordered Maxwell to pick her up and carry her to her bed.

As she settled back against her pillows, he called down to the kitchen and ordered a tray of soup, crackers, and tea to be brought up.

By the time he was finished, she was crying in full force.

"Riley!" Maxwell sat down on her bed and tried to hug her. "Please tell us what's wrong."

Bertrand reached for her hand. "You do know how lovely you are, right?"

Her eyes widened at that odd question.

"We think you shouldn't change at all." Maxwell added.

"Indeed. Many of the dresses in the boutique are," Bertrand's frown firmed as he tried to think of a way to keep her from thinking her body was at fault, "they aren't properly made. One can never go by sizes there."

"And you're size is perfect. Liam can't keep his eyes off you." Maxwell added. "In fact, you could probably add on some weight and be even more beautiful."

"Indeed." Bertrand latched on to that. "Size does not matter. It is what is on the inside that counts."

Riley lifted her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You're," Maxwell mimed vomiting.

"You must stop." Bertrand added. "You do not need to lose weight."

"I'm not doing it on purpose." She shook her head.

It touched her heart though that they wouldn't want her developing an eating disorder.

"I don't know what's caused this." She explained. "The weirdest smells and motions seem to set it off. Like yesterday, the smell of tomatoes had me running for a bathroom and I've always loved tomatoes."

"Could it possibly be your nerves?" Bertrand sat down at the foot of the bed. "The social season can take a toll on even the most seasoned noble."

"I don't think so." Riley mumbled. "It's like my energy has suddenly been depleted. Of course that could be because of the vomiting."

"So what caused it to start?" Maxwell asked.

"How long has it been going on?" Bertrand added.

"I don't know what set it off. It's been going on for a couple of weeks, but it is getting worse."

"Hmm." Bertrand and Maxwell shared a glance.

"Riley, I hope you don't think badly of me for asking," Bertrand struggled to inquire into something so personal. "But, have you, er...did you..."

She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.

"Before you joined us, were you involved with anyone?" He closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"Involved?"

"Any previous boyfriends or hookups before Liam?" Maxwell clarified.

"Oh!" Her cheeks heated with color. "No. I actually haven't been in a relationship for almost a year now." She lowered her eyes. "I had a bad relationship with a guy and decided to focus on myself once I got out of it."

Bertrand relaxed some. "A wise decision."

"So no one night stands?" Maxwell prodded.

"I've never been that type of..." Her eyes widened. She had been that type for one incredible night.

It was the driving force in making her decision to come to Cordonia in the first place.

"Oh no." She breathed. "The night I met you," her eyes held Maxwell's shocked gaze, "Liam and I sneaked away and..."

Bertrand shot up off the bed. "Wait here."

*****************

"We must be certain." Bertrand stressed. "The bloodwork must confirm what the test showed." His frown was fierce as he stood before the physician. "Discretion is a must in this situation."

"I'll have the results by this evening." The doctor replied. "And only I will run the lab work for Ms. Brooks."

"Here's my number." Riley scribbled it out quickly. "If I don't answer, please send a text and voicemail."

Once he was gone, she sagged back on the bed.

"What do we do now?" Maxwell asked.

"We have a ball to prepare for." Bertrand held up a silk dress. "We missed today's events, but we must make an appearance tonight. Everyone will begin to talk if we don't."

Riley nodded. Her mind though was whirling with the knowledge that she was pregnant.

How will Liam react? Will he be upset? Will he hate me for allowing it to happen? Will he think I'm trying to trap him?

How do I tell him?

Taking the dress, she forced herself to get ready.

***************

"Have you seen Riley any today?"

Drake shook his head. "No. Why?"

"That's strange." Liam folded his arms.

He wondered if something was wrong. He hated that he couldn't spend every single moment with her. What if she had reached the end of her patience with this suitor situation?

He shook his head when Drake offered him a drink.

"You've got it bad." Drake teased.

"Got what?"

"Love."

"I do?"

"Are you saying you aren't in love with Brooks?" Drake smirked. "I've seen you with her. Ever since she showed up at the masquerade ball, you haven't looked at any of the other ladies trying to win you."

Liam couldn't help but smile over that. It was true. His night with Riley in New York had been the most magical of his life. Each moment he had spent with her since then all but reaffirmed that she was the only one for him.

He was thrilled at how the people of Cordonia had fallen for her. The press had only positive things to say about The American that had come to win his hand.

He could picture her smile when she approached him at the masquerade ball.

"I think we both know we have something special. One night together will never be enough for me." Riley whispered as he kissed her hand.

"I agree." He held her hand a moment longer than was deemed appropriate. "It isn't enough." His bright blue eyes shined against the silver demi mask. "Are you certain I'm worth going through these next few months? What if--"

"We end up with our happily ever after?" She finished for him.

He knew he had completely lost his heart in that moment. Our happily ever after. Her optimism that they could have that helped him through every step of this social season. She was the prize he knew he could claim once he passed the final hurdle to be king.

He spent his time in dull conversations daydreaming about their future. How beautiful she would be as a bride. How comforting she would be as they dealt with his father's illness and troubles of their small nation.

Then he dreamed of the family they would have. He hoped they had many children, each with her infectious smile and kindness.

He hoped she would say yes when he asked her to marry him. Even if they never had all these other dreams of the future, he would at least have her and her love.

Then all of this would be well worth it.

He did worry about his father's reaction to the time he spent in her company. Whenever Liam attempted to discuss his feelings about Riley, Constantine would point out another lady of the court. He wouldn't allow his son to go ahead and make a decision.

"You better head downstairs." Drake finished off his drink. "Can't have a ball around here without the prince."

****************

"Any word yet?" Bertrand whispered.

Riley shook her head.

He softly cursed, causing her to burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry." She giggled when he shushed her. "But I would have bet a lot of money that you would never say that word."

He rolled his eyes. "Be that as it may, you should go mingle."

****************

"Lady Riley?" Liam gently tapped her shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

She turned around with a start. "I'd love to."

He took her hand and placed it within the bend of his arm. "You look beautiful tonight."

She gently squeezed his arm. "Thank you." Her eyes lifted to his. "And you're as handsome as always."

"I don't know about that." He winked at her. "But as long as you think so, then I'm content."

He took her in his arms as a waltz began.

"Let's not spin as much as we normally do." She pleaded when he twirled her.

His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" She said quickly. "Just, um, a little motion sickness from time to time."

"I see." He kept his gaze upon her face. "I missed you today."

"You did?"

"I always do whenever you're not around." He admitted with a sheepish grin.

"That's so--" she felt the vibration of her phone.

She stopped dancing, causing Liam to nearly trip

"Riley, is something--"

"Excuse me, I have to--that is--this is from--" she ducked out a nearby door before all her revelations came tumbling out.

***************

She plopped down on the edge of a small couch and read the message from the doctor.

Hitting the link, she read the results of her bloodwork.

Her breaths came in and out in short gasps.

I'm really pregnant.

"Riley?"

All the color drained from her face as she looked up at Liam.

He shut the door to the ballroom and knelt before her.

"What is it?" He took her icy hand in his. "Is something wrong?"

She licked her dry lips and tried to tell him.

"Yes. No. I'm not sure."

He pressed a kiss to her hand. "Whatever it is, I will do all that I can to help you."

She blinked back tears. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." He laced his fingers with hers.

"Do you," she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "do you love me?"

"I do." He admitted. "I had planned on telling you during the Coronation Ball."

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"I am." He lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. His thumb brushed against her skin. "I know I'm not supposed to say anything until then, but you are the one I will pick to marry," he looked up at her, "if you want to."

She bit down on her bottom lip. "Do you want children?"

"Yes, and not just for the continuation of the Rhys holding the crown." His smile gentled. "I want a family with you, selfishly for myself. I want all the holiday memories spent with them, watching them see the world with wonder, and seeing our traits passed on, especially yours." He chuckled. "Heaven help me if we have a daughter like you. I will be completely wrapped around her little finger."

Riley couldn't believe she was hearing all she needed to from him.

He really is Prince Charming. My Prince Charming.

"Do you remember the night we met?" She asked.

"How could I forget?"

She grimaced at the worry that still gnawed at her mind.

"My love," Liam sat down beside her. "Please tell me what troubles you."

"I had not been with anyone in a long time." She began. "I mean, no one for months when we spent the night together."

Liam merely listened, wondering where she was going with this.

"I didn't think in the heat of the moment. I should have. It was irresponsible, but I was so swept off my feet..." She took a deep breath. "And I found out today that I'm pregnant."

His fingers tightened around hers.

"I'm sorry. I know with the--"

"Pregnant?" Liam interrupted her. "You're certain?"

"The doctor just sent me the results of my blood work. That with the test I took and the physical exam confirms it." Her eyes widened when he suddenly stood up and took her into his arms.

The kiss he gave her weakened her knees. His arms held her as if she was the most delicate piece of porcelain.

"Marry me." He said between kisses.

"That kinda was the whole point of me coming here." She teased, once she saw how happy he was.

He smiled against her lips. "Is that a yes?"

"It is."

He stepped back and took hold of her hand. With quick strides he had them back in the ballroom.

Waving the conductor to stop the music, he held his hand up. "May I have your attention please!"

The court stilled as all eyes turned toward him.

Ignoring the hushed questions coming from his father, he settled his arm around Riley's waist.

"Lady Riley has made me the happiest man this evening. She has accepted my proposal of marriage and has told me that within a few months or so," he turned his adoring gaze upon her, "we will have an heir to the throne."

Constantine staggered back at this announcement. He had no idea the couple had become that close.

Regina called for champagne to be brought to all the guests as she embraced the young couple.

Liam held his glass up. He decided to force his parent to officially accept Riley in front of the entire court. He suspected that if he had not announced the fact they were expecting, that Constantine would find a way to break their engagement. He didn't know why he felt such unease with his father when it concerned Riley, but he wasn't going to leave anything to chance when it concerned her.

"Father? Would you like to give the toast?"

Constantine cleared his throat. Seeing no way around it, he stepped forward and lifted his glass. He hoped for Liam's sake that this woman would not be detrimental to his rule.

"To my son and the lady he has chosen. May they have all the happiness that I have found with my own queen and may their new family continue to serve Cordonia with grace and honor." He turned toward them. "To Liam and Riley!"

[reinerispretty]

warm hands. (mako x f!reader) rewrite.

hello everyon!! a while ago i wrote a request called warm hands that got deleted by tumblr when i tried to edit the post on mobile :/ i’ve been on this hellsite for years and it still sucks but ANYWAY. as a thank you for supporting me and also as an apology for not updating lmao i wanted to repost a better version i wrote <3 much love to u and to mako

She turned to the man standing just a few feet away from her, surprised at how familiar his face had looked. His jet black hair, thick eyebrows, and golden eyes were from somewhere, but (Y/N) couldn’t place if she had dreamt about someone like him or had actually met him.

It would bug her the rest of the day if she didn’t say anything to him, so she had. “Excuse me,” She said, lightly touching his arm to get his attention. “Sorry to bother you, you just look really familiar to me.”

He had stared down at her silently, his brows furrowed, and in normal circumstances (Y/N) would have felt absolutely mortified...

There were dozens of libraries within Republic City, yet so far none of them had what (Y/N) was looking for. She had spent her entire day off trekking through the busy streets and bustling sidewalks, hailing cab after cab until her resources ran just low enough where she would have to be very picky about what groceries she picked this week. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she walked toward her destination. Summer was in full swing and it felt like the sun was after her specifically. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. So far, she had visited fifteen libraries, and was walking up the steps of the very last, hoping that someone inside would be able to help her with her request.

She passed through the double doors and was met with a rush of cold air that sent a chill down her spine. She must look ridiculous, she thought, as she approached the information desk. An old woman was positioned behind it, her back hunched over a book. She hadn’t heard (Y/N) approach, so the young girl rang the bell that set on the counter. The old woman jumped back, a startled expression on her lined face.

“I’m sorry!” (Y/N) exclaimed, then clasped a hand over her mouth. This was a library, she had to watch her volume in here. “Sorry,” She said again, her voice lower. “I was wondering if you could help me with something? I’ve been looking all over town for books on firebending and I can’t seem to find any.”

“We’ve got some!” The woman chirped, seeming to have recovered from her startle. She rose slowly to her feet and grabbed her cane. “Although they’re not technique books, if that’s what you’re looking for. My grandson has a great firebending academy just down the street if you’re interested.”

“Oh, no,” (Y/N) said as she followed the old woman through the enormous stacks of bookcases. “I don’t need any training, I’m just looking for a fact book or something like it.” The woman nodded and silently led (Y/N) to a very dimly lit section of the library. Just as (Y/N’s) feet began to ache from walking, they stopped, and the librarian pointed her cane up at the top shelf. It was out of her reach, but just within (Y/N’s).

“That’s the one you’re looking for,” She said, smiling pleasantly. (Y/N) looked up and found an enormous book, bound in red cloth with the Fire Nation emblem on the side. She reached up and took it into her arms, nearly toppling over at its sheer weight.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) strained herself to say. The librarian nodded once more before disappearing into the stacks of books. (Y/N) waddled herself over to a table in a more well-lit section of the library and sat down.

She had never cared much for bending. Being a nonbender herself in a nonbending family, she had watched indifferently as some of her classmates developed their bending skills. (Y/N) was always able to get through life without bending, so she had never thought of it as something important. Even probending, which rocked the city with its competitions, had never interested her.

(Y/N) sighed as she turned to the first page. To think, she was going to all of this trouble for a boy.

(Y/N’s) older brother had known Mako first, when they were just kids. Both worked for the Triple Threat Triads for a number of years. (Y/N) had remembered Mako as the serious (and slightly intimidating) friend of her brother’s that would stand outside waiting while her brother tried to convince her to cover for him. He might not have been a bender, but he was as strong as a platybus bear for a boy of fifteen, so the Triads made great use of him. (Y/N) had never liked it, but she always lied to their parents on his behalf. Sometimes, she had glared down at Mako from her bedroom window, and it seemed like some nights he frowned right back up at her.

This was all years ago, of course. Once her brother went off to join the United Forces, (Y/N) had forgotten all about Mako. It wasn’t until this past spring that she had seen him again. They had been waiting for their food outside of a soup shop. It had been the lunch hour, so (Y/N) had known they would take a while, but she didn’t mind, because she liked to people watch in order to keep herself occupied. She turned to the man standing just a few feet away from her, surprised at how familiar his face had looked. His jet black hair, thick eyebrows, and golden eyes were from somewhere, but (Y/N) couldn’t place if she had dreamt about someone like him or had actually met him.

It would bug her the rest of the day if she didn’t say anything to him, so she had. “Excuse me,” She said, lightly touching his arm to get his attention. “Sorry to bother you, you just look really familiar to me.”

He had stared down at her silently, his brows furrowed, and in normal circumstances (Y/N) would have felt absolutely mortified to be having this exchange with a total stranger, but something about him was different. She felt calm around him.

“I know you from somewhere, too,” The man said then, a small smile appearing on his face. “Did your brother used to work for-“

“The Triads!” (Y/N) finished, whispering the words excitedly because you couldn’t just shout the name of one of the leading gangs in Republic City in a crowd full of people. “You’re…Mako, right?”

“You must have a great memory, it’s been years since I’ve waited outside your house for your brother to come down.” (Y/N) laughed. “If I remember correctly, you used to give me the evil eyes from your bedroom window.” She smiled.

“That was me!” She extended her hand. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Same here,” Mako said, shaking her hand. “How’s your brother doing?”

“Very well, I think! He’s with the United Forces now, so I don’t hear much from him, but his last letter sounded very promising.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“How are you doing? I’ll have to write to him about you, I’m sure he’ll be so excited to hear it.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Joined the Republic City Police, so I guess I’m arresting the people I used to work with.” He shrugged.

“Beats getting arrested,” (Y/N) offered, and Mako cracked a smile.

“It sure does.” Her order was called from the counter, and (Y/N) scurried over to pick it up. When she returned, Mako had his own food in hand.

“Before you go,” (Y/N) started, and it was like the words would come out of her mouth before she had the chance to stop them. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me sometime? I’d love to give my brother a detailed description of what you’ve been up to.” She was never this bold, but it was like something else entirely had overcome her. He was handsome, and it was just a cup of coffee. Nothing too scary.

Mako had agreed to the cup of coffee that week and one cup had turned into three before turning into dinner. It had been nearly eight months since they met and the majority of their free time away from their jobs was spent together. Things were surprisingly easy with Mako. He was a fantastic listener and offered her the advice that she needed to hear. He had a bit of a rough shell on the outside, but (Y/N) worked tirelessly to break through it and revealed a man capable of so much love that she came to learn very few had ever actually given him it in return.

She was always completely lost when he talked about his probending days, but she enjoyed hearing him talk about his youth so much that it had set her on a course of research. (Y/N) was at the library today to better understand firebending. It was part of Mako, and she loved Mako (even if she hadn’t admitted it), so she would learn to love firebending as well.

She read for hours, until the sun had set outside and lanterns were lit within the space. (Y/N) looked up from her book, eyes heavy and dry from reading so many pages. She had only made it about halfway through the book, so she checked out the heavy title from the librarian at the front and made her way home. Mako would be working the night shift that night, so she didn’t have to worry about any interruptions.

---

Mako wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into his girlfriend. (Y/N) couldn’t bend. Not that there was anything wrong with that of course, Mako respected nonbenders just as much as benders (except for, y’know, the Amon thing), but lately (Y/N) had become a walking fountain of knowledge on firebending. At first he hadn’t thought anything of it, but as it continued on he started to sense that something was up.

The first time it had happened was on one of Mako’s days off. He had slept in late even though (Y/N) had promised to wake him up. With disheveled hair and his eyes squinting at the bright late morning light, he shuffled into the kitchen to give his girlfriend a very soft piece of his mind. She was scrambling eggs in front of the stove, turning to look back at him with a smile brighter than the sun. Mako allowed himself a smirk before his face turned stern.

“You were supposed to wake me up,” He had said, his voice gruff from having not been used. (Y/N) shrugged.

“I don’t think an earthquake could’ve woken you up,” She said in her defense. “Plus, you deserve extra sleep.” She had poked him in the stomach. “Firebenders can’t firebend if they’re exhausted.” Mako had chuckled. It sounded like the sort of thing mothers told their children in order to get them to go to bed.

But a few days later, she had mentioned something similar. They had been walking down the streets of Republic City, on their way to go visit Korra and Asami for lunch, when (Y/N) stopped suddenly in front of a store display. Mako jerked backward, unaware that she had paused.

“Do you know what that is?” She asked, looking up at him with an expression that indicated that she was testing him. Mako stared at the storefront.

“A clearance sign?” He questioned. (Y/N) had rolled her eyes.

“Not that,” She sighed, and pointed her finger at the tapestry that was hung in the back of the store. How she had spotted that from the corner of her eye, Mako had no idea, so he shrugged. “It’s the symbol of the Sun Warriors,” She explained. “They were the first firebenders, after the dragons, of course. They’re extinct now, I think.” (Y/N) smiled up at him while he raised an eyebrow at her. He cracked a smile before tugging at her hand.

“I’m about to go extinct if we don’t get some lunch.”

The biggest indicator by far had been the other night, when he was getting ready to leave for work. (Y/N) had sat on the bed as he stood in front of the mirror and buttoned up his uniform. He kept spares at (Y/N’s) place now, since he spent nearly every night there anyway.

She was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before. It was like she was analyzing him. Mako turned around as he finished the last button, but before he could speak, she beat him to it.

“How do you do it?” She asked, and Mako furrowed his dark brows.

“Do what?”

“Bending.” She looked into his eyes at this point and Mako had felt his heart swell. He had a hard time transmitting the emotions that he was feeling inside to his appearance outside. If he could, he would have melted into a puddle on the floor for this girl. In a matter of a few months she had become something to aim toward, to strive for. Catching criminals and solving cases mattered to him, but not nearly as much as returning to her apartment in one piece.

He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t understand it, you know? How does it happen? Do you just think about it and it happens? Or do you have to focus?”

“A bit of both, I guess,” Mako said. “When you’re first learning, it takes a lot of focus to master a new move. But once you’ve got it, it kind of becomes second nature.” He sat on the bed beside her to put on his work boots. “It’s like writing something. When you were little, you had to think about how to hold the pen, how to form the letters, what the letters meant. Now you just know.”

“Do you have to think about using lightning rather than fire?” Mako shook his head.

“It’s different movements.” She hummed, staring down at her hands as she contemplated what he just told her. Mako checked his watch for the time. “I’ve got to head out.”

“Okay,” She said as she turned toward him. “Be safe! And don’t forget to invite Bolin over for dinner this weekend.”

Mako let out an exaggerated sigh, at which (Y/N) frowned. “I’m serious Mako,” She continued. “I’ll call Bolin myself to make sure you ask him!”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Mako asked as he packed his badge and wallet.

“It’ll mean more if it’s coming from his big brother.” Mako leaned down and cradled the back of her neck with his hand, leaning for a kiss to which she happily obliged. Mako had many favorite things about (Y/N), but perhaps his most favorite was how she smiled into every kiss he gave her.

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” Mako had said as he ran out of her apartment. If he was late again, Chief Beifong would kill him.

Mako contemplated these instances as he walked back to her apartment. (Y/N) had never expressed very much interest in bending, pardoning recent weeks. He wondered what had gotten her so curious. Perhaps she listened to a new radio show that talked about it. Mako never really listened to the radio anymore—he used to, but Bolin talked over all of the stations so he just turned it off whenever he was in the car.

He hadn’t told her that he would be coming back to her place tonight. He hadn’t entirely been planning on it, but one of the rookies was somehow put in charge of the schedule and put Mako and a kid named Lee on the same shift. Considering Mako had the seniority, he had gotten the night off, but not before completing the copious amounts of paperwork that had piled on his desk. It was nearing one in the morning, so (Y/N) would be fast asleep, but he figured she would enjoy seeing him again. Or at least, he hoped so.

To improve his chances of not facing the wrath of disturbing her slumber, Mako stopped by a late night dessert shop and picked up some of her favorites before returning on his way. When he finally opened the door to her apartment, Mako was unsurprised to find that every light was off, save for the light that peaked underneath her bedroom door.

Mako took his shoes off at the front and dropped the desserts on the kitchen counter before quietly making his way to her bedroom. (Y/N) lay curled up underneath her covers, fast asleep, with the biggest book Mako had ever seen lying beside her. He lifted the heavy book into his arms and thumbed through the pages. Each and every chapter was about firebending. Its origins, its practices, and its faults. Mako smiled to himself. So that’s how she had become a walking encyclopedia.

He changed into his pajamas and slid into bed beside her. Startled, she opened her tired eyes and furrowed her brows at him. “Chief let me go early,” He whispered to her, reaching over her body to turn off her lamp. “Go back to sleep.”

Instead she moved closer to his body and took his hands in hers. “I was reading,” She whispered slowly, as if her brain was cranking back to life. “That firebenders can control the heat in their bodies.” She placed his hands just below her bellybutton. “My cramps are really bad tonight, can you—”

Mako pulled her into his body and kissed her shoulder, spreading his hand wide so that it would cover as much surface area as possible. She hummed as she felt the warmth emanating from his hands. “Thank you.” After a few minutes, her even breathes indicated that she was asleep.

Mako wondered then if he had been the reason that (Y/N) had a newfound fascination with firebending. While he was a great detective, he was absolutely clueless. She had gotten a whole book about firebending, had shared her knowledge to let him know that she cared about something that she had never cared about before. Mako pressed his face into the crook of his neck to hide the wide smile that no one would see.

(Y/N) wanted to know more about firebending because it was part of who he was. No one had ever taken such an interest in Mako’s passions. He had figured before, but was now certain, that he loved the girl in his arms so, so dearly.

---

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[jingyismom]

Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

~

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men. 

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock. 

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze. 

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes. 

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right. 

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT 1) Heartslabyul

Riddle:

-We all know his mother’s personality (cough cough garbage), but I think that she acts that way behind closed doors and is professional and cares a lot about her public appearance, which is why Riddle was so nervous to come out about the things shes done.

-I think his mother is a little taller than him, maybe 5’5, 5’6. Shoulder length red hair thats almost always tied back in some way.

-I think he gets his short gene from his father, who I think acts like the king of hearts from Alice in Wonderland, but less stuttery and more on the timid side. I don’t think he and Riddle talk much aside from when they have to be in the same room as one another

Trey:

-I picture Mama Clover being on the shorter and more heavyset side, with lighter green hair (with grey streaks because managing a popular bakery and watching over her children has to take a toll) and dark brown eyes (you know the kind that makes people look like baby deer?) I think she’s quieter and kind, giving out free cookies to kids who might have a tighter budget or who couldn’t get what they want. Despite that, she’d be on the stricter side when it comes to her children, making sure they don’t eat too many sweets or hurt themselves in the kitchen

-Papa Clover is on the more carefree side. He’s the one who mostly runs the kitchen of the bakery. I like to think he’s an artist (bc designing cakes is IMPOSSIBLY HARD) and often sketches his wife and kids when he has the time (theres an old sketch of mama clover rocking baby trey still hanging in their hallway). He’s where Trey gets his prankster side from, often spraying the kids with the hose from the sink or clapping flour all over them

-Trey’s younger brothers, who I like to think are twins like tweedle dee and tweedle dum, act just like them. They’re mischievous and love to hear stories from all over the place, often interrupting one another when they they to retell their own. They’re likely somewhere around ten-twelve, since I think their parents would have wanted time with just Trey before having more. The two are practically inseparable, except in the kitchen. The kitchen turns into a war zone whenever the two are involved, and often Trey or his mother have to step in. They inherited their mother’s green hair and brown eyes.

-Baby sister Clover is the baby of the family, ranging at four to five years old. I think she’s the one who’s most like Trey personality wise, often acting like a “mini-mom” to her older brothers. She’s stubborn, and knows how to use her cuteness to her advantage. I mean, how can anyone turn down her with her baby fave and eyes made bigger by her comically large glasses (are they even hers???)

Cater:

-Papa Diamond: An oldie at heart. Has no idea how technology works and often struggles with basic phone protocol. He tries to get involved with his children and their fast paced life, helping Cater and his sisters with whatever trend they need hik for. No matter what, he’s their biggest fan and will print out his favorite pictures of them from their magicams. I think he had brown-ish hair before it all turned grey due to having to raise three children on his own (including two Cater-like personalities). I’d say he’s on the taller and more heavyset side.

-Oldest sister Diamond: The straight laced and mature one. She tries to act like shes so much older than she is, and insists that her decision to major in photography is not at all based off those pictures of magicam models. She does partake in teasing her younger brother when she can, though, critiquing him on his angles and choice of filter (she really wants to help him grow his magicam account but is afraid to say it without hiding it behind teasing). She has bright orange hair that she often wears up, though when it’s down it goes all the way down her back. She’s also taller (5’7-5’8 ish)

-Second oldest sister: The wild card. She is a social butterfly much like her younger brother, but cranked up to a ten. She is impulsive which ends up in a lot of late night tears with her sister while Cater tries to fix her failed bangs (“they made it look so easy online!”). She often sneaks out to take walks through the nearby city at night, thriving in the busy streets and the bright lights. She takes pictures to show Cater so they can go to the small spots she finds in the morning (even though all her photos turn out blurry or smudged- she got the gene from her father). She has short chopped orange hair, that often has little accessories or chunks dyed different colors.

Deuce:

-Mama Spade: The love of my life, the apple of my eye, the sun to my moon, Mama Spade. The sweetest woman you will ever meet, always looking out for her son and his friends. Even when he was hanging with a bad crowd, when one of his friends needed a place to stay because something happened at home she was the first to take them in. She seems like the kind of person to love animals (despite being upset about not being able to take care of one), and often sends Deuce small magicam posts about animals doing cute things. He got his love of chickens from her. She is probably around 5’4, and has the same coloring as Deuce, with dark blue hair that goes down her back (with a few grey streaks, making her hair look like the sky with shooting stars) (god i love her and she’s not even shown in game)

Ace:

-Papa Trappola: A gruff man, who stands at the same height as his son. He’s like one of those men you meet outside a 7-11 and they’ll tell you their life story for a slushie. Definitely has had a rebellious youth that shaped him to be a little rougher, which got him in trouble, but otherwise deeply cares for his wife and children (even though he shows it in weird ways- like when one of them mentions they like a certain food he’ll drop a whole container of it on their beds and leave, acting like he doesn’t know where it came from) He definitely looks like Giulia’s (i butchered that) dad from Luca.

Mama Trappola: Remember what I said about Luca? Yeah, she looks like Luca’s mom in human form. She’s a stern and strict woman, often scolding her boys and husband for bickering. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and can and will snap at anyone who threatens any of her boys (it’s terrifying to see a short, stout redheaded woman charging at you). She’s very affectionate when she’s not scolding them, often smothering her sons in hugs and kisses, making obnoxious noises while doing it.

-Big brother Trappola: Cockier than Ace by a mile, and won’t hesitate to be blunt about whatever’s on his mind. If you want the truth, he’ll give it and then some. He’s a lot more level headed than his brother, brushing off arguments and snide comments like it’s nothing. He’s a very talented magician, serving as a role model for his younger brother. He looks the exact same as Ace but with hair that is kept more neat and being a few inches taller, almost at the six ft line

[spideyspeaches]

Pretty lies (ugly truths)

A/N: This was something I wrote as soon as I heard Clean also that was 2019 and @peterspideysstuff​ made me do it smh. I’m proud of it so don’t let this flop 🙂

WC: 3.3k+

Warnings: Please read these before going ahead- mentions of CSA (Skip Wescott), brief description of dissociation.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

It was the little things that you noticed in Peter. He was your closest friend ever, the best person to have ever entered your life next to Tony Stark, the man who had adopted you the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

You always noticed when it came to Peter, the way he jumped around when he was in a happy mood, or when he scored a hundred in chemistry and he would flail his hands in the air and hug you as tightly as he could without crushing your bones with his super strength. You had met him when you were both eight- he had come with his uncle Ben to tour Stark Industries, and you both had snuck out to eat some pizza while the adults talked. 

You would never forget that day, because it was the day the two of you became inseparable. He would often visit you since then, in Pepper’s penthouse, and you always cherished those visits. He shared everything in his life with you, he was an open book to you, a dog eared page that you could open with a flick of your fingers.                                      

Coming back from the dead post blip was the final straw. No one could separate you two, and when May and Peter had finally agreed to live in the Lake House (only during the weekends though, since it was far from his school), it was the life of a party for You.

"And you three, don't wreck the house and if I found out that the kitchen is on fire-" Pepper said, fixing Peter's shirt and Morgan's hair at the same time, giving you a stern look. 

May was out and it was only the three of you- You, Morgan and Peter, while Tony and Pepper went out for a vacation for the weekend. 

They had trusted you to babysit Morgan, well You more than Peter. 

“We will be fine Pep! Don’t worry I won’t let them burn down the kitchen, or let Gerald eat the goji berries. Now shoo!” You snickered, pushing Pepper with your hands on her shoulder, before she gave you one more look over her shoulder.

“Oh and if you need anything, Kyle will be here soon, you can ask him anything okay?” She said, making you stop in your tracks.

“Kyle? Who’s that?” Peter asked, shuffling to adjust Morgan, who was perched on his shoulder with her head buried in his neck, her soft snores barely audible.

“He’s Morgan’s babysitter, we can trust him honey, he’s been babysitting her since she was one.” Pepper said calmly, her eyes stiff as she wearily looked at Peter, her eyes flitting to You for a moment. They had all been weary of introducing you to change when you first came back, afraid what the change around you would cause you to break further. It ultimately lead to a heart to heart with Doctor Tumnus and You and Peter, one breakdown from each of you, and lots of cuddles.

“I thought he was in college?” You smiled, lifting your brows.

“You know about him?” He asked, his voice small. You didn’t answer him, choosing to nod your head instead. 

Looking at Peter, you felt him stiffen, his shoulders tensing like the way they would whenever he was stressed or overthinking, his grip on Morgan tightening as if to protect her from whatever danger was about to come their way. Your heart sped at his look of frustration, his lip forming a thin line as he pursed them, your own confusion growing.

“Wh-why do we need him? I mean, Y/n/n and I can look after each other right?” He gulped, not meeting Pepper’s or your eyes. Morgan took that moment to wake up sniffing under her breath as she lifted her small head from his shoulder.

“Mommy is Kyle coming over?” She asked innocently, not noticing Peter as he gulped. You gripped his biceps, silently asking why he was acting the way he was. 

Peter had always been shy when it came to strangers, choosing to stay in the circle of his own people. Heck he had taken almost months to warm up to you. 

“Yes honey, he will be here soon, now, be nice for Peter and Y/N okay?” She cooed, kissing Morgan’s forehead and smiling at the little girl, grimacing as your dad honked from behind, shouting to make it fast.

“Okay mommy, have fun!” Morgan smiled sleepily, going back to her position on Peter’s neck, lifting her thumb to suck on. Holding her small hand, Peter softly brought it down to stop her from sucking on her finger. You smiled at how gentle he was with her, momentarily forgetting his ambiguous behavior at the mention of Morgan’s babysitter.

“So, wanna wreck the house?” You joked in an effort to dissipate the growing tension, watching the retreating figure of Pepper as she waved from the car. You waved back, smiling as you leant against the door jamb.

“Sure.” He said absentmindedly, holding his palm against Morgan’s head, tucking her in more firmly. 

“Are you okay Pete?” You asked, scrunching your brows when he clenched his teeth, looking at you with seething eyes. You understood at that moment, why criminals feared him as your own heart clenched. He may be a doe eyed shy boy, but he could be angry when he wanted to.

“Can everyone stop fucking asking me that!?” He bellowed, looking at Morgan to make sure she hadn’t woken up. Walking to her bedroom, he tucked her in before keeping the door to her bedroom ajar, turning towards you,

“What’s crawled and died up your ass Parker?” You clenched, folding your hands as if in defence. You were getting worried, his behavior was not him. He was a naturally cheerful and chatty person, talking the ears off of the person who happened to be in his vicinity, now he was just, closed off.

“It’s nothing okay, it’s- it’s nothing. None of your business.” He said, walking away, leaving you with your jaw dropped and hands up in the air. 

“Damn straight it’s my business! Why have you been acting weird ever since Pepper mentioned Morgan’s babysitter?” You snarled, shoulders sagging when you saw him tense up once more. 

“Just, leave it alright?” He said, cursing your observation and not meeting your eyes before he turned the kitchen lights off, strutting to his bedroom. It was late at night and Pepper had wanted to have an early start, so they had decided to lodge at the tower before leaving for the trip.

“Alright, you don’t wanna talk am I right? See if I care next time!” You shouted pettily, huffing and moving to your bedroom, shuffling inside the covers, tears of frustration brimming your eyes as you tried to wash away the look Peter had given you from your brain. 

***

Sleep didn’t come easy to Peter. 

It wasn’t anything new for him, Ben had always said that his mind was like a whirlpool of thoughts- they churned at a very high speed and impared him from sleeping. But his insomnia had been causing problems as of late. Ever since he was little and his parents died, he had been prone to nightmares. Back then, Uncle Ben and Aunt May would do everything in their power to soothe him each time he had a bad dream. 

Back then, when he was just a little boy, his uncle and aunt would snuggle up on either side of him and hold him until he fell asleep. Ben would sing with his gruff, slightly out of pitch but soothing voice, while aunt May would scratch the back of his ears, a sweet spot. It was the little gestures that reminded him of his childhood. The good parts of his childhood.

He tossed around in the bed, rolling his eyes to do a once over of his bedroom- the one that Pepper had designed when he had- when he had blipped along with You and three and a half million others. The word felt foreign on his tongue- why was such a catastrophic event named something as insignificant and fickle as “the blip”? 

Scrunching his eyes shut, he groaned, tossing and turning around his bed. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pulled at the bedsheets, kicking the covers off his feet as if he were five. 

Peter was raised a city boy, living in the heart of New York, where nothing was really silent. Even before he gained his spidey powers, New York was never silent for him- the nightly noises of sirens and noisy neighbours was a constant in his life, so the sudden silence of living in the woods- where the only source of noise was Morgan and Tony in the morning and crickets chirping in the night was alarming.

Finally giving up, he decided to heave himself off the bed, shuffling his foot until he found the bunny slippers you had given him as a gag gift. Hovering his hands on the doorknob, he twisted it as slightly as he could, wincing when he heard the screeching noise of it twisting, as if it wanted to be as loud as it could just to piss him off.

Walking into the kitchen, he looked at the digital clock on his way, the red numbers glaring that it was well past three am into his retinas.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the small LED light in the garden. Picking up a glass, he looked over his shoulder to see if he had woken You or Morgan. Sighing when he heard your and Morgan’s minuscule snores (perks of having enhanced hearing), he opened the tap, filling the water in the glass before chugging it all up in one go. 

“Fuck.” He muttered, slamming the glass down and wished the helpless feeling would go away. Ever since he heard the words come out of Pepper’s mouth, he couldn't think straight, all his thoughts strayed to him. He who had hurt Peter, he who was out of his life. 

 But who was he kidding? It was as if the universe was laughing at him by tossing another fuckery at his face, the ghost of his past lingering in his brain enough to cover the memories in a thin sheen of dust.

"Pete?" Your voice startled him, making him nearly drop the glass in his hand had it not been for his reflexes, "is that you?" 

Your voice was heavy with sleep, fatigue evident as you appeared in his line of sight. Looking at him with squinting eyes as you flicked the light switch on.

"Yeah, just uh… thirsty. Wanted water." 

“You have a water bottle on your bedside.” 

He stayed silent, clenching his jaw as he looked at you. Biting his lips, he suppressed a chuckle as you failed to suppress a yawn, scrunching your eyes. You had a bad case of bed head, the strands of your hair all over your face. You were wearing your infamous strawberry pajamas, the shirt hanging off your shoulders. His eyes softened, you looked so young, all he wanted to do was smother you in a blanket and protect you from everything.

His gut twisted at the thought of protecting. He was supposed to be protecting Peter too.

“I can hear you thinking.” You said, your hands folded under your chest.

“So this Kyle guy, you know him?”

“Peter, you haven’t even met him, why do you hate him so much?” You sighed, rolling your eyes and wrapping your hands around his waist, laying your head against his shoulder blades.

“I- I don’t hate him! I just want to make sure-”

“Make sure what Peter?” You asked softly. 

He gasped as memories flashed in front of him- that night when He had introduced himself to little Peter when He had come to babysit him.

Eight year old Peter had just wanted a friend. And Skip Wescott was a friend to him. He was cool and played games with Peter, showed him cool new science tricks and watched cartoons.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben were not home, they were late for work. Skip had been sending him small smiles the whole time. 

“You want to see the big boy stuff now Einstein? I know you’re old enough.” Skip said, shifting uncomfortably close to Peter. 

Peter’s smile fell off as he saw Skip’s eyes flash dangerously. And at that moment, he didn’t want Skip. He didn’t want to be friends with him any more and he wanted Aunt May. 

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” He said, a lump forming in his throat, clutching the glass hard enough for cracks to appear on it. You left him be that night.

***

He didn’t notice when he fell asleep after that, the fear creeping up his spine in spite of knowing that Skip won’t be able to hurt him anymore- he was in jail, Ben had made sure of it. Yet he kept flashing back to his lowest points, when he had cried so loud, yet no one heard a thing. 

In the end, he had won the case, yet the scars had remained fresh. His win felt futile, a defeat in spite of winning.

The smell of blueberry waffles invaded his senses first, his eyelids cracking open against the force of sleep. Scrunching his eyes, he let the world slowly come into motion, the walls coming into focus one by one.

He was startled into complete wakefulness by the sudden flurry of mass that had jumped on him, panic settling before noticing that it was just Morgan, her excited rambling bringing him back.

“H-hey Momo! You seem excited huh? Good morning to you too.” He laughed, inhaling as she jumped on his stomach.

“Petey you have to brush your teeth! Come down fast because I have a surprise for you.” She giggled, snuggling into his chest and getting up just as fast, pulling him with her tiny hand.

“I see you have a handy alarm clock.” You said from the doorway, smirking when you saw him

“A very cute alarm clock.” Peter cooed, pinching Morgan’s cheeks and leaving a big sloppy kiss on her cheek, making the little girl giggle, “Wait if you’re both here then who’s in the kitchen? Did May come back? Or is it Happy?”

“No May will be in Cali for a little longer, Happy visited her there so they’re having an impromptu vacation.” You smirked, knowing how much it irked Peter whenever you told him about May and Happy’s escapades. He rolled his eyes, scrunching his nose in disgust, just as you had expected him to. 

“I didn’t need to know that, but whatever, who is it though?” 

“Kyle’s here! He’s cooking waffles cause I told him Petey likes them very much! It was supposed to be a surprise but Y/n/n ruined it.” The little girl pouted, glaring at you with her adorable brown eyes. She looked exactly like Tony when she did that.

He felt a pang in his chest, an unearthed nervousness taking residence as he felt his stomach drop. He pulled Morgan closer, feeling your eyes on him as you tried to gauge his expression.

“Yeah.” You said simply, urging Morgan to come to you as he got up from the bed. 

Walking downstairs after cleaning up, he stiffly sat on the table, watching as a short but lean Blond man cooked waffles. 

“Hey kiddo! You must be Peter, Morgan and Y/N talk about you all the time!” The guy- Kyle probably, said chirpily. Peter clenched his fists under the table, noticing the look you were giving him.

“Hi.” He said shyly, ducking his head so he won’t have to see him.

“Well they told me you’re shy too.” He said, a smile evident in his voice. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Aw Pete don’t be rude! At least look at his face.” You joked, hitting him slightly in the ribs. 

“Sorry I just, that smells delicious.” He smiled, finally looking up to blue eyes staring at him. He shifted nervously, sitting up straight.

“Thank you.” 

He felt uneasy under his gaze, bringing the glass of water to his lips to avoid making eye contact.

“How long is he gonna stay here?” Peter whispered to you, avoiding to look inside the kitchen where he was cooking lunch with Morgan- the girl was perched on the countertop with her legs dangling and swinging.

You and Peter had retreated to the AV room after breakfast, opting to watch a movie instead of doing homework. Well it was You who had dragged Peter, because you knew he had already done it before coming.

“He’ll make dinner and go, again, why?” You asked him, fisting some popcorn and throwing them in your mouth.

“It’s nothing.”

You let it go again.

Dinner was an awkward affair. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger onto him, how he interacted with Morgan. She seemed genuinely happy, jumping around the house till she was tired, enjoying as he lifted her up and played airplane with her.

He really didn’t want to think about it, but his spidey sense kept buzzing a headache in the bottom of his skull. He tried to distract himself, opening his chemistry text book to read ahead of class, but the worlds kept floating around as he saw you and Morgan laugh at something Kyle had said. 

“Come on Einstein! It won’t hurt for you to keep that textbook and play with us eh?” Kyle said, winking at him as Morgan laughed, making grabby hands at him so he would come.

You want to see the big boy stuff now Einstein?

No, this wasn’t Skip. This was Kyle, Morgan’s babysitter.

He knew the comment was noncommittal, but he felt his heart race, the world zooming in and out of focus as it got harder to breathe, his book swimming in his hands. He felt floaty, the tingling in his hands intensifying as he felt someone’s hands on his back, dizzily startling him into reality.

“Hey, hey take a breath kid, it’s alright. Deep breaths.” A soothing voice said, cold sweat breaking as he dropped his textbooks. Tears ran down his face without meaning to as he pursed his lips. Instead of saying anything, he sat up and ran into his room.

He could hear you running after him, Kyle asking “Is he okay” as you reassured him. Tears were running freely now as he slammed the door, flopping on the bed and burying himself in the pillows, wishing that the bed would swallow him whole.

He didn’t know why he was reacting the way he did, Kyle was a good person, he saw the way he interacted with Morgan. He was gentle and loving, then why is it that he kept seeing him.

He heard the door creek, your footsteps echoing in his ears, drums rattling against his brain.

“Are you ready to talk now?” You asked softly, wafting your hands through his hair as he felt the bed dip with your weight.

“I had a babysitter, when I was eight. His name was Skip.” He croaked, breathing through his nose. He felt you stiffen as you seemed to connect the dots. Nudging him to move so you could insert yourself in the space.

“Did he hurt you Pete?” You whispered, rubbing his back.

“He did bad things to me, I just, I don’t want anyone to go through it again. Please. He may be in jail but- but sometimes I still feel like he’s here and I hate how I feel! I want him gone. I just want him gone and I want the memories to be erased.”

You remained silent, rubbing his back through his sweatshirt, unbidding tears appearing in your eyes. Someone had hurt Peter. You felt anger boiling inside you, swirling in a dangerous tornado at the thought of someone hurting the best person in your life, 

You promised yourself that day that You would protect him at all costs. You couldn't do it in the past, but you would in the future.

“I’m glad you told me about this Pete.” You said, clenching your teeth as he met your eyes.

[stilburning]

💋 number one

the young lord spends very little time with his mother. he doesn’t see his father, either, of course, but his father is far away. his mother lives within the manor grounds. and yet, their rooms are in separate areas, and visits between them are rare. lan fan sees the noble consort, occasionally, flitting about the gardens in her colorful gossamer finery like an overgrown butterfly. ling is never at her side, tugging at her clothes and handing her flowers or rocks or slugs the way he does to lan fan.

at around the age of six, it suddenly occurs to lan fan that this is strange. she herself lives with not only her mother and father, but her grandfather as well, in the corner of the property assigned to the royal bodyguards. they stumble over each other in the mornings; eat together for meals; bid each other good night. who scolds ling and tries to make him eat slimy, disgusting cabbage? who helps him into the deep wooden tub when it’s time to bathe, and holds their cupped hand at his forehead to keep soap from sliding into his eyes? who combs and braids ling’s hair for him before bed so it doesn’t tangle as he sleeps? who takes care of him?

“his attendants do,” her mother tells her when she asks, tugging playfully on the sleep braid she has just finished in lan fan’s own hair. “he has plenty of them to look after him, you needn’t worry.”

“and so do we,” her father adds. “we keep him safe, your mother, your grandfather, and me. you, too, silly melon.” he pinches her cheek, and when she scowls at him with all the disapproval her six-year-old body can muster he laughs and kisses the top of her head.

a few days later, ling falls out of a tree. he’s not seriously hurt, no broken bones, but he does skin his palms badly against the rough bark on the way down. lan fan watches silently as he sits cradling his injured hands against his chest. the young princeling whines loudly when he’s bored, when he’s hungry. he shouts when he’s angry. now he’s hurt, and he doesn’t wail or call out for anyone, only sniffles quietly. her mother said there are dozens of retainers waiting to do the prince’s bidding, and lan fan knows the truth of this, and yet there is no one rushing forward to tend to him. her father said that she takes care of him, too– then, let her be the one to do it.

lan fan goes to ling and crouches in front of him, taking his hands in her own and ignoring the confused pause in his sniffling, the quizzical tilt of his head she can see out of the corner of her eye. she pulls out the little canteen of water from her waist, pours it over ling’s torn skin. undoes the wraps around her forearms and wipes away the dirt and blood before tying a clumsy bandage around each hand in turn. she pauses, then, still holding his hands and feeling a little awkward about that, unsure what to do now.

(when lan fan was still a baby, she would present every minor injury to her grandfather, who would curse her in his gruff voice, calling her a little idiot too useless to keep from getting herself hurt. then he would press a stern kiss to the scrape or splinter or scab and order her to do better. she’s too old for that now; her training is truly starting and she can’t hope to be a bodyguard if she can’t take a little pain.)

before she can rethink it, she tugs on his hands and kisses the center of each palm in turn. ling is her favorite person, and a prince besides; if there is something nice and good, then he should have it. if necessary, she will give it to him herself. she meets his eyes, because when she does he usually grins in delight. he doesn’t, this time, but there’s a look of slight wonder on his face that makes her cheeks heat.

“be more careful.” she tries to make it sound as stern as her grandfather. ling blinks, and then that weird look dissolves into the wide unrepentant smile she’s much more familiar with.

“why would i need to do that, a-fan?” he laughs. ling turns his hands so that he’s holding hers back, even though his skin must still be raw and stinging beneath the bandages. “i have you! and you won’t let anything happen to me!”

[patriciasage]

promises, promises

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Balance

Summary: 

Taako made two promises to his sister early on in this seemingly endless mission. Firstly, he isn’t allowed to intentionally cut a cycle short, no matter how much time is left, no matter how much he misses her. Secondly, if she’s gone, he has to take care of Barry.

He isn’t sure what his sister was thinking with the second one. ‘Taako’ and ‘take care of’ are not words that naturally go together for anyone other than Lup. He loves the entire crew, of course he does, but he would rather kill for them than comfort them.

This is the first cycle where Lup is dead and neither Taako nor Barry had gone with her.

posted in full under the break but you can find me on AO3!!

There are two months left in the cycle and Lup is gone. She, Merle, and Davenport were poisoned during a political meeting.

Taako hadn’t been hungry that day. He wishes he would have taken a drink. Magnus hates when he says it, but he prefers to die by her side than live without her. And death would have been much more preferable to watching her choke and spasm in front of him. Helpless.

Lucretia has a lot on her plate now, attempting to negotiate with the bastards who killed them. There was death on both sides, since Taako literally burned the place to the ground. It seems as though they’re on the verge of war – the four remaining crewmembers versus this country’s royal armies.

Taako doesn’t give a shit.

“What’s the fucking point?” he asks Lucretia when she made plans to meet with the royal representative. “This cycle’s gone to Hell; let’s just go.”

“We have two months left,” Lucretia says. “We have a chance to work through this and get the Light. Then they didn’t die in vain.” Her voice cracks. Taako attempts to be gentle with his friend, even though rage flows through him like a roaring stream.

But quiet vitriol escapes his mouth. “Are they even worth saving?”

Lucretia looks at him with bright, brown eyes. “Taako.”

“They killed Merle and Davenport and Lup! And they should have killed me too. And we’re still going to bend over backwards in order to save them? They obviously wouldn’t do the same for us.”

“That’s not how this works,” Lucretia says, quiet and stern. “We don’t decide who is worth saving or not.” She places her dark hand on Taako’s shoulder. “I know you’re hurting, T. And I won’t make you be a part of this. But I’m going to try and get the Light of Creation. And you’re going to make it through these next few months to see her again.”

Taako could see her again right now if he wanted to. But he doesn’t say that. And he doesn’t let himself truly entertain the thought. He promised.

Everyone on the ship is grieving in their own way. Barry becomes entirely reclusive, locking himself in his lab. Magnus cries a lot over the first few days and blames himself for not being at the meeting to protect them, but then he focuses his energy into learning to pilot the Starblaster. Taako attempts to distract his mind from the grief that sits deep in his bones.

Knowing their deaths are temporary doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Magnus makes it his personal mission to take care of Taako, which is very annoying but also helps with his plan for distraction. He sits next to the Magnus as the fighter test-drives the ship. It’s hard to think about your dead sister when your friend is crashing a spaceship into a lake.

But Magnus isn’t only recklessness and aggressive enthusiasm. He’s also soft and sensitive – and fucking manipulative. He tells Taako he needs a hug or someone to keep him company when he sleeps. Taako knows these are partial lies. He knows that Magnus just wants to hold his pieces together, to shield Taako from the nightmares that tear him apart.

Taako travels through the days like molasses. He wants to exist in the bare minimum, avoid the smouldering flame threatening to burn him up. But it’s hard to exist, unfeeling, in a world where he’s always had her at his side. He can’t do anything without thinking of her.

He drinks too much.

It helps a little, but it causes Magnus to make that sad, helpless expression, so Taako hides it as best he can.

He made two promises to his sister early on in this seemingly endless mission. Firstly, he isn’t allowed to intentionally cut a cycle short, no matter how much time is left, no matter how much he misses her. Secondly, if she’s gone, he has to take care of Barry.

Taako isn’t sure what his sister was thinking with the second one. ‘Taako’ and ‘take care of’ are not words that naturally go together for anyone other than Lup. He loves the entire crew, of course he does, but he would rather kill for them than comfort them.

This is the first cycle where Lup is dead and neither Taako nor Barry had gone with her.

Food is always an effective way to build a bridge between two stubborn souls. Taako steps foot into the Starblaster’s kitchen for the first time since the disaster a few weeks ago. Lucretia is a passable cook, so the remaining crew haven’t been suffering too much, but her meals are nothing compared to the twins’ concoctions.

Absolutely everything on this ship reminds Taako of his sister (pretty much every aspect of existence reminds him of his sister), but the kitchen is particularly salient. He stands in the doorway and breathes through it, thankful that no one is around. Lup is the only one who knows him at his core, the only one who’s ever seen his soft, fragile centre. Magnus has been digging closer and closer every cycle with his big hands and even bigger smile. But there’s no one Taako trusts like he trusts Lup.

And she’s gone.

And he made her a promise.

There are so many lakes on this world. Taako had spent most of springtime fishing and filleting, so the freezer is full. He takes out a few cuts of cod, expertly deboned, as well as some salt, pepper, lemon, chili powder, and dill. He starts the rice boiling and thaws the fish with a flick of his wand. The meat hasn’t been frying for too long before Magnus and Lucretia appear at the kitchen table, summoned by the smell. They’re looking at him with an irritating mixture of encouragement and wariness. He ignores them and focuses on cooking. He’s mentally batting away memories and feelings constantly and it’s starting to take a toll.

The kitchen is silent except for the sizzle of fish in the pan and the soft murmur of boiling rice. Taako transmutes some beans into asparagus and tosses that in the pan as well.

“Fucking talk,” he says to the stove.

Magnus startles into conversation. Taako feels his friends’ gazes move away from his back and toward each other. He focuses on their chat even though it’s boring. It’s easier than fighting his heart’s insistent ache.

He avoids looking at their faces while he places their meals in front of them. “Thank you,” Lucretia says softly. Magnus places a big, warm hand on the wizard’s shoulder.

Taako feels his mouth press into a shadow of a smile. He squeezes Magnus’s hand and steps away. “Dig in. I’m gonna bring some to the lab rat.”

Barry is asleep at his desk, drooling on a sketch of one of his prototypes. Taako sets the plate down next to him and watches the smell wake him up. His glasses are askew even when he lifts his head.

There’s an awful moment when he looks at Taako and his face softly lights up. Taako’s stomach sinks, and then Barry comes fully into awareness and looks away. Taako regrets shaving his face his morning and he regrets wearing his hair up the way Lup usually does before bed. He doesn’t blame Barry for the disappointment.

“This is good shit, so you’d better not let it get cold,” Taako says. He leans against the workbench with his arms crossed.

“Smells good,” Barry replies with his characteristic, gruff awkwardness. Taako tries not to fidget. The chill of Lup’s absence is strongest in the kitchen, but it’s swirling around the lab, too. It’s typical to see Lup sprawled on the couch pretty much every evening, chattering while Barry tries and fails to focus on his work.

Barry puts a forkful of rice in his mouth and speaks around it. Gross. “Did you eat already?”

Taako is absentmindedly surprised when he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything except a bite of toast that Magnus practically shoved in his mouth this morning. He curses himself for thinking about it too long and ruining what could have been a perfectly good lie. “Yep, sure did.”

“Taako…” Barry says disapprovingly, lowering his fork.

“Get outta my ass, Barry. I’m, like, a hundred years old, or something.” Age doesn’t mean much to them, anymore. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“I’m not treating you like a child. I’m treating you like – ” He sighs. “Do you have some left over upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Taako lies. He walks toward the door. “Gonna go eat now, so…enjoy, or whatever.”

Barry rubs his eyes under his glasses. “Thanks, Taako.”

“Shit,” Taako mutters as he climbs the stairs. Why didn’t Lup tell Magnus or Lucretia to take care of Barry? Hell, anyone would do a better job than him.

Taako enters the now empty kitchen and casts Prestidigitation to clean the dishes, but he stops before he can leave for the upper deck. There’s a full plate of food on the table. It’s obvious that Magnus and Lucretia had each put half of their meal onto a clean plate. They’re taking advantage of his inability to throw away food, engrained from his childhood. Taako sighs but sits at the table to eat. He feels more solid when he’s done, but just as empty.

The next day is better.

“Come for a walk,” Taako demands from Barry’s bedroom doorway. Barry yelps and covers his chest with a blanket.

“Taako!”

“Come for a walk!” the elf repeats, leaving the door ajar as he leaves.

Barry joins him on the Starblaster’s lower deck in a few minutes, hair messy but fully clothed. “Where are we going?”

Before Taako has a chance to respond, Magnus rushes in. “Don’t forget your cloak – it’s kinda cold. Oh, hey, Barry. You coming with us?”

“I guess I am.”

“Great!”

Magnus hands Barry his denim jacket and throws Taako’s thicker cloak in his direction. The security officer himself is wearing a wool-lined vest with no sleeves. Taako resists the urge to roll his eyes when he notices.

The men don’t talk a lot as they traverse the path that Magnus and Taako have worn down over the last few weeks. They skip rocks on the surface of the still water. Barry stays far away from the water’s edge. Magnus picks Taako up and pretends he’s about to throw him in. Instead of protesting, Taako looks the man in the eyes with a challenge. “Do it. I fucking dare you, Burnsides.” Magnus freezes and just stands there holding the elf in his arms for a moment. Taako smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Barry disappears into his lab when they return to the ship, but Taako still considers it a success. After a few days, Barry no longer needs to be woken up; he joins them in the foyer, sleepy but ready, every morning. Lucretia comes, too, when she’s not out negotiating.

Taako cooks when he can.

Sometimes he’s good. Sometimes the air of the kitchen suffocates him. Barry sees him once, standing in the pantry, frozen and overwhelmed. “Hey,” he says. There’s something soft and complex in his expression when Taako whirls around.

“What’s up, my man?” Taako’s voice breaks more than usual. The stiffness of his hands betrays him, too. Barry beckons him out of the pantry. Taako follows quietly as the scientist travels to the Starblaster’s upper deck.

The endless night sky is strangely comforting. There aren’t many constants in their life besides each other, their target, and their enemy. But the sky is always there and ready to take them away.

Barry opens a hatch near the centre of the deck and brings out what looks like a piece from a broken chair. “Ready?” he asks.

“What?”

Barry just nods and then throws the item high into the air. Taako understands when it reaches his highest peak, but he can’t bring himself to take out his wand. The piece of wood falls into a nearby like with a soft splash.

“Oh, sorry,” Barry says awkwardly. “You’re supposed to hit it with a spell –”

“I know what I’m supposed to do, Barry. I’ve lived with her my whole life,” Taako snaps. He takes a breath and tries again. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, man. But that’s her. She feels things build up inside and needs to let ‘em out in a way she can control. But I- …I’m not full of anything.” He turns to leave. “So, thanks, dude, but this isn’t gonna work for me.”

Barry grabs his wrist. “Taako, wait!” He looks a little helpless. “Then what does work for you? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on.” Barry attempts a smile but he’s shivering a little in the night air. “Like you said to me the other day – you’re over a hundred years old. You know. So, tell me what makes you feel better when you feel like shit so I can help you out.”

“I don’t want your fucking help, Barry.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad!” Barry rarely raises his voice. It echoes across the empty deck and is swallowed by the night sky. “Tell me, Taako.”

He knows the answer will hurt both of them when it leaves his mouth, but he says it anyway. “Being with her.” Barry averts his gaze and Taako feels both sick and triumphant. “Just…being in her company makes me feel like a person again. So. Unless you can do that for me, I think we’re done here.”

Taako stands outside Magnus’s bedroom door for a few minutes. He raises his hand to knock then lowers it again. He spends the night on a nearby dock, listening to the waves lap against the shore and slowly emptying a bottle of rum.

The next morning, they pretend it didn’t happen. They go for their morning walk and let Magnus carry the conversation.

Lucretia gets the Light of Creation against all odds – and just in time. There’s only about two days left in this Cycle. Taako makes her favourite dish, piri piri chicken, and they allow themselves to celebrate with wine and music. It never feels completely right to celebrate, knowing the Hunger is still going to cause a lot of damage, but they need to allow themselves these small successes. The men also feel the need to show appreciation to Lucretia, since she worked tirelessly to save this world while they went for walks and crashed the ship into lakes.

Magnus is dancing with Lucretia in the kitchen and Taako makes a quick exit before the big man can trap him in another embrace. He finds Barry on the couch, lost in thought. He sits down beside him, touching their wine glasses together in a small toast. “We made it,” the wizard says before taking another drink.

“Yeah,” Barry says. They’re both thinking the same thing. They’ll see her again soon.

Barry turns to face him. “Listen, Taako, I’m sorry I was so pushy the other night.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just…” Barry sighs. “I promised her I’d take care of you and I –”

“What?” Taako interrupts. They look at each other, incredulous and inquiring. “She made me promise to take care of you, dude.”

Barry smiles and laughs. Taako fumes. As if Barry Bluejeans could take care of him – what was she thinking? “We both did kind of a shit job, didn’t we?” Barry says.

“Hey, without me you would’ve starved to death.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

A few days later, Magnus flies the Starblaster through the Hunger’s advancing tendrils, their bodies fragment, and the entire crew materializes in their set places. Before Lup can even take a breath, Taako shoves her hard. “What the fuck?” she sputters. He silences her with a hug.

The IPRE crew puts the past behind them and they settle into a new life on a new world. Barry and Lup go back to their routine of being attached at the hip and stubbornly not talking about their feelings. Lup and Taako cook and practice magic together. Barry and Taako aren’t close, per se, but they tolerate each other in a new, honest and kind way.

It’s worth it to see the smile on Lup’s face.

[prometheanglory]

What are some of your ocs' parents/guardians like?

uhh let’s see. who’s parents have do i not talk about much.

> ronaldo’s dad is pretty stoic of a dude, doesn’t really open up much to anyone but he works hard for his family. he’s been known to be pretty stern. his mom on the other hand is a pretty demure and sensitive person, she tends to bend really easily to pressure. there’s not much culture overlap between the two, what with ronnie’s mom being from the land of hot sands and ronnie’s dad being from the ridge of willows... > guts’ birth father was a pretty gruff dude. not much of a ladies’ man, but that’s not to say he wasn’t easy on the eyes. a merman from some area of the seas - presumably some place cold, but he never really elaborated or bothered to tell anyone. he doesn’t have much magical prowess at all (if any). > eddie’s guardians are lola’s parents nowadays, but his parents were generally pretty scrappy for a couple. never stayed together long. he doesn’t actually remember much about them, but he remembers his mother being a pretty hardy woman but didn’t really care much for anything outside of herself and eddie. she was a little reckless with her magic, if eddie’s memory serves him right. his dad on the other hand, he remembers nothing (he was a pretty independent guy, wasn’t much of a family man.) > xuehai’s parents are essentially magicless. As the reigning sovereigns of the polar crests, they are very known for their elegance and refined/scholarly demeanor. ...but they’re quite conservative in their ways, they don’t particularly understand much of why xuehai behaves the way he does... his mother is a very silent woman, she doesn’t enjoy much company outside of her immediate family. his father is also a very quiet person, however he’s known to be a bit more... modest, especially when compared to how xuehai turned out. > edgar’s parents... imagine the typical very Old Money gothic noble family on a fancy big estate who are very stern and cold.... now make them moth-fairies. you got it. his mother is very big on the arts and literature, so she was quite happy when she discovered edgar had a fondness for writing! ...but then it started to distract him way too much from his noble duties and acting in a presentable way. his dad is... stern. serious. stick in the mud. but also both of them gave up on trying to keep edgar completely in line, so really, who wins? they’re both very skilled in terms of magic, but it is edgar’s mother who beats out his father in terms of prowess. > musu’s parents are essentially mercenaries? they’re from a certain... branch-off of the imperial ‘knights’ from the polar crests, however musu’s family line were cut off due to their gradually declining power and overall prestige. while musu himself has let go of his last name and set out for his own sake, his parents stay pretty rooted in that old tradition of theirs. his mother is a honest but brusque woman with a pretty ‘humble’ personality, while his father was a very adventurous type of guy with plenty of ego to go around. only his mother was dragon beastfolk (more skilled with hand-to-hand combat than actual magic), whereas his father was a regular human who’s only real skill was... apparently hitting people with big stick. apparently that was plenty to impress musu’s mother though, so. who’s winning^2 > holly’s parents are actually low-born fae from the valley of thorns! she does not have much, if any, ties to the ruling class of the valley of thorns. her parents own a flower boutique, and are generally very sweet people... but always a little flighty. her mother in particular is a very dreamy and whimsical person... she doesn’t care for much outside of her flowers (she does care, but she’s very... flower-oriented) whereas her father is a bit of a... salesman, if you will. he’s very chatty. very convincing.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.20

A King’s Cottage

12/20/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,881

Warnings: fluff, cute Peter Parker, smut, subtle trauma flashbacks

A/N: A lot has happened since I last posted a chapter. I lost my desire to write ever again for a bit and it was hard to come back from that. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. It was really very difficult to finish it but once I pushed through it all just came tumbling out. Thank you for being so patient with me. It means a lot to me. All of you mean so much to me and I hope that I haven’t disappointed y’all too much.

“Have you got everything?” Nat is fussing. She’s unpacked your trunks several times, checking them over again and again.

Three formal gowns, just in case. Almost ten casual gowns. Soft and free flowing like the white one you tend to favor. All of them had been newly commissioned for you. Two tiaras were put in a smaller locked chest, again, just in case.

You liked the more casual dresses. You didn’t want this time alone with Steve to be all formality and duty.

Your marriage may have begun as such, but you hope that truly, your marriage is one of love now. You want to know him the best. Knowing you the best is something you hope he wants too.

It feels as if a new chapter has begun in your life and you cannot be more grateful.

“Nat,” You sigh, watching her unpack your gowns for the fourth time.

“Should I get you more nightdresses?” She asks herself quietly.

“Nat!” You call a little louder.

She looks at you, her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“What?” She asks, finally focusing on you.

“You don’t have to worry. I have everything I need.” You promise her, but she frowns at you.

“What if something happens?”

“Let her go.” Grandmother’s stern voice cuts in from behind you, sitting by the window in one of your tea table cushioned seats. “It’s time they reconnected.”

“Yes, but…with her Majesty’s pregnancy-”

“She will be in safe hands. As you very well know. His Majesty the King is not one to cross and is more than capable of protecting his beloved wife.” The old woman argues, her gravelly voice somehow strong despite her age. “The Queen’s cottage is in King’s Peace. No one would dare disturb them there.”

Nat frowns and you know that she’s thinking about Hydra and their lack of worry with upholding rules of honor.

Hydra won’t care that the cottage is in King’s Peace. They’ll invade if they so please and if you’re honest, you’re terrified. You know that Steve is strong. He’s large and his muscles are hard, his body built out of marble…but he’s only a man. He couldn’t take on six men if they stormed the cottage.

What if it were nine men? Thirteen? He’d die trying to protect you and your child.

“Maybe-?” You begin, worry turning you blood to ice.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, my dear.” Grandmother orders, getting up and wagging her finger at you. “Take your tonic at the end of the night. Eat a hearty breakfast. If you are tired, sleep. If you are hungry, eat. And if his Majesty should give you a command, obey should it concern your safety. Your priority is that baby you’ve got growing in your belly. Are we clear?”

You consider the old woman for a long moment, weighing your life against Steve’s and you know that if you had to choose it would always be Steve. You’d save him if you could.

With the little one in your tummy however, you know that you’d run and leave him to be slaughtered if Steve ordered you to do so.

Sadly, you nod.

“Don’t worry, my dear.” Grandmother closes the space between you and gently caresses your cheek. “Nothing shall happen. You will go, spend a month with his Majesty, and be back before you know it. Back to duty and regulation.”

Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all.

You frown. Grandmother cackles.

“Farewell, my dear. Safe travels. And do yourself a favor, enjoy yourself. Not everyone can marry his Majesty Steve Rogers.” She winks at you.

“Grandmother,” You gasp, mouth dropping open at her playfully suggestive words.

She moves from the room, chuckling happily. “Come along, Lady Romanoff. His Majesty will not tarry for much longer.”

Natasha moves to grab one of your trunks. “Peter?”

“I’m coming.” Peter declares, running in and easily grabbing the two other trunks then moving with them towards the door.

“I wish I were coming with you.” Nat laments.

“You will be. Just two weeks behind.” Steve wouldn’t deprive you of Nat for too long but he is adamant on spending some alone time with you and, if you’re honest? You want it to be just the two of you as well.

“Who will dress you? Who will make your baths? Who will hold your hair up when you get sick?” She worries.

“Nat,” You begin, chuckling slightly. “I grew up in a village where I had to hunt my own food. Preparing my own bath will not kill me, nor will dressing myself. As for tending to me when I’m sick-"

“That’s what I’m there for.”

The familiar deep tone comes from the doorway and both you and Nat turn to look.

Steve stands, dressed in dark trousers, his navy tunic over his usual white linen shirt. Through his arm he has two cloaks, one deep almost blood red with silver stitching along the hem. The other a chocolate brown with gilded thread for embellishment.

What catches you off guard is the bright face that stares at you. The trimmed hair is so short. Just enough to put your hands through, golden tresses that shorter glisten in the light from your window.

His beard, rough and thick, is gone.

Without it, Steve looks years younger. Happier. Lovelier. Though you miss the gruff sight of his facial hair, this soft cheek and sharp jawline is to die for.

“There you are.” Nat says, a slow smile creeping into her face. “I’d wondered where our Steve Rogers was hiding.”

Steve pushes away from the doorframe and reaches up to stroke his chin and cheeks.

“It was time.” He says, sounding slightly ashamed.

“Long past.” Nat tells him, not chastising but stern.

“Yes.” Steve agrees, then with a shyness you’re unfamiliar with, he peeks at you from behind those impossibly long blonde lashes.

Cheeks flushed; he smiles softly.

“Perhaps my love doesn’t like it?” He checks, concern crinkling his brow.

You realize that you’ve been standing with your mouth agape, overwhelmed by your husband’s beauty.

Shutting it, you feel your own neck burn.

“Like it?” You sputter. “I love it, Steve. You look…I can see your face.”

Finally, you smile. Steve does too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next twenty-four hours are rough. For you especially.

You wish that your voyage had been one of ease and comfort. Steve had been hoping for a lovely trip and you’d wanted it to be perfect too, but the entire first day of your journey was lengthened by your constant need to stop.

This trip, the rocking carriage, the bumps and the trembling wooden wheels do not agree with your pregnant state.

Your early morning sickness had improved as of late but something about the swaying and jostling seems to have disagreed with your poor little one. Nothing has been quite so terrible as grabbing your skirts and hoisting them back out of your way as you haphazardly tumble from the carriage to puke into the nearest bush.

True to his word however, Steve has rushed after you, making small declarations of, “Watch your step, my flower.” and “Y/N, wait. Hold my hand as you alight.” and “Does that feel good? When I rub your back?” and “I’m sorry, my petal. I didn’t think about how the journey would make you feel.”

As you straighten, you assure him that you’re fine. You half force a smile, he hands you a water flask, and you clean your mouth as best you can.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine. You can be comfortable with me, Y/N.” He shifts on his feet, stepping closer by inches and it makes his newly cropped hair bounce a little. It falls forward onto his forehead where it twitches in the late winter breeze.

It’s brisk and normally you’d be shivering, but your thick linen dress and the red cloak that Steve had bought for you keep you mostly warm. You’ll need a thicker cloak soon if the weather gets worse.

With a tentative hand, you reach up to push the strands away from his face and he freezes. Visibly, he’s immobile and it takes every ounce of strength you have left to keep from laughing as he cheeks are painted crimson.

His blush is pleasing and it fills you with pride that you really do seem to have this effect on him.

Instead of laughing you smile wryly, your cheeks aching from the urge to chuckle.

“I wish I could.” You admit, exhaling forlornly while maintaining your now slightly sad smile. “But it will take some time. You were very compelling in your hatred for me. Your sudden kindness has me quite thrown.”

Steve’s face saddens, but you don’t feel bad about his expression. This is the new beginning for both of you, but it doesn’t wipe away what happened before. These are the facts of your marriage and pretending they didn’t happen would be unwise.

“I never really hated you.” Steve says. “Not really. I hated that I had no choice.”

You nod slowly, seeing it all from his side of things and knowing now with how important his people are to him that he must have seen this marriage as unavoidable. An intrusion to his mourning.

There was never an option.

It was marry you or relinquish the Kingdom and for Steve there was only one choice.

Resting your hand against his cheek, you nod for him. You hear him. You want him to know that.

“I know. But it’ll take time. I can’t just pretend it never happened.” You explain.

“I guess that’s reasonable.” He grumbles, then gets distracted and places his hands on your stomach flipping his hands underneath your cloak to feel you over your dress. “Are you well enough to get moving again? We still have a half day’s journey to go.”

The way he cups your teeny barely formed bump makes your heart erupt into flutters. He places his other hand on your lower back and slowly strokes the aching muscle.

“Should we just turn back and go home?” He wonders.

“No!” You answer, a bit too quickly. “No. I want to go. I just need a minute.”

“Have an hour.” Steve quickly offers, moving a little closer so that your left side is pressed against his chest.

This time you don’t try and stop yourself. You laugh.

“I don’t need an hour. Just a few moments will suffice.” You assure him.

“I wish I could take the sickness from you.” He frets.

A sudden thought occurs to you and because you have no damn filter, you speak it before you can stop yourself.

“Margaret didn’t have sickness in her first few months with child?”

There’s a very thick pause and though it feels as if it lasts hours, it really is just a moment.

“Now that I think about it, she did wake up a few mornings feeling ill. We attributed it to rotten food or an outbreak of the sweating sickness. It passed after a few weeks so we…didn’t think…” He trails off, thinking back, his mind trapped in the past.

“I’m sorry.” You bite your lip hard, regretting your train of thought. You avert your eyes, down to his chest to avoid the look of sorrow you know you’ll find in those sea storm blues. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Heat lines your jaw as Steve reaches up to cup the side of your face and with his thumb he smooths your lip, preventing you from biting it any longer.

“It was a fair question. I would want to know too. We should have picked up on the signs, but we weren’t trying to start a family although the Kingdom and the council expected it. Because of what we did-”

“Fighting the evils? Like Hydra?”

“Yes. Because of that, we didn’t want to start a family right away which wasn’t normal for my position especially. It was a surprise when I found out that she was carrying what would have been our first child.” The yearning in his voice is heartbreaking.

You aren’t jealous in this moment, but truly sorry. Margaret and Steve seemed to have really loved each other. To have had a child coming and lost it…

Reaching down you curl your hand around your own little swell but find Steve’s hand still pressed to it, his hand a bit firmer but just as careful as before.

“I’m so grateful to you for telling me. For showing me that I could live again. For letting me love you and our future heir.” Steve gushes so suddenly that your heart flips and dips, making you gasp in surprise. “I won’t make the same mistakes. I will cherish every moment we have together.”

“Steve…” You whisper, overcome with awe in how he can make you melt so easily.

Without warning, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, wanting but gentle. Your knees buckle and he catches you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

He chuckles, soft bubbles of air through your kiss. When he pulls back, he’s still chuckling.

There’s beauty in the way he smiles. The happiness in his face. The love in his eyes. It’s gorgeous but not in the way that attracts a person to another. His bliss is pure and radiant, and it fills you with hope.

You feel lucky to love him, but even if you could only see this happiness from the outside, you would be just as pleased. How amazing that you get to be one of the reasons he smiles like this.

“We should get going, your Majesties. This part of the Kingdom gets cold very fast and with night upon is, it will be too cold to stop again.” Peter looks down at the pair of you from the front of the carriage where he sits beside the coachman.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your duties a little too seriously? I’m here after all.” Steve rants, turning to look up at Peter with a look of tempered annoyance.

Peter smiles. “You told me to protect the Queen. I will do as commanded. Hurry up, please.”

Your turn to chuckle. “Do all of your friends talk to you like that?”

Steve sighs. “Just the ones that know me too well. He is right though. It will get very cold soon. Come. Will you be okay?”

“I think the worst is over.” You nod. “I’m ready.”

“Don’t worry, my blossom. I’ll keep you warm.” He whispers then helps you back in as the wind whistles and thrashes the moss green forest around you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Frost bites at your nose, the winter air like pinpricks against the exposed skin of your neck and cheeks.

“Here, bundle up.” Steve says, rushing to pull your cloak’s hood over your head.

In awe you stare at the so-called cottage before you, speckled with random dashes of quick melting snow.

“Steve…” You whisper, and he chuckles, leaning down to bury his nose against your temple.

“I love the way you say my name.” He whispers huskily, body shifting around yours and providing you with more of that delicious heat that you’d cuddled up against in the carriage for the length of your journey.

“I thought you said we were going to spend some time at your cottage?” You gasp.

Steve pulls back, sliding his hand along your forearm until he slips it into your hand and gently gives it a squeeze.

“We are. This was my mother’s favorite place. Empire Cottage. We spent every winter of my youth here.” Steve explains and pulls you forward. “Would you like a tour?”

He seems so happy that you don’t have the heart to tell him how much this is not a cottage. This is a castle. A small one, only about fifteen or so bedrooms probably but it still has towers—two of them with dark slate pointed roofs and parapets—and it still probably has two large halls for feasts and balls. There are extensive gardens lining the gravel drive up towards an arched stone canopy before the front doors for boarding carriages in the rain.

If the pale gray color is anything to go by, it’s a new addition. The rest of the stonework of the cottage is dark and weathered. Aged. This place has stood for many years.

“When our Kingdom was in its infancy, this was our castle. There are a few villages still standing a few hours’ ride out and you’ll find the ruins of the ones that gave up and chose to move closer to the new one. That one has only been around for-”

“Two hundred years?” You offer, freshly versed in the histories of Broklin.

“Yes.” Steve nods, shining with smiles for you before he pulls you along the curving drive.

You glance behind you, watching Peter and the coachman disappear into what must be a stable.

As the rocks crunch beneath your feet, Steve releases your hand in order to jog towards the small slope on either side of the drive where soft green grass grows peppered with bunches of what you recognize as freesias. Pale blue to contrast against the dark and light grays of the cottage behind them.

“My mother planted these. All of them. By hand.” Steve brags, and you can’t help but smile at his childlike excitement.

It feels almost out of place what with him and his big body and the brooding man you’d come to know, love, and fear.

Those storm blue eyes however are three shades lighter as they gleam with wistful but pleasant memories.

“They’re beautiful, Steve.” You move towards him and he holds out his hand for you.

Taking it, you let him lead you forward away from the trembling blossoms.

“I think it’ll probably snow tonight. One last freeze before Spring comes.” Steve tells you, just chit chat.

It’s so out of the norm, you’re not sure how to respond. So, you nod. “Mm.”

“Bucky jumped off of that boulder.” He tells you, pointing across the circular lawn between the curving drive. “Broke his ankle.”

He laughs just once, then looks at you just as you shiver.

“Oh, you’re cold.” He fusses. “Let’s get you inside.”

“No, I’m okay. Show me more.” You argue.

“We can see more later.” He insists and gives you no room to resist as he tucks your arm underneath his and walks you towards the front doors.

Inside you find dark, rich, very well-kept wooden walls and tan stone floors. Your eyes scan the vaulted ceilings, rafters exposed as he leads you through the cottage, up a set of pale wooden stairs lined with braziers along the stone walls that shift back into chocolate wood as the two of you reach the second-floor landing.

There are small coves in which the braziers sit and long, colorful tapestries adorn the spaces on the left and right.

The same insignia from your necklace stitched at the center.

Absentmindedly, you reach up to trace the shape.

Now that you see it so large…it looks like a shield. And really familiar…

“We’re here at the end.” Steve points, showing you the way.

“We are?” You wonder stupidly, still lost in the beautifully aged castle around you. It feels darker and drafty compared to home, but this place is cozy.

You’re beginning to understand why Kings of past have called this a cottage compared to the massive halls you’d left yesterday morning.

Steve stops, turning to look at you as the two of you reach a set of pale wooden doors. Made of driftwood?

You reach for it, fingers eager to feel the silken grain.

“Would you prefer to sleep by yourself?” He asks, and it’s the hurt…the disappointment that makes you look at him.

Despite the emotion you’re sure you just heard, he smiles, soft and kind. A smidge of tightness around his eyes is all that keeps the façade from ringing true.

“No.” You hurry to tell him, grabbing onto his hand more tightly. “No, of course not. I want you with me. I’m sorry, I just…for a moment I didn’t understand what you meant.”

The tension fades from his body.

You relax too. He slides his hand out of yours and you feel the gentle graze of his fingertips as he wraps his left arm around you, trailing that strange slightly warmer than normal heat down along the length of your spine to the small of your back.

He lays his hand flat, stealing your breath as it curves to your body and then he reaches for the handle of the door and pushes it open, still staring at you smiling as if you are the only thing in the world he can see.

For a moment, he’s all that matters. You’re not sure what has shifted between the two of you.

Yes, you’re pregnant. Yes, he knows that now and it’s why he was fussing over you the entire way here. Yes, he’s trying to make amends. Especially after the ridiculousness that happened with Sharon.

Your blood still boils when you think about it and the way she seemed not to care when you’d confronted her.

All of this, you know. What you most definitely know is that something has changed. Something large and permanent. You feel it in your bones as it carves Steve’s name within them and splinters you with his own altered bones.

Steve Rogers is different. You are different. Finally, as Steve leads you over the threshold into a large bedroom decorated in pale blue luxurious silks, linen, carpets, dark pine trunks, a vanity, a table large enough for four people to eat, and a roaring fire already filling the space with heat—finally, your marriage can start.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, hovering over you with his hands on the arms of your armchair.

He’s got his weight completely settled there where he’s holding your seat, looking down into your sleepy eyes as you blink them awake slowly and set aside the shirt you’d been working on.

It’s a normal shirt, one of Steve’s, dark red. You’ve been working in a pattern of dark blue and real silver threads. Expensive but pretty. Even with a tunic on, with the pattern worked only into the wrist and neckline, it will be visible and dress up any old tunic he chooses to wear with it.

“Don’t be.” You smile at him, trying to clear the fog of sleep from your mind.

“I am.” Steve insists. “This is supposed to be our time alone together and I’ve spent the first three days in council.”

“Hydra is attacking our people, Steve. I don’t begrudge you your duties. I only wish I could help more instead of sitting here stitching. Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?” You reach up and stifle a yawn, Steve’s eyes sparkle with delight—at what you just said? He has the strangest reactions to some of the things you say.

At times you’re only making an observation or speaking your mind and more often than not, he pulls you to him and kisses you. Lately, those kisses have gotten slow, languid, like molten iron flowing slow and hot.

He does it this time too.

He hooks his hand behind your neck and draws your lips to his. With a slightly opened mouth, he takes your bottom lip between his and pulls a little before kissing you again, driving your sleep away.

With your mind in a flurry, he pulls back to look at your face, lips still puckered after his are gone.

He chuckles, just a quick bubble of air expelled as he brings his hand forward to stroke your cheek.

“What was that for?” You wonder, finally finding your voice through the swoon.

“For being my Queen.” He explains. “Because you deserve to be.”

“Even if I’m not high-born?” You whisper so that only he might hear. Just in case there are listening ears.

“Especially because you are not high-born.” He promises and places his hand back onto the seat.

You smile, at ease, and finally comfortable with him.

Over the past three days, Steve has spent a total of a few hours in your company.

He’s gone before you wake—"I’ve got to go. Sam and Bucky have come to deliver more news on the attacks to our smaller villages.” He kisses you slow but pulls away before you have chance to wrap your arm around his shoulder and he slides away as your hand slides along his arm until he’s out of reach—and he’s in bed long after you’ve gone to sleep.

He curls up behind you, warming you up with his heat, nuzzling into the back of your neck, wrapping you up so tight that you groan in slight protest because you can’t breathe but he’s only giving you a long squeeze.

When he releases you, you turn to look blink at him still asleep. He kisses your lips and you pucker your own but fall asleep before you’ve finished.

Despite this short time that you spend with him, things feel settled. This is who the two of you are. Both searching for a connection and finally having found it.

Slowly, he squats down hands still holding your chair as you adjust to look down at his beautiful blue eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but the wind outside suddenly whistles. It seeps through the cracks in the old stone walls and the blaze set to warm the room crackles loudly, the cold wind finding a way to force it to dance.

You look behind you, staring at the window as a sudden fall of white begins.

“It’s snowing?” You gasp, slightly excited.

“Looks like it.” Steve says, then stands and moves to the window. “The ground will be covered by nightfall. It will be impossible to go anywhere in the morning.”

“Bucky and Sam?” You gasp, worried for their safety. “Are they staying?”

“They already left, my petal. Don’t worry.” Steve assures you and throws you a smile. “It’s just us now.”

“And Peter.” You remind him.

“Peter is in the small manor behind the castle, along with almost all of the staff.” He moves towards you, slow deliberate steps. His boots echo with a gentle tap until he stops before you. “We’re finally alone, my flower.”

Your heart seizes up, nervous flutters fill your tummy. You’re wrapped up in a thick woolen shawl, settled over the long and relaxed gray dress you’d chosen to wear while you lounge indoors. It sits off your shoulders in a pattern of dark gray lace.

Steve offers you his hand and you wonder if you’re ready. If this time will be the right time. You’re eager. But you’re scared. Everything that’s happened before rings fresh in your mind as you take his hand and he pulls you to your feet.

Letting you go, he slips his hands underneath your shawl, his calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your shoulders as he pushes the shawl away and it falls onto the seat you’d just been sitting on.

You can’t breathe. You’re so nervous it’s like your wedding night all over again.

Fear begins to grow as you remember the pleading. The begging. The pain.

“Steve…?” You whisper, looking up to find him watching you carefully.

He suddenly dips down, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. While you wrap your arms around his neck timidly, he lifts you easily, your feet dangling as he carries you towards the end of the bed.

“I have so much to make up for.” He tells you, his voice pained, hurt. As if it physical ails him to remember what you’re remembering too.

“Steve…” You lament with him, trying to move past the rough images that fill your mind.

“Forgive me, my sweet. My love.” He grieves.

“Steve…” Is all you seem to be able to say.

He puts you down on the bed and before you can catch your breath, he’s kissing you again. With his knee on the edge, his hand holding the back of your head to keep your kiss pressed, he slides his hand down along your leg until he can flip his hand underneath your long skirts.

As his skin grazes your ankle, you gasp and pull out of the kiss to watch him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his hand now locked around your ankle.

Every other part of him but the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes deep and labored, freezes. He is a statue, waiting for your word.

But you have no voice.

You nod.

He comes rushing back up to meet your lips, collapsing on top of you, the full force of his body pressing you into the mattress as he lays you back. His tongue slides along your lips and you open for him as he explores the taste of your raspberry flavored lips.

Kissing him is easy. You love this. But as his body presses into yours, crushing you against the soft bed, a panic begins to grow in your chest.

It’s a fledgling of a feeling, and suddenly, his body is gone. You gasp as he releases you, searching for him in a frenzy to keep him in view.

But you don’t see him. You expected him to stand up, remove his shirt to expose for you the perfection of his body.

Instead you see the fabric of your skirts rise and then fall again.

Pushing yourself up, you rest on your elbows to get a good look and finally feel Steve’s hands find your legs again.

You can’t see him, hidden as he is beneath your dress, but his hands pull your legs wider and you don’t have the strength to resist. You don’t want to resist.

You’re scared…but you trust him.

He pulls off your shoes and the clatter against the floor. His lips are pressed to the inside of your right ankle, the tip of his tongue trails up along your calf then back down to press another kiss. He repeats this move on your left leg and you try not to hyperventilate.

You don’t want to faint now.

He takes his time, repeats the same movements until your skin is pimpled and your heart begins to slow.

Placing his hands flat against the sides of your knees, he traces them up along your thighs, the rough skin of his hands renewing the stutter in your heart.

Heat puddles between your legs and you’re suddenly very embarrassed.

You try to shut them but he’s right there, already kissing the inside of your thighs. He nips at them, biting down on the soft fleshy bits before kissing and licking at the offended skin.

You’re gushing, too nervous to realize that you’re actually enjoying yourself. His touch feels good. Better than good.

It feels just as you’d wished it had from the beginning.

He pushes your legs apart further, grabbing behind your knees to push them up and over his shoulders.

“Steve…” You whimper, voice high and wheezing.

Hot air floods against your bare cunt as he breathes on you, “Hhhaaaaaaaaa….” It’s an audible breath, muffled only by the layers of fabric still keeping him from view.

He presses his nose to your clit, and instinctively you reach down to place your hands on the bulge that is his head. You don’t push but instinct is telling you to. This is embarrassing.

He’s smelling you. He’ll know your scent…What you smell like in your most intimate of places.

A sudden and very slow flick of tongue spreads your folds and you whimper with shock.

Falling onto you back, you find a spot on the pale blue canopy of your bed to stare at.

“You’re gushing, my sweet…” Steve tells you, and you try to close your legs again but he’s already there and he dives in.

The sound is lurid, a soft slur and squelch as he opens his mouth and suckles on as much of your pussy as he can. His tongue explores your insides, finding your entrance to tickle and savor.

You moan, toes curling against his back as he scoots closer and hooks his hands around your hips.

As he finds your clit and laps at it with a passionate almost hungry fervor, you reach down to pull your skirts up over his head.

You want to see him. This is everything you’ve wanted. Maybe not specifically this, but Steve with you…enjoying your body.

His blonde hair peeks out first but as your skirts fall away to expose his half-hidden face, he looks at you and meets your gaze.

His eyes are dark, blown out from lust as he becomes more aggressive and latches to your clit to suck.

Your hips quake, stuttering as the pleasure begins to press along your cunt.

He breaks away, catching his breath but hurries up to rest over your body once more and kiss you soft.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he explores the hollow of your open mouth.

“You taste like sugar, my sweet.”  He whispers, voice deep and husky.

“Steve…” You moan, and he slides back down to spread your folds with two fingers before tasting you again.

He settles over your clit, tongue flicking at the nub with want and speed. He suckles on it, pressing his tongue flat against the bud.

You whimper more loudly as the pressure catches you by surprise.

“Steve!” You moan, shocked by the rush of it.

“Mmmph.” He moans, shaking his head almost violently. Running his tongue fast against your clit.

It pushes you over and your body is suddenly floating. It’s unreal. It doesn’t exist for this one moment in time.

A wave of numbness flows from your cunt down into your legs, to your toes and feet where they go limp against Steve’s back.

Your hands, curled into his hair, go slack as your body melts into the mattress.

Steve is still there, licking and nipping at your cunt, making you twitch.

You’re wrapped up in bliss and you don’t know which way is up or down, only that Steve is still there, making you want more.

Your hands tighten once more as the moments pass and you try to tug his head up from between your legs.

“Steve…oh, Steve…” You sigh, satisfied and happy. “Kiss me…”

He smiles at you, eyes curling at the corners with the brightness of his own happiness, but he shakes his head.

“Why?” You ask, as he laps at you some more.

When he stops, you can see his chin drizzled with your slick. He licks his lips and a fresh wave of arousal floods between your legs.

“One down.” He says, then hooks his hand into the fold of your thighs and hips to pull you down towards the edge of the bed again. “One-hundred and eighty-one to go.”

“Wha-?” You begin to ask, confused by the number, but then he’s back on your cunt, his tongue working its magic and setting your skin on fire.

[traincat]

I’ve read Waid and Hickman’s FF runs and am currently reading Zdarsky’s 2 in One. I’m planning on eventually reading the Lee/Kirby run. Can I ask, what other runs would you recommend? Is Claremont’s good? Sorry for bothering.

I LOVE Waid and Hickman’s Fantastic Four runs, and Zdarsky’s Marvel Two-In-One was excellent to the point where one of my lingering disappointments is that Marvel brought the Fantastic Four back in a way that prematurely cut off Zdarksy’s 2n1. I know I said I wanted them back but wow did we all get monkey’s paw’d on that one. Zdarsky did really excellent stuff with both Ben and Johnny and the multiverse hopping was honestly fun and interesting. Lee/Kirby is also, in my opinion, just a really terrific run -- it lays the groundwork for not only the future of the Fantastic Four but a lot of big concepts for the Marvel Universe in general, and I think it holds up really well by modern day storytelling standards. Lee’s sense of humor works well with the retrofuturistic vibe and Kirby’s art is always wonderful. In particular I think it’s interesting to look back on The Galactus Trilogy (Fantastic Four #48-50) as the granddaddy of all event comics, for better or worse. 

Claremont -- okay, I love Claremont’s run, let me start off by saying that. Claremont’s run follows on what is in my opinion one of the worst periods of Fantastic Four canon, and I mean bad to the point where the literal canon at that point was that to get things back on track the Fantastic Four had to be put in a bubble universe. Claremont’s run kicks in one or two issues after their return to the main Marvel universe and it’s so fun. I think Fantastic Four is one of those series that kind of flourishes in adversity and Claremont’s run starts off with the Fantastic Four trying to regain their footing in a world that had assumed them dead, their Baxter Building gone, living in a warehouse property. Claremont, in my opinion, also has one of the best if not the best handle on characterization for a lot of key Fantastic Four figures, including Johnny, Reed, and Sue. His Ben is also very good, but I think Ben in particular tends to be an easier sell for a lot of comic book writers -- the outcast, the gruff man, the comic relief. He’s easier to identify with than Reed, the Smartest Man on Earth, or Johnny, defined by his youth and beauty and queercoded since the ‘60s, or Sue, by sheer factor of being a woman. So I think a lot of writers identify with Ben first and foremost and put the most love and care into his depiction, whereas the others are a little easier for them to leave by the wayside. Which isn’t a bad thing -- I love that one of the most beloved comic book characters is also one of Marvel’s few canonically Jewish characters, but there is a wealth of truly excellent Ben canon in comparison to the other three. Especially with Johnny, there’s no one else who has written for Fantastic Four who has put nearly as much thought and detail into Johnny’s relationship with his powers, both the positive and the negative, as Claremont has, even reworking the origin story from Lee and Kirby’s joyous scene of Johnny flaming on for the first time into a deeply traumatizing incident -- being sixteen and traumatized and bursting into uncontrollable flames. 

(Fantastic Four v3 #11) There’s also a lot of women in Claremont’s run! A valid criticism of Fantastic Four canon is that by its initial core team makeup it tends to be lacking in female characters compared to some other big Marvel staples, but Claremont brings in a ton, from Reed’s college friend and fellow genius Alyssa Moy (who has been done dirty by pretty much every other writer who’s ever touched her, including Waid and Hickman) to multiversal bounty hunter Bounty to the most platonic of Johnny’s gal pals Caledonia to Valeria Von Doom, a “time dancing” teenage incarnation of the baby Sue lost back in Byrne’s run, who sets up baby Val’s eventual return. Claremont is also king of Reed vs Doom setups -- if you haven’t read his Fantastic Four vs X-Men miniseries, I highly recommend it, and he brings a lot of the two sides of the same coin energy from that into his Fantastic Four run. 

The downside of Claremont’s run is that the plot is always there and always running and I could not explain half of it if you paid me. Things certainly happen! Like all the time! For seemingly no apparent reason! Stuff gets set up and then it’s not resolved and now we are in Latveria! I don’t think this is necessarily all that detrimental -- the run is still massively fun and the characterization is always fresh and interesting. It’s just that sometimes you have no idea what’s going on and you have to roll with it. And then sometimes you do know what’s going on but in the way where you know Claremont was just writing it because it’s his kink. Which is like, whatever. As authorial ids go, you can pretty consistently do worse than Claremont’s, I’ll give him that. So I do recommend on it the whole, as long as you’re not going into expecting the kind of plots either Hickman or Waid brought the book. Claremont’s is kind of like “stuff happens and it’s either weird or fun so just don’t pay too much attention to it.” 

Aside from Claremont, I feel like I generally like far more Fantastic Four runs than I dislike -- but also I don’t hate Millar’s run, which is honestly bad, so it’s possible I’m just very forgiving with the Fantastic Four. I really like Robinson’s run, which is the last run before the Great Fantastic Four Drought of 2015-2018. It’s short, self-contained, and devoted entirely to one story, so it’s pretty tightly written, with good characterization and some very shiny art by Leonard Kirk. Straczynski’s run is decent enough for the fact that it intersects with Civil War -- I think he does his best to get into the heads of the characters re: their actions in Civil War -- and it leads directly into Dwayne McDuffie’s run, another brief one where Black Panther and Storm take over for Reed and Sue. Very fun. Marvel Knights 4 is also a fairly recent run that’s got some strong moments in it, although I feel it’s a little inconsistent in its handling of the characters. It’s still fun, though. For an older, longer run, I like Simsonson’s -- the art is very dynamic, even if the storyline kind of gets too involved with itself. 

(FF #337)

I recommend Byrne’s run with the caveat that there’s plenty to dislike about it and plenty of reasons to avoid it, not the least of it being Byrne himself as a creator and a person. It’s heavily sexist in how it deals with Sue, it retcons a huge age gap into Sue and Reed’s relationship, and Byrne’s early departure sets up my all time least favorite Fantastic Four story. (Though that one is Roger Stern and later Tom DeFalco’s fault.) It is historic as Fantastic Four runs go, though, and there’s a lot in later runs that’s built over it or references it or borrows from it. So it’s a rec with a lot of caveats and I also understand why people might give it a skip -- I think it’s more important for an understanding of the greater body of Fantastic Four canon and the impact it had than for the actual run itself. I do think Byrne has some very interesting subtext with Johnny, although it never come to fruition, and while his Sue falls victim to a lot of sexism, I really like what he does with the character of Frankie Raye, who like poor Alyssa Moy I don’t think has ever gotten really good treatment ever since.

I have mixed feelings on both Millar and Fraction’s runs, not in the least because I think they end very similarly -- and that Millar did it better, which doesn’t say great things. Millar’s run is kind of like a trashy popcorn flick version of Fantastic Four; it’s not actually good, but I can’t say I don’t like the terrible eldritch monster in Scotland Christmas arc (Fantastic Four #564-565) and I’m sort of into future Sue. Fraction, on the other hand, takes a space road trip and makes it boring, which is the greatest Fantastic Four sin of all. He’s one of the rare writers who I think actually writes a bad Ben Grimm -- not the least because his run goes out of its way to try and label it Ben’s own fault that he was transformed into a monster. I do really like his FF (just the initials) though. 

The only Fantastic Four runs I can say I really truly dislike are Tom DeFalco’s and Dan Slott’s, which sort of unfortunate because DeFalco’s is both long influential (I have no idea why because it’s honestly terrible like in terms of storytelling) and because Slott’s is happening right now. DeFalco comes onto the book on Fantastic Four #356 and stays on until Fantastic Four #416, at which point Marvel hit a literal retcon button to get out of the mess he’d made. (This leads into Fantastic Four v2, which is largely skippable -- it’s basically a mid-90s retelling of a bunch of early Fantastic Four stories that leads back into the FF heading back to the main universe.) DeFalco’s responsible for the Skrull retcon in the JohnnyAlicia marriage and for dragging that out for over 50 issues, the entirety of which feel like he was writing without a plan or outline or literally anything, and I have never felt like a comic book was attempting to gaslight me through its own incompetence or refusal to commit to things it set up itself as badly as I do with DeFalco’s run. (I like other non-Fantastic Four Tom DeFalco runs. I just hate this one.) Dan Slott’s run is just 25 issues and counting of badly written emotionless unfunny pages blandly stapled together and I so badly want Marvel to kick him off the book for its own good.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 11: A Doctor

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold seeks some medical advice

Read on AO3 

Her horse thunders down the mountaintop. Cloak streaming behind her, her loose hair tangles in the wind. The leather satchel, in which she carries her most treasured possessions, bounces on her back. She kicks at her horse to make him go faster. Though unused to such urgency, the farm horse neighs and doubles his efforts. They go at a full gallop, bolting away from the castle, their home.

She has to look like she is afraid.

On the road in the forest, she comes upon a prince and his knights. They are travelling up the mountain she is coming down. She has seen this prince before, though he doesn’t know her. Her husband says she can trust the prince and his true love to always do what they think is good. This band of soldiers is armed to the teeth, but they are no threat to her. 

Not if she does this right.

“Oh thank the gods!” she cries when she sees them. Her voice is pitched with fear and relief. “You found me!”

The prince slows his horse to stop and talk to her. “Who are you?” he asks. “Did you come from the castle on top of the mountain?”

“I did!” Tears choke her voice, but her eyes are dry. “I used to live there. The Dark One, he--”

“The Dark One can’t hurt you anymore,” the prince says. He is kinder than most men in his position. “That monster has been defeated. He will never hurt anyone again.”

Behind the prince, the knights nod and laugh in agreement.

Now tears fill her eyes. “Is he dead?”

“He’s captured.” The man who speaks is dressed as a knight, but he has the stature and features of a dwarf. Atop a horse, he is at the prince’s right hand. He seems to speak with authority. “Not even his magic can get him out.”

She shudders. Hopefully, these men will think that she is overcome with terror at what the Dark One has done, and not at what might be done to him. 

“He kept me a prisoner.” She does not lie. “He did things to me, unspeakable things.”

Certainly unspeakable in polite company.

“Then don’t speak of it.” Again, the prince is kind. He could so easily dismiss her, be rude and condescending. But instead he is gentle, considerate. It is easy for a man to show compassion when a pretty girl presents herself as a victim. “You are safe now.”

“Are you going to the castle?” she asks.

“We are.” The prince straightens in his saddle. “We need to find out what other evils the Dark One might have brewing in his fortress.”

“You can’t!” This is far from the most crucial step of the plan, but it is the part she cares about the most. She does not want these men poking about in her husband’s things. “You will take your lives into your hands if you try to invade that place.”

 “We have protections against dark magic,” the dwarf-knight says. “The Blue Fairy herself enchanted our weapons and armor.”

“Is she here with you?” She looks over the knights, wide-eyed in her show of innocence. “Surely such a powerful force for good would want to oversee this victory herself. And of course it would be as safe for her as it is for all of you!”

The prince gives her a careful look and does not answer her question. “How did you escape?”

“Once the Dark One left the castle, nothing stopped me from sneaking out through the stables.” Nothing would have stopped her from leaving the castle even when he was in residence. It was her home and he never forced her to do anything. “But it is much more dangerous to get in than to get out. There are traps and wards and all kinds of dangers to those he doesn’t want to be there.”

The prince furrows his brow. “I’ve come to that castle univintied before.”

“He wanted you there,” she answers grimly. “They say he knows everything, that nothing happens that he hasn’t already foreseen.”

“He didn’t see our trap coming,” the dwarf says.

She covers her mouth so the men can’t see her stern face falter. Her husband saw through their plan to capture him from the very beginning. He practically put the idea into their heads. 

“You have no idea what he is capable of.” She says when she trusts herself to speak without smirking. “Please stay away from that place, for the sake of your own lives.” She looks at the prince. “I am already severed from my husband because of the Dark One’s devious machinations. I would not have any other bride lose the man she loves.”

He sits back at that. “You need to find your love?”

“I don’t know where he is!” Her voice breaks, and that is not a part of the act. “I would give anything to be with him again.”

“Do you know where he might be?”

Sitting on her horse, she is at eye level with the prince. Nevertheless, she makes an effort to look small and weak. Helpless. A damsel in need of rescuing. “He could be anywhere. He might be somewhere in the Queen’s kingdom. And the gods know what happens to people there.”

The prince’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “That woman is not a queen anymore,” he declares. “And that kingdom belongs to my wife.” He turns to his men. “Change of plans! We’re going to escort this young woman to safety. And then we’re going to remember who our real enemy is! We’ll redouble our efforts to take away the witch’s power so she can never hurt innocent people again!”

The knights cheer, all except for the gruff dwarf. “What about the Dark One’s castle? There could be some kind of weapon there that we could use to defeat her.”

“Yes, Grumpy, there might be,” the prince says. “But it could also blow up in our faces. Literally. I, for one, want to look upon my child before I die. We’re going back to Snow.”

On her farm horse, she rides along with the knights and the dwarf and the prince. Later, she is at a castle that is not her home. She is presented to the court. A pregnant woman  dressed in white sits on a throne. Her hair is as black as ebony and her lips are as red as blood. 

Her story is told, her plea for help heard. A talking cricket questions her. Nothing she tells him is a lie. Her husband is gone. She is afraid of the Evil Queen. The Dark One did things to her that none of them could ever imagine. She is good and she seeks a place in this haven they have created. 

A light shines over her. Floating, sparkling, blue light. It threatens to blind her if she looks at it too long or too closely. Through squinting eyes, she can see that the light is really a tiny person. 

No. Not a person. A fairy.

Her husband never had anything good to say about fairies.

The thing looks like a woman. It speaks with a woman’s voice. It flutters around her, examines her. It is trying to see into her soul, to judge whether she is worthy of kindness or trust. 

“You have been touched by dark magic,” the fairy says as it looks her over. “Penetrated by it. Deeply… over and over… everywhere…”

The stakes are too high for her to laugh at what the fairy says. She maintains a stone face.

“But your heart is full of love!” the fairy announces joyfully.  It addresses the crowd. “This is a pure soul, a good person. We must welcome her!”

The court claps and cheers. The woman in white stands to her feet. Holding her belly, she is assisted by the prince and a girl in a long red cloak.

She is embraced and greeted, welcomed to the fight against evil. Someone asks, “What is your name?” 

Before she can answer, everything fades away.

****

It was still dark when Mrs. Gold woke up. Her dream had been filled with light and color and noise. Waking up to blackness and near-silence was a shock.

More shocking, Mr. Gold was in bed with her. She felt the warmth and the weight of him on the mattress. Heard the gentle steadiness of his breathing. It must be early enough that he hadn’t woken up yet.

They had never been the sort of couple who copied each other’s nighttime routines. The trial of two people crowding around a tiny sink to brush their teeth at the same time had never come up in their marriage. Mr. Gold had always kept his own hours, and he allowed her to sleep whenever she wanted to. If her husband wanted her, he had no qualms about waking her up and putting her to work.

But lately, the differences in their schedules had become more pronounced. Sometimes Mr. Gold would stay in his study until she was already asleep. Or sometimes he would have the light turned off before she even came upstairs. No matter what time he went to bed, he always got up earlier than she did.

Almost every morning, she woke up to an empty bed. 

As her dream faded away, Mrs. Gold was left with a crucial memory: Her husband was gone from her. In the dream, the man she loved had been captured or kidnapped. Something terrible had happened to him. He was far away, but she would go to him and get him back. Now, in the real world, Mr. Gold was right next to her.

But she was running out of ways to reach him. 

How long had it been? She didn’t like keeping track of the days. That would just make all the changes in her life more real, and she didn’t want them to be real. If she didn’t know how long it had been, it would be easier to convince herself that it hadn’t been that long. This was just a fluke, a dry spell. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

She could convince herself of that, until she remembered that Rent Day was this Sunday. Then she knew exactly how long it had been since her husband had last touched her. 

A month.

It had been a month without sex. A month without him. A month without punishments, lessons, or orgasms. A month since the last time she had gotten on her knees and kissed his shoes. A month since Mr. Gold had called her a good girl in that breathless, exhausted way he did when he was really satisfied, when he really meant it. 

A month since he had last looked at her like she was beautiful--or pathetic. Something to be treasured and degraded all at once. Those were always the best times, when he gave her both. Pleasure and pain, affection and malice, hot lust and cold disdain all at once. Perfect whore, he would call her then. Filthy angel, delectable cockslut. 

Mrs. Gold let out the faintest of moans. His voice could always bring her off. Now just thinking of it was enough to make her wet. His voice and his words and the way his lips curled  back like a warning. It always made tension coil inside her, as she waited for those words to become actions.

Before she could do anything stupid, Mrs. Gold pulled her hands up from under the covers. She clasped them together over her stomach on top of the blanket. That was one of the biggest rules: She was not allowed to touch herself for her own pleasure. 

She could tease herself, when Mr. Gold ordered her to. But she was never allowed to have an orgasm without him. Early in their marriage, it had taken her a while to remember all of Mr. Gold’s rules, and even longer to get into the habit of obeying him without question. He had been patient with her about many things, but he had no tolerance for her being self-centered with the body he had bought. 

Even in the middle of this weird patch they were going through, she knew better than to disobey. It wasn’t that she was afraid that Mr. Gold would punish her--if anything, she was becoming afraid that he wouldn’t. But who you really are is who you are when no one else is looking. She wanted to be Mr. Gold’s good girl. 

So she would follow the rules. Even if he wasn’t going to enforce them. She would do it because she wanted to.

She would do it because she loved him.

In the darkness, Mrs. Gold shut her eyes against the tears. She rolled over to her side, so she was facing her husband’s back. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch the soft silk of his pajamas. She wanted to curl up around him, throw her arm over her chest and let their legs get tangled up in each other. She wanted to cling to him and cry.

But she didn’t.

Pain sat heavy in her chest. It made it difficult to breathe. Mr. Gold didn’t like to be touched. And he hated her touching him without permission. Almost every time they had sex, he would make sure her hands were out of the way. Tied together, handcuffed to the furniture, tucked away under her body, or held under his own strong grasp. He could only relax when he knew she was under control. 

Clenching her jaw, Mrs. Gold got on her back again. She wasn’t allowed to touch him any more than she could touch herself. She really should just try to sleep.

But all of her tossing and turning must have disturbed Mr. Gold. While she was on her back, he rolled over to his other side. Now he was facing her. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist, as natural as breathing. Still asleep, he snuggled up to her body. His face buried into the nape of her neck. She felt his lips move against her skin as he murmured, “Sweetheart.”

Mrs. Gold let out a breath. 

The sudden contact--more touch and more gently than she had gotten in ages--brought tears to her eyes. And the words! Had Mr. Gold ever called her sweetheart? Had he ever said anything so loving before? This was like a dream. But she knew she was awake.

She didn’t move. She didn’t dare. She didn’t know how long this embrace would last. She didn’t know how long it might be before her husband touched her again.

Staying as still as she could, Mrs. Gold kept awake until dawn, savoring every stolen moment of her husband’s love. 

****

When she woke again, he was gone. Breakfast was normal. Mr. Gold acted with as much polite distance as he had for the past month. He didn’t seem to remember what he had done in the night. Or if he did, he wasn’t going to talk about it.

Mrs. Gold read the paper aloud, as always. There was a good write-up about the earthquake in the abandoned mines that had happened recently. The mayor’s kid had gotten stuck in a mine shaft and that blonde lady--she was Sheriff Graham’s deputy now--had gone in to rescue him. 

In other news Marco the handyman had fallen off a ladder in front of the hardware store while he was replacing a burnt out lightbulb. He had broken a bone and sought treatment at Storybrooke General Hospital.

“Huh,” Mrs. Gold said after finishing that article. “I never thought of that.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Gold took up the last bite of his eggs and toast. As usual, he wasn’t really looking at her. 

“Oh, it’s nothing important.” Nonchalance was as close to lying to him as she would ever dare. “I just… remembered that doctors exist.” She giggled. “It’s amazing the things you don’t think about. Or at least the things I don’t think about!” 

Normally--or what she used to think of as normally--Mr. Gold would have ordered her to stop playing dumb and tell him what was going on. He would remind her that he knew exactly how stupid she was. She couldn’t fool him by putting on the bimbo act she did for other people.

But today he just made a noncommittal sound and stood up to clear the breakfast dishes. Mrs. Gold stayed seated and let him move around her. She bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring over her finger.

It had been a month. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Something was wrong with her husband. And she had to find out what. 

 ****

The next day, she dressed to impress. Black silk thigh-highs with a line down the back, like old-time Hollywood bombshell. Shiny red heels that would match her red sunglasses. She even got out the black latex bra and garter belt she liked to wear on special occasions. With a tight black dress, cherry red lipstick, and a diamond bracelet, she was ready to go. 

All she needed was a wide-brimmed hat and a cigarette and she’d look like a goddamned femme fatale.

Mr. Gold blinked when she came down for breakfast, but he didn’t mention her outfit. That only strengthened her resolve. She had to get answers, and soon. 

They went their separate ways. Mr. Gold had taken some leftovers for his lunch at the shop. He gave her money and she assured him that she would go to Granny’s if she got hungry.

Her first stop was the drugstore to pick up her birth control. Not that she needed it, but you never knew when things could change. Unlike every other month for as long as she could remember, Mr. Gold hadn’t called in her prescription. When Tom Clark, the pharmacist, realized that she was going to wait in the store until he filled her prescription, he sneezed so hard he nearly blew his nose off. What a stupid little man.     

She killed time until lunch was well under way at the diner. It was a cold day, so she had to spend more time in stores than out on the streets. Even if she didn’t have Mr. Gold’s attention, she could still get a thrill out of the stir she could cause just by walking around in a getup like this. The sunglasses helped disguise the fact that she was watching people stare at her. 

The patio outside Granny’s was empty except for two pre-teen girls drinking hot chocolate. They were huddled up together, playing some sort of hand-held video game. 

“How are we supposed to prove that this is the real sacred urn of Kurain? You know the prosecution is going to want evidence.”

“It’s gotta be fingerprints.”

“But whose?”

She stopped and cocked her head at them. What kind of video game required evidence for the prosecution? Mrs. Gold had an easier time recognizing the girls than she did understanding their game. 

The blonde girl in the lime green puffy coat was Paige Lewis. She was the one holding the device that sounded out a stream of tension-filled music. Her parents owned a large house in New Town. Tim Lewis was an insurance salesman who had a debt with Mr. Gold that he paid extra to keep his wife from knowing about. Of course Paige didn’t have a clue about that. She was a kid, and rich enough to be carefree and happy.     

The other girl was owl-eyed and sallow-skinned. Her brown hair was lank and lifeless. Instead of a real coat, she was wearing an oversized insulated hoodie--the kind a man would wear for hazardous outdoor work. Lexi. Wasn’t that her name? Lexi Paisan. Her father had died in an accident at the cannery a few years ago. The mother, Suzy Paisan, was a waitress and a housemaid here at Granny’s. The rent was never late from them, but Lexi never had new clothes. She always looked cold and hungry.

Today was no exception.

Both girls noticed her looking at them. Paige turned off the game, and Lexi’s mouth dropped open. 

“Damn!” she said, with more energy than her sullen demeanor would have indicated possible. “You look like a million bucks!”

Mrs. Gold snorted and walked over to them. “Not that much, not in this outfit.”

Paige spoke next, “Wait, do you literally have a dress that costs a million dollars?”

“Not one dress, no. But I bet if you added up all my clothes and shoes and bags and jewelry together it would come pretty close.”

“That’s crazy.” Paige spoke like she was the complete authority on the subject.

She looks just like her mother.

Mrs. Gold blinked. Why had she thought that? Paige’s mother, Mia Lewis, was a thin, auburn-haired Realtor with hazel eyes. Paige had a mop of curly blonde hair, beautifully plump cheeks, and dark eyes that sparkled with a specific type of knowing mischief. She was a pretty girl, but she didn’t take after her mother at all. 

Weird. 

Lexi was still staring at Mrs. Gold. “How do you walk in shoes that tall?”

Smirking, she lifted one foot off the ground to give the girls a better look at her heels. “Practice. And your feet get numb after a while.”

“Is that healthy?” Paige asked.

“Nope.”

Lexi nodded her approval. “Badass.” 

Mrs. Gold snorted again. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”

“How much did those shoes cost?” Lexi asked. 

She didn’t answer. This pair of designer heels had been a gift from Mr. Gold. She had seen an ad for them in one of her magazines and pointed them out to him. He said that he would buy them for her, if she let him make her thighs as shiny and cherry-red as the shoes themselves. When she agreed, he took off his belt and had her lift up her skirt right then and there. Her legs were still bright red when he had finished fucking her, and the bruises had lasted for weeks. 

That was how much these shoes had cost.

Instead of saying any of that, Mrs. Gold put on her widest smile. “Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”

Paige furrows her eyebrows. “It’s Thanksgiving break. We’re off until Monday.”

“Oh.” 

Weird that the major holiday at the end of November could completely pass her by. But it checked out. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. And Rent Day was this Sunday. And it had been a month since Mr. Gold had fucked her. 

“Well,” she kept smiling. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t go to school anymore! I’ll let you girls get back to your game.” 

****

Inside the diner, every table was full. Mrs. Gold took a moment to survey the scene. Leroy Miner and a few other rough-and-tumble working men lined the bar stools. Ruby Lucas was on the phone with orders for take out. Suzy Paisan walked past with a tray on each arm. And in a booth by the window, Doctors Hopper, Atwell, and Whale were lunching together and arguing.

Perfect. 

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Gold walked up to the table with the best view of the booths. There was already a customer at the table. Keith Sherwood, who never had his rent in on time. He was a younger man, scruffy and unkempt--like almost every man in Storybrooke. He had oddly pursed lips and a chin that looked like a butt. She’d always hated him.

“I want to sit here,” she announced coldly. “Alone.”

And that was all she needed to say. Bug-eyed, Keith swallowed the bite he had been chewing. He nodded vigorously and stood up.

“Yes, Mrs. Gold.”

He held out the chair he had been sitting in, but she walked around to the other side of the table and took her place. Delicately, she pushed away the plate where he still had half a tuna melt and a few scattered fries. 

“Let me clear that for you, Mrs. Gold.” Keith picked up his dishes and silverware and looked around frantically for a place to put them.

“Aren’t you going to tip your waitress?” She examined her fingernails, only slightly disappointed that she was missing the show of Keith trying to grab his wallet while still holding on to his garbage.

Somehow he managed. When she looked up, there were a few crumpled ones on the empty table and Keith was out of sight. 

She barely had time to pull out her purse before Ruby came running out from behind the counter with a pad and pen at the ready.

“Hello, Mrs. Gold! What can I do for you today?”

God, was it only a month ago that she had been shaking down little Ruby for her grandmother’s rent? A lot had changed since then. 

Mrs. Gold did not smile at Ruby. Instead, she placed one fifty dollar bill on the table. “I want a pumpkin spice latte, skim milk.” She set down another fifty. “Burgers and fries for those little girls on the patio.” Another bill. “And when Dr. Whale is done with his ‘meeting of the minds,’ you’ll let him know that his check has been taken care of.” Setting down the last fifty, Mrs. Gold looked up at the waitress’ bulging eyes. “And you will keep this all to yourself. Won’t you, Ruby?”

The cash was in Ruby’s apron pocket so fast it might have never been on the table at all. “Absolutely, Mrs. Gold.”

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. 

**** 

As she sipped her too-sweet latte, Mrs. Gold observed the doctors in the booth on the other side of the restaurant. Every Wednesday, the shining stars of the Storybrooke health community met for lunch. Lunch and a ritual re-hashing of the exact same argument every week.

Dr. Atwell was the shortest and oldest of the three men, with gray hair and reading glasses. He had a high-pitched, piercing voice that carried over the bustle of the diner.

“You can’t deny the truth, Archie, and this is the oldest saying in the book: You’re not a real doctor if you haven’t delivered a baby!”

Dr. Hopper shook his head and chuckled good-naturedly. “If that’s the case, then you’re more a doctor than Victor.”

Dr. Whale made a face like he was wounded. “Well, Roy has an unfair advantage! Puppies come out seven at a time!”

All three men laughed. It was eventually agreed, as it was every Wednesday, that they would invite Phillipa Sherman to start coming to these lunches. Then the vet, the shrink, and the medical practitioner could all band together and taunt her for being a lowly dentist.

Shockingly, Dr. Sherman never made an appearance. 

Eventually, they gathered their coats, and Dr. Hopper’s umbrella, and went to the cash register to pay. Dr. Whale was last in line. After a moment of murmured conversation with Ruby, the good doctor looked over at Mrs. Gold.

He began to walk toward her, but before he got to her table she was already on her feet and out the door. 

On the patio, Paige and Lexi were hunched over their game again. The plates on the table in front of them were empty except for smears of ketchup and honey mustard.

Without looking behind her, Mrs. Gold strutted around the corner to the alleyway between Granny’s Diner and the Atlantic Twine and Net store. She leaned against the brick wall across from the dumpster with one foot propped back at an angle behind her. Perfectly casual.

Dr. Whale didn’t keep her waiting long. He followed her into the alley, his usually purposeful stride fumbling a little in this new circumstance. 

“Mrs. Gold.” He kept his hands in his coat pockets, maintained as respectful a distance as the cramped alley would allow. “I understand I owe you lunch.”

She lowered her sunglasses to meet his eyes. He wasn’t bad-looking, if you liked cocky young blondes. Evidence suggested that quite a few ladies around Storybrooke did. 

“You’re doing me a favor just by talking to me, Doctor.” She tossed her hair to expose her neck, watched his genial smile falter into something more serious. How much did he like what he saw?

He cleared his throat. “Is there… something I can do for you?”

 Mrs. Gold pushed off the wall and sauntered closer to him. She made her hips sway as she moved and watched his eyes follow the motion. Slowly, she brought her hand to her mouth, rubbed her thumb over her lower lip. Thank God this lipstick was smear-proof.

“There is something I want to ask you.” She kept her voice breathy, soft. Whale had to lean in to hear her. “But it’s… kind of naughty.”

The noise Whale made in the back of his throat sent a bolt of lightning through her. Not to her libido, but to her ego. Sex appeal was the only power she had, and it had been a solid month since she’d gotten a chance to really use it. 

When Whale was able to speak, his voice was thick and heavy. “I can be naughty.”

Mrs. Gold giggled and reached out to finger the lapel of his coat. It wasn’t bad, a navy blue wool blend. Not as high quality as any of Mr. Gold’s coats, but respectable. And it fit him, which was half the work of looking good in clothes.  

“See,” she said as she closed in the space between their bodies. “The thing I want…”

“Yeah?” They were too close for her to focus on all of Whale’s face, but she could see that his lips were twitching. He was getting excited, but he kept his hands in his pockets like a good boy.  

“I want…” She ran her hand up his collar and stretched out her finger to brush against his ear lobe. “Mr. Gold’s medical records.”

“What?” Dr. Whale straightened up and jerked away. “You--you want what?”

She stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re his doctor. He’s my husband. I believe I have a right to know if there’s something wrong.”

Whale ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a long breath. “Oh, that was more effective than a cold shower,” he muttered. Then he looked at Mrs. Gold. “Was that what this was about the whole time?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Depends on how well it worked.”

“Yeah, but just to be clear,” he said. “This is not a quid pro quo situation, is it? You were never going to deliver on any of that enticing body language.”

“Not unless Mr. Gold wanted me to.”

“And he doesn’t, does he?” Whale looked her over. For the first time since he entered the alley, he appeared to be using his brain. “He doesn’t know you’re talking to me.”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. Then she put on a smile. “It would be very nice of you not to mention it. I’d hate to give Mr. Gold a reason not to trust you!”

Whale opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded, understanding the way she had set it up. The moment he had walked into an alley with another man’s wife, he had lost any moral high ground he might have ever had. 

“So,” he said slowly. “Whatever happens here… it stays between us. Does that work out for you, Mrs. Gold?”

She stuck out her hand and he shook it. “Deal,” she said brightly. 

Sighing, Whale stuck his hands back in his coat pockets. “I hope you know I can’t just pass out copies of my patient’s medical history.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need a paper trail or anything. I just…” she trailed off. She had put so much effort into getting some answers, and now that she had the chance she didn’t even want to ask the questions. 

She took a breath and dug her fingernails into her palms. She had to do this. Her marriage was in trouble and she had to know why.

“I just need to know if Mr. Gold is sick.” When Whale didn’t say anything, she kept going until everything came bubbling out. “I don’t know if it might be heart disease, or somehow his leg got worse or if it’s like a hormone problem or ca--” She choked over the last word, the greatest fear, the enemy that could never be defeated, the war that would never be won or even survived. “Or something worse. And he won’t talk to me about anything and he’s acting strange and we haven’t…” Again she stopped, this time in embarrassment instead of fear. She took off her sunglasses and looked up at Dr. Whale. For the first time in a while, she said something truly honest. “It’s just been really hard for us lately. And I want to know if there’s a medical reason for it.” 

With a deep breath and a small nod, Dr. Whale seemed to come to a decision. He stepped a little closer to Mrs. Gold. Not as close as they had been, but a professional distance. Neutral--not attracted, not repulsed.  

“Mrs. Gold, I need you to understand something,” he began. “The breach of doctor-patient confidentiality is a death sentence for my profession. I could lose my licence to practice and I’d never be able to work again. And I need to work.” His chuckle was tinged with bitterness. “I’ve been a doctor for as long as I can remember and I still haven’t paid off my student loans.”

“How terribly sad for you,” Mrs. Gold said through gritted teeth. She tried not to think about how lucky he was to have student loans. To have even gotten a chance at higher education. Some people’s life savings, including their kid’s college funds, got swallowed up in medical bills. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“That’s what I’m saying, I can’t,” he said. “I can’t tell you about anything that was mentioned in any appointment with your husband. Not without his permission.”

Mrs. Gold felt the pumpkin spice latte curdle in her stomach. “You mothe--”

“But!” Dr. Whale cut her off. “I can tell you if certain subjects were not mentioned. Do you get what I mean?”

“Think about who I’m married to before you ask me again if I understand loopholes.” Instead of any relief or gratitude, all Mrs. Gold could feel was irritation boiling into anger. 

“Right.” He smiled, trying to diffuse the situation. Pathetic. “That being understood, I’m very happy to tell you that I have never spoken to Mr. Gold about heart disease. We’ve never had a reason to discuss hormone imbalances, urological problems, erectile dysfunction--”

“I never said that!”

“Neither did I,” he said with the calm of an ER surgeon. “This whole conversation is about conversations that didn’t happen.” He put one hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “And I’ve never spoken to Mr. Gold about cancer.”

She tried to keep her face frozen. But that was hard to do when her legs were shaking. Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and let herself fall back against the bricks. 

She breathed, for what felt like the first time in days. 

He was safe. He wasn’t sick. She wasn’t going to lose him. Not like that, at least. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

Dr. Whale grinned. “Best part of being a doctor is making people feel better. That and getting to play God.”

He laughed at his own joke, but Mrs. Gold didn’t react. She was still waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. 

“Listen,” Whale said. “You mentioned that Mr. Gold wasn’t talking to you about things and you were worried. Now, I know we give Archie hell about not being a real doctor, but talking to him does help people.”

Mrs. Gold glared up at Dr. Whale. “I’m not crazy,” she said with determination.

“No, I don’t think you are,” he answered. “But you don’t have to be mentally ill to have problems in your marriage.”

She pushed off from the wall and rounded on him, brandishing her sunglasses under his chin like a switchblade. “Who said anything about problems with my marriage?”

Whale backed out of the alley. “N-no one, Mrs. Gold. But--But it is my job to offer you the best advice I can based on the information I’m presented with.”

“Well you did your job then. Good for you. Do you want a fucking lollipop?”

Before Whale could say anything more, Mayor Mills walked into the mouth of the alley. “What is going on here?” she demanded of them both. “Dr. Whale, did you forget that you have an appointment with my son today?”

Thrown from one infuriated woman to another, Whale had to think for a moment before he recovered himself. “Ye-yes of course, Madam Mayor. Henry’s appointment is at two.”

“And it’s almost one-thirty now.” The mayor had a fascinating way of speaking that turned facts into accusations. “I imagine you want to head back to the hospital so you can review his file before you examine him.”

“Uh, yes. Yes of course,” Whale shook his head. “I definitely don’t want to be here.” He nodded to Mrs. Gold before scurrying around the mayor and all but sprinting down the street. 

“And you.” 

Mayor Mills was the sort of person who was always in charge because it was just so obvious that she should be. She could pin someone to the wall just by using the right tone of voice or raising an eyebrow or putting her hands on her hips. Mrs. Gold knew she wasn’t exempt from that power.

But, when the mayor spoke again, her voice was gentler, almost sweet. It was like she cared. Mrs. Gold suddenly got the notion that the mayor had just as many carrots as she had sticks and that she knew very well how to use both.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Gold? You seem upset.” The furrow of her brow was practically sympathetic. “I hope there isn’t any trouble at home.”

She wanted to say something. Maybe Whale was right, maybe she needed to talk to someone about what was going on with Mr. Gold. And if you couldn’t trust the mayor, who could you trust? But in the back of her head, some voice insisted: No. Not Regina! 

So she didn’t break. She didn’t say anything. Mrs. Gold put on her sunglasses, and for a hot second she felt the way Lexi Paisan had described her earlier. She felt badass.

“Nope,” she lied to Mayor Mills. “Everything’s fine.”   

[et-lesailes]

high maintenance

pairing: frank adler x pregnant!reader

themes: fluff with grumpy but loving old man frank adler

word count: 1600

summary:   just a little fluff between you and your grumpy but loving old man fiance frank adler

taglist: @viarogers, @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @chalamet-evans, @world-of-losers,@songforhema  @sebabestianstan101 @tanyam93 @b-val1 @wonderwinchester @little-miss-exo​

note:  i have like 532 requests to work on but had a sudden burst of muse for this, now excuse me while i watch gifted agaiN

** please send an ask if you would like to be added to my taglist of any chris evans related fics!

“Mary! Mary, the clothes are here, let’s open the box together!”

Your fiancé’s niece, practically daughter, immediately came rushing over to the front door, eyes wide with excitement. “Is Frank up in the nursery? Let’s look at everything up there, so he can see, too.” You told her with a smile, ruffling her pretty blonde hair as you picked up the package from the front steps. “Are you sure? You know he’s just going to complain about you spending too much money again.” The seven-year-old pointed out, and you laughed as you playfully made a face, nodding. “I know, but he’s going to have to get used to it, isn’t he? Babies aren’t cheap!”

Walking up the stairs of the new home the two of you had recently bought together, you turned into the first room on the left, right across from you and Frank’s room. The man was sitting on the floor, dutifully putting together your son’s crib, different parts scattered around him. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?” you nagged as you approached him, but the soft giggle afterwards told him you were only kidding; the man repaired boats as a living, so you were pretty certain he could manage a baby crib. “No. I have no idea if I’m doing it right, I’ve never even seen a toolbox in my life.” The native Bostonian drawled sarcastically, eyes still focused on the assembly before him. You laughed more, completely unfazed by his blunt attitude; it was one of the many reasons you had fallen for him to begin with, and considering you had never been the type to get offended easily, your relationship worked well. Frank had a habit of coming off as much ruder than he meant to be, but he was also incredibly straightforward and slightly gruff to begin with. He had a soft spot for you and Mary, and now, your son that was to be born in around three months. 

“Alright, let’s open up this thing,” you said with a grin to Mary, plopping down on the floor a little further away from the busy man. Reaching over to grab a pair of scissors he had used to cut the crib’s packaging, you slid the sharp edge through the tape sealing the cardboard box, opening the flaps and already squealing in delight as you peered inside. “Oh my God. This is all so cute already.” Mary reached inside first, pulling out a tiny blue Ralph Lauren polo, a look of awe upon her features. “It’s so small! He’ll look so adorable in it!” she spoke proudly about the boy who would basically be her baby brother, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “And look!” you exclaimed, taking out a pair of small boat shoes, giggling lightly. “His style is going to be impeccable, Mary, I’m tellin’ ya.”

The two of you were squealing over a onesie decorated with tiny cartoon raccoon prints when Frank finally decided he was curious enough to know what was going on, pausing in his work and turning around with arched eyebrow. “The hell is all this?” he scoffed in amusement, eyes flickering over the small pile of clothes on the floor. “Babe, did you order the entire store?” 

“How could I not, Frank? Look at this!” You pulled out yet another article of clothing, smiling widely. “Tell me this isn’t the cutest shortall you’ve ever seen!”

“I guess it is, because I have no idea what a “shortall” even is.” The male retorted with another scoff, but you could see that hint of fondness in his eyes as he gazed upon his son’s apparel, making you giggle as you moved closer to him to wrap your arms around him from the side in a koala bear fashion hug. “Oh, honey.” He clucked his tongue before you could even speak, looking down at you knowingly. “I know what this hug is. It’s the “I’m-going-to-shower-you-with-abnormal-amounts-of-affection” hug that comes along with telling me how much you maxed out my credit card.”

“Frank! I’ve never maxed out your credit card, don’t exaggerate.” You huffed with a roll of your eyes, but smiled at him cutely afterwards. “I spent ... about…. $250? That’s really not that bad, you have to admit.”

“Yeah, Evelyn spends way more on me!” Mary pointed out in an attempt to help defend you, referring to Frank’s ridiculously wealthy mother. The man sighed, standing up though playfully scooping you up with him, eliciting a happy giggle from your lips as he shook his head. “Evelyn is not a valid person to be compared to in this situation, and at least she’s spending her money on a child who has actually been born already.” Suddenly looking at Mary with his naturally stern expression, he ordered, “Out of the room. Go play outside or go over to Roberta’s or something, I need to talk to this little brat for a sec.” 

You blinked, watching as Mary turned and left before looking to him innocently. “Am I in trouble, Daddy?” you questioned in the silkiest voice you could muster, and a low scoff escaped his lips as he swatted at your ass, replying, “You’re going to be if you keep talking like that, baby girl.” He carried you over to the changing table, sitting you down and standing in between your legs. “Frank, if this is about my spending, I promise I’ll ease up I just--” you started to say, but he cut you off, pressing his lips against yours as he lovingly rubbed your baby bump. “I just wanted some alone time with my sexy girl,” he admitted in a husky voice against your lips, moving his mouth down to pepper your neck in kisses. “Honestly? I love seeing you already wanting to spoil our little man, princess. It’s cute when you’re such a fucking spoiled brat.” He smirked as he briefly glanced up at you, pulling at your skin with his teeth.

You whimpered softly but gave him a playfully hopeful expression. “Does that mean--”

“No, you still aren’t allowed to max out my credit card.” He scoffed, and you made a face as you corrected, “Our credit card, thank you very much, we’re in this together now.” He blinked and chuckled, returning his lips to yours to peck them sweetly. “You’re right, sweetheart. And now, Daddy’s going to be bringing a little more money home to help further spoil our two beautiful children ...”

You blinked, taking his face in your hands to make him properly look at you. “What do you mean by that?” you questioned, suspicious and curious at the same time. “Are you a stripper now or something?”

“What-- no, babe, God no.” He rolled his eyes but kissed your cheek, moving his head to mutter in your ear, “I’ve been working on something for a while now… I didn’t want to tell you anything until I was positive it would work out, and now, I am.” Taking out his phone from his pocket, he pulled up a photo and showed you, barely biting his lip. You had to squint because of his old school flip phone-- typical Frank Adler, completely uninterested in new and modern technology-- but once you realized what the image was, your eyes widened. 

“Is this… is this yours, Frank?”

“Sure is, doll. And it’s going to officially be open for business next month.” 

You squealed in delight as you wrapped your arms around him, feeling pure happiness and excitement for his hard work and endeavors. “Your own repair shop, Frank? You’ve been wanting this forever! How did you…”

“A friend from the bar was renting out a space he owned, he offered it to me discounted because it was a little shabby and no one was interested. I’ve been fixing it up for the past few months, got that sign ordered… and, well, that’s the whole picture you just saw. Frank’s Boat Repair. Nice and simple, gets the job done.”

You were too thrilled to even playfully roast him for such a plain name, though you knew it was exactly his style. He wasn’t one to be extravagant, he didn’t care for material things or having items-- he was a simple man who loved his work, his niece, his fiancée, his one eyed cat, and his newest child. Hugging him even tighter, you kissed him lovingly as you murmured, “I’m so happy for you, babe, this is amazing.” You playfully tapped his nose, adding, “And I’m too happy to yell at you for keeping this from me, so well played, Adler.” He chuckled softly and brought himself down, now face-to-face with your belly as he pressed his lips against the swelled curve. “Mm, don’t worry little man, I’ll teach you all the ways to get out of being in trouble with your high maintenance mother. You’ll practically be a pro by the time you’re out of there.” You rolled your eyes, playfully whacking his head. “I am not high maintenance. You know you wouldn’t have proposed to me if I was.” 

He smiled as he rolled his eyes-- a typical reaction in this household-- standing up straight again and leaning down to kiss you more slowly and passionately. “Mm. I would have. Because there are way too many reasons to be with you for the rest of my life than there are reasons not to be.” 

You smiled as you kissed your fiance back, wrapping both your arms and legs around him and letting yourself melt into his hold, mumbling, “I love you, Frank.”

“I love you too, Princess.”

[doyelikehaggis]

Works In Progress: Project Vampires | Damon Salvatore x Enzo "Michael Quinn" St. John (The Vampire Diaries/Project Blue Book)

"Please, look less enthusiastic to see me," Damon jokes.

"I would be incredibly happy to see you if you had listened to a word I said about you not showing up here whenever you like," Enzo returns, reaching around him to close the doors after a quick glance outside. He then pulls back to look at him, and even he can't disguise his smile or how his voice softens as he says, "You're not supposed to be here."

Damon shrugs. "And no one has to know that I was. Apart from Faye, but she could care less. And for all anyone else knows, I could be here on business. They just don't have to know how personal that business is, do they?"

Exasperation mixes with the stern look on Enzo's face, lingering for a moment as it always does at his lack of care for things that Enzo seems to think he really ought to care about. Then he's breathing out a soft laugh.

"You are completely unbelievable, you know that?" he says. "You're going to get me fired one of these days."

"Then I could just compel them to hire you again and forget they ever did it in the first place, since you have your whole thing about not using our abilities, which I think is ridiculous in our line of work. Frankly, it would make our lives a hell of a lot easier. Especially with your whole alien cover-up thing."

"And this is exactly why you are not supposed to be here," Enzo laughs again. "One slip up in front of the generals, about anything. For all you know, they could be on vervain. Hell, they could secretly be witches." He makes a face. "Wouldn't put it past Harding."

"Harding? With magic?" Damon shakes his head. "He seems more the werewolf type."

Enzo scoffs, but his smile is still very much in place as he says, "Werewolves aren't real. They're a myth."

"So are we," Damon points out, widening his eyes mockingly.

"Except we're not," Enzo says in the same tone. As if to prove his point, he settles a hand on Damon's chest. Leans an inch closer, though whether he realizes or not is uncertain because his eyes are holding Damon's. "We... are very much real."

The pause and the emphasis click in Damon's mind and he's a lot more certain that Enzo knows what he's doing. Telling him never to doubt him; he can be cautious, mainly at work, but he's still that guy who charmed him in a bar without a care all those years ago. 

"Can't argue with that logic then." His eyes may flicker, dropping down just a moment. When he meets Enzo's gaze again it's with pure, sly innocence and a tilt of his head. "Can we, Captain?"

Enzo's jaw visibly tightens, but his eyes are dancing. He makes a low, gruff noise in the back of his throat and gives a single shake of his head. None of which stops him from moving closer, his hand curling around the lapel of Damon's military blazer.

"Guess not," Enzo says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. 

He's already so close that Damon's eyes almost close on instinct, fluttering halfway between as he glances down again. Part of him wants to reach out as well, let his hands find some sort of contact that Enzo's isn't quite achieving, but they stay by his sides. 

"Happy that I stopped by now?" he murmurs, his voice barely registering even to him, already anticipating the next few seconds. 

Enzo nods, and says, "Incredibly."

The way he looks at him makes Damon's heart beat a little bit stronger. So full of love and so soft, the look he hides behind a wall of professionalism and safety when they aren't alone. But when they are, it's this. This feeling that planted itself in Damon's chest without him noticing and has made a home there.

It started as a sliver of the humanity he had barely managed to keep a hold of after all of the years, then he met Enzo, and slowly, it grew until it was nearly equal to the undead side of him. As if he could still be that reckless, rebellious human, following his mind and his heart rather than what the world wanted from him.

His mind and heart's desires used to be for an adventure of his own choosing. To chase the girls, to flirt when they flirted, to catch the eye of a gentleman or two. To be able to sit in a tavern and have a laugh and a drink without worry of the war or his father's disappointment. To be human and just live. Now, his heart is what drives him to lean in the second he catches Enzo doing the same first. 

Despite Enzo's concerns about being caught, he kisses Damon like nothing else in the world matters. As if they could be standing in a room full of their generals and he would still do it. Damon knows it's probably not true, and in all fairness, he wouldn't take the risk with too many people to compel either, but it's a nice feeling all the same. No one else has ever kissed him or even looked at him like he means that much to them.

It's Enzo who pulls back first, of course. Not too far, still close enough that Damon can feel the warmth of his soft exhale against his lips. 

"You really shouldn't be here," he repeats softly, but it's no longer a protest or a warning for him to leave.

[67-chevy-baby]

Take Away My Heartache

Pairing - Dean x Cas

Rating - 18+ Only!!

Squares Filled - Kink Bingo: Begging and Dean and Cas Bingo: Fight and Make-Up

Tags - SEASON 15 EPISODE 3 SPOILERS, Destiel, Arguments, Angst, Language, Drinking, M/M sex, Anal Fingering, Prostate stimulation, Anal Sex, Begging, Finger sucking, Unprotected sex, Implied self-blame, and I think that’s it. 

Word Count -  3,753

Beta - @winecatsandpizza​

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

The Song I Chose - Crazy Love by Van Morrison

Written for - @rockhoochie​’s 1k Followers Writing Challenge, @spnkinkbingo​, and @deanandcasbingo​

Yeah, and why does that something always seem to be you?

The sting of Dean’s words cut through Castiel’s heart like a knife as the sound of the Bunker door shutting behind him echoed in the distance. Truth be told, he’d give anything to run right back into his hunter’s arms and forget the argument ever happened. His hunter. Those two little words used to bring him nothing but joy-something an Angel of the Lord rarely felt. Now …  Now, it only brought tears to his eyes because clearly Dean wasn’t his. Not anymore. 

The dry leaves crunched beneath Cas’ shoes as he walked. The cool autumn air nipping at the skin exposed at his neck made him shiver. Not only were he and Dean over, but he’d lost Jack too. Never in his entire existence had he felt so alone. Jack, his son for all intents and purposes, was dead. Even though there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop it at the time, he still blamed himself. He’d made a promise to Kelly. He swore to her he’d keep her son safe and he couldn’t even do that. 

Hell, maybe Dean was right. Maybe he should have just stuck to the plan. They would have found a way to stop Belphegor. They’d saved the world before. This wasn’t their first go around. Instead, he let his emotions get the better of him and killed the lying sack of shit while he had the chance. He’d figured Dean would have been proud of him, cheered at his braveness. Not once did he think Dean would dismiss him like their ten-year-long relationship meant nothing. 

Cas found himself in an all too familiar place. The barn where it all began. The very place he first stood face to face with Dean. It still looked the same. The various black warding sigils and chipped white paint were still there and immediately brought back every memory he shared with the elder Winchester. Finally, he let himself feel the emotions he’d been holding back. A choked sob left his lips as he sank down onto the cold, hard ground. 

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The sound of glass shattering made Sam’s ears perk up. He hurried into the Library armed and ready only to find Dean hunched over the table. His hands splayed out on the dark wooden surface, the remnants of broken glass joined his beer in a wet puddle on the floor. Slowly, he lowered his gun and walked cautiously towards him. “Dean? Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Cas?” Dean didn’t look at him, his breathing heavy as his shoulders started to shake. Now, this was a sight. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother cry this hard. “Hey, whoa… Dean? C’mon man, talk to me.” 

Dean shook his head, his tears falling against the table’s veneer. “He’s gone, Sammy…” Sam didn’t miss how broken his brother sounded. He wasn’t naive to the fact that Cas was intimate with Dean. You’d have to be blind not to know how they felt for one another. Sighing, he set his gun on the table and moved so he could see his brother’s face. “Dean, you have to calm down. I’m sure he’s coming ba-” The sound of the chair being kicked over made Sam jump, his brother’s tear-filled eyes boring into his own. “WHAT DON’T YOU GET, SAM?! CAS. IS. GONE. NEVER COMING BACK! END OF STORY!” Dean’s chest heaved as he fished the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. It wasn’t until his footfalls echoed down the hallway that Sam reacted. His long legs walking quickly after him. “Dean! Wait, Dean, you can’t just leave while you’re upset like this!”

Dean didn’t react to his little brother’s plea, but that didn’t stop Sam from trying. He was hot on his heels as they crossed the threshold of the Bunker’s garage. The familiar creak of the Impala’s door broke the silence between them as Sam waited for a response. Dean fired up the engine and gripped the steering wheel, the tips of his knuckles turning white as he let out a long shaky sigh. “Don’t you get it, Sammy? I break everything I touch. I’m poison. Happiness wasn’t meant for me. This life ... there’s no chance at love when you’re a part of it. I push everyone away and I’ll be damned if I do something to ruin the last relationship I have. Let me go, Sammy … before I force you to leave me too.” 

Reluctantly Sam stepped back and watched Dean drive away. His brother’s words tearing at his heartstrings as the sleek black car disappeared out of sight. Part of what Dean said was true in a sense. Rarely did someone with their job description find happiness. He’d tried … time and time again he had tried. First with Jessica, the love of his life from his Stanford days. Then there was Amelia, the sweet veterinarian with a heart of gold. Eileen was another one that ultimately ended in tragedy. 

Of course, there were others that Sam had been romantically involved with, but more often than not his love interests shared something in common with one another. They weren’t hunters. They didn’t spend every day knowing what went bump in the night or lurked just beyond the shadows. That’s one thing that was different between him and Dean. Before they’d met Cas, his brother didn’t care much about settling down. One night stands were his specialty, something that Sam often envied. 

The moment Castiel made himself known to them, Dean’s whole demeanor changed. It was subtle at first. He started cutting back on the number of women he’d spend the night with. Then came the not so discreet glances. Cas was oblivious to them of course, but Sam wasn’t. He’d known his brother all his life so he was quite familiar with that look. Dean was attracted to the Angel. Once his stubborn brother got enough alcohol in his system he finally made his move. The rest was history. 

The silence in the garage became almost deafening as Sam’s thoughts continued to race through his head. They’d lost so much recently. Their Dad, their Mom, Jack, and Rowena. So many people they loved were gone. He’d be damned if Dean lost Cas too. 

He half jogged back into the library and picked up the broken pieces of his brother’s beer bottle. After cleaning up the wetness with a towel from the kitchen, he headed back to his room to get his phone. Hopefully, Cas still had the one they’d gave him. He held his breath as the shrill ringing filled his ears. “C’mon … C’mon” His persistent voice was the only sound in the room other than his boots pacing the floor. 

After the third ring, he finally heard the gruff sound of Cas’ voice. “H-Hello?” A wave of relief washed over Sam. “Cas? Hey, don’t hang up okay? Just… hear me out…” He waited, listening for any sort of acknowledgment from the Angel. When he didn’t get any, he took the opportunity and kept going. “First things first, where are you? Are you safe?” A cough and a low groan made his chest heavy with worry. “Cas?” 

“Sam, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m an Angel. I can take care of myself.” Sam frowned and stopped pacing, his hand finding purchase on his hip. “That’s not what I …” He sighed, not wanting to be the second person that argued with him today. “Look, Cas, I realize it’s not my place, but I know what you have with Dean is worth fighting for. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you. He’s just… he’s a little lost right now. In no way am I defending his actions because I don’t know what was said, but I will stand here and say that my brother loves you. He’s madly in love with you, Cas…” 

A shaky breath on the other end of the phone told Sam that he was still there. "I...I love him too, Sam. Like I've never loved anyone or anything before." Another ragged cough told Sam that Cas wasn’t being forthcoming with how bad his health really was and it worried him. Hell, shouldering pain and wounds was one of their specialties after all. “Cas, listen to me, okay? Everything that’s happened recently has taken its toll on all of us. I can’t speak for you or Dean, but having to … to” A shaky sigh left his lips as tears threatened to slip down his cheeks. Eventually, a few betrayed him and his vision became blurry as he forced the words out. “... kill Rowena wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” He cleared the lump in his throat and swallowed thickly. “What I’m trying to say is we can get through this. We’ve saved the world so many times, and I’ll be damned if we let God’s little temper tantrum do us in.”

Cas wasn’t saying anything, but his occasional exhale told Sam he was still there. “Please, Cas. Just tell me where you are so I can come and get you.” Neither of them said anything for what felt like an eternity. Finally, relief washed over Sam when he heard the Angel respond. “The barn … I’m at the barn where it all began.” “I’ll be there as fast as I can, Cas! Just … stay there.” Sam hung up and began packing his duffel bag. 

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Dean welcomed the smooth burn of the whiskey in his glass as he knocked it back. Maybe if he drank enough he’d be able to forget those sad blue eyes and how he was the cause of said emotion. The bartender eyed him curiously but filled his glass again nevertheless. “Relationship problems?” Dean downed the golden brown liquid in two gulps before sliding the cup back. “With all due respect, it’s really none of your business. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to drink until I’m numb. In fact, just go ahead and leave the bottle.” After tossing a few twenties and sporting a stern look, the man seemed to get the message. Even if Dean didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, it was better than sharing them with some stranger just to be judged. He took another sip and groaned happily. Yep, being alone was much better. 

The vibration of his phone startled him out of his thoughts once again. “Now, what?” He grumbled. Seeing his brother’s name lit up on the screen made him roll his eyes, but he swiped to answer anyway. “Dammit, Sammy. I’ve been gone for a few hours what could you possibly…” He was cut off by the frantic edge in Sam’s voice. “Dean! It’s… It’s Cas… he… he told me he was at the barn where you met. I went to get him a-and now he… he won’t wake up.” 

Dean felt his blood run cold. 

He pushed the stool away from the counter and all but ran back to the Impala. “What do you mean he won’t wake up?!” Baby’s tires spun as Dean pulled back onto the main road toward the Bunker. “I-I-I don’t know, Dean… He’s breathing, but he seems to be in some sort of celestial coma? When I talked to him on the phone, he kept coughing and wheezing. I don’t know what to do. Normally, I’d call Rowena, but… she’s…” Dean cut his brother off before he could finish, his knuckles white on the steering wheel for the second time that day. “Sammy, listen to me. Just get back to the Bunker as fast as you can. I’ll meet you there, and we will figure this out … the Winchester way.” He ended the call and tossed his phone on the seat next to him, his boot pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. 

The moment Sam arrived with Cas, Dean was there to help. They carried him to the hospital wing in the Bunker and carefully laid him on the cot. Dean couldn’t help but notice how sickly his angel looked. He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and hot to the touch, and his lips were chapped more than they normally were. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he looked at his brother with defeat. “Sammy… I.. I can’t lose him. I was so stupid… so fucking stupid…” His shoulders shook violently the moment he let his emotions take over. 

Sam was determined to make things better again. Not just for his brother, but for the sole fact that he refused to let anyone else they cared for die. “Keep an eye on him, Dean. I’ll hit the books and make some phone calls. You should stay here just in case he wakes up.” All Dean could do was nod and watch as Sam walked away. He turned his gaze back to Cas, his fingertips reaching up to gently caress his cheek. He was afraid to do much else. 

Eventually, Dean’s eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline wore off from earlier. Leaving Cas was out of the question, so he did the only thing he could think of and gently curled up on the mattress beside him. He slung his arm protectively over the angel’s torso and carefully laid his head against his chest. He couldn’t help the memories of their first night together flooding his mind. How they listened to music in Baby and drove out in the country to look at the stars. A tear slid down his cheek as he began to softly sing their song, the one that Cas insisted they listen to on repeat the whole trip home. 

I can hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles

And the heaven's open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

Yeah when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Yes I need her in the daytime 

Yes I need her in the night 

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss and hug her, kiss and hug her tight

Yeah when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me whole

Yes it makes me mellow down into my soul

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

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The last thing Castiel remembered was seeing Sam’s concerned face. Then there was only darkness. He wasn’t dead, no, this was something different. A coma maybe? He couldn’t open his eyes or move, but he was able to hear everything going on around him. Angels normally don’t go through things like this, but if their bodies get too worn down then they go into somewhat of a protective mode. He figured this is what happened to him when he used the last of his strength to teleport himself to the barn. His celestial powers needed to replenish. 

He hated hearing how worried Sam and Dean were. He especially hated how much Dean blamed himself. He’d spent so much time showing his boyfriend how much good he brought to the world, and now he felt like Dean was closing himself off again. He’d only wanted to take some of the stress from Dean. That’s why he chose to kill Belphegor instead of letting him do more damage. Cas knew Dean didn’t mean to hurt him and he longed to tell him how sorry he was. 

It became a waiting game, letting his vessel reenergize itself. There was no telling how long it would take, but Castiel took comfort in knowing that the man he loved was snuggled into his side. If only he could have comforted Dean and wiped his tears. The sound of the elder Winchester’s voice filled the small room, and it was then that he realized Dean was singing to him. Cas’ heart both soared and broke at the same time by the emotion in his voice as the lyrics flowed freely from memory. The last thing he heard before Dean fell asleep was him saying how sorry he was and how much he loved him. 

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Dean groaned and tightened his grip around Castiel. What time was it? Had Sam found anything? Several questions ran through his mind as he prepared to open his eyes. Before he could, he felt a hand smooth down his back. His heart skipped a beat as he sat up. Beautiful blue eyes gazed into his own, and Dean looked at him like it was the first time he saw him all over again. “Cas?! Cas! Oh, I’m so happy you’re okay. I’m sorry for the things I said to you before. I was so stupid and I know you were just trying t-” His rambling was cut off as Cas smashed his lips against his. Their tongues danced together and when Cas finally pulled away he was panting as hard as Dean was. 

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for. I forgave you the moment it happened, and there’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less. You will always be perfect in my eyes. Forever the Righteous Man I saved and rebuilt all those years ago. I love you.” Dean placed another emotional kiss to Cas’ lips, pouring all his love and need into it. Never in his life did he think he’d be able to settle down with anyone. Being a hunter of the supernatural meant a short life span more often than not. He was conditioned to not get too attached to anyone, but with Cas, he couldn’t help himself. This was different. Cas was different, and without the Angel, in his life, he’d be incomplete. 

The need to feel Castiel’s touch nearly took his breath away. No words were spoken as they rid each other of their clothes. Cas flipped them over so he was hovering above Dean, his blue eyes glowing with power. Dean felt his cock swell in anticipation, his breathing becoming more ragged by the second. “Cas, please…” 

Castiel began to trail kisses along his jaw, nipping at the skin now and again. The moment he began sucking at Dean’s pulse point he could feel just how much he needed him. His cock was pinned between Cas’, the tip weeping beads of precum. “Look at you, Dean. You’re a fucked out mess and I’ve barely touched you.” Dean whined shamelessly at his words, his hand reaching between their bodies to slowly stroke Cas’ length. “Mmmm, Dean… Gonna make you feel so good.” Cas brought two of his fingers up to Dean’s lips, pushing them into his mouth. “Suck.” 

Dean obliged, swirling his tongue skillfully around his digits. Cas nearly came at the sight below him. The way the elder Winchester fluttered his eyes shut the moment his perfect lips closed around them, his soft moans as his slick tongue flicked over his fingertips, and the constellation of freckles littered over his skin. Reluctantly, Cas pulled them free and pressed one against Dean’s entrance. “Relax for me.” It wasn’t a command, but Dean knew it would do him well to obey. The first few moments were always painful, but the pleasure Cas promised was better than anything he’d ever felt. 

“C-Cas… I… I need you. Please… don’t make me wait… F-Fuck!” Cas knew he’d found Dean’s prostate just from the sound of Dean’s plea. His fingers grazed the bundle of nerves making the man beneath him shiver. “As much as I’d love to fuck you into this mattress, Dean, I very much like hearing you beg.” 

Dean whimpered as Cas continued to slowly fuck him open with his fingers, his hands fisting the thin sheet under him. “Unngh! P-Please fuck me… need you inside me so bad.” Cas smirked and peppered kisses along Dean’s chest. “I know you can do better than that, Dean. I’ve seen you do it.” 

Dean arched his back and cried out, his mouth opening in a perfect “o” shape. “I need it! Oh, fuck I n-need it, Cas! Need you to fuck me until I can’t think anymore… Please…. Oh, fuck! Please. Please. Please…” Finally, Cas gave in. His cock replacing his fingers as he slowly thrust inside Dean to the hilt. Both cried out in unison, their bodies thrumming with arousal. 

Cas leaned down to kiss Dean softly before starting a steady pace. It was a wonder the poorly built cot didn’t break beneath them. Dean’s cries filled the small room as Cas fucked into him relentlessly. “Oh, fu-... C-Cas! Oh, Cas! R-Right there!” They’d done this enough that Cas knew Dean was close. The way his body shook, how desperate he sounded when he moaned, and how he clenched around him. He’d normally draw this out, take his time with his hunter, but this was something they both needed. 

Cas began to stroke Dean’s thick cock in time with his thrusts, his angelic grace causing the lightbulbs above them to burst with all the energy in the room. Both of them fell over the edge together, Dean’s cries swallowed by Cas’ kiss. 

Once they came down from their high, Cas carefully pulled out of Dean and pulled him close. “Dean, you complete me. From the moment my father told me to rescue you from Hell, I knew my life would change forever.” Dean kissed Cas sweetly and nuzzled into his neck. “I love you, Cas. M’heart s’yours.” 

Sometime later, Sam came home from the library and noticed how quiet the Bunker was. He made his way to the hospital room and snorted to himself at the broken glass on the floor. Glancing at the cot, he smiled widely at the sight of his brother and Cas asleep in each other’s arms. 

“Thank God.” He breathed.

Forever Tags: @desiree-0816​

[archadianskies]

adage

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Sunday Day 7: Free Day; Ballet AU RK900/Simon

When the last child is safely in the care of her parents and out the door, Simon sighs and sinks back into his chair. Friday done and dusted, time to slink back home for a restorative Lush bubble bath and maybe an indulgent glass of red wine. His phone rings just as Kara’s locking up the kindergarten classroom, and he gives her a wave goodbye as she jogs over to Luther’s car.  

“North?” He sandwiches the phone between his ear and shoulder, fumbling for his bus pass. 

“Si, you doin’ anything tonight?”

“I mean, I’m doing what any respectable thirty year old does on a Friday night: taking a bubble bath.” Pass located, he slings his bag over the other shoulder and makes his way to the station. 

“Well save it for later. I have a spare ticket to the ballet tonight because Josh bailed-”

“He didn’t bail, North, he’s down with a cold!”

“Bailed.” She repeats sternly. “Anyway, free ticket to opening night at the Detroit Opera House. They’re doing Onegin.”

“I don’t know what that is.” His tone is apologetic as he rounds the corner. “I’ve never been to a ballet before.” 

“Well it’s a nice night out. I get to see my gorgeous girlfriend, you get to perve on boys in tights. Oh and did I mention it’s for free?”

“Yes, you did.” Simon laughs. “Alright I’ll come along.”

“Meet me outside the building at 6:20pm sharp.” 

 Onegin, Simon learns on the bus ride home, is a dramatic tale of two people falling for each other at different times in their lives. There’s duels and murders and missed opportunities, and it’s apparently an incredibly challenging ballet for both the female and male dancers. He gets to see it for free, so sure why not? 

After a quick shower and a quick message to his twin, Simon changes into something neat and somewhat fancy (it’s opening night, which sounds somewhat fancy) and heads back out. He’s coming up the steps, 6:19pm sharp and there’s North in a tux sans her usual combat boots. 

“Hey loser.” She greets with a grin, leaning to kiss his cheek. “Look at you all scrubbed up.”

“And you without your boots. What is the world coming to?” Simon teases as she laughs. “I had a look on their site, the show doesn’t start until seven?”

“Yeah but obviously I gotta smooch my girl and wish her luck.” 

“Surely you don’t need me to do that?” He cocks a brow as she snorts back a laugh. 

“Relax Si, I’m sneaking you backstage for a VIP tour.” North shrugs, looping her arm through his and tugging him into the building. There’s people in various degrees of fancy clothing from ‘somewhat’ to ‘not at all’ to ‘very fancy’ but North steers him away from the crowd and down a corridor. There’s a few ‘hi North’s and ‘she’s down the hall’s said in passing as North leads Simon through a field of floaty dresses and white tights and then they’re approaching a dressing room just as it opens. A petite blonde ballerina steps out, dressed in period costume. Her face lights up when she sees North, and she’s quick to close the distance between them.

“Hey cutie.” North grins, squeezing her close as Chloe giggles.

“You’re not meant to be here!”

“Can’t your girl wish you luck?” 

“Very quickly.” Chloe concedes, leaning up for a kiss. “Now sneak away back to your seat before Eli catches you!”

“Kamski’s stalking around?” North looks over her shoulder as if expecting him to materialise.

“You’re not the only one wishing us dancers luck on opening night.” Chloe laughs, poking her cheek. “And unlike you, he’s the director of the company and has a right to be here.” 

Simon stands back at a polite distance, admiring their exchange. They haven’t been dating long enough for Simon to have met Chloe yet, though their work schedules played a large factor in the delay too; when everyone’s working full time and they’re all a bunch of thirty-somethings, social schedules are hard to negotiate. Not that Simon negotiates much; he’s never been a social butterfly and there’s comfort in staying in the nest he’s built with his twin brother. 

He averts his eyes when they kiss, trying to allow them privacy, and distracts himself by checking his surroundings. There’s other ballerinas in lovely period costumes, and- what was the word for a male dancer? Ballerino? Dans ...something French. Handsome boys in coats and cravats and tights that look like the dancers were dipped in body paint rather than wearing something sewn from material. A dancer exits the dressing room on his right, and Simon accidentally catches his gaze. He’s tall, taller than the other male dancers, with a cut jawline and sharp cheekbones and dark hair that’s been artfully swept from his face. His costume looks fancier than the others, and he holds himself with the air of a leading man. Simon belatedly realises he’s still staring and quickly looks away, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

“This is Si.” North loops her arms through his, startling him, and he looks over to see Chloe’s smiling face. 

“It’s so good to meet you in person at last, Simon.” She shakes his hand, and Simon can see why North is so smitten with her and those big blue eyes and that joyous smile. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Ms Chloe.” He can’t help but smile in return, and it tickles him that North looks at her with unabashed adoration; there’s joy to be had in the joy of others. 

“Chloe, curtain’s up in fifteen.” A deep accented voice interrupts, and there’s that looming leading man only up close now, close enough if Simon reached out he could touch him and confirm he’s real and not some fever dream fantasy. 

“Alright Ronan.” Chloe’s smile turns apologetic. “I’m going to have to shoo you both away now.”

“Good luck with the performance.” Simon clasps her hand again and North steals another kiss before they leave. When he looks over his shoulder, he catches Ronan’s eyes again, the dancer looking at him with mild curiosity and Simon hastily drops his gaze. North gives him a wicked grin.

“His name is Ronan Stern and as far as Chloe knows he’s single.”

“Shut up.” 

 Objectively he knows what ballet is, and even though he’s never attended a live performance he’s seen clips and movies and gifs and photos. It really is different sitting in a fancy theatre and watching it unfold in person, though. The orchestra is right there, the dancers are right there, and it’s all so tangible in a way he’s never experienced.

Ronan plays Onegin himself, and Simon wonders how it is that a human being of flesh and blood and bone just like him has somehow honed his body into an instrument like that. Surely humans aren’t made to leap that far and jump that high and hoist up ballerinas like they weigh nothing more than a doll? He dances with power, with purpose, and there’s an intensity to him that Simon’s drawn to. Chloe’s petite stature is dwarfed further by his build and the way he holds her and carries her makes their size difference so obviously delightful. She’s dainty and demure and he’s commanding and calculated and somehow it’s a beautiful match and Simon can’t take his eyes off of them.

Onegin is a man ruined by his own pride, and in doing so ruins the lives of others. There is no redemption for him, and Tatiana holds no love for him anymore when they reunite years later. The story ends and it isn’t happy, it’s just and rightful and Simon thinks distantly it’s somehow different from Swan Lake because this time the woman lives and she’s safe and loved. He likes this one better.

“You haven’t said a single word.” North pokes his cheek once everyone takes their final bow and the applause has died down and the lights come on again. “You liked it?”

“Holy shit?” Simon breathes, and North bursts out laughing.

“Uh huh.” She nods. “Yeah, holy shit. You hooked?”

“God is it always like that?”

“Pretty much.” She laughs again, slinging an arm around his waist as they shuffle towards the nearest exit along with the throng. “I’m a convert. Never thought much about ballet but there’s something almost magical about it isn’t there?” 

“They can’t be mere mortals like us.” Simon sighs dramatically. “Not when they can move like that and spend two hours on their toes or carrying the entire weight of another person.” 

They exit the opera house and before Simon can step away, North tightens her hold around his waist.

“Come on, I’m picking Chloe up by the stage door.”

“You don’t need me around to do that.”

“Yeah but between the two of us I’m the gay that can drive, so I’ll give you a lift home.” 

“...You sure?” Simon resists when she tries to tug him away. “I mean, I don’t want to come between you two. I’m sure she’s tired and would rather go home right away.”

“You’re one of my besties, Si.” North rolls her eyes. “I want to see you home safe and not taking the goddamn bus at this hour. Chloe’s gonna be cool with that.”

“If- if you’re sure …” 

“I’m sure.” North declares, all but dragging him to follow.

There’s a small crowd at the stage door, family members and partners Simon guesses, collecting their talented dancers and congratulating them. Chloe emerges in a long cream coat with a fluffy fur collar and North picks her up and spins her around.

“Congrats babes, you were perfect.” She grins, peppering her face with kisses as Chloe giggles brightly. 

 “Ready to go home kiddo?” A gruff voice by his ear asks, and a middle aged man brushes passed him to reach out and clap Ronan on the shoulder.

“Dad? I didn’t know you were coming.” Ronan blinks in surprise, a small smile spreading on his face as he embraces him tightly. 

“I managed to convince him.” Another voice pipes up, belonging to a young man not dissimilar to Ronan though without the accent. “Not that dad needed much convincing- this is your debut on home soil after all. And what an amazing debut it was, Ronan.” 

“Come on.” The father of the pair jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Connor cleaned up his room and everything. I’m not letting you go back to your apartment on opening night; you’re spending that with your family and not with Reed. I already spend enough time with that grumpy dumbass at work I know what you’re in for.”

“We have agreed to a truce because of the cats.” Ronan grins, adjusting his grip on his bag as his brother helps shoulder his way through the crowd. Simon watches them leave and Ronan looks over his shoulder, their eyes catching again briefly before Simon looks away in panic.

 “C’mon Si, let’s get you home.” North snaps his attention back to the present, flicking his temple. 

“He’s single.” Chloe pipes up, and Simon feels his cheeks heat. “And likes boys too.”

“Will you two stop it?!”

In the car he takes the back seat so Chloe can sit up front. 

“He just moved back from London.” She continues despite his exasperated sigh. “He was accepted into the Royal Ballet program when he was nine and is the youngest danseur to be promoted to Principal Dancer in recent history.”

“But he gave that all up?” Now he’s curious. “Why would he then step down from that and move back to Detroit? We don’t exactly have the most thriving ballet scene in comparison.”

“I’m not sure either. I spent a year as the guest ballerina with the Royal Ballet, he’s an absolute dream to dance with.” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror and smiles. “He’s the perfect gentleman, and everything I could ever ask for in a partner. When the season ended he told me he wanted to come back to Detroit. Elijah was more than happy to offer him a position.”

“Maybe he got homesick? Connor’s pretty glad to have him back.” North shrugs as they idle at a red light. “Saves him from travelling to London all the time to visit.”

“If he marries a nice boy in Detroit then he’ll never even think of going back to London either.” Chloe giggles slyly and Simon groans, slumping in his seat.

“Okay listen, I appreciate you two arranging a marriage for me but-”

“Simon, I don’t know how to break this to you but your future spouse is not just going to materialise in your home.” North sniggers. “At least let us try and meddle a little.”

“North told me about your ex and-”

“North!” Simon protests and North cuts in.

“No, shut up, Gideon was an asshole Simon I’m still mad about him. Okay I ranted to Chloe even though you told me not to tell anyone, but I was going to explode if I didn’t tell anyone.” She stands her ground, muttering under breath. “Murder is illegal, anyway.”

“Ronan is a lovely gentleman, at least give him a chance?” Chloe smiles encouragingly.

“He’s like the 2005 Pride and Prejudice Mr Darcy only in tights.” North adds, and Chloe bursts out laughing as the car pulls up at the apartment block. “Okay Si, goodnight.” 

“Thank you for coming to watch us.” Chloe turns back in her seat so she can hold his hands. “It’s really lovely to meet you. I hope we can hang out soon.”

“It was absolutely magical, thank you Chloe.” Simon squeezes her hands, smile ernest. He flashes North a grateful smile. “And thanks for the lift, North.”

 Danny’s already asleep when he tiptoes into the apartment, so he makes sure to make as little noise as possible. Slipping into his room, he flops onto his bed and pulls out his phone. Wrestling against the temptation only lasts all of five seconds before Simon is typing ‘Ronan Stern’ into google and diving into articles and accolades. No Facebook, no Twitter but he does have an Instagram, and he’s also featured in the Royal Ballet’s Instagram account often. Or, well, used to as stated in one of the posts from six months ago showing a farewell post.

He’s...infuriatingly attractive, like the way Markus is infuriatingly attractive but in a different kind of way. Simon’s crushed on Markus for so long, so he knows how this story goes; he’s going to pine away, absolutely ache for him and wear his heart on his sleeve and they will be friends and Ronan will have no romantic interest for him the way Markus sees him as a good friend and nothing more. Simon is used to the heartache, really. It’s also why he ends up in shitty controlling relationships with shitty controlling men because he’s bad at speaking his mind and he’s bad at saying no. 

Sighing, he follows a link to Youtube and watches an excerpt from some sort of modern ballet Ronan performed last year with Chloe. It’s fast paced and dizzying and powerful, and his heart catches in his throat a few times when Chloe throws herself into leaps and jumps, Ronan always there to catch her and fling her and flip her. They’re a blur of wild movement and perfect partnership. Youtube recommends more clips, and it’s midnight but he has no self-control so he’s clicking those too, watching Ronan in other ballets, some clips even just sneakily filmed footage taken by an audience member.

He ends up watching interviews too, watching Ronan without the makeup and the costumes. He speaks like someone not used to giving interviews, and Simon finds it endearing that for a man with such a commanding presence he speaks almost shyly. The accent helps too. Simon shoves his phone away some time nearing 1am, barely remembering to brush his teeth before he falls asleep with a smile.

 “Si?” Someone’s shaking him awake, and Simon groans. “Si, get up.” He cracks open an eye and promptly rolls over.

“Go ‘way Danny it’s Saturday. Let me sleep in.”

“North’s here.” He turns back over.

“What?”

“SI GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED OR WE’LL BE LATE!” He hears her call from presumably the front door.

“Late for what?” He pulls his pillow over his face as Danny laughs. 

“That’s entirely your problem.” He’s poked in the side, and he yelps, squirming away from the torture. “Anyway I’m off. I’ll bring you any cookies if we have leftovers by the end of the day.”

“Bye Danny.” Simon pulls the pillow off and smiles sleepily at his brother, who gives a wave as he departs.

“Simon! C’mon!” North appears in the doorway of his bedroom looking unimpressed.

“What are you doing here? It’s-” he fumbles for his phone, “fuck it’s 7am on a Saturday!”

“Yeah and class starts at 8am and we still gotta pass by Starbucks on the way!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Up!” She dives forward and yanks the quilt from the bed and he curls up immediately, shrieking in protest. “Up up!”

“North-”

“Just come with me Si, please? Just trust me on this one. I’ll even buy you lunch.” There’s a pause as he considers the offer.

“...Burgers at the Chicken Feed?” He peeks over at her as she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, yes, burgers at the Chicken Feed.”

“Deal.” 

 He’s not awake enough for this, and his eyes feel like burning coals in his head as he tries to keep them open. They stop at a Starbucks and North orders four coffees, not two, and carefully hands them to him. Keeping his hands on the little cardboard holder, he sets them on his lap and the warmth provides a little comfort on this bizarre mysterious trip. 

“Are we going to Josh’s? Is this to pep him up for his thesis, since he’s down with a cold?” He asks as North makes a turn, and he spares a glance at the coffees, making sure he’s holding onto them securely.

“Nah, his boyfriend’s coming by today to take care of him. Josh didn’t want you to come over in case you got sick and since you work with kiddies that’d be pretty shitty.” She explains, making another turn. They’re entering the back of some large building that sort of looks a bit familiar. “Okay cool, we’re pretty much on time for them to arrive.”

“Them-?”

“I’ll get the door for you, hang on.” She parks the car and hops out, rounding the vehicle so she can open his door and temporarily hold the coffees. 

“I still don’t know where you’ve taken me.”

“It’s not like you were going to do anything else this morning.”

“Excuse me, I was going to sleep in and then I was going to put the laundry on and curl up on the couch watching Netflix.” Simon huffs, accepting the coffees back. 

“Uh huh.” North rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, this’ll be pretty relaxing too.” 

It feels a lot like sneaking into somewhere they’re not meant to. Simon may be sleep deprived but he’s alert enough to realise they’re not meant to be here. They’re coming through some back door, through a long hallway and North is uncharacteristically quiet. There’s a hush in the atmosphere, tension and baited breath, and even in the elevator North says nothing. Anxiety coils in his chest as he trails her, scarcely daring to breathe before she looks over her shoulder and gives a triumphant grin.

“Okay, we’re here!” She opens a nondescript door and they’re in some beautiful open room with an entire wall of glass overlooking Detroit. One of the other walls is entirely covered in mirrors and there are a handful of people in various combinations of gym gear and tights and-

“Oh my god.” Simon feels his stomach drop and he doesn’t know whether to be angry or embarrassed. “We can’t be here!”

“We totally can, I do this every Saturday.” North grins, scanning the room before waving. “Babe!”

“North!” Chloe skips over to them, laughing when North picks her up and spins her around, a customary greeting Simon surmises. “Oh! And a wild Simon appears!”

“Not by choice.” He huffs, glaring at North before he holds out the tray of coffees. “I’m going to assume one of these is yours?”

“It’s the almond chai with honey, thank you.” She selects the cup and plucks it out, tipping up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Well, we still have about fifteen minutes before class begins. Which one is the soy latte with a triple shot and caramel?” 

“This one.” Simon taps. 

“Excellent.” Chloe nods, before turning. “Ronan? Coffee!”

He’s going to murder North. He tries to convey his murderous intent and his best friend smiles innocently back at him in response. 

“Coffee?” Ronan walks into view wearing a plain white shirt and a pair of robin's egg blue tights that hide absolutely nothing. 

“This is Simon.” Chloe introduces with a bright smile. “North’s bestie.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” He murmurs softly, shaking his hand. His hand is warm, his grip firm and Simon’s sure his cheeks are bright red. “Thank you for bringing us coffee, especially so early in the morning and on a weekend no less.”

“I-it’s nothing. Wasn’t really going to do much today anyway.” 

“Oh, Markus! Good morning!” Chloe calls out as the door opens, and yes, there he is, there’s Markus Manfred looking incredibly stylish like no one has the right to be this early in the morning.

“Hey everyone, hey Simon.” Markus grins, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “What are you doing here?”

“North dragged me here.” He glares over at her and North only grins back unrepentantly. “What are you doing here?” 

“I play the piano for morning class every Saturday.” He smiles one of his thousand kilowatt charming smiles and Simon still aches for him even though he knows the ache will never be soothed by Markus. 

“You two know each other?” Ronan asks curiously, looking between them. 

“Yeah, Simon’s one of my good friends.” Markus grins at him. “And so is North. I gotta go warm up and I bet you guys need to too. Take a seat by the piano, Simon. You and North can chill in that corner, I promise no one minds.”

He hopes he’s conveying enough Murder on his face when he looks at North as they curl up in the corner. North smooches his cheek with a wink and he sighs because he knows he’s not really mad, just incredibly shy and self-conscious. 

“These are ours.” She taps the remaining coffee cups. “Now sit and relax a little Si. Just enjoy it.”

Markus runs his fingers along the keys, up and down the scales before tapping out brief snippets of various songs. An older woman enters the room and the dancers greet her respectfully and then class begins. 

Simon’s still not sure he can quite comprehend how ballet is possible; it’s incredibly complex and beautiful and demands so much of the human body. He watches them go through familiar motions he’s sure they can repeat with their eyes closed, gradually increasing in difficulty until they’re leaping and bounding across the studio. The dancers shed some of their layers as the class progresses and their bodyheat rises from exertion, and Simon’s not beyond admitting (to himself, at least) that he’s enjoying this display of bodies in peak physical form in incredibly tight fitting clothing.

He’s inevitably drawn to the way Ronan moves, to the way he’s so confident and sure of every step, every sweeping gesture in time to the jaunty sprightly tunes Markus plays. He does as he’s bid, following every instruction called out by their teacher with the intensity of a soldier obeying orders. It’s a mesmerising display of elegance and power that reminds Simon of how his twice a week yoga classes really don’t hold a candle to the strict regimen these dancers must adhere to in order to keep their bodies in their prime. The hour passes and only as they’re saying goodbyes does Simon realise he hasn’t even looked at Markus once.

 “So what did North want?” Danny slumps on the opposite end of the couch, making a show of flopping his legs over Simon’s.

“Hm?” He looks up from the Royal Ballet instagram account, distracted.

“North. This morning at 7am when she stormed into our house.”

“Oh she uh, dragged me off to the ballet studio to deliver coffee to her girlfriend and watch her morning class.” Simon quickly exits the app and wriggles into a more comfortable position.

“Why would she need you to do that?” Danny frowns. 

“To get me out of the house so I wouldn’t just stay inside and watch Netflix and do laundry.” Simon laughs, completely avoiding mentioning Ronan at all. “It’s ok she bribed me with Chicken Feed burgers for lunch, and paid for the Starbucks.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to thank her for single-handedly dragging you kicking and screaming into having a social life.” His twin teases with a grin, and Simon kicks him with an exasperated groan. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a cute boy there.”

 He meets said cute boy again, completely by accident the very next day. Actually, what happens is he sees a very large Saint Bernard dog waiting patiently beside a tall pair of legs in the queue at Starbucks, before he realises who the tall pair of legs are connected to.

“Heeeey, who’s a good doggo hm?” Simon chuckles as the dog sniffs his hand and pushes its very large head against it, obviously expecting pats. 

“Sumo would hope it’s him.” Says a deep, accented voice that’s become rather familiar to him recently.

“Oh, Ronan h-hi.” Simon freezes, eyes wide when he looks up to see Ronan’s handsome face wearing an amused smile. 

“Good morning Simon.” 

“How was class?”

“Class was fine.” They shuffle towards the counter, and Simon tries not to stare at the sharp figure Ronan cuts in a long navy woolen coat and fancy plaid scarf. “I have a performance tonight so I’m resting for now, but I thought I’d take Sumo for his morning walk.”

“He’s very cute.” He can’t help but pat the dog again, the Saint Bernard giving a happy booming chuff in approval. “Your dad’s dog?”

“Yes, he’s getting up there in years but Connor and I still love him to pieces.” There’s a wistful expression on his face, his smile fond. “Both he and our dad work at the DPD, so Sumo stays home a lot. We try and make sure he goes for long walks in the mornings and evenings to make up for it.”

“Chloe said you moved back to Detroit recently?” 

“Yes, about six months ago. I went straight into rehearsals for the season after only two weeks. Mr Kamski was keen to have me start.” The person ahead of them finishes paying and heads to the end of the counter. “Venti soy latte with a triple shot and caramel and a grande soy hazelnut latte please.”

“Oh, are you meeting someone?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“No it’s for you. I read the other coffee cup yesterday, I know North’s usual, and I didn’t recognise the other one so it must’ve been yours.” Ronan’s smile is a little hesitant and Simon hopes his absolutely red cheeks signify he doesn’t mind one bit. “Now we’re even.”

“Excellent work, detective.” Simon tries to quip as Ronan taps his phone to pay for both coffees.

“My brother’s the detective, not me.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Though I suppose I won’t deny being called observant.”

“Well you’re used to noticing minute body cues.” Simon points out as they wait for their coffees. “Your partner depends on it. The way Chloe just...throws herself in your general direction without hesitating, and knows that you’ll catch her. It means she trusts in your abilities, in your partnership.”

Ronan looks at him eyes wide and lips slightly parted, and Simon feels stupid stupid stupid until he notices the faint rosiness to his cheeks, and the way Ronan averts his gaze after a moment too long. His heart skips a beat, his heart does that stupid thing where it throws itself in the general direction of a pointless crush without hesitating, without knowing if the other person will catch it. It does this every time, every single time, and sets Simon up for nothing but heartache later. 

“That’s very kind of you to say, Simon. I’m glad that comes across when I dance.” Ronan says quietly, almost murmuring it into his scarf as if too shy to say it any louder. Simon knows this will go nowhere, just like his love for Markus but he’s always been unable to control his heart’s desires. 

“I mean, I know nothing about ballet but I think that just lets me have a different perspective.” Simon rambles because he doesn’t know how to control any part of himself, apparently. “Critics know all the terminology, all the moves, all the stories of the ballets so they’d pick it all apart but since I know nothing I get to just enjoy it. Be in awe of the fact you’re human like me but somehow you can make your body do those things; dance like you can almost fly.”

“Simon, I-”

“Order for Ronan?” The barista calls out, and Simon is blessedly grateful for the interruption, looking at Sumo instead because he suddenly can’t face looking into those startling grey eyes a second longer. 

“Here, Simon.” The large cup is held out to him, and Simon can’t help but let their fingers brush when he takes it because if he’s going to get his heart broken all over again the least he can do is indulge in the illusion of happiness for a little while.

“Thank you.”

“Would you- would you like to come along for a walk?” Ronan stammers hesitatingly and he’s ever so endeared. “I usually take Sumo for two laps around the park and then head home.”

“I’d really like that, if you wouldn’t mind the company?”

“I would like your company very much.” 

The park is starting to turn into hues of sepia as Detroit eases into Autumn, and it’s Simon’s favourite season. It means cosy sweater weather and staying inside. Sumo trots happily ahead and Simon sips on his coffee and darts Ronan glances every now and then.

“I um, I wanted to ask you why your surname is Stern?” He catches his gaze briefly before focusing on Sumo again. “You said your brother Connor is a detective, and I realised North’s friend is Detective Connor Anderson at central station.”

“Oh I-” a thoughtful frown. “We’re both adopted. We were in the system for a while, and Lieutenant Hank Anderson fostered us. I got into ballet through the Abraham Kamski arts outreach program. Before the adoption process was complete, I was accepted by the Royal Ballet on scholarship when I was nine.”

Simon tries to imagine what that would’ve been like, to have one’s whole world change at the age of nine. 

“Professor Amanda Stern became my legal guardian, so I became a Stern too.” Ronan explains, brows furrowed. “She wasn’t a mother figure. I felt like a student constantly under her tutelage, but she was never unkind. Just...intense. She believed in discipline and order and structure and pushed me to do my best. She taught- still teaches, advanced robotics in London though she came from Detroit too. She once taught Elijah Kamski, our current director and son of Abraham Kamski. That’s how it all came full circle- me moving from Detroit to London under her care and then back under now under Mr Kamski’s.”

“You spent all those years by yourself in London, without seeing your brother?” Simon tries to imagine what that would’ve been like too, but the pain is too great. “I have a twin brother, Daniel. He’s only older by a few minutes but the way he acts you’d swear we were years apart. He’s so over protective of me but I guess that’s because we’ve only had each other for so long.”

Ronan raises his brows curiously, and Simon tries to keep his emotions reigned in.

“We had a pretty ordinary if conservative upbringing in the suburbs but um, we got disowned when we were outed- well, I was outed by a classmate. Danny outed himself too, the moment our parents started yelling at me and we were out on the streets at seventeen. I don’t know if I could’ve spent so many years away from him, the way you were apart from Connor. I think I would’ve fallen to pieces.”

Ronan is quiet for a moment, before he reaches out and gently squeezes his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m sorry you had to grow up without Connor. And he grew up without you.”

“I had ballet and he had the police academy. We stayed connected via social media, it wasn’t too bad. When we were old enough we could fly to visit each other during breaks, if we managed to have enough money saved.” Ronan sighs, shaking his head. “You’re right though, some nights I would feel so lonely I thought I was falling to pieces.”

“Is that why you came back? Why you gave up such a prestigious position at the Royal Ballet?” Simon pries a little, hoping he’s not being presumptuous.

“Yes.” He answers with barely any pause for thought. “I wanted to be where Connor was, and that’s here in Detroit.”

“I imagine that decision didn’t make many people happy.” Simon winces as Ronan sighs heavily.

“No, but it was the right one. I don’t regret coming back to Detroit. I don’t regret giving all that up to be with my brother again. Well. Sort of. I don’t live with them since there’s no room and I have a housemate I’d rather kill but he has cats that like me and I like them more than I like him so I guess he gets to live for now.”

He says it so seriously, face deadpan, that Simon laughs loudly, startling Sumo. When he manages to recover, Ronan is smiling and Simon finds himself smiling too.

 The working week passes in a blur and all Simon can do is stalk Ronan on social media and soak up what the internet has to offer and try his very best not to be so outwardly in love though it fails because Danny always knows how to read him.

“It’s the cute boy at the ballet, huh?” His twin grins, kicking his shin under the dinner table. Simon winces, kicking him back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh okay, so I guess the ticket North dropped off for the finale performance of Onegin was meant for me?” Danny pulls out an envelope with a dramatic flourish and Simon lunges over the table to try and grab it. 

“Give me that!”

“No, it’s not meant for you, you have no idea what I’m talking about!” Danny laughs, holding it out of reach. Simon whines in frustration, trying to reach for it in vain.

“Dannnnyyyy!”

“What’s his name?”

“Danny give it!”

“Not until you tell me who it is!”

“It’s Ronan.” He slumps in his seat, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh the hotshot from London?” Danny laughs, tossing the envelope over to him. “Yeah alright he’s pretty cute I guess. What? I looked through the program you left on the kitchen counter. He sounds way more impressive than Markus.”

“Markus is plenty impressive.” Simon mutters, snatching the envelope. 

“North told me he has a Louis Vuitton pencil case for his charcoal sticks.” Danny cocks a brow. “His charcoal sticks , Simon. Anyway, full international scholarship at nine years old? Youngest dancer to be promoted to principal dancer? That’s way more impressive.”

When he looks at his brother, there’s something more than fond teasing to be found in his expression, so Simon opens up a little.

“Y-you think so? This isn’t...stupid, is it?” 

“It’s not stupid, Si. I mean, your heart can be plenty stupid but that’s how you are.” The teasing is gone, replaced entirely by infinite kindness. “You love so openly, so intensely. I’m here because of that. You’re friends with North and Josh and yeah, even Markus because of that. You look after kids all day and you love your job and you love them and that’s why you’re so good at it. That’s why you’re such a good person.”

The tears fill his eyes and he feels stupid, but loved too and Danny’s wobbly smile tells him his brother feels the same. “That’s why you deserve to date an accomplished hotshot from London in incredibly tight tights.”

“Danny!”

 It’s Friday and he’s coming up the steps, 6:19pm sharp and there’s North in an oxblood leather jacket over a jumpsuit and her usual combat boots. 

“Hey loser.” She greets with a grin, leaning to kiss his cheek. 

“Hey yourself.” He elbows her lightly before crooking his arm as she hugs it. She’s leading him down a corridor and he knows the way now. When Chloe slips out from her dressing room and into North’s arms, Simon sidesteps them politely and heads for the room down the hall, knocking on the door.

“Simon.” Ronan blinks in surprise, and he’s Eugene Onegin again, sculpted cheekbones and artfully swept hair. “Hello.”

“Hi.” His heart’s pounding, thudding so loud it might as well be the beat for them to dance to. “Good luck.” Tangling their fingers together, he tips up slightly on his toes and presses his lips to his and there’s a moment of surprise before Ronan circles an arm around his waist and pulls him in so they’re pressed together. They part for but a second before Ronan kisses him, and he kisses the way he dances; commanding and intense and powerful- the kiss of a leading man that sweeps his costar off their feet. It leaves Simon panting and dizzy and starstruck, and he knows he’s never been kissed like that all his life. Ronan seems a little self-conscious, a little embarrassed as if afraid he’s overstepped and Simon huffs a laugh, wrapping his arms around him.

“I’ll see you after the show.” He cups a palm against his cheek, pulling him to lean down and bump their brows together. 

“And many more times after that, I hope?” 

“Yes.” He laughs brightly, stealing another kiss. “And many more times after that.”