#that was happening on a brand new book. and by god the cloth was thin too. it was like . twelve little stupid strings just hanging there

[july-19th-club]

went down to get some norbond (repair glue) at work today and on my coworker in Young Adult's cataloging cart there was. a young adult novel by cs pacat. already falling apart at the spine of course because the state of bookbinding today is abysmal and is the reason i go through ezbind So Fast just trying to preemptively reinforce every single thing that comes across my desk but ANYWAY. like. i have got to find out how mellowed down this novel is compared to her usual fare. like. some YA novels contain some racy bits for sure but i dont think the general pacat content could possibly be distilled into teen-friendly material and retain literally any of its x-ratedness. like. almost interested in finding out what a non-horny book by this woman would be like but also im sure i wouldnt enjoy it as much. like that would just be. a book. which is fine and i'm sure it's not bad! but i dont read pacat to read a book. i read her to read A...Book.....

[flower-cage]

Laced

Tom Holland x Reader | smut (18+ only below the cut)

Summary: Entry for @worldoftom ’s writing challenge #lolbrosgetsicktoo. Based on the following prompt:

» NSFW! Tom has some tummy issues and misses y/n's bday party. He is feeling really sad about it, so after the party is over he video chats with her. She asks him if he'd like to see all the presents she got for her bday. He says yes. Turns out she also got some sexy lingerie. Cheeky Tom, now feeling a bit better, asks her if she can put them on for him to watch. And she does. note: it can be either sexy video chat time or 'i'll be over at yours in a bit, don't take that off’

Words: 1.3k.

Warnings: very explicit sexual language, heavy dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation.

“Hi, handsome,” you purred sweetly at your phone.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Tom smiled sleepily at you. His hair was sticking out in every direction and his naked chest had crease marks from having stayed in bed all day. You smiled softly when you thought about how cozy he looked right now. You had just finished tidying up downstairs. After winding down from the party, doing your skincare, and putting on your softest satin robe, your entire body tingled with the urge to cuddle right up against your warm boyfriend. You cuddled your pillow tighter instead.

“How are you feeling now?” You asked him sympathetically.

Tom had come down with a stomach bug not twelve hours before your birthday party, unfortunately. It had started as body ache and fatigue but quickly developed into violent vomiting. You had stopped at his place earlier in the afternoon to drop off medicine, mint tea, and some light, homemade soup. Unfortunately, though, he hadn’t recovered by the time your party started. You could tell he looked well, however, not as pale and tired as he had looked before.

“So much better, love,” he said. “The tea you brought me really soothed my stomach and I was able to sleep and eat this afternoon.”

“That’s great, baby! I’m really glad you’re feeling better.”

“I missed you today, love,” Tom pouted, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, “These things happen. Do you want to see the presents I got?”

“Yes!” He cheered. “Let’s see them.”

Excitedly, you gathered all boxes and bags and packages that your friends and family had brought to you and proceeded to show Tom your gifts. You pulled out gift cards, jewelry, clothes, and books. Tom smiled with love in his eyes as he watched you talk about your gifts and how much fun you had with your loved ones.

“Oh,” you exclaimed suddenly, “and Olivia got me some beautiful lingerie from the place she works at!” You waved the baby pink lace around in front of the camera and Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait!” He sat up against the headboard and licked his lips quickly. “Let me see it.”

You chuckled and set the pieces down on the bed. You sat up as well and positioned your phone on your nightstand so you could show off the pretty fabric with both hands. You picked first the bralette, holding it up with each of your pointer fingers hooked under each of the straps so Tom could see its shape perfectly. The lace was incredibly delicate and thin. Tom’s breathing picked up and his mouth watered at the thought of you wearing it. He thought about how your nipples would be visible right through the material. He thought about your hard nubs poking out in arousal. He thought about running his tongue over them, over the lace, sucking and wetting your brand new lingerie as you thrashed in pleasure under his mouth. And then you set the bra down and picked up the lacy thong the same way and Tom had to grope himself to relieve some pressure. His lips parted in awe. His eyes were dark and you chuckled at his aroused state.

“Holy shit, that’s tiny,” Tom breathed out gruffly. The lace on the panties matched the bralette’s and it was held together by the thinnest spaghetti straps he had ever seen. He was dying to see them stretched out over your hips. He squeezed his erection in his boxers once and groaned.

“You okay, baby?” You chuckled.

“No,” he groaned again. “Put that on for me, darling? Please?”

“Ooh,” you singsonged, “You want me to put on a little show?” You picked up the lingerie again and pulled off the tags. “But I thought I was the birthday girl?”

Smiling devilishly you sneaked a hand under your robe and pulled your underwear off, only to slowly slip the dainty thong up your smooth legs. You teased him, pulling the lace slowly and hiding it under your silky robe. You turned around then, sat on your knees with your back to him, and let the robe slide down your arms to pool around your waist. You let him watch your naked back as you put on the bra. Even though he was completely silent, you knew he was attentively watching your every move.

You turned your head to the side to glance at him over your shoulder and felt arousal shoot down your core at once. Tom had repositioned his phone to stand farther away but in between his legs. You could see him propped against the headboard, his naked chest rising and falling as he breathed raggedly, his abs clenching, and an impressive tent as his erection poked hard against the material of his boxers.

“Baby,” you purred seductively, “is that for me?” He groaned in response and grabbed and squeezed himself over his boxers.

“You know it is, darling,” he replied gruffly. In a quick movement, he removed his underwear completely, showing off his thick erection. It was your turn to drool. You wanted nothing more than to fall mouth-first right on his dripping cock. You watched hungrily as he took himself in hand and started to stroke slowly, lightly. “Turn around for me, love.”

You did turn around and untangled your robe to finally show him all that you had to offer. You ran your hands up and down your thighs, stroked the skin on your hips right underneath the straps of your thong, and up your torso until you cupped your breasts. Tom cursed and started stroking himself harder as you massaged your own breasts, getting more and more turned on. You pinched your nipples and moaned. He cursed again.

“Pull your tits out, darling,” he groaned, “let me see.” And you did it. You pulled the lacy cups down and continued to tease yourself. “Good girl,” Tom moaned, “so good- ah.”

His praise and the wet noises of the frantic movements of his hands were driving you insane. Your whole body was burning in arousal and you couldn’t help but slide a hand down your body and into your panties.

“Yeah, darling,” he murmured, “play with your wet little clit for me.” His hand was flying over his erection now. He was incredibly wet too and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. “You love watching this cock get wet for you don’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, your own hand working fast on your pussy.

“I know you do, darling. You love sitting on it too. Always want to sit on it, every chance you get.”

“Fuck, Tommy!” You cried. “I want it so bad.”

“God,” he groaned, “I’m not gonna last. Get on all fours for me, darling. I want to see your ass swallow that tiny piece of lace you’ve got on.”

You turned around like he requested. Then, you arched your back, spread your knees apart, and slid down onto the bed slowly so he could see the thong slide up between your pussy lips. You heard his moans get louder and the pleasure it elicited in you had you grinding your throbbing core on the sheets.

“Holy, shit,” he panted, “you’re unreal, love. I’m gonna come- ah, fuck - and then I’m gonna drive over there and absolutely rail that hungry pussy.”

And then he came on a loud moan and you turned your head to see him shoot up and onto his own hand. You watched attentively as his cock spurted white all over his abs. You were about to express how badly you wanted to lick him clean when he sprung from bed in earnest and grabbed his phone.

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep my pussy wet for me, love.”

[iyumeu]

Pillow Fort Movie Time! - with the Brothers

After begging, pleading, wheedling, and scoring As for all your tests, Lucifer had finally given in and allowed you to use the House of Lamentation's common area one (1) time to do whatever you wanted.

And you wanted to build a pillow fort.

However! You were not content with just a pillow fort. No. You wanted a Cinema Pillow Fort: large, extravagant, and with a television you could watch a movie on.

And so you went to Mammon, knowing that he had a large flat-screen television hoarded somewhere within his room that he wasn't using at all.

⭒☆━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When you asked Mammon for the television, he was somewhat reluctant to part with it at first. After all, it had cost him a pretty penny and it was fragile!

> However, after telling him what you wanted to do with it and inviting him along (because he would be part of your pillow fort movie party. C'mon. He never leaves you alone and it'll be better to invite him rather than have him try to squeeze his way in. Inviting him would make him feel wanted and you definitely wanted him there!), he had blushed and said that it wasn't that he wanted to help you, but you had asked and he just so happened to be free so he would help you set up both the television and the fort! But he wasn't being nice! He was just... making sure that your pillow fort didn't suck! Because he'd be in there too! (Because he was your first! Your man!) And he didn't want to be in a pillow fort that sucked!

> Mammon had no idea what a pillow fort was. But he wasn't going to tell you that.

> He plugged up the television and hung up the canopy of the pillow fort, layering the blankets and cloth (and why had Mammon been hoarding so much good cloth?) and attaching them to the part of the ceiling where Lucifer usually strung him from so they were nice and secure.

> Your excitement and joy was rubbing off of him and he found himself looking forward to seeing the end result of the pillow fort the two of you were building together.

> Meanwhile you placed some futons and thin mattresses — whatever you had lying around, really — on the ground before covering them up with a few layers of plush and fluffy blankets for the base of the pillow fort.

This was when Belphegor trailed down the stairs, sleepily rubbing at his eye with one hand and holding his pillow in the other, pausing in his step when he saw caught sight of the utter mess you and Mammon had turned the common area to.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ʕ -ᴥ-ʔ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> Belphegor's first thought was honestly to just leave you guys be. It looked like more trouble than it was worth and he couldn't really muster up the energy for it.

> But then you smiled at Mammon so openly and so sweetly, thanking him for his help, that Belphegor suddenly sound himself standing next to you, arms around you and his chin resting on your head.

> "MC... what are you doing?" he asked, ignoring Mammon's demands for him to keep his hands to himself.

> "I'm building a pillow fort!"

> Despite having a demon hanging off of you, you move with a practiced ease as you shifted the futons and mattresses around to ensure that there were neither bumps nor gaps in your base.

> With a similarly practiced ease, Belphie nuzzled his face into the crook of your shoulder.

> "What's a pillow fort?"

> You briefly explain to Belphie what a pillow fort was (pretending to ignore how Mammon listened in on the conversation as well): a construction made out of blankets, pillows, and other soft material resembling a sort of den or nest. It was supposedly very comfortable and cozy.

> This piqued Belphegor's interest. He asks if he can help. He wants to be praised too, like how you praised Mammon.

> You tell him to bring all the pillows he's willing to part with. This was something he could do. He had a lot of pillows, after all, and he would ask Beel to help him drag them all down.

> While Belphegor went to retrieve his pillows, you already had a few beanbags chairs that you bought specifically for this day that you placed around the fort. You piled your pillows together with them to create a few sizeable and steady piles to either lean back or bury yourself in.

Eventually, Beelzebub came down the stairs along with Belphegor, arms pull of pillows and cushions.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ᙙᙖ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> After setting down the pillows and watching Belphegor lie face first into a pile and fall asleep, Beelzebub's attention was immediately drawn to the pile of snacks you had set aside for your movie night.

> First, there were the snacks you had specifically imported from the human realm. Popcorn with various flavors, marshmallows, potato chips, ice cream... you even got yourself two buckets of cotton candy!

> Apart from those, you had spent the day cooking large servings of mac n' cheese, mashed potatoes, and warm soup (in a thermos!). You had also baked cookies and although half of them "mysteriously" disappeared when you were cooling them, you still had quite a sizeable serving left.

> Why did you have so much food? Because you planned ahead of course! From the very beginning, you knew that even though pillow fort movie night was something you planned for yourself, your wonderful, beloved, amazing, clingy demonic housemates would somehow become a part of it.

> The only thing you weren't sure was the number of demons joining you.

> It didn't matter though, considering Beelzebub was here.

> You had to stand between Beelzebub and the food, sternly holding your ground and talking him down. It was an extremely difficult endeavor, considering the lethality of Beelzebub's puppy eyes, but you pulled through. Just barely.

> You lied. You gave Beel the mashed potatoes.

> When you noticed that Beelzebub was still eyeing the rest of your food, you firmly told him that the food was saved for your movie night and that if he wanted to eat it, he had to wait until then.

> "When will movie night start?" he asked.

> "When the pillow fort is set up," you replied.

> +1 helper, get!

> He helped with most of the heavy lifting, bringing the high-backed dining chairs to act as boundary wall for the fort, tying the blankets to them.

> Your pillow fort was taking shape!

> However, it seemed a little too dark. You had completely forgotten to order the fairy lights you planned to use as mood lighting. Thankfully, you know someone who definitely had what you were looking for.

⭒☆━━━━━━━₍ᐢ ̥ ̞ ̥ᐢ₎ ♥━━━━━━━☆⭒

When you knocked on Asmodeus' door to get some of his charmed candles (spelled to keep the flame to themselves! no more burns! no more accidental fires! no more fire hazards! get yours from akuzon now, for only—), he demanded to know what it was for.

> "Is it for a date? A candlelit dinner, maybe?" Asmodeus sidled up next to you, wrapping his arms around one of yours and snuggling close. "Or perhaps to set a romantic, sensual mood for certain... activities?"

> Was it just you or was Asmodeus' grip getting tighter?

> "Since when did you get a paramour anyway," he pouted. "I thought we were friends? Close friends, even! We're supposed to tell each other our secrets!"

> "It's for my pillow fort," you answered. "I'm making one downstairs with Mammon, Belphie, and Beel. You're welcome to join if you want to."

> "I'd love to join!" Asmodeus let go of your arm to grab his candles. "Scented or non-scented?"

> "Non-scented please, we'll be eating snacks while we watch the movie."

> Asmodeus gasped. "A movie? We're going to have a movie date? Ooh, I want to sit next to you! Can I?"

> "Uhhh, I don't mind, but the others might—"

> "It's settled!"

> Asmodeus looked so happy that you decided that you had to make space for him by your side, even if you were faced with ten thousand puppy eyes.

Just then, you saw that Leviathan's door was open and he was looking at the both of you with a pinched expression on his face.

⭒☆━━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When he realized that you were looking at him, he panicked.

> "MC!!" he blurted out. "I wasn't eavesdropping!"

> His face was flushed red but you noticed that his gaze was still enviously fixed onto you and Asmodeus.

> "Do you want to join us in the pillow fort as well?" you offered. Levi's face turned redder and his grip on the door tightened. Ahh Levi, you're warping the wood.

> "I don't need to join in on your normie activities!" he spat out and then immediately regretted it. "I mean, I don't need to, but I don't mind it! Since you've asked, I suppose I can join in on your movie night and pillow fort!"

> "You don't have to if you don't want to," you said. Half of you was trying to be nice. The other half just wanted to see Levi flustered. You couldn't help yourself. A flustered Levi was a cute Levi!

> Levi mumbled something under his breath. You blinked and leaned in closer.

> "What did you say?"

> "I said I want to!"

> You grinned at him and discovered a brand new shade of red.

> You reached out to link your arms with Asmodeus and Levi.

> "C'mon, let's get back down. The pillow fort should almost be done by now!"

> "Oh right MC," Asmodeus suddenly said. "I've been meaning to ask; what exactly is a pillow fort?"

> "..."

When you were done explaining to Asmodeus and Levi the intricacies of building the Ideal Pillow Fort, you saw Satan standing in the common area, looking curiously at the fort.

⭒☆━━━━━━━(=🝦 ༝ 🝦=)━━━━━━━☆⭒

> You swear, if you had to explain what a pillow fort was one more time—

> "Hello MC, is this... a blanket fort?" Satan asked.

> Oh thank god.

> Or the devil?

> Religion is hard when you're in hell.

> "Yes! I call it a pillow fort but blanket fort is one of its names as well."

> "I see."

> Satan had come across blanket forts — or pillow forts, as MC called them — before in some of the human romance novels he's read. Usually they were used during terribly intimate moments between the romantic leads, or between two very close friends.

> Huddling together and trading hushed whispers, intertwined fingers and shoulders brushing against each other, a small part of Satan has always wanted to try it out with someone.

> Try it out with you, you, it could only be you.

> But he hadn't known how to make a blanket fort and if he were every to do something like that with you, he would want it to be perfect.

> He couldn't find any books on the subject of making blanket forts either so he eventually gave up on his fantasy.

> But now, here it was. The blanket fort.

> It was a little bigger than how he imagined it to be, but it was fine.

> There were also more people compared to how things were in his fantasy but that was also fine.

> He took careful notes in his head. Next time, he would be able to replicate a blanket fort and hopefully you would be willing to share it with him.

> "Would you like to join in?" you asked because Satan was really eyeing the pillow fort with a strange intensity.

> "If you don't mind," Satan replied with a smile.

It was just then that Lucifer came home.

⭒☆━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━☆⭒

> "When you said that you wanted free reign over the common area, this was not what I had in mind," Lucifer commented.

> "Haha," you said. And because you already had like six out of seven of the brothers agreeing to join you in your fort, you decided to test your chances with Lucifer. After all, it would suck for him to feel left out. "We're all gonna watch a movie together, would you like to watch with us?"

> There was a long pause as Lucifer looked at you, at the pillow fort, at his brothers, and then at his suitcase.

> Just as you were sure that Lucifer was going to turn down your invitation, he sighed and gave you a small smile.

> Tiny, miniscule, microscopic softening of the eyes, but you knew him well enough to tell that it was a smile.

⭒☆━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━☆⭒

> It took a while but eventually you all got yourself settled into the pillow fort. It wasn't a very tight fit, but it certainly was cozy with your clingy demon housemates squeezed tight all around you.

> Each of them had to have a part of their body touching yours, like you were their life source and it brought back memories to the time you went to the beach and, in the hotel, they all formed a circle around you to sleep like some sort of deranged ritual.

> Still, they wouldn't be your beloved demon housemates without all their oddities and quirks and you love them all dearly for it.

> It also helps that not all of them ran hot; some of them actually ran cold so you didn't have to worry about getting overheated anytime soon.

> Anyway, you were comfortable and once you made sure everyone else was too, you loaded your movie and hit play.

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die—"

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[crybabytoy59]

The ultimate backwards way forward….

1. The day had finally come all the hours, days, weeks, months and years even.....That had lead to this one intrepid moment. Tonight He (Mark) stood before Her “Chrissy”....Shaking whilst doing as instructed, he was to put his Big clothes into the black bags in front her. She would decide what if any we’re to be kept. All things related to his Big life went in…

 Next She sat him down in only a cartoon disposable & a onesie ! He sat & listened as she reinforced her Will as the midnight deadline approached !... 

 She spoke very gently, a deep love of genuinely wishing to take him to his “little place”,  Yes his Big had pushed back and fought at times but this was IT her words would be final !  No turning back whatsoever no wriggling out. A new life lay ahead as Chrissy delicately spoke….

2. “Now sweet-pea  all your big things are away and in fifteenth minutes you will be My Bunny, my BabyBoy & I your Mommy I will treat you as a baby always & this you will come to accept through Mommy’s intense retraining of you to become that infant baby again we will take you back mentally & physically to a small child, Mommy’s cute toddler In nappies 24/7 ….

This will not be easy at first but please trust Mommy, she is going to help you mentally to be the baby that hangs on to every one of Mommy’s kind nurturing words….. So Bunny are you ready hmmm, Are you ready my darling baby boy? 

3. Mark took a huge breath but still the words came out at a tremor…..“Yyes am rready Mommy, I realise my fears will at times test you for that I am truly sorry… but I do wish for this deep inside, so any fears I have, I gladly hand them to your care & compassion, to regress and nurture me into who & what we Both wish for…So yes Mommy your “Baby boy” wants this with all his heart.... Mommy hugged him tightly, anticipating the clock in the nursery awaiting for it to strike Midnight !! ...

4. The nursery was a work of art they had both built together a room where Baby Mark was dwarfed by the furniture within the nursery ! .......As the big hand met the little hand of midnight…Mommy began to speak almost in a whisper…“Baby? give Mommy her “Gift” of your submission.”

5. She smiled warmly watching the mirror as her baby began wetting the cartoon disposable, she could see it changing colour through the soft white plastic pants, she stroked his hair soothingly as the nappy began to swell outwards…“Clever Baby All done Sweet-pea?” (he nodded into her soft shoulder welling up slightly in the knowledge that this was his “Gift”, his submission to her, the first act of remaining in nappies 24/7 at Mommy’s will)

The very smell of her soft flesh had always made him feel a Deep want of regression ! But tonight she smelt Devine. Chrissy had taken a shower before this chat, washing her hair with Johnston’s Baby shampoo,  she then oiled  her whole body with baby oil! Knowing the effect it would have on Mark, pushing him over the sensory edge....After all the Hot pulsing between her legs drove her want of complete control over him! …“Clever Boy let’s get you changed & down for the night in your onesie and blue booties, then I'll read you a nice little story”….

6. As he waddled slowly forward, suddenly Mommy barked “And what do you think you are doing Mr? ” ...He was puzzled by this remark & Mommy’s new stern tone? Mommy simply smiled saying “Are you a big toddler yet Crinkle Butt? No, you are not ! All fours baby... Now! As what did Mommy say to you about obedience? (He got down on all fours, as she wished, knowing soon he would have the blue crawling booties on with the nasty studs that made walking near impossible anyway! ) 

That and the ankle cuffs with the tiny locks would make removing them a futile task!)… As he crawled Mommy patted baby’s botty “Much better see you can be a clever Bunny for Mommy! ” Baby jolted forwards as Mommy spanked him full force ! “Pardon Baby? ”...  Yethss mommy ! ...

 “Much better think we just earned our first “redstar” baby Yes?” …. “Wess mommy sworry…” “Clever Baby you can put it on the naughty behaviour chart after Mommy changes that soggy bott bott of your’s ehy? Up on the changing table then Mr, let’s get that wet  nappy off & your special night time dipee on!”

7. As baby got up on the table he could feel the soggy thin cartoon nappy sagging! ... Complete humiliation overcoming him at his new lot in life, a true baby boy status started to hit home. God how he loved this girl so much, knowing he would now no longer be able to touch her in a Big way he felt that new part of the Humiliation was ever looming and yet to come pressing closer. Mommy was very clever, astute and thorough, she would have a lot in store for her new charge.…Mommy tugged the plastic pants down “Someone has a soggy bumbum! look at this wet nappy Mr! (He couldn’t miss it in full view from the mirrored ceiling over the changing station ! This had been Chrissy’s idea as she loved the Humiliation element that it brought! )…“Aaawww don’t fret your going to be doing this all the time now Crinkle Butt!...As Mommy is going to make sure you become such a dribbling dependant little boy”….she chuckled lightly...There seemed to be a glint in her eyes too. 

8. The clean up was very intense & had baby stirring underneath her! She reapplied the thick white cream paying just enough attention to all the right spots then she delicately but quickly slid the night time pluggie in. This was Very large & could be adjusted to vibrate with a very intense level if was required… baby gasped as Mommy pushed it all the way home! As Baby moved she chuckled lightly and playfully spanked the huge night time nappy to a dull thud once she was done! “Mommy's little drum.” she cooed. “ All that padding is going to make sure you will stay safe till morning Sweet-pea… “Now come to Mommy”. He instinctively crawled towards her open lap, she guided him to rest his head in her arms and his back against her leg. 

Mommy stretched across to her right side, reaching for the giant glass night time bottle, full with the formula she had earlier prepared.

10. “Take hold with your mittens Sweet-pea, Mommy wants to see how you do, if its to heavy then I will hold it too” She now began to playfully stroke and tease his nipples as he held the bottle unsteadily! The gurgling was instant behind the milky teat as baby had developed very sensitive little nipples, just as she had designed! Straining in his bulky nappy wiggling gently on the spot between her, the whimpering and soft moans started up as the bottle continued to empty. When baby finished the last drops of formula she began to rub and stroke his back, gently massaging him encouraging those little burpies out... Baby squealed as he nearly had an accident at the same! “Ok Sweet-Pea off to Beddie Byes.” She gently held and led his shaking hand.  “But first please put the star up on Your chart!” Baby took a red star off the pad & put it onto the first square of naughty chart… (The red stars were for a Sunday evening’s end of week  “punishment time” If he had gold stars that would bring a reward) But red !...............Mommy patted the mattress on the double bed sized Cot. “Ok Bunny Boy hop up into your cot now.” He would sleep with Mommy Bear at ni nights time (but unbeknown to Baby, he'd be napping in the day time as well, part of her new routine she had in store for him)! She patted again “Position Baby !”…or do you want a second Red star “!...She chuckled as He scrambled into the cot positioning himself for Mommy!

11. Mommy lifted up the little blue booties to his new horizon line. She took the first swiftly and deftly to his toesies slipping it on his right foot, click the ankle cuffs latched shut. Next was the left, it too had the same bemusing locking system, designed so the Baby (him) could not free himself from the deceivingly cute little slippers. He'd never seen how the locks worked. Click... She smiled at him gently, knowing that the spiked shoes would limit his ability to now stand unaided and maximise her ability to retrain him to a more appropriate babyish crawl. Yes they would make life much easier outdoors too...  “Clever Boy,  almost done, then we can have that chat and Mommy will read you your bed time story after… ok baby?” ( “Wess Mommy” ) Clever boy Mommy does so love those manners Sweet-Pea well done!”

12. Now a little afraid realising he was properly in Mommy’s world. Things would continue to happen now that he would have no control over.  Next Mommy lifted his brand new dummy, he had not seen this one before! It must have been a recent purchase, this one was an extra large sized red yellow and blue primary coloured affair. She knew it had been designed specifically to help him dribble (just a little) and make his big boy words very difficult !! 

Putting it into his mouth she moved to his ear and whispered softly “Mommy wants you to nurse on this dum dum sweetie, I won't fasten it into place just yet unless you show me that you can't be trusted, OK?” It was a rhetorically phrased question that didn't need an answer, but there was that same look in her eyes.

13. “Now Sweet-pea first we'll have our wee chat then Mommy will read you a nice story before ni-nights. Your going to need lots of sleep Bunny Boy as Mommy has lots of adventures in store for you tomorrow ! … Now listen very closely as I will say this only once….Mommy is going to have you fast for five days ....This is to strengthen baby’s immune system and also induce a bit of a body reset, then on day six we will start your new baby food regime… This will be all fruit and vegetables as Mommy is going to have a very health baby… So then Baby,  you can get adjusted to those adorable nappies nice & easily...Your only going to be drinking fluids for the next five days first though, so Mommy is focusing on those soggy bum bums to begin with, then we will work up to your mushies…Your such a cutie for sucking on your new binkie like a good boy. Well done!

14. “She chuckled lightly lifting the story book to begin…

The alternate “100 Acre Wood”......

 God she was so dam hot there and then, in her best condescending cooing Mommy voice. She began “Once upon a time there lived a boy who was very very lonely inside,  he desperately wanted to have a friend. Out walking one day in the woods he found a small bunny, it hopped right over to him and began hugging the boy tightly.....The rabbit started to gently speak to the boy! “Hello Crinkle Butt ....The boy protested to the Rabbit “Am a not a Crinkle Butt!”....But the Bunny simply chuckled “I know who you really are Silly! The boy looked around but nobody was there? As he turned around the rabbit stood beside him again swatting his bottom Thwack !!... “I suppose this isn't your nappy then Crinkle Butt?”  The boy stayed quiet as he felt embarrassed. But the Bunny Smiled gently and hugged him even tighter. Bunny the Rabbit then took Crinkle Butt’s hand ....“Best we get back inside or Mommy will be angry with us & we will get the hairbrush! The boy took the rabbits hand, as he too hated the hairbrush spankings.....“Ok Bunny we best hurry then as it’s getting dark & Mommy will want us fed & then to Nigh nights”.....They both skipped through the puddles getting Mud all over their legs! ...On the porch Mommy was already waiting standing with her arms folded....Babies look at the colour of you !.... She held out her finger pointing to inside, that’s when both Babies noticed Mommy already had the hairbush!”....oh bother.

15. “Now Sweet-pea I think that’s enough for tonight, Mommy can see you are looking tired I'll read you some more tomorrow if your a good boy. She gently stroked his face “Off to sleepies now.....She began to start the lullaby mobile that hung overhead and the cute little noises and lights softly sprung into action and gently soothed her precious little one into the land of dreams...Mommy lifted the plug remote and set it to the night time precycle with the hypnotic recordings ! These would play all night as the monitor recorded his sleep & dream patterns, it would match the patterns playing the recording & pluggie vibes to their best effects.....Night after night she would subliminally reprogram his brain to be a contented infant Baby Boy... To her will... to her wants... to her Deepest held desire over controlling him, but also letting him be the baby he was destined to become! This would be Absolute !! Her new hypnotherapist friend would help with new insertions of “trigger words” that would become instant in there use over him, no matter where, no matter when or who they were with !.....Fuck every inch of her was tingling with her desire to further his regression......

She looked down at him all safe in that cot with an oversized dummy bouncing in and out. Fuck he was already hungrily sucking on that dummy! Her Chest ached with anticipation....This was just the start, she held all the cards, she had everything ready for the morning & for the day’s events......Time to sleep though, putting her arm over his chest a small whimper came......She smiled to herself...Tomorrow he would go through so many trials and emotions. Day by day his emotional state would become much easier to control due to her fasting retraining, first hunger & loss of energy...then as the energy started to peak later on in the week she would simple take a sense from him so as to have more control mentally over his nappies!....awash with thoughts flashing through her mind she settled down to sleep knowing the “Hypno-Mommy” tapes would be working there magic on him....These she would use as she put him down for his afternoon nap too!

[anntoldst0ries]

The Signs (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 11 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: 1.6k, T Summary: After moments of passion and confessions, Ethan finds himself unable to fall asleep. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None

A/N: They are riding on Hawaiian waves, I am riding on the wave of fluff.

He witnessed the scene countless times during his career.

People squeezed in hospital corridors on horribly uncomfortable plastic chairs, air filled with hope of receiving the good news on their loved ones’ health, shared by many souls simultaneously. Wives resting their heads on husbands’ shoulders, mothers holding children perseveringly, their arms and legs numb and asleep. Some of them unmoving, save for shallow breaths and occasional blinks. Tired, on the verge of emaciation, haven’t had a wink of sleep in god knows how long.

How were they doing this? Where did they take this superhuman strength from?

Ethan could never fully comprehend this.

It was the sort of power he never really experienced in his life.

Until now.

Because when Noelle’s head found its haven on the sea of his chest, there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to become completely still, to hold his breath and be the pillow of safety she nestles up to.

He’d do whatever it takes to preserve her sleep, which, right now, was the most fragile and precious thing in the world to him.

It was a sign.

They lay in the aftermath of the afterglow, two castaways of the storm called life which, despite hurting them both really badly, also helped them find each other.

Them against the world.

Tropical Hawaiian air, sticky and dense, filled the room already soaked with lust.

It was heavy, failing to provide even the slightest relief amidst pervasive heat.

Because it was the type of heat that didn’t have much to do with the temperature.

It was the ardor of lovers.

Written on their curves were the stories of worship and promises of stories yet to be told.

They claimed each other's bodies a couple of times this night, engulfed in waves of desire bigger and stronger than the ones breaking on the shore outside the hotel windows.

The tidal waves hitting them, every next one with more might then its predecessor, their whole world encapsulated in the sounds of pleasure.

And something else.

In those moments, they were so much more than just a combination of skin, bones, muscles and ligaments succumbing to the march of time.

They were everlasting.

As doctors, they were reminded of their own mortality every second of every working hour.

But now, they were invincible, only if for a night.

When they moved in perfect unison, he saw something in her eyes.

He didn’t know what to call it, but he knew what it felt like.

Unconditional.

Their clothes and belongings were scattered all over the floor, the only witnesses of the wedding night fever.

It was the type of mess that was actually a proof of a perfect order.

The only kind of disarray he could live in permanently.

Signs.

Every cell of Ethan’s body craved sleep. But his eyes were wide open, defying the laws of gravity. And his mind was on overdrive. He couldn’t help but reminisce.

Two years ago he kissed her for the first time.

He could tell you exactly what happened right before and after the kiss. He could describe every second, every detail, every thought. But when their lips touched, he forgot his own name. And everything else he thought he knew.

A year ago he was fighting for her life.

Back then, Ethan didn’t know how strong he really was. Until being strong was the only choice he had.

Today, she was right here beside him and it was almost surreal. She was so close that he would notice the rising and falling of her chest. The rhythm of her breath.

It took him long to believe they could have a happy ending.

Too long, he kept reprimanding himself.

Yet the signs were there, if one only looked.

They were all around.

Ethan thought of all the people who made him the man and the doctor he was today.

Dolores. His first patient turned friend, the tragic and unjust loss. Baby Ethan’s fight. The night when nature played the cruelest eye for an eye game. Life for life. The night he started seeing Noelle Valentine through a brand new lens. He never told anyone, but seeing them so vulnerable awoke something in him. His own sensitivity, buried beneath the layers of grumpiness and indifference. Thick doctor skin.

Naveen. Ethan wished he could wipe the images out of his head. Seeing the man who taught him everything shrink and almost disappear was one of the hardest things he had to face in his whole life. Truth be told, he only made it through because she shared the burden with him. Because she saved Naveen. This delicate, slightly-built woman. The warrior. His Noelle. She made him so proud.

Louise. What his mother did to him was beyond repair. The cross he carried with him, anywhere he went. But in a short period of time Noelle achieved something he couldn’t do for years. Forgive. Never forget. Forgive and finally understand that even broken souls deserve the unbreakable love.

Dad. The man who, despite all the adversities, always had time for his child. But that didn't stop Ethan from resenting Alan for always justifying what Louise did. He couldn't understand, even though it was so simple. Love. In the realms of medicine, Ethan was in his element. But the concept of unconditional love was estranged. Until he met her. Not only did she mend the broken fence between father and son, but also showed him that some things truly are unexplainable and can only be understood with heart, not mind.

Tobias - his former best friend then best rival and now...best not to talk about it too much. Only Noelle had the power of talking Ethan into considering looking at Tobias in a different light. She laughed at the idea of holding the grudge forever. She challenged him and called him out on his bullshit.

Every relationship that meant something to him, had irreversibly been impacted by the force of a once clueless intern.

She signed them all.

Suddenly, she peeled away from his chest and rolled over to the left, so that her back was now facing him. Having covered her with a thin sheet, his fingers brushed her shoulder blades ever so lightly, as if anything more than this could hurt her.

It took all the willpower in the world to stop himself, for he wanted to touch every single millimeter of her being.

He wanted to draw the maps on her back. Maps of all the places they are going to discover together. The highways of their world. The plans of all the cities they will tower over. Write the words of pure adoration. The stories yet to unfold.

At the risk of looking like a creep, he slowly inhaled her smell. He wished there was a way to capture and bottle it, so he could carry it with him everywhere. His favourite perfume in the whole wide world.

Noelle shuddered lightly and the tiny movement startled him. Maybe she was trying to shoo a bad dream away.

“You are just a few inches away… and this is the longest distance between us I’m willing to put. No more running.” He whispered and kissed her hair lovingly. As if on cue, her breath returned to its regular rhythm, the tension leaving her muscles.

Part of him hoped she was asleep. Another wished she’d heard every single word. After all, he wasn’t best at translating feelings into words. Or maybe he was actually afraid that once he started, nothing would stop him.

Not only from telling her how he’s never felt this way about anyone, but also how everything fades whenever she’s around. How all the hospital drama dissipates, because everything is figureoutable as long as he knows she’s safe and sound. How, if he couldn’t run, he’d walk. If he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl. To her.

Today has done something to him.

Celebration of Ines’ love. Zaid’s speech. Being surrounded by people he no longer considered co-workers only. His friends.

Ethan lied. “I've never felt this way about anyone... and I don't know if I ever will again." Because he is certain he never will again. But more importantly, he never wants to.

Words echoed throughout his head.

“What I didn't expect was to meet the kindest, sweetest, most amazing doctor I've ever known... and the best friend I've ever had.” That was exactly what happened to him when one intern crossed the threshold of Edenbrook hospital...and inadvertently his life.

A crazy thought was born in his head. Completely irrational. And not a bad idea.

He hoped Zaid wouldn’t mind if he’d stolen the line and used it for his wedding vows. That is, if she agreed to share the rest of her life with him. There was always a dose of uncertainty.

But the idea certainly didn’t sound so scary anymore. Quite the contrary.

~~~

Noelle woke up in a couple of paradises simultaneously.

The tropical paradise.

The physical paradise of total satisfaction.

The paradisiacal view of Ethan Ramsey’s perfect body.

“Good morning.” She murmured to the man on the balcony, who, despite the heavenly view of Hawaii stretching behind him, had his eyes set firmly on her.

“Good morning indeed.” He replied with an unknown sweetness in his voice, that surprised even him.

And he really meant it.

This was a good sign.

Fantastic even.

Maybe the best one ever.

~~

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[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: nsfw sort of?? barely

***

Cassian is going to kill Nesta.

He’s never met a woman so stubborn that she would rather throw herself under a bus than accept help from others.

“What happened to your rants about universal healthcare and redistributing wealth?” He gestures furiously between the two of them while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to redistribute the wealth!”

She scoffs from the passenger seat. “Nice try, comrade. I’m not letting you dangle your wallet over me while I live with you for free. It’s disgusting and manipulative.”

Cassian wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Why do you automatically assume I’m trying to manipulate you?” he says incredulously.

“You don’t get to pay for my things,” she snaps. “They’re mine.”

“I know you’re already broke from that MRI—”

“That’s none of your business.”

They pull up to one of the university buildings. “Oh, great argument.” Cassian brings the truck to a stop. “Are you gonna use that one in court?”

Nesta buttons her blue blazer and furiously grabs her things, not saying a word.

“What are you thinking now?” Cassian pokes, the hardness dissolved from his voice a little.

She shoves the passenger door open. “How much longer it’s going to take to get my car fucking fixed,” she bites, hopping out of the truck and slamming the door shut on Cassian’s face.

Clenching his jaw, he watches her walk sharply for the building, tension ratcheting her figure. Impossible woman.

She does look damn good in a pantsuit, though.

***

Nesta has to take deep breaths before she enters the mock courtroom, refusing to let Cassian get to her head right now.

It's not his offering to pay for her endometriosis treatment that pisses her off, but it's that he won't take no for an answer. She wishes he could just let her dig herself into a hole of debt and despair like millions of Americans already do every day. She wishes he wouldn't demand an explanation from her every time she screams and cries about getting her way.

Later. Her mind clears through an imaginary filter. You’ll deal with him later.

Now, she has a case to win.

Nesta strides into the courtroom with her file of documents and takes the speaker’s bench, her opponent already seated on the other side of the aisle. Emerie Nikolis is five feet nine inches of Mediterranean goddess, and the only student at Prythian Law who’s been able to challenge Nesta for her spot at the top of the class. Not that she’s succeeded.

Nesta’s never been up against another woman for a moot court, though, and it adds a buzz to her nerves. Men always come into the courtroom with too much confidence and not enough research, and from there Nesta can steadily dismantle their arguments until they’re left spluttering. From Emerie’s cutting hawk eyes, Nesta knows she doesn’t function like that.

As student judges file in and head for their seats, Nesta leans over and mutters to Emerie, “Good luck defending the side that represents everything morally corrupt with this country.”

Emerie brushes back her ponytail and smiles mockingly at Nesta. “You mean the side that powerful white men have chosen since the beginning of time? I won’t need luck.”

Nesta scowls at the panel of student judges. They are all white men.

“You’re lucky I enjoy a challenge,” she hisses, and sits back in her seat as they start calling oyez.

***

Cassian doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’s cleaning up around the house while Nesta is gone, and ends up finding a worn paperback trapped between the leather cushions of the couch. Pulling it out, he takes one look at the cover and nearly chokes. A half-undressed man graces the cover in regency-era clothes, his flowy shirt unbuttoned to reveal toned abs. A woman with golden curls clutches onto him passionately, only dressed in a corset and underskirt.

A slow smirk spreads over his face and he snickers. He didn't know people read these anymore. A glance at the back of the book proves his point: published in 1999, a true vintage piece.

Plopping onto the couch and laying back, he opens the paperback. If Nesta doesn't want him reading her books, she shouldn't leave them lying around the place.

Flipping to a random page, he frowns when it isn't a smut scene. Boring. He keeps flipping until he finds one, and props his feet onto the armrest to get comfortable. Now what exactly does Nesta Archeron get off to?

Over an hour and a hundred pages of surprisingly tender romance later, his aching eyes finally slip closed. The open book falls onto his face, and the scent of faded ink follows him into sleep.

Cassian is in a dim candle-lit room. Foiled wallpaper and overstuffed furniture decorates the space, and there, by the small window, she waits.

She turns her head to speak over her shoulder, “You came.”

“I did.” The line comes to him naturally.

Without turning around, her hands reach up for her hair. She starts removing pins from her updo, golden curls falling apart one by one. Once the last pin drops, she finally turns around.

Gleaming locks now frame her soft face and shoulders; her pale breasts rise and fall above the low curve of her thin nightgown. Under the candlelight, she looks freshly forged and porcelain-like at the same time.

“Could you help me?” Nesta says.

Cassian is stuck in his spot, unable to move. He's never seen Nesta like this: so heavenly, but so different.

“Cassian?” she asks again.

“Oh,” he stutters, “um— what do you need?”

She steps closer. “You.” His breathing stops. Nesta slips her slender hands up his arms, to his shoulders. She's holding him close. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

Her breath fans over his face. “Do you want me?”

Cassian is very still.

“Do you want me like I want you, Cassian?” she repeats, pressing closer to him. He can feel her nipples through the wispy fabric of her gown.

“Yes,” he breathes shakily. He doesn't know which hurts more: wanting Nesta or being wanted by her.

“Have you been very lonely, Cassian?” She drags her hands back down his arms, finding his hands and placing them on her shoulders. “Is that why you like having me around so much, because you’ve been lonely?”

This Nesta knows him… a little too well. His breath hitches as his hands, directed by Nesta’s hands, slowly pushes down the sleeves of her nightgown. In a flash, the fabric has dropped to her waist, baring her unblemished chest and stomach. Before Cassian can even absorb what's happening, her arms are winding around his neck again, and now she's pressing entreating kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me,” she mutters onto his skin. “Do I make you feel heard, or am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Nes—Nesta.” Cassian tries to swallow air.

She smells so good. She feels so good, and she's not even doing anything to him, just holding him.

“Heard,” he gasps when she goes for the buttons of his shirt, her mouth finding his chest. “You make me feel heard. I like it when we talk and you listen to me. Nobody listens to me.”

She pulls away from him, mouth shining. He just now realizes how jarring the gilded ringlets of her hair are.

“That’s so good,” Nesta purrs, reaching up to clasp his face. Her hands feel thin and rough, like paper. “You’re so good.” She reaches in, her lips chasing his, and—

Awareness seeps into the corners of Cassian’s reality, and his eyes peel open. He blinks between two different worlds until he finally realizes— it was a dream.

Of course it was a dream. Nesta doesn't have blonde hair or curls. And her skin isn't porcelain smooth, but dotted with freckles and moles. And yet, the arousal stirred in him is very much real, evident by the ache in his dick. Fuck.

A throat clears softly and Cassian jumps. The romance book is still on his face, he notices, and his world is darkened by the rough pages. Batting it away, confused, he fully awakens when he sees who’s in front of him.

She’s still in her pantsuit from this morning, but her hair is undone and her cheeks carry a rare flush. Her clothes are rumpled.

“Nesta.” He scrambles upright, painfully aware that he was just dreaming about her half-naked. He carefully arranges his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “You’re back,” he says casually. Taking notice of the blackness outside the windows, he becomes concerned. “You’ve been out this whole time? Oh God, I was supposed to pick you up—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “Didn’t you see my texts? I went out with some people from moot court.”

Cassian widens his eyes. He’s never heard her mention any friends from school, much less leave the cabin to hang out with other people.

“I totally kicked this girl’s ass in the Title IX case I was telling you about,” Nesta goes on, “and she wanted to take me out for afternoon drinks, and some other guys ended up tagging along too…” She twists a piece of hair around her finger, the experience sounding as brand new to her as Cassian suspects it is. “And yeah, then she got me a cab.”

He raises a brow and leans back. “You willingly let someone else pay for you? Wow, you really are drunk.”

The smile blossoming on her mouth drops and the cold veneer returns. “So you go through my stuff while I’m gone?” she scolds. “How many times are we going to have the boundaries conversation?”

Cassian picks up the paperback still on the couch. “Oh, this? This was just a little light reading. You know, since I share my Netflix and Prime with you, I figured you could share your period-piece smut with me.” He fans through the pages, trying to find the spot he left off on. “I didn’t even know people read physical romance books anymore. That’s like me keeping VHS tapes of porn instead of using my phone.”

Nesta stomps over and snatches the book out of his hands. “It’s not like I enjoy owning books with ugly covers,” she hisses. “I get headaches reading e-books. And this is a classic.” She carefully wipes at the cover as if Cassian got dirt all over it.

Cassian tries to snatch it back. “I wasn’t done with it,” he grits. “Nesta, give it back.”

“I’m glad we brought up boundaries,” she says instead. “Because we need to talk about this morning.” Shoving the book into her pants waistband, she peels off her blazer and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Cassian.

Cassian blinks, gripped by the authority in her movements. Nesta pokes a finger at his chest. “What you said bothered me all day. Nearly ruined my night. So I’m telling you now, I’m not taking your money for anything, ever. And if you bring up the topic again, I’m moving out.” She sounds dead serious.

He’s not afraid of her. “I’m bringing up the topic now,” he pushes back, his tone hard. “As someone who considers you a friend, I don’t like to see my friends struggling.”

Nesta blinks, and maybe finally accepts that she can’t fight her way out of this, because she drops her finger. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man, Cassian,” she admits, refusing to look away from him. “I’ve done it before, and it’s no way to live life. I don’t care how nice you are; I’m not taking your money. And you can’t make me.” She doesn’t shout or hiss that last part. It’s said with a quiet strength, and it makes Cassian want to concede everything. If this is about her ex-boyfriend, then he doesn’t want to be anything like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that her health is still on the line. “What if you don’t take my money?” he says quickly. “What if I make you work for it?”

Law school doesn’t allow for part-time jobs on the side, and Nesta’s been scraping by with scholarships and leftover money from her father’s will. The suffering is worth it now, she told Cassian once, if she’s at a law firm the year after next with a starting salary of 100K.

Nesta purses her lips, skeptical. “What kind of work?”

“You can be a legal consultant for Night Court.”

“Do I look qualified to be a legal consultant?” She’s glaring now.

“Well, it’s either that or you get to be my personal assistant.” Nesta looks even more outraged at that, and Cassian holds up his hands. “I respect your need to stay independent,” he says, “but you can’t convince me that a handout or two is worse than going broke.” Cassian himself would be dead right now without all the handouts he got over the course of his life. “Please, Nesta,” he says quietly. “Think about it for me. And if you still hate it, I’ll never bother you about it again.” Even though it would kill him.

Nesta stares at him, the gears in her brain visibly turning. Finally— “Rhysand’s company does run on handouts anyway,” she mutters, glancing away. “What’s one more?”

Before Cassian can drop to his knees and thank her, she whips her head back to him. “But I want to do real work, Cassian. Not the pretense of work while I get a fat paycheck.”

He bursts into a grin and grabs her arms. “I’m gonna work you so hard.” He kisses her hard on the cheek.

Nesta makes a choking noise and starts coughing, and Cassian realizes how that sounded. “Did I say something wrong?” he plays innocent.

Nesta’s face is red for reasons other than alcohol now, but she covers it up by shoving Cassian hard enough to send him into the couch cushions. “Asshole.” She pulls her book out of her waistband and throws it at Cassian’s chest. “Have your romance back, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey— wait, it's six p.m. What about the puzzle?” he calls after her. She ignores him and keeps walking.

“Fine,” he says to her back, “but don't go to sleep with your contacts in again; you're gonna hurt yourself.”

As she reaches the stairs, he adds, “I’m proud of you for the moot court, by the way. I’m telling everybody you're the smartest person I know.”

Nesta pauses briefly at that, before saying, “Goodnight, Cassian,” and continuing up to her room.

Later that night, Cassian does want to tell everybody that Nesta is the smartest person he knows. She's the smartest, coolest, and wittiest person he knows, full stop, with killer looks and a criminally underrated personality. But something is holding him back from sharing his feelings with the rest of the world.

It's the same feeling that's had him avoiding Feyre these last few weeks. The unspoken knowledge that not everybody sees Nesta the way Cassian does, paired with the fierce desire to protect her from any sort of criticism.

He doesn't have any definitive proof to justify his feelings, but he knows he can't stop thinking about Nesta. He knows his friends will take notice of the change in his behavior eventually, so in a fit of restlessness, he reaches for his phone to test a theory.

Scrolling through his contacts, Cassian eventually settles on Mor. She's close to Feyre and Cassian both, has an inclination to gossip, and she’s never interacted with Nesta. Perfect.

Cassian: what do you think of Nesta?

He's straightforward with her the way he always is, the way she always is with him.

Mor answers quickly without question: didn’t she let feyre work her ass off at age 14 while she sat around and did nothing?

Mor: she sounds like a bitch and i have yet to see anything to the contrary.

Mor: she has very nice eyes though

Mor: if u know what i mean ( . )( . )

Cassian wishes he hadn’t even asked. He doesn’t even know how to reply to that, so he’s about to turn his phone off when another message from Mor comes in.

Mor: why do you ask? how are things going with you two?

Cassian sighs deeply, not in the mood to start a fight with one of his best friends. He never told Feyre about taking Nesta to the doctor, or the following MRI and diagnosis. The last time he had a real conversation with Feyre was the first night of Nesta’s period, when he was worried sick over how to take care of her.

“What should I do, Feyre? She's crying herself sick upstairs and all I have is this stupid hot towel.”

“You don't have to do that,” she sighed tiredly over the phone. “Nesta goes through this every month. She’ll survive. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing.”

That was when he decided he was calling a doctor no matter what.

And now… He’s confused and upset and he doesn't know why. Instead of arguing with Mor, he texts back, it’s nothing. A second later, he adds, but she's not a bitch.

He wants to say more, but texting Mor an essay on why she’s wrong for judging Nesta without knowing her would make him look crazy, among other things. He doesn’t know why he has to clarify that Nesta isn’t a bitch in the first place.

Either way, Cassian’s theory was proven correct.

He decides not to mention Nesta to his friends anymore.

***

Nesta lays in bed, thinking about the absolute day she’s had.

If getting drunk with Emerie Nikolis and Eris Vanserra at two in the afternoon wasn’t enough, stumbling back home to find Cassian like that finished her off for good. Her cheek has been tingling for hours.

She remembers how this housing agreement between them first started: I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here.

Nesta huffs a laugh. Boundaries are for strangers. Cassian seems content to poke and tug at Nesta’s boundaries whenever he wants, and Nesta… is okay with this. A mere month ago, this would have been her worst nightmare— living with a man who pushes her on every decision, who never does what she wants but somehow always knows what she needs.

But now they're friends, and Nesta is slowly learning that the rules are different with friends. Not everything has to be spelled out, because Cassian will understand what she's trying to say anyway. Not everything that is unknown has to be scary, because Cassian is never scary.

He’s allowed to read her books because he won’t make fun of them. He's allowed to know about her personal health matters because he won’t tell anybody else. And apparently, he’s allowed to give her a job so she doesn’t go broke trying to afford endo treatment.

These are the new rules.

She’s ridiculously glad that she told Lorene she won’t be coming back to the apartment for a few weeks. She doesn't know what she'll do after then, but for now she is okay.

***

a/n: hello i love writing cassian pov and learning more about him so much :) also thinking about having cassian call nesta 'baby' when they get together more often than 'sweetheart' just bc i think it would be a good look on him. pls share ur opinion.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k 

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary: 

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.  

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again. 

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV. 

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can) 

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is) 

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead) 

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table. 

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Wait a minute. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot. 

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree. 

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please  grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer. 

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow - 

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it. 

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him. 

 He cracks his eyes open. 

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust - 

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead. 

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words. 

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.  

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor. 

Crack. 

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face. 

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm. 

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.   

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’ 

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’. 

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts – 

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do – 

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp. 

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet. 

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously. 

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage. 

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’ 

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately. 

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’ 

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

 It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified. 

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan. 

‘Ready?’ 

‘Ready when you are.’ 

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’. 

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front. 

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock. 

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and  - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat. 

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames. 

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts -  but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede. 

He’s alive. She’ll survive. 

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted. 

The grass rustles. The wind blows. 

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods. 

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole. 

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine. 

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead – 

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor. 

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive - 

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘  

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin. 

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled. 

 His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’ 

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’ 

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’ 

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’ 

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’ 

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.  

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ 

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’ 

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest. 

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died -  because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.   

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words. 

I love you  –  he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry. 

His heart stutters to a painful stop. 

He can’t remember her name anymore. 

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse. 

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face. 

Beep. 

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again. 

Beep. 

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes. 

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -. 

Beep. 

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s  hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods - 

Beep. 

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks - 

Beep. 

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep. 

 His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep. 

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes. 

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you -  I love you, you fool.’ 

Beep. 

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

He wakes up with a gasp. 

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her. 

Taglist

@animeflower26​ @forgetou​ @kageyamakock​ @underrated-fruit-tarts-official​ @bongofrito​

[maxwell-grant]

Having seen your thoughts on his deeply-unpleasant daddy, might I please ask if you have any thoughts on The Gladiator himself, Hugo Danner? (THE SUPERMAN WHO MIGHT HAVE BEEN, if you will).

What would you do if you were the strongest man in the world, the strongest thing in the world, mightier than the machine? He made himself guess answers for that rhetorical query. "I would—I would have won the war. But I did not. I would run the universe single-handed. Literally single-handed. I would scorn the universe and turn it to my own ends. I would be a criminal. I would rip open banks and gut them. I would kill and destroy. I would be a secret, invisible blight. I would set out to stamp crime off the earth; I would be a super-detective, following and summarily punishing every criminal until no one dared to commit a felony. What would I do? What will I do?"

The thing that strikes me about Gladiator is that it almost feels like the book is unfinished. The quality and pace of the book is all over the place, but you can boil it's general story down to "unlucky bastard is born Superman before it's time for Superman to exist, without the necessary support, mindset and structure to become Superman, in a world that neither supports nor accepts the existence Superman, and just as he's about to have the life-changing epiphany that could make him something, he gets struck by lightning and dies in the 2nd-to-last paragraph".

The whole book is like if in the first Spider-Man story Peter Parker just gave up after Uncle Ben died and we never saw him again. It's a superhero/supervillain origin story that gets cut short right as it's about to lead to the birth of the character proper. It's frustrating, yes, but to my scavenger goblin brain that likes to dig through pop culture's trash to find nice forgotten trinkets to polish and make into something new, it also invites a lot of promise, if we get into the question of what could have happened to Hugo Danner if he didn't die on the cusp of his origin story. It's an idea I plan to use for my own pulp writings.

It's not so much whether or not Hugo MIGHT have been Superman, so much as: COULD he be Superman? Maybe, maybe not. I'd argue not, because even with all his power, and even with his parents trying to raise him as best they could, even with Hugo genuinely trying his best to be good and heroic and turn his gifts to mankind, it wasn't gonna pan out. The right pieces weren't there, the family structure wasn't there, the necessary aspects of the origin story weren't there, and ultimately, Hugo Danner wasn't cut for it. He is a failure at everything he tries to be super at.

At college on the football field, he kills a man. As a soldier on the Great War, he slaughters thousands for years, but fails to end the war, despite having been able to do so from the moment he enlisted. He is fired from a steel mill for working too far beyond the abilities of his fellows, and then fired from a bank for freeing a man from a locked safe, because the bank president suspected that Danner planned to use his powers to rob the vault. He tries using his powers to enact social change and fails again and again. He can't even enjoy daily life, because he cannot compete fairly with ordinary people, and because of that he must constantly hold himself in check, never able to fully express himself. And when he's presented with the idea of creating a race of people like him to dominate the world and to “conquer and stamp out all these things to which men of intelligence object,” he finds it ultimately distasteful, because he knows better than to expect good things to come out of his life. And then he curses God and dies. The whole book is one long argument as to why Being Superman Sucks.

He's not the break from tradition that Superman represented, he's a sci-fi superman who met the same tragic ending his predecessors did. In that paragraph above, the very first thing he thinks about, after remarking over his failure to end the war, is thinking about becoming some galactic dictator murdering everyone who steps out of line, before he considers becoming a fascist super-detective. Kind of a damning perspective to present your hero, isn't it? If Gladiator was released today, exactly as is, people would be quick to assume it's an origin story for a Homelander/Plutonian/Omni-Man kind of character. Hugo Danner was a Superman deconstruction before that became a pop culture cliche.

My favorite sections of the book are those that describe Hugo in the war. By far the best-written and most evocative, almost bordering on horror story. And they may be the most damning sections of them all. He never forgives himself for not ending the war when he could, because he's spent all those years killing and toiling away when he was just about the one person who could conceivably leap all the way to Germany and force the war to end. I imagine a lot of pulp heroes who suffered in the war, or any war, and walked out of it with a resolve to protect and do good by others, would be pretty pissed when discovering that, all along, there was this living god among them who actually could have ended the war single-handedly, but was just too damn busy slaughtering his way through fields of people who couldn't possibly fight back, to think about it.

And for all that Hugo says that he hates war and murder and bloodshed, he sure seems like a total natural for it:

Hugo, out of his scarlet fury, had one glimpse of his antagonist's face and person. The glimpse was but a flash. He was a little man—a foot shorter than Hugo. His eyes looked out from under his helmet with a sort of pathetic earnestness. And he was worried, horribly worried, standing there with his rifle lifted and trying to remember the precise technique of what would follow even while he fought back the realization that it was hopeless.

In that split second Hugo felt a human, amazing urge to tell him that it was all right, and that he ought to hold his bayonet a little higher and come forward a bit faster. The image faded back to an enemy. Hugo acted mechanically from the rituals of drill. His own knife flashed. He saw the man's clothes part smoothly from his bowels, where the point had been inserted, up to the gray-green collar. The seam reddened, gushed blood, and a length of intestine slipped out of it.

Hugo stepped over him. He was trembling and nauseated. The bellow of battle returned to Hugo's ears. He pushed back the threatening rifle easily and caught the neck in one hand, crushing it to a wet, sticky handful. So he walked through the trench, a machine that killed quickly and remorselessly

Hugo was learning about war. He thought then that the task which he had set for himself was not altogether to his liking. There should be other and more important things for him to do. He did not like to slaughter individuals. The day passed like a cycle in hell. No change in the personnel except that made by an occasional death. No food. No water. They seemed to be exiled by their countrymen in a pool of fire and famine and destruction.

And then later, after they kill a friend of his

He leaped to the parapet, shaking his fists. "God damn you dirty sons of bitches. I'll make you pay for this. You got him, got him, you bastards! I'll shove your filthy hides down the devil's throat and through his guts". He did not feel the frantic tugging of his fellows. He ran into that bubbling, doom-ridden chaos, waving his arms and shouting maniacal profanities. A dozen times he was knocked down. He bled slowly where fragments had battered him. He crossed over and paused on the German parapet. He was like a being of steel. Barbed wire trailed behind him.

Bayonets rose. Hugo wrenched three knives from their wielders in one wild clutch. His hands went out, snatching and squeezing. That was all. No weapons, no defence. Just—hands. Whatever they caught they crushed flat, and heads fell into those dreadful fingers, sides, legs, arms, bellies. Bayonets slid from his tawny skin, taking his clothes. By and by, except for his shoes, he was naked. His fingers had made a hundred bunches of clotted pulp and then a thousand as he walked swiftly forward in that trench. Ahead of him was a file of green; behind, a clogged row of writhing men. Scarcely did the occupants of each new traverse see him before they were smitten. The wounds he inflicted were monstrous. On he walked, his voice now stilled, his breath sucking and whistling through his teeth, his hands flailing and pinching and spurting red with every contact. No more formidable engine of desolation had been seen by man, no more titanic fury, no swifter and surer death. For thirty minutes he raged through that line. The men thinned. He had crossed the attacking front.

A man dipped in scarlet, nude, dripping, panting. Slowly in that hiatus he wheeled. His lungs thundered to the French. "Come on, you black bastards. I've killed them all. Come on. We'll send them down to hell."

And years later, when he's thinking back to the misery that had been his life:

His deeds frightened men or made them jealous. When he conceived a fine thing, the masses, individually or collectively, transformed it into something cheap. His fort in the forest had been branded a hoax. His effort to send himself through college and to rescue Charlotte from an unpleasant life had ended in vulgar comedy. Even that had been her triumph, her hour, and an incongruous strain of greatness had filtered through her personality rather than his. Now his years in the war were reduced to no grandeur, to a mere outlet for his savage instinct to destroy. After such a life, he reflected, he could no longer visualize himself engaged in any search for a comprehension of real values.

If he could but have ended the war single-handed, it might have been different. But he was not great enough for that. He had been a thousand men, perhaps ten thousand, but he could not be millions. He could not wrap his arms around a continent and squeeze it into submission. There were too many people, and they were too stupid to do more than fear him and hate him. Sitting there, he realized that his naïve faith in himself and the universe had foundered. The war was only another war that future generations would find romantic to contemplate and dull to study. He was only a species of genius who had missed his mark by a cosmic margin.

Even when he's thinking about the places where he went wrong, that he blames himself for, even when's engaged in introspection, his thoughts still gravitate towards violence and hatred, of squeezing continents into submission and of how much the masses are stupid to not appreciate him (because really, all Hugo wants is to be loved and appreciated for what he is), and how unlucky he was to miss his mark.

There's just no place for Hugo Danner. Maybe it was actually rather merciful that he got to have his misery ended briefly by lightning strikes, before he could either turn into something worse, or have his life ruined more throughly.

[mendesficsxbombay]

don't you wanna see these clothes on me? | s.m

hello! 2 fics in one month? am i even myself anymore? 

Requested ‘non sexual acts of intimacy’ from this prompt list:

7) one adjusting the other’s jewellery/neck tie, etc

 anon requested this be related to or based on the GRAMMYs

Shawn Mendes was a relatively easy client to work with, anyone would tell you that. There were a few demands to be met, yes, but demands came with every famous person. His demands were always attainable, nothing too out of reach. There’s certain types of food, certain brands of packaged water (do not bring a Dasani anywhere near him or he will riot, she’d learned that the hard way), skin care products should not run out, and so on. She wasn’t his assistant or tour manager to know the details of his rider, but this was her first job on the road, you can’t blame her for being observant. 

She was working very closely with him though, if you count picking out his clothes for the day and helping her actual boss, Tiffany, with his show outfits as working closely. The gig with Tiffany was a chance she had taken a little blindly. She was 21, fresh out of fashion school, and her mind was in bits about potential careers. She’d worked at stores, workshops, assisted designers and interned at a fashion week and penciled down her life into two options - styling and client servicing. Would she rather dress people or would she be the one making business happen for a fashion house to dress people? She had no goddamn idea. 

Right after graduating though, she heard of an opening with a ‘well experienced stylist, in the field of dressing musicians, a travel job with months on the road and suitable perks’, and she sent an application in to the agency. 

She’d read of Tiffany Briseno in her copies of Vogue multiple times. A celebrity stylist with years of experience to her name, most famous for styling a world famous Canadian pop star. He shall not be named because she herself just happened to like his music, a little bit here and there. Not like she lined up to buy a copy of his debut album at Target or anything. Of course not. 

When she was called in for a video interview, Tiffany clearly explained the amount of work that went into styling for a world tour and she clearly needed an assistant who was serious with their job, and not in it for the glamour. She, in turn, explained to Tiffany about how she worked all through university, and how serious she was with her career. Her knees shook under the table she placed her laptop on, praying that Tiffany couldn’t see her body locking up with anxiety through Skype. Tiffany complimented her dedication, but also reminded her that absolutely nothing would compare to having to work on the road. She felt her shoulders sink in subconsciously, smiling and nodding as she had throughout her life and ended the conversation. 

She told her parents about how she applied for this job that was just a lot of work and how she was so sure they were looking for someone with much more experience, not just a clueless grad school kid. The agency did not feel the same apparently, because she found an offer letter in her emails a few days later. She was required to meet the rest of the team and Tiffany in a few weeks’ time, and until then it was her job to look for sourcing options for Sha- for her client.

That was a whole year ago now, and as so many of the crew members said, the road had started to feel like home. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, deep in thought while trying to fix a particularly stubborn crease with her steam iron on the deep red suit jacket he was meant to wear in just a few hours. She always had the option of having someone else do the ironing, but she found it calming, found it easier to collect her thoughts with a steam rod and press in her hands than she did otherwise, so they let her be. 

She took the jacket down from the hangar she was using, neatly placing it on another adjacent hangar, and moved to bring in the Louis Vuitton shirt he would be wearing. Going down the front of the high quality linen she thought of how he recently liked unbuttoning way more buttons than he used to. If this weren’t a red carpet and another regular show he’d be wearing a much tighter shirt to hug around his arms, she remembers taking measurements for his other outfits to the exact inch and he said he liked it that way. A tight shirt or even a wife beater that completely let go of any barrier between showing off his biceps. 

She remembered teasing him at times, and he used to blush furiously, until he started asking her if she was looking. Then it used to be her turn to blush. She thought back to the first leg of tour. She remembers them constantly sneaking around each other - but also finding excuses to share their space. She remembers feeling sparks, and she knew he felt them, too. 

What other explanation could they possibly have for the middle school crush they had on each other? She would love to fend these concerns off by saying he was solely worked up because she was the only girl around his age on the crew. But that would be a lie, she knew the team of runners had a few girls their age - she was friends with them now. And the production teams had people close to them, too, even though they had alternating staff.

She could say that she was the only one working close enough with him, but that wasn’t true either. Telling herself it was just an infatuation would be the biggest lie, it had been months and he still behaved the same way around her. She was tired of having to tiptoe around him for as long as she was doing her job. 

Shawn liked her so, so bad. And there was nothing she could do about it. 

She had started noticing the little signs at first. Anytime he’d bring in water for himself, he had an extra bottle for her. He always saved her a spot at the dinner table. Got disappointed when she didn’t come in for at least half of his soundcheck. He liked having her near the stage when shows actually took place. And then there were bigger signs. He bought her a copy of Leave Your Mark, a book she had been trying to find for months - and when she asked him how he only ducked his head and said he found it at one of the airport bookstores. A quick ask around helped her know that he had contacted the publishers themselves and acquired a copy. 

She had started noticing how the people around them moved away if they were talking. She saw the smiles passed at her every time she stepped out of his dressing room. She knew how Tiffany jumped at every chance of leaving her alone to sort his look out before every show. There were looks and whispers and she saw them all, she felt them all. 

He made her nervous. Not because he was a star. God, no, that phase came and went by in a breath. He made her wonder. He made her think of a future with him, doing what she did and being with him on the run forever. He liked her, and she liked him more than she knew what to do with. 

Unfortunately for her, being together all day did not help. At all. She felt hyper aware of him. Every time he walked into a room, she felt the atmosphere sizzle. She felt the change and there was no ignoring it. Just like now. 

“I can feel you staring at me, you know?” 

She heard him laugh once, walking closer to where she was standing, multiple cases of clothes open around her. “Don’t know why you choose to slave over an iron every day - we have people to do that, you know?”

She sighed, hanging the steam rod onto its pole and turned around to look at him, chest constricting at the sight of him in a plain white shirt, tight as she had mentioned before, wearing a pair of glasses she knew he stole from someone on the team. 

“It feels nice to iron, it helps me-”

“De-stress. I know. But maybe if you just hung out with all of us once in a while you wouldn’t be so stressed…”

She crossed her arms before herself, cocking her head sideways. Get to the point, her expression said. 

“Okay, look, after the awards tonight, everyone wants to go to some club where they’ve booked out a private room for the team. I wanted to know if you’re gonna be coming.” He tucked his hands into his jeans. He was one second away from swaying on his feet because otherwise he looked like a little boy asking for candy he wasn’t supposed to have. 

“Ah - I’m not sure, Shawn,” her face was slowly pulling into a grimace, “All your outfits need to be back out first thing tomorrow morning and we need to send them a review as well… plus I need to get the exact details of your outfit so Tiffany can write it in her piece for GQ, and tha-“

“I knew you would say no,” he smiles immediately, and she’s scared. What did he do now? “Which is why… I have booked a table for us. For the - just the two of us, like a date.” He felt shy, felt like he was in high school asking a girl out for the first time. No smiles on his face anymore, just pure hesitation. “There’s this new place, um, it’s called Antico. You said your favourite cuisine was Italian - Antico is Italian, OH and it also has some great vegetarian food so there’ll be so many options for you to choose from…” he’s doing the thing again. He’s blushing and he can’t stop it. He needs to go to the washroom and splash water on his face. He needs to call his friends and tell them he finally asked his pretty stylist out, for real.  He needs her to say yes. 

She matched his expression. Wide eyes filled with wonder and face flushing hot. Was she even ready to go on a date with him? 

“Sh-Shawn,” she breathes out, barely a whisper. Her eyes had grown wide, and he didn’t know if she was hesitant like him or just horrified. She wasn’t prepared for this, and one part of her wants to hug him, say yes, and then run off into the sunset with him. The other part of her though, the rational part, knows this isn’t possible. “I thin-”

“Oh, there you are!” Tiffany exclaims walking into the room, not really noticing how close together the pair were standing, and immediately starts taking clothes off the rack for Shawn to change into. He immediately steps away from her, knowing how she gets. She wasn’t one for showing too many emotions when she was surrounded by people. She did open up to him sometimes, more than she did with anyone else on the crew. He had a sneaking suspicion that unlike his past advances which were subtle and not very direct, it was this one that fully got her attention to how much he liked her, and it had her flustered. Well that makes two of them. “Is it all done, babe?”

“Yes Tiff just, let me finish the shirt and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Shawn, you wanna move to hair and makeup till we wait for your outfit?” Tiffany walks out the door swiftly, not waiting for him to answer, just calling out his name again to make sure he was following. 

“Mhmm,” he says, walking backwards to the door, eyes still stuck on the girl he has pined after for months now. He refused to go down without a fight. “I’ll wait.”

________________________________________

She sees him again when he is pulling his shirt on with Tiffany straightening the material out from the back. He looks winsome in just the shirt and the red  suit pants, and her mouth nearly waters thinking of the contrast the red of the  blazer would have to his skin. Men who were dressed well always made her thoughts run wild, mostly because she learned to focus on the fit and the cut of the fabric, the attention to detail, the simplicity of the design or the lack, thereof. She paid way more attention to the outfits than the men wearing them. Shawn, however, was a different story. She had come to the gasping realisation that she liked him more than his outfits. And she was screwed, because no one knew how soon all of this would be ending for her. 

He senses her staring holes into his back. When he walked away, he only had her expression as a response to his question, and while he wasn’t worried if she rejected him, even if it hurt real, real bad, and he constantly worried about never finding someone like her, it was okay. He was worried about this running deeper than him, she shouldn’t have to look mortified just at the mention of a date. 

He looks down at his feet, the tailored hem of the pants at perfect length, discreetly raising his head to still find her looking at him. To his pleasure, the corners of her lips were upraised, eyes still on him but not really looking at him. He flashed her a smile, and she quickly realised what she was doing, scrambling to put down his pair of shoes for the evening along with the jewellery box she picked up on the way. 

She starts talking to Tiffany about his accessories, and, something. He can’t really be bothered to be focusing on yet another conversation about what he’s going to wear. He wants to talk to her. He wants to know things she hasn’t told him yet. It’s been a year of this slow burning attraction between them, but is it only attraction if he wants what’s in her mind and not just what he can already see? 

He already knows what stories he wants to talk about over dinner. He wants to tell her about his cheek scar, and then ask where she got the one on her right hand from. He wants to tell her about his high school prom and then ask about hers. He wants to know why she fell in love with fashion the way she did, because it consumed her fully, and she has to make conscious efforts to pay attention to things beyond art and fabric and clothes, he knows she does. He wants a deeper understanding, not for the sake of dissecting her personality, but just to know her, if she only allows him. 

He only zones back in when he knows Tiffany is directly addressing him. “Shawn, you finalised the BVLGARI one last week, we’re still okay with that?”

“Yes,” he says, not sure of where to look, so he continues looking at himself in the mirror. 

“Great, honey, you can put this and the chain on him and I’ll go check with the rest of the team.” Tiffany squeezes her arm with a bright smile, and turns to Shawn again, “Looking good, little Dean, it’s almost show time!” 

Shawn smiles back silently, watching Tiffany leave the room, as does she. She makes quick work of walking back to him and placing the box on the vanity before him. She takes his vest off the rack, helping him get into it and buttoning him up, and then does the same with his blazer, not a word exchanged between them two. 

Shawn used to be an “I can do it myself” guy until Tiffany just had to go ahead and hire the prettiest, shyest girl he’d seen, and he suddenly never wanted to button anything up on his own ever again. 

She carefully picks the royal white and blue beaded necklace from the box where it was placed amongst a few other expensive ones. She clears her throat and he leans his head down out of instinct, coming to a more approachable height for her to hook the necklace in. 

“So,” she starts, and he chokes on a breath he didn’t know he took, “I just, I googled Antico. It looks … upmarket to say the least. Very pretty, though. Looks like a place you would pick.”

She feels his eyes continue to follow her around, she still chooses not to look him in the eye, how could she? She delicately pulls out the chain meant to be hooked into his vest, the one that will complete his look for the night. He looked… beddable, to say the least. 

“But I also saw another thing,” she says, stepping closer into him and he inhales deeply. “Antico doesn’t stay open on the weekends, Shawn. How were we supposed to go there on a Sunday?”

shitshitshit. He’d been caught. Honestly what was he expecting? She’s literally one of the smartest humans he knows, what did he expect her to do? Say yes? No questions asked?

She looks him dead in the eye now, letting out a hmm? and he’s choked up again. He staggers around a bit, she pulls at his hands to adjust his sleeves and tuck in his cufflinks. 

“You said, um,” come on, brain, pull it together. “Remember when we were in  London? And we all went out together and when we got out there was this whole crowd waiting?”

She remembers. Of course she does. It was the first, albeit not the last time she had come really close to having a panic attack in front of all her coworkers. He recognised the look on her face. He’d seen it on his own face in the mirror when he tried to talk himself away from breaking down. He knew what this anxiety felt like, even though years of being in the business had numbed him to large, loud crowds, overzealous fans and intrusive paparazzi alike. He had taken her hand in his and pulled her back inside the pub immediately, calling his driver and asking him to pick them up ‘round the back, and getting out of there in record time. He didn’t know what came over him but he pulled her into his arms as soon as they were in the car. He murmured softly into her ear, he was here, they couldn’t get to her anymore and she had sniffled and cuddled closer - until they reached their hotel and it was back to being a standard five feet apart from each other. It was one of the last times she had gone out with the whole team, especially him. 

“I made a special request, they’re opening up only for us tonight. I don’t really want to stay for the whole show, thought we could sneak out a bit early. I just didn’t want us to be crowded again.”

Her hands froze around his, he left her tongue tied on most days but this was something else. At the lack of response from her, he gently pried her hands off his wrist, holding both lightly in his. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. I won’t like you any less.”

Her mind rushed back to all the times they had stood close just like this. The time he almost kissed her on her birthday and she almost kissed him on his. The one night they both passed out on the couch in his tour bus, when she wasn’t even supposed to ride with him. She thought about the offer letter that had been in her emails for two days now, offering her a place in the client servicing team for Burberry in London. She thought about the 4 weeks’ notice she had typed out for Tiffany weeks ago, the only reason for her not sending it out standing in front of her. Her mother’s words rang in her head, as they have her whole life. If you’re not moving, you’re not growing. 

He squeezes her hands once, ducking his head to the floor and walking away. She thinks about letting him go, but she refuses to. 

Her fingers clasp around his wrist, pulling the gentle giant back a little bit. 

“Will you wear the silk shirt? The black one?”

He looks confused. Didn’t he just get dressed?

“To Antico? Thought we could match.”

taglist: @shawnwyr​ @mendesstories​ @lanallaa​ @sleepybesson​ @rulerofnocountry​ @luvluvxx​ @wholesomemendes​

dm to be added or removed ♥️

[rainbowvamp]

Miracle Merlin

Hi Friends! So.. I'm about to drop 4 chapters of the Princess Bride AU in one day. Sorry about that. :) Fill for “The Blessed Ones” for Albion Party Week 2 (plus red)

Warnings? some mentions of Gwen’s trauma around the color red and trauma in general. More Gwen and Merlin :)

To catch you up: Elyan asked Merlin to take Gwen as an apprentice so he could sell the forge and pursue revenge. This is establishing the Gwen & Merlin dynamic. I think it’s cute. :) 

WC: 6.9k || Previous chapters. 1 2 3 4 5 

----

At first light, the day after it is decided that Merlin will take Gwen with him, Gwen and Merlin ride out the half day to the nearest market, Merlin’s list and pouch of gold at the ready. 

Gwen has to ride with him on the way there, because Elyan and Gwen don’t have a horse. It’s uncomfortably close, having to keep hold of Merlin’s waist, but she doesn’t waver when Elyan helps her on, and she doesn’t flinch when she settles behind him. 

The ride to town is quiet. Gwen doesn’t feel much like talking, and Merlin doesn’t force it. They will probably have to find lodgings in the town, or else make camp, he tells her, but other than that he says nothing. 

They arrive when the sun is beating down on them, and take lunch at a stall. Sweet bread drizzled with honey that is more decadent than anything she has allowed herself since her father died. She didn’t choose it, never would have presumed to, and by the look on Merlin’s face she thinks he might be bribing her. Either way, she enjoys the rare treat and even licks her fingers clean when she’s finished. Merlin hands her a cloth to wipe her face with, and she does so graciously before they set off to buy what they need. 

Merlin is not rich, by any means, but what he buys her is far more than she likely would have ever afforded on her own. He buys her a couple of traveling dresses she’ll have to adjust, and a pair of boots she’ll have to stuff the toes of to keep them tight on her feet. He promises to have better things made for her, but she tells him over and over that this will be enough for her. She’s been wearing her mother’s altered clothes for years, she hardly needed anything made new for her when what they could find was just fine. 

The traveling gear he buys after he buys her her own horse. It’s a beautiful creature, even if she’s getting on in years. Merlin hadn’t expected he’d be leaving with a companion, or he’d have  brought a horse with him. “It’s always easier to fetch a good price for a horse that isn’t needed desperately,” he tells her. It reassured her a bit that Merlin had never intended to whisk her away, and was truly doing it at Elyan’s request. 

Merlin’s idle chatter is soft spoken, and she finds him an easy companion once she has her own horse to ride. Merlin inquires about lodging, but it’s no good. Everything’s booked up and they’ve spent enough time in town that they’ll never make it back before dark, even with summer’s longer days. 

“I know a place we can make camp. Come on.” He clicks his tongue and his horse just seems to know where to go. Her own follows suit without her even having to command it. That’s very helpful, but she wonders if it’s the horse’s training or Merlin’s magic that makes her follow him. 

They make camp in a small clearing of trees that Gwen doesn’t remember having seen before. The grass is short, but plush, and the bedroll she lays out on it doesn’t feel as thin for it. They supped at the inn, and so now all that’s left is to sleep. She stripped to just her chemise while hiding behind one of the horses, wrapping herself in the thick blanket that still smelled new to preserve her modesty.

“You’ll want to keep that blanket with you. It will get cold tonight. The enchantment to make your clothes waterproof is too complicated to do on the road, so if you get up after the dew has formed, try not to let anything get too wet.” Merlin gives her several similar instructions about sleeping out in the open, and then he walks the perimeter of their camp, muttering to himself. 

This, he doesn’t explain, but she feels entitled to know. So once he comes back to his bedroll, she asks him.

“Wards.” He says with an easy shrug. “I always put them up when I’m not home. It keeps away ne'er-do-wells and any opportunistic thieves. It won’t stop someone determined to find us, that sort of magic is harder to do, but it will misdirect anyone who might just happen to stumble upon us.”

That did seem like a handy bit of magic. Gwen nodded, satisfied, and settled herself down to sleep, careful to keep herself covered completely in the blanket. 

“You need sleeping clothes.” Merlin muttered, but it seemed to be mostly to himself. She quite agreed, but she hadn’t really thought of it during the day. 

The pillow she uses is rough, and better suited for laying on her back than on her side. She finds that she can’t sleep with all the thoughts of what may be in her future. There’s a very real chance, no matter what Elyan or Merlin say, that she’ll be burned at the stake for Merlin’s magic. She finds it hard to care about that, though, when she knows that if Elyan and his treasonous plans are discovered, he’ll be killed and she’ll be all alone in the world. 

The stars are easier to focus on, so she turns her attention to the clear sky. 

The canopy of trees breaks toward the center of the clearing, and so she looks there for the few star formations she remembers. Hunt as she might, she can’t find anything that she recognizes. It’s disappointing, but she just pulls her blanket in closer to her chin and reminds herself that stars rise and fall just like the sun does, and she could very well see some later. 

“That’s the great bear, there.” Merlin says, startling Gwen and making her sit up, clutching her blanket to her. He laughs, and she looks at him, indignant that he could be laughing at a time like this.

He’s still laying down, looking up at the same patch of clear sky she had been. “Not in the woods. Up in the stars. The great bear is just there.” He points and she tries to follow his line of sight, but it’s useless. He seems to see her struggle and he gets up, in only hit shirtsleeves and his trousers, and lays down beside her to get a better look at her vantage point. “Alright, see” He points his finger and she leans her head closer to him to try and see what he sees. “By that leaf, that’s the bear’s body.” He makes a square with his finger and she can sort of start to see it. “There’s his head, and his two legs.”

“Where are the other two?” She asked, and he laughed. 

“Probably hiding. Or maybe he’s just got the two.” He shrugged. When Gwen focused she could see the shape that he was pointing out, and though this wasn’t one of the ones her mother had taught her, she’d try to watch for it, now. He points again and shows her Lyra, which was one of the one’s she’d been looking for, though she hadn’t called it by that name. Her mother had shown it to her, the musician’s constellation.

“My mother told me the story of that one, when I was young.” 

“Did she? I think every culture tells it a little differently. What did she say?” 

Gwen settles in, turning her body unconsciously to face him while she kept her face turned toward the sky. “There was once a girl who sang and played so beautifully, that she was the envy of all the five kingdoms. She traveled for miles and miles to bring her music to new places, and to bring joy to the people she met. But one day, a man was jealous of the power she had, and he slew her, and broke her instrument. The gods were so displeased that they sent wild dogs to attack him and tear him to pieces, but they never touched the girl’s body. She was found by the townspeople, who loved her music so much they buried her with a brand new lute so she could sing and play in the afterlife. The gods immortalized her in the stars, and she watches over musicians who travel alone.” 

Merlin laughed, turning to face her, despite the hard ground beneath him. “I’ve never heard that version.”

“My father used to tell my mother not to make up stories, so it’s possible she just made it up.” Gwen smiled, but it wasn’t nearly so joyous as Merlin’s as the weight of memories pressed in on her. “She never went to school, or had tutors, but she was a very smart woman. She always told the best stories.”

“You may have inherited her gift.” Merlin tucks a stray hair back into her cap and lays a soft kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight Gwen.” 

She’s so flushed by the action that she stays frozen there for a time. When her senses finally return to her she turns away from him, completely lost for words at his actions. They weren’t family, and they were barely friends. It was totally inappropriate to kiss her. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this was a mistake. The anxiety of that thought made her wake several times in the night, and she could never seem to get back to sleep peacefully. 

In the morning, she finds the grass wet with dew, and she takes heed of Merlin’s warning not to get her blankets wet. She puts on the same dress she’d worn yesterday, since the traveling dresses wouldn’t quite fit her, and for the sake of her modesty didn’t change her chemise. She’d change when they returned home. 

Home. Well, not home for long, was it? They’d pack up the few things Gwen had, she’d say goodbye today, and they’d likely be on the road again tomorrow. That wouldn’t give her enough time to mend her dresses…

“Come along, Gwen, we’re losing daylight.” 

It was just past first light, but sure, they were losing daylight. 

Merlin gave her a helping of bread and cheese and an apple for breakfast, and they ate while they packed up camp. Gwen was glad that she had her own horse to pack, and that she’d likely be able to decide where everything went and how to organize it without having to deal with Merlin’s input. She’s spent years having to cater to what Father and Elyan liked best in the house, and this space would be just for her. 

Well, at least that was one good thing to come from her brother selling her off to a wizard he met in the forest once. 

She sighed at herself and tightened the clasp of her saddlebag too much in her frustration. Elyan wasn’t selling her. No money was exchanging hands. Essentially, she was going to work for Merlin. She’d even make a small wage. Not much, but with her room and board covered by Merlin, she wouldn’t need much. Just maybe to have for emergencies, and to keep her wardrobe up to date.

She’d already tried to talk him into considering everything he bought her yesterday a loan, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Called it part of the favor he was doing for Elyan. She couldn’t begrudge his logic, because she couldn’t have afforded half the supplies she needed without his help, but she still wished he’d let her pay him back.

Well, her gratitude would just have to come out in the work she did. Gwen was no stranger to hard work, and she’d do the best she could for Merlin, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he needed her for.

——

They’d been living and traveling together for several months, now. Gwen had a routine, all her supplies fit, and she enjoyed the work. She liked to think that she was picking up medicine quickly. Plus, being able to help people, attend to their needs and make them feel better was fulfilling.

They were just about to set out to help a pregnant woman give birth when Merlin surprises her. 

“I’ve been thinking I’d like you to train as a midwife.” He doesn’t even look in her direction, just continues saddling his horse. “I’ve found women are much more responsive when it’s other women helping them through the birth. What do you think?” 

Now he looks up at her, piercing blue eyes curious, but unwavering. He wanted her to do this. Really. 

“I mean- I would- I think that would be great.” Gwen didn’t have much understanding of what a midwife did. She’d never had occasion to know more than the basics about childbirth. This would be only the second birth she was present for, aside from her own, but Gwen imagined that it would be a bit uncomfortable to have a man poking around down there who wasn’t your husband. 

Merlin smiles at her, bright and warm. “Good. There’ll be a midwife in attendance today. I’m mostly going in case bleeding gets out of control or there’s something wrong with the baby. Young mothers.” He shrugged, and she couldn’t tell what the look of disapproval was on his face. “There can be complications, but she’s married, and it’s all above board, and so, we’ll be seeing to her.” 

Ahh. He thinks the girl was too young to be married. She can see it in the way his shoulders are stiffening and his movements are a little more jerky than is normal for him. 

“How old is she?” Gwen asked, and Merlin has to pause a moment before he answers.

“15.” 

“And the husband?” Gwen hates to ask, but she needs to know what she’s walking into.

“26.” 

Gods, that’s older than Elyan. Imagine Elyan being married to a 15 year old girl. She shook her head, thanking the gods once again that Elyan hadn’t forced her to marry. And Gwen was 18. 

“I can’t do anything to help her.” Merlin said quietly, and Gwen looked over her horse at him. “But we’ll do what we can to make the birth easy. The midwife will be inside with her, and probably the girls’ mother. Between the three of you, she should have everything she needs.”

Gwen nods and mounts her horse, bags packed and ready to go.

—

It takes a year for Gwen to be trained enough as a midwife to attend births on her own. And “on her own” actually means with Merlin attending along side her, but their services count as one fee, and so for families with less money, it’s much more affordable to have Gwen there than an more qualified midwife. And Merlin is there to answer questions if she needs any help. 

Merlin is very encouraging, and Gwen does very well for being so new. Merlin tells her she’s a natural with patients, and Gwen is inclined to believe him. 

She likes helping with babies, though it does make her very glad she doesn’t have to have one anytime in the near future. Cleaning them up and handing them off to their mother for the first time is a always a joy. Watching a mum and dad coo over their new little baby. It really made this job feel worth it. 

It’s birthing season, lots of babies this time of year, and this is their third birth this month. As eager as Merlin was to have Gwen trained as a midwife, she thinks that Merlin prefers these sorts of calls to the ones where they’re tending the injured. The eldest daughter of the household had offered them each a mug of warm cider and a sweet roll while they waited for the mother to finish the first feed, for Merlin to give her and the baby a last check to make sure everything was going to heal alright and the baby was as healthy as could be. 

“Do you two have any children?” The eldest daughter asked. Sigrid, Gwen thinks her name is. The birth was early, the baby crowning when they got there, so she hadn’t had much of an introduction. 

“No,” Merlin answered easily, not an ounce of unease in his tone. She doesn’t know how he can say that so easily. She always feels awkward anytime anyone assumes they’re married. Gwen does wear a ring on her finger like they’re married, but that’s mostly for appearances sake. 

As Merlin has grown more and more dear to her over the year, the question has only become more awkward, more intrusive. And Gwen always felt powerless beneath it.

Because there’s no hint of briskness in Merlin’s tone, the girl doesn’t catch on that these are questions better left unasked and presses on. “Any plans to?” 

Gwen had liked the girl, really she had, until she started asking these sorts of prying questions that were honestly better left unspoken. 

“It’s a sore subject,” Merlin took a sip of his cider and reached across the table to squeeze Gwen’s hand and break the building tension inside her. 

The girl looks away then. The implication is that they have tried, and could not, which would be hard to discuss for anyone. The girl gets up and busies herself tidying the already immaculate kitchen, but Gwen is just relieved not to be in her company any longer. She sends Merlin a grateful smile and he returns it easily. 

A few minutes later, the husband comes out and lets them know that the wife and baby are ready for their last check in. Gwen sees to the wife while Merlin looks over the baby. She sees him slip a drop of the potion he gave most babies to stave off sickness, but the wife is listening to her explain next steps for her recovery that she probably knows all too well. 

The woman seems surprised when she recommends abstention from “wifely duties,” with the implication being sex specifically, for at least a month, preferably longer. Gwen only nods and assures her that yes, she really does mean a month. 

And by the time everything is done and she and Merlin are packed, it’s only barely past noon. They accept a bit of food for the journey home, the small amount of pay Merlin takes for births, and they head back home. The ride should only be a few hours, and they can make it back easily before nightfall. This time of year the roads are well kept, and the traveling is pleasant. Gwen never used to move around this much before she met Merlin. It was… really refreshing. 

So was Merlin’s company. He was just so much more accepting than most people she knew. Growing up in a small village, the blacksmith’s daughter, she’d been fairly sheltered. And even after her Father died, Elyan was always there to scare off anyone who even thought twice about Gwen (right up until he’d decided it was time to marry her off). 

So this feeling she had for Merlin, whatever it was, was strange and new and left her stomach dancing in a way that was unpleasant to experience, but still somehow made her smile. She was afraid to call it what it might be, and so she didn’t. She just enjoyed herself as best she could. 

They pass a mother duck and her little ducklings that make Gwen laugh and smile. Merlin smiles as well, but he’s not nearly so amused. Mostly thoughtful. 

“Would you?” He asks her, while he’s still looking at the ducklings. He even turns back to watch them once they ride past, which Gwen finds just as strange as his incomplete question.

“Would I what?” Her lip quirked up at one corner, watching Merlin like she was afraid he’d lost his marbles. 

“Like to have kids one day.” 

She and Merlin have had a lot of very awkward conversations in the year and a half that she has been his assistant. There was the time she’d bled through her dress in the night and had to explain why she so desperately needed to find somewhere private to change and clean up. Then there was the incident where she’d had to establish that, yes, she did still want Merlin to not look at her while she changed, even though they’d been living together in a one room hut for a year. And they’d even had a frank talk about self-stimulation in men shortly after a visit with a patient where they’d walked in on something that left Gwen a little shaken. 

Somehow, Merlin asking her if she wanted kids felt worse than all those conversations combined. 

It wasn’t, it just felt worse, Gwen knew. She was making a bigger deal out of it than she needed to.

“Right now? Not particularly. I’m only 20. I’ve years to think about it.” Gwen was proud of how she managed to keep her tone even. Maybe she was learning more from Merlin than just medicine. 

Merlin nodded keeping his eyes firmly ahead. “I’m sure you do.” 

Gwen thinks maybe the conversation will end there, but it doesn’t.

“If that were something you wanted, you would have to find it elsewhere. Not that I don’t love children, I just… don’t have any interest in having them. Or in having any kind of relationship that would lead to them.” 

Gwen suddenly feels very put on the spot. She doesn’t look at Merlin, and the way her whole body tightens, trying to reel herself in, accidentally signals the horse to go faster. It looks like she’s running off.

Well, maybe she is. Maybe she should. What a strange and terrible thing to say to her.

“My brother made it very clear that there was nothing like that between us.” Gwen holds her head high, even though her chest is tight and her throat is aching with a desire either to scream or sob.

“I know. But… I know these things sometimes happen. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.” He sounds a bit contrite, at least. 

“You think very highly of yourself, Merlin.” Her tone is harsh, making it very clear that she is insulting him. 

He doesn’t speak again, seeing that the battle is lost, and they ride most of the way back in silence.

When they arrive back at home, Gwen doesn’t ask Merlin if anything needs doing. She goes straight to the back, fetches her thimble and her sewing, and starts work on her embroidery. Elyan was due for a visit in a months time, and she’d wanted to give him a little handkerchief with his initials stitched on it on the finest piece of fabric she could afford. It also served as a distraction from Merlin, the man who acts too cool to care right up until he puts a foot in his mouth.

Even with the thimble, she stabs herself a few times, and she has to stop once, to staunch the blood flow on the underside of her apron before she continues. She can hear Merlin puttering around with his potions and his tinctures on the other side of the house, but she doesn’t pay him any mind, just like he doesn’t pay her mind. 

They don’t speak again till supper.

Gwen cooks, as she always does. Merlin can cook, but it’s mediocre, and Gwen has no patience for subpar food. He’d complained more than once that she was trying to make him fat, but she’d just tell him to do more hard labor. It always evened out for Elyan and her father, at least. 

There’s no remark about Gwen trying to fatten Merlin up, or even a lighthearted comparison of Gwen’s cooking to another place or time in Merlin’s life. They eat quietly, but just for a few minutes, before Merlin feels the need to speak. 

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said earlier. I really did just want to make sure we were on the same page.” 

“Yes, and you made yourself very clear.” Gwen muttered, stabbing a piece of a potato more harshly than she meant to, cutting it clean in half. 

“I only meant. I can’t love, Guinevere.” 

She hates when people use her full name. None the less, it catches her attention. “What do you mean, ‘you can’t love?’” It was the stupidest, strangest,  vaguest confession she’d ever heard. Gwen had watched Merlin fight tooth and nail for the lives of his patients, spend hours upon hours developing remedies, and secreting magic just beneath the noses of common people to cure their sicknesses. 

What part of that wasn’t love? 

“I mean that… I mean, well, I do love you. But I love you like a very dear friend. I’m not capable of anything else. I can’t love a woman like a man might love his wife.” 

She raises her eyebrows, thinking, and then her mouth pops open. “Oh.”

Suddenly, his bachelorhood well into his twenties, despite being more than capable of supporting a family, made much more sense. 

She paused, trying to find the right words to say what she wanted to say, trying to be delicate. “You… prefer the company of men?” It’s a question, and she’s not sure how he’ll take it, but she feels like she has to ask. 

He smiled, but his eyes don’t meet hers, and the corners of them stay turned down, sad and wary. 

“I don’t prefer any company at all.” He shrugs, and his lips are thin, tight, like he’s waiting for some sort of rejection.

It’s hard for Gwen to imagine that he simply doesn’t love, but she does believe him. She nods her head and puts her hand on his, much like he had done to her earlier that day. It has the desired effect, draws him out of his thoughts, his eyes back on her. “I understand.” 

He still looks so sad though. 

Gwen doesn’t push it. She retrieves her hand and goes back to her supper, giving Merlin the opportunity to do the same and put the whole thing behind them.

She’s had many awkward conversations with Merlin, and will likely have many more as his assistant, but there was one thing she could say for these talks. Eventually, slowly, they learned and grew from them. In the end, their friendship was stronger for having spoken than it would have been otherwise.

—

One of the reasons Gwen likes Merlin is that he always asks for her opinion. Anytime something affects both of them, he takes what she will think into consideration. This is especially true when a messenger rides in one evening and asks Merlin to go to Camelot proper to try and heal the King’s ward. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Merlin asks while Gwen hangs back, images of men in Camelot red glimpsed through trees, of blood on dirt floors and Elyan’s broken ankle coming to the forefront of her mind, more prevalent than the scene actually playing out in front of her.

“She won’t eat, isn’t sleeping well. They’ve had to force feed her, but she’s withering away still. No energy to get out of bed. Her parents died just a few months ago. The physician on hand couldn’t find anything wrong with her physically, but the King refuses to accept that. He’s looking for second opinions.”

“Camelot is a far ride.” When he says this, he glances back at Gwen, though she doesn’t see him. She’s chewing the extra length of her fingernail off, eyes focused somewhere Merlin can’t see but knows all too well. 

“The king will provide you with money and protection for your travels.” The messenger doesn’t even spare a glance for Gwen, and Merlin is grateful for that. She didn’t need any more stress than she probably already had. 

Even though the messenger doesn’t look her way, Merlin takes a step or two subtly to the right, so that the messengers gaze moves completely away from Gwen when he looks at Merlin. 

“Let me think it over. There’s a woman who houses people for just a few coins down the road. See about getting yourself a room for the night and I’ll have my decision for you in the morning.” 

“The king will not accept a no.” The messenger said, and Merlin nodded.

“I’ll see.” 

The messenger goes and Gwen’s breaths deepen from the shallow, fearful things they’d been, practically gasping now. Neither of them had expected a Camelot man to knock on their door that evening, and Gwen had already been about to settle into bed. Merlin took her wrist, subtly feeling for the beat of her heart while he lead her to the bed, sitting her down on it gently. 

Gwen looks between Merlin and the door, like she’s afraid of something and Merlin pats her hand before he gets up to bolt it closed. 

“He’ll be back in the morning.” Merlin said with a sigh. “He already knows where we are, so a misdirection spell won’t work. If you don’t want to go, we can pack a few things and go on the road for a few days. He’ll give up looking for us eventually.”  Merlin went through his potions, looking for the calming draught he sometimes gave her.

“If I don’t want to go?” Gwen asked, looking at Merlin like he’d grown a second head.

He looked over his shoulder at her, brows furrowed. “The man killed your father, Gwen. I’m hardly going to force you to service his ward. It’s your decision.” 

“My decision?” This is a question, but it’s not one she’s posing to him. When he returns with her calming drought, mixed into a cup of cider, she’s looking at a blank spot on the floor, but seeing nothing he can see. 

He sits beside her and presses the cup into her hands, muttering a quick warming spell so it’d be more comforting. 

“Merlin?” She asked when she’s held the cup for several minutes without taking a drink from it. 

“Yes?”

“If we don’t go, that girl will die, won’t she?” Her eyes finally meet his, and he is moved by the determination beneath her own uncertainty. 

He tries to ease her mind a bit, “It’s possible that someone else will find a cure for what ails her.”

“But it’s not certain.”

“No.” Merlin nodded, “But it’s not certain that I will be able to heal her either.” 

“But you have a better chance than anyone else, because you cheat.” The last bit is teasing, more light hearted than anything that has happened in the house since the messenger walked in. 

“I maintain that using magic is just taking advantage of all my resources, not cheating.” He bumps her shoulder with his and she smiles for the first time since the knock had come upon their door. 

“You can keep saying it, but that doesn’t make it true.” Her gaze fixes on the a spot on the floor again, and Merlin sits quietly, waiting for her verdict. 

Eventually she nods and turns her head up, squaring her shoulder like she’s bracing herself for her own decision. “If we don’t go, and she dies, I’ll never be able to live with myself.” She nods, but this is most certainly reassurance for herself, because she doesn’t even look at Merlin. “We’ll go, and you’ll do the best you can for her. I hate Uther, but that doesn’t mean his ward deserves any less than anyone else.” 

Merlin grins and pulls his friend into a hug. “You’re one of the strongest, bravest women I have ever known.” 

She laughed. “You’re just saying that because you don’t know very many women.” 

“I know plenty of women. Great women. It’s a very high compliment.” His tone is earnest, sincere, when he says this, and he feels Gwen clutch him a bit harder, making the hug more firm. 

“Thank you.” 

“It will be okay. I’ll make sure you never have to see him.” 

“You can’t promise that.” She said, rolling her eyes at him to keep herself from being scared again.

“Well, I can promise I’ll do my best.” He kissed the top of her head, just like that first night almost two years ago now. “Get ready for bed. I’ll settle the house for the night. You’ll need your rest.” 

Gwen nods and Merlin gets up to put out the candles in the main room and close all the windows up for the night. 

Merlin always gives her a choice, always listens to what she has to say, and she appreciates that so much. 

—

In the morning they set off, Merlin packing much like he would to go to a house call for an unknown ailment. He takes nearly everything with him that he can, putting some of the overflow in Gwen’s bag and leaving some of their traveling gear in the care of their messenger, now turned guide. The man’s Camelot red is much more brilliant in the light, and Gwen is grateful for the spell Merlin does to make her horse follow his. She looks just slightly away from the path in front of her, where Merlin rides alongside the messenger she now knows to be a knight, and tries not to think about where they are going or whose company they may soon be in. 

They make quick time to Camelot’s castle, and true to his word, Merlin tells the knight to show Gwen to their accommodations for the short time they’ll be there, rather than bringing her with him to see the king. Gwen doesn’t think that Merlin is particularly fond of Uther either, considering his magic ban is what keeps Merlin from practicing openly, but he never gives any sort of indication of it. Just smiles and leaves her and the knight with their things to make their introductions. 

It is much more difficult to follow the knight on her own two feet, especially laden down as she is with equipment and supplies. The way the red cape flows behind him reminds her too much of a party of knights glimpsed through woods when she was just 15. 

The knight is nice, at least. Tries to make small talk and be kind to a woman who is so obviously afraid of him. She does him the courteousy of at least looking up at him to thank him for helping her with her things and showing her to the room. He bows to her, and she is struck by the gesture. Being the supposed wife of a physician did leave her in a higher class than a simple servant, or blacksmith’s daughter, but she hardly earned such a show of deference. He leaves and only says, “I’m Sir Leon, if you require anything else.” 

She doesn’t plan to require anything.

In their room, an empty space in the servant’s quarters with only one bed, Gwen unpacks Merlin’s medicines and supplies from their careful travel wrappings and puts them back in the order that she knows he prefers them for treatments. As she’s sorting through the bottles of potion, she notices that some of them are ones she’s never seen before, or only seen once or twice. When Merlin had said he was bringing everything, he’d really meant everything. 

“There you are.” Merlin said from the door well after Gwen had finished organizing their things. “Let’s go and meet our new patient, shall we?” 

They don’t actually meet their new patient first. At the door, waiting for them, is the crown prince, Arthur Pendragon. Gwen had heard a few snippets about the prince, but she’d never thought she’d meet him. At first glance, he came off very unkind and almost brusk, but it took only a few questions from Merlin about Morgana’s condition to realize that his standoffishness was born from worry. He cared about Morgana, and he was concerned for her wellbeing. Of course he was a little bit harsh. 

Gwen stood by and listened while Merlin asked questions, getting more and more specific. Asking about her loss, asking if there were anything else that she might be upset about. Arthur tells him that previous doctors have determined it must be mind sickness, and Merlin confirms that this is his theory as well, just based on the symptoms that he’s heard. 

Gwen and Merlin go in behind Arthur, but the Crown Prince stands to the side and lets them work. Gwen sets out one of Merlin’s bags on the bench at the foot of the bed, and Merlin sets his own carelessly aside, choosing instead to go through the contents Gwen has placed. Merlin has his back to the Arthur, so he doesn’t see the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes, a part of his regular examinations, but Gwen does. He nods his head while he’s looking through the potion bottles and he reaches for one that Gwen has never seen him use. It’s a soft purple color, clear with a few small flowers suspended in it. 

“Take this.” He says to Morgana while the woman looks off in the distance, like she can’t even be bothered to focus on what’s being said.

Merlin’s beside manner is never usually this curt, and Gwen huffs a bit at him before taking the potion from his hand and setting it on the nightstand. Whatever it is, he thinks that it will cure her, and Gwen will make sure she gets it. 

“He looks very young, doesn’t he?” Gwen asks. It’s a problem they’ve faced before, where people who didn’t know Merlin worried about his skill, and so she tried to reassure her, smoothing a strand of hair that was very nearly falling into her eye away from her face. “He is, but he is very knowledgeable. Studied with all the best physicians in the five kingdoms.” Gwen smiles softly, her tone gentle and calming. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” She takes Morgana’s hand and after a few idle seconds, she squeezes it. Morgana squeezes back and Gwen smiles. “Good. I’m Guinevere, Merlin’s assistant. We need to sit you up so you can take the medicine Merlin has for you. Do you mind if I help you sit up?” 

Morgana says nothing, and Gwen frowns, tilting her head like she’s thinking, the funny little wrinkle forming between her brows that Merlin finds such delight in. 

“Squeeze my hand if it’s okay for me to help you sit up.” She tries again. There is a little delay between her question and the responding squeeze, but once she has her permission, Gwen helps Morgana sit up in bed, careful to leave the sheet covering her from her chest down, since it looks like she’s only in her chemise. The crown prince moves to adjust her pillows and she smiles gratefully at him, trying to be reassuring in the same glance, but his eyes stay hard and untrusting.

According to the prince, a dozen physicians had been to see her already, and none had any effect. It only made sense that he was starting to lose hope. 

“There, now. I’m going to give you the medicine. Drink it if you can.” She puts the bottle to her lips, and when they part, Gwen carefully tilts the bottle, letting the contents drip slowly into her mouth.

The bottle empties relatively quickly, and Gwen lets Morgana relax. Maybe it was because she was sitting up, or maybe Merlin’s potion was already working, but Gwen could swear some of the pallidness of her cheeks was starting to fade, and a bit of rose was returning to her lips. 

“What did you give her?” Arthur asks Merlin, who is still much less receptive and kind than he usually is. Gwen finds it strange, but she’ll ask him about it later.

“Something to ease the mindsickness. It won’t cure it. Nothing will cure it but time, but the symptoms, the body ache, the lack of drive and appetite, will all be decreased, maybe even vanish if she takes to it well.”

“You are not the first man to give her something meant to cure mind sickness. What will you do if it doesn’t work?” Arthur’s tone is accusatory, and Gwen bites her tongue. He is worried for Morgana, and she can excuse his brashness because of that, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“It will work.” Is all Merlin says, and Gwen can hardly believe that he’s being so dismissive to a royal. Of course, Merlin has always been a little funny. What else did she expect? 

“It’d better. You’re dismissed.” Arthur returns to Morgana’s side and Gwen puts the empty bottle back in the place it had come from, taking the bag of potions with her as she and Merlin leave.

In their room, with the door shut, Gwen dares to ask Merlin what he’s given her.

“It’s safe.” He said dismissively, rather than explaining himself, and this was the first clue Gwen had that something was suspicious about this remedy.

“Of course it’s safe.” Gwen said while unpacking the two extra dresses she had brought and hanging them in the wardrobe to be ironed later. She also hung up Merlin’s two sets of clothes, but he’d have to iron those himself. “But that isn’t what I asked. You examined her. What was wrong?”

“Mindsickness, just like I said. The potion will counteract the worst of it, and she should be back to herself in a couple days.” 

“You’re not worried someone will be suspicious of her being better so quickly?” 

“She won’t be better, not really. The symptoms will just be gone.” 

Gwen looks at Merlin, who pretends to be sorting through his potions. He’s hiding something, and she doesn’t know what, but whatever it is, it can’t be good. 

[fanfics-andstuff]

Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf

1755-01-11: Olivia and Alexander Hamilton’s Birth - Olivia and Alexander were born in Charlestown, St. Kitts, and Nevis.

 1765-01-16: Hamilton’s Father Left - James Hamilton, Olivia and Alexander Hamilton's father, and a Scottish Laird, left Hamilton and his family, most likely due to the fact, Olivia, Alexander, and James Jr. were his illegitimate children. It was a relief for the children because he would always beat up James Jr. and Olivia, trying to protect their youngest sibling.

1766-02-17: Hamilton’s Mother Dies - Rachel Faucette Buck, Hamilton's mother, died on February 19, 1768. Cause of death: Yellow Fever. After her death, Alexander and Olivia moved to live with their cousin for a year. Before she died, she gave Olivia the Hamilton ring (gold ring, amethyst pearl-shaped center, and small emerald cut emeralds) that was said to be passed down from generation to generation and a navy blue and dark purple diary, she gave Alexander her necklace from George (5 sapphire petals, a red ruby center, and a thin gold chain).

 1766-02-20: Hamiltons In Court - John Lavien (Rachel’s husband) arrived wanting a divorce decree. He wanted the court to reward the entire estate to his son, Peter because the twins were illegitimate. Alexander and Olivia had their uncle, James Lytton, sign a false birth year for court documents that had them add two years their senior. The only thing they got was books taken from Peter, thanks to their uncle.

 1767-02-17: Hamilton’s Cousin Committed Suicide and James Jr. Left to Become a Carpenter- Peter Lytton committed suicide over the death of his wife. Alexander and Olivia are now, with no money and family, or destitute orphans. James Jr had to leave the twins behind to become an apprentice of a carpenter.

 1771-01-16: Alexander In Charge Of A Trading Charter - Since girls couldn’t work, Alexander had to. Turns out, that Alexander had the perfect “age” for jobs.

 1772-08-31: Hurricane Maria Hits - Hurricane Maria hit St. Croix, where Alexander was working and Olivia was nearby to look out for her younger brother.

 1772-09-06: Alexander Writes About Hurricane Maria - Alexander wrote to his father describing the storm and gained the attention of the island’s elite. He “wrote his way out”.

 1772-12-01: Olivia Receives a Letter That Alexander Died - Somewhere between these months, Olivia gets a letter that the ship Alexander was on sunk and there were no survivors. She was then sold to a family in Setauket, Long Island as a slave, where she meets Benjamin Tallmadge, Anna Smith, Abraham Woodhull, and Caleb Brewster.

 1776-09-15: Olivia Gets Freed - Thankfully Olivia was considered white, so she was taught how to improve her grammar, writing, healing, cooking, etc. She still had her Nevis accent, but Olivia could play it off by saying Spanish was her native language. Speaking of languages, Olivia was fluent in French, Latin, Greek, Italian, Danish, and Hebrew. 4 or so years later, Olivia was a free woman.

 1777-04-27: Olivia Reunites With Alexander - Olivia gets assigned as a spy for the continental army. The rest of the army gets word that she had the same last name as Alexander’s. After being reintroduced to each other, Olivia forces Alexander to take more care of himself (eating, sleeping).

 1777-09-11: Olivia gets shot in the side during the Battle of Brandywine.

 1777-10-18: Olivia And Alexander Presumed Dead - Both Hamilton twins jumped in the Schuylkill River and swam deeper, hoping the British Cavalry presumed them dead. They were washed down miles going with the current of the river. Alexander carried her unconscious body to the Patriot camp. Hercules Mulligan found the twins and helped them get to their destination quicker.

 1777-10-19: Washington Finds Out The Twins Are His - Olivia woke first and told Washington to read her diary for answers because she was too tired. He found out about Olivia’s life story and found out Olivia Rachel and Alexander James Hamilton were his biological children. Washington then found out about the Hamilton family ring and Rachel’s flower necklace. Olivia and Washington swore to never tell this to Alexander and to any human being (not a certain diary written in code that no one, but Olivia and Alexander can understand).

 1777-10-20: Olivia sneaks off to the Battle of Paoli, instead of resting.

 1777-10-21: The Locket - Washington gave Olivia a gold locket engraved with ‘Together In Mount Vernon, Virginia’ complete with a gold chain. Inside was a portrait of the Hamilsiblings (Alex, Olivia, Ben, and Laf) on the right and a portrait of the Washington couple on the left.

 1778-05-25: Olivia Comes Back - After disguising herself as a black-haired, Dutch woman, named Denise Melody, she returned to Washington about the British army. Olivia resigned as a spy because she didn’t want to come back to England ever again. But mostly, she was afraid that King George III would force her to marry him.

 1778-05-26: Olivia Becomes The First Woman General - After listening from every soldier in the Continental Army, General George Washington makes Olivia a General. The only difference is that she would be traveling with the main camp because she doesn't have enough experience to lead her own army. She helped train the under-trained soldiers, sewed clothes for those who were practically naked, negotiated with wealthy families to give the army food, helped with the battle plans because of her knowledge as a spy, and her overall kindness and empathy to everyone helped her rise to the top to not only the soldiers but to the rest of the people in the Colonies.

 1778-06-28: The Battle of Monmouth - Olivia saves Benjamin Tallmadge from William Bradford when Charles Lee ordered him to. The rest of the army arrives behind Washington. Olivia participates in the Battle of Monmouth. 

 1778-09-15: Olivia And Lafayette’s Relationship - In Olivia’s diary, she didn’t specify the date because she wrote “I believe it is the 15th of September 1778”. In the entry, she wrote about her and Lafayette’s relationship began as platonic but over time, it became romantic.

 1778-11-01: Olivia Joins The Culper Ring - After begging and pleading to her father and Commander in Chief, Olivia joins the Culper Spy Ring with the rest of the members: Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster, Anna Strong, Abigail, Abraham Woodhull, and Robert Townsend. Olivia gets a golden band from Apollo that helps disguise her appearance with the use of the mist, she gives the other rings to the other members. They created a cover that the golden rings were from their deceased family member. In reality, they used it to signal the others when they need help or have information about the British.

 1778-12-15: Olivia As a Maid - Olivia disguises herself as a beaten and branded girl as a Caribbean slave, even though she was white by the Continental Army to John André's home to spy on him. She later resigns from her post before her next battle.

 1779-07-16: Stony Point - Olivia helps capture Stony Point, New York with the army.

 1779-11-17: Olivia And John Get Married - To keep the relationship between John and Alexander less suspicious, Olivia proposed a marriage proposal to John’s father; Henry, who knew about their secret relationship, agreed. Even though both adults were married, they had no love for the other than familial love. They agreed that their marriage was only public and behind closed doors, they would seek out their paramour (John-Alexander and Olivia-Lafayette).

 1780-06-17: Olivia’s Quadruplets - 9 months later, Olivia gave birth to 4 children: Rachel Olivia, Alexander John, George Benjamin, and Elizabeth Gilberta Laurens from oldest to youngest. The godparents of each child were Olivia-Martha Washington, Alexander-George Washington, George-Benjamin Tallmadge, and Elizabeth-Lafayette. Because of this, Olivia took a break from the army for a while.

 1780-09-23: Caleb Brewster and Olivia Find Out Arnold's A Traitor - After talking with Anna Strong, Brewster and Olivia ride full speed towards West Point, NY to deliver the message to George Washington. Ben and Olivia tried to shoot Arnold, but due to their closeness, they couldn't.

 1780-10-02: John André Hanged - André was born a child of Athena and knew about the Greek Gods. He knew that Olivia was spying on him, but didn't comment on it until they were in private before his execution. The Fates had cut his string in front of him when Olivia posed as a maid and had demigod dreams of his death. John knew that Olivia was a legacy of Apollo and Athena, he didn't want to hurt his family.

 1780-12-14: Alexander and Eliza Get Married - Eliza accepted John’s relationship with her husband as long as Alexander doesn’t cheat on her with other women.

 1780-12-15: Olivia Boards L'Hermione - Olivia joins Lafayette to bring down turncoat Benedict Arnold. They join 1, 200 troops and sail south to Virginia.

 1781-05-20: Abraham Boards L'Hermione - Abraham gets captured by the French and gave information to Lafayette, but before anything else happens, the ship gets attacked by cannons. When Brewster and Olivia identify Abraham as a spy for the Culper Ring named Samuel Culper Sr, they sail to Yorktown, Virginia.

 1781-09-28: The Battle Of Yorktown - Olivia gets shot 3 times during the battle but recovered soon after. Lafayette soon bid Olivia farewell to sail back to France. Olivia gives him her very long lock of braided hair inside a portrait locket necklace of her for him to remember her by. He also gives her a braided lock of his hair and a portrait locket of himself.

 1782-01-22: Olivia Becomes An Aunt - Phillip Hamilton was born.

 1782-08-27: John Laurens Dies - Olivia, Alexander, Hercules, and Lafayette get letters from Henry Laurens that John died in South Carolina. In her letter, Olivia receives her husband’s wedding ring. Heartbroken, Olivia vows to never marry again.

 1782-09-01: Olivia And Alexander Return To New York - Olivia gets a house in Harlem near her brother and his family. She led a quiet life with her children, unlike Alexander, for a while.

 1783-01-01: Olivia Bids Angelica Farewell - Over the course of the years, Olivia and Angelica became best friends. She hated the fact that Angelica and her family would go back to the same country they fought for years.

 1783-06-20: Pennsylvania Mutiny - Olivia watches the 10 leaders of the Pennsylvania Mutiny be gunned down by their own men beside Alexander and Ben.

 1783-09-03: The End Of The Revolution - The Treaty of Paris was finally signed which negotiated between America and Great Britain, ended the revolution, and recognized America as an independent.

 1787-10-?: Alexander Asks Olivia To Co-Write The Federalist Papers - Sometime before the writing of the Federalist Papers, Alexander asks Olivia to co-write it with John Jay, James Madison, and himself. Olivia politely declined because she believed that the three men could do it without her.

 1787-05-25: The Twins Go To The Constitutional Convention - Olivia Hamilton Laurens and Alexander Hamilton were one-half of the New York delegates. The former was the only woman to go to the Constitutional Convention. Though the twins did little in writing the Constitution, they signed the paper anyway.

 1789-02-04: Olivia Becomes The First Woman Vice President - Olivia ran for President all in good fun. The results were unanimous because she was one of the contributing factors that helped America become independent, only second to George Washington, and became the Vice President of the United States.

 1790-03-22: Olivia Meets Thomas Jefferson - When Jefferson and Olivia met, let’s just say that they will forever be enemies. This is partly the reason why Alexander and Jefferson were also enemies.

 1790-06-20: Olivia Refuses To Go To The Jefferson Dinner - Olivia doesn’t go to the dinner with Jefferson, Madison, Alexander, and a few others saying she had other things to do. But she doesn’t go because she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a verbal fight between Alexander and Jefferson, again.

 1791-07-05: Olivia Finds Out About Alexander’s Affair - Alexander needed to speak to someone about his affair with Maria Reynolds, so he went to Olivia (naturally). Olivia slaps him and tells him about his promise to Eliza when he married her. She tells him if her husband finds out and tells/writes you to give him money to keep the affair a secret, he himself would pay entirely.

 1792-?-?: Olivia Receives Word About Lafayette’s Capture - Historians would never know the date when Olivia gets a letter that Lafayette fled from France and in prison because she only wrote the year and stopped writing in her diary for the rest of that year. They figured that she was extremely heartbroken to write.

 1793-02-25: Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf -  Olivia was poisoned by a loyalist named Micheal Key. Thankfully the poison was expired and went on to sit in Mount Vernon for hours talking about the establishment of the first U.S. bank. But due to Olivia’s frail and weak body for not eating and sleeping at the correct times, she became gravely ill. She sent her four children to Setauket with Abraham Woodhull. the week before. The four mentioned people came to her room in Mount Vernon. minutes before Olivia died. She gave Washington the locket he gave her all those years ago, gave Benjamin her sun hair comb he gave her when the war was over and her golden spy ring, gave Eliza her and John’s wedding rings and gave Alexander the Hamilton family ring and her diary (she instructed him to only read the entry about their true heritage when he is on his deathbed). She then instructed Ben to give Lafayette, her one true love, to give the gift he gave her when they started their relationship, a sapphire bracelet when he visits America once more. Olivia told the three to forgive her for leaving too early, she remembered the time she gave Washington piano lessons (which failed), the time where she forced Alexander to eat and sleep more regularly, and the time where she helped Eliza with her pregnancy with Phillip and her other children. She sang, “Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,” which she does when she tries to reassure those around her. Olivia’s last words were, “I’ll see all of you on the other side, John, my love, I’m coming.” She was buried in Trinity Church Cemetery with a large monument. When the States learned of her death, the nation stopped working for days. Everyone who knew her (which was a lot) attended the funeral ceremony. Washington placed a bronze statue of Olivia depicting her holding a gun in her right hand and her diary in her left hand with the four rings on her fingers to show that women too, can be powerful.

 1793-02-26: Micheal Key Hanged - Because he assassinated the Vice President, Micheal John Key was hanged the next day at noon.

 1867-01-11: Olivia On Currency - In memory of Olivia, they put her face on the $20 on her birthday. However, in 1928, she was briefly replaced by Andrew Jackson but quickly regained her place after much controversy. 

 1999-12-15: Olivia Becomes Lyria - Olivia Rachel Hamilton Laurens, rebirthed to Lyria Eclair Graham de Vanily, the most powerful demigoddess of her century.

[ahiddenpath]

My Tarot Decks

Hey babes!  I wanted to share my tarot decks and tell you a bit about them.  Maybe one might be right for you!

The decks are listed in the order I received them.  Please click the links to look at the deck art!  These decks are all a feast for the eyes.

Shadowscapes Tarot

This is my first deck, I can’t recall when I purchased it- it was a long time ago!  At the time, it was on a ton of “top 10 recommended decks” lists, and I already knew and loved Stephanie Pui-Mun Law’s faerie watercolor art.

Law’s art is detailed and decadent, and while the cards are gorgeous...  I find they get in the way of themselves.  Ideally, tarot cards should guide our subconsciousness and spark our intuition...  But instead, I find myself squinting at an image featuring ten foxes, a large humanoid figure, and a few smaller fey critters, barely able to make everything out on the tiny tarot card.

I couldn’t use the deck at all, and I thought my third eye must be permanently napping xD  Sadly, I didn’t touch tarot for years after this.

The art is gorgeous though, definitely take a look at the images.  The deck itself is pretty standard in quality, nothing to compliment, but nothing to complain about (except that the pictures are too detailed for the card size).

The Fountain Tarot

Years and years later, I bumped into the Fountain Tarot and instantly fell in love.  The deck utilizes geometry and cool colors, which made it feel more approachable for my scientist, apparently third eye challenged self.  

This is one of the most high quality decks I own.  The cards have silvered edges, and they feel thick and move like water in my hands.  Apparently, many Seekers feel that the deck is “cold,” which means they can’t connect with it or tap into their instincts while using it.  I agree that it feels more “physical” and “conscious minded” than most of my decks, but as a new Seeker who didn’t really “get” the whole “access your subconscious through Archetypes and instinct” thing, this deck gave me the confidence to try tarot again.  

I can see where an experienced practitioner might pass it by, but if you’re a person who is unsure of their ability to tap into their intuition for whatever reason, give this one a try!  

The downsides to this deck are that it doesn’t have enough diversity in the human figures, and that some folks find it “cold.”  The upside is that the quality is stunning, it may feel more welcoming to “logic-heavy” types, and the art is gorgeous.  This deck was hella expensive when I bought it, but you can pick it up for $25 now, which is mind blowing for what you get!  

Considerate Cat Tarot

This deck features a plethora of actual rescue cats, and a portion of the proceeds goes to shelters.  That was all I needed to know to buy a deck.  Oops, I bought it, how did that happen!

The deck is unusable for me, though.  The cats are adorable, but there’s nothing in the art to guide me towards the meaning the card represents.  It’s just a bunch of cute, sweet babies.  The art and the box design are just adorable, but the deck quality itself is miserable.  The cards are thin, and every single one came scratched and dinged.  This was not a cheap deck, so the poor quality was a huge hit :/  I just can’t recommend it, make a direct donation to shelters instead, my friends.

The Wild Unknown Tarot

A huge swath of Seekers swear by The Wild Unknown, and with good reason.  It utilizes images of nature with lots of black and pops of rainbow technicolor.  The images are comparatively simple, but never boring.  Most users report that it’s a “warm” deck that easily guides Seekers to their intuition.

At $30, it’s a high quality deck for the money.  It also comes with a phenomenal guidebook that will really help new Seekers!  The packaging is lovely, and the cards are thick and feel good in your hands.

Tarot of the Divine

This deck is so wonderful- and it’s the only deck I’ve cried over xD  When I opened the box and saw The Little Mermaid as The Fool, I teared up.  When I saw my favorite tarot card, Strength, depicting Janet and Tam Lin...  Yeah, tears were shed.

But let me back up!  Each card in this deck features a fairy tale/folk tale.  It’s a stunningly diverse deck that taps into the collective unconscious by utilizing folk narratives, the kind that pop up around the globe in various similar forms.  I’ve heard people say that the stories get in the way of readings for them, but I find that the opposite is true.

It comes in a stunning box, it includes a nice guide book, and the cards are good quality with gorgeous art.  At $20, you truly cannot beat the quality per dollar.  Plus, you’ll learn a bunch of new stories from all over the world!

The Lubanko Tarot

I was fortunate to pick this deck up from its kickstarter- I’m not sure when they’ll be available for general sale.  It’s a truly stunning deck!  The creator describes it as such: “The Lubanko Tarot is a richly-illustrated tarot deck of 78 original paintings that traverse the mental landscape of the strange, the subconscious, the queer, the divine, and the intense.”  If you’re not sure what that means, you’ll get it when you hold the deck.  The art rises like neon lights from black cards.  It’s diverse, queer, and bursting with energy.  Reading with it is like sinking your teeth into a neon fruit that drips glowing juices.  I’ve never seen another deck quite like it.

It’s a higher end deck in terms of price, but it came with a guide book, extremely high quality cards with my favorite silvered edges, a gorgeous box, and an altar cloth for readings.  It’s stunning and unique and primal.  I tend to feel quiet and receptive when I read tarot, so it feels a bit loud and intense for me.  Still, I adore it, and I know there will be days when it’s the deck I need.

God this is a stunner.  Please feast your eyes and senses on the art (oh, it’s not all work safe, though).

The Spacious Tarot

A brand new deck (to me, I mean) that arrived yesterday!  And it’s another truly special one.

It’s... kind of the opposite of The Lubanko Tarot.  It’s a quiet deck with a watercolor vibe featuring nature.  In that way, it’s like The Wild Unknown, but it utilizes calm colors instead of the rainbow-on-black intensity.  

What makes this deck so great, I think, is that it’s a collaboration between an artist and a professional tarot practitioner.  The cards are supremely well thought out, and they tell a narrative, which the tarot is meant to do (depicting The Fool’s journey through the rest of the cards).  The structure of the art depicts the inherent structure of the tarot.

This deck truly feels peaceful, like meditation.  I haven’t spent enough time with it to say more, but I’m stoked about exploring it.  The guidebook is tiny, but it does so much with so little, which is ideal for learning.  

The deck comes with a guidebook, a box, and the deck.  The cards are good quality with gorgeous colors.  They aren’t as fancy as The Fountain Tarot or The Lubanko Tarot- not as thick, and not lined with silver.  At $49, it’s not the jaw-dropping value of The Tarot of the Divine, but the beautiful art and the unbelievable thoughtfulness of the deck can’t be overlooked.

Those are my decks!  If anyone would be interested in a video flip through of them, please let me know.  I’d love to tell you my story about Janet and Tam Lin as the Strength card in the Tarot of the Divine!

[noocturnalchild]

Of Thieves and Poets

Warning : Mention of abuse, light depiction of wounds, hurt

Well, that was a hard chapter to write, mainly cause I’m still strugling with my English, and sometimes, ideas are here but I find no words to describe them as I want to !

Many thanks to a great friend who’s always been there to beta read my fics and correct the MANY language mistakes I’m still making,it’s a shame that I can’t tag her here !

Sara maybe you’ll never read this but I LOVE YOU ( this is me talking to myself lol)

Also many thanks to all who are sharing and liking my fics, I love you guys, you are the best !

All the poetry in this chapter is William Carlos Williams’ ! 

Chapter one here ! 

Chapter 2 

* 

Give me something to eat! Let me take you to the hospital, I said and after you are well you can do as you please. She smiled, Yes you do what you please first then I can do what I please

“Who’s she?”

The day Laura died, he wrote his most accomplished poem. It rested between her cold fingers, folded in a small sheet of damp paper and he briefly wondered if the dead could read. Heavy rain washed the sleepy city that day, and everyone said that they’d never seen so many white peonies in the same place before. He buried all his other poem books with her, tucked between her curls and the black and white satin.

He never made a copy.

Paterson didn’t write love poems anymore. But never were his fingers as ink stained, bruised and abused by so many hours spent writing as they were now, and never was his desk inundated by so many notebooks. They piled up in complete disorder, competing with books and tools, making the old wood squeak uncomfortably.

“Who’s she”

Only now he saw her fiddling with the framed photo he kept on his living room table, so that it was always the first thing he saw as he woke up.

“Wife?”

Paterson didn’t answer.

Mina had her back turned to him. She couldn’t see the man’s eyes watering, or the frown of his brows, nor could she feel his struggle with his breath, repressing the tides of anguish that menaced to crash on him again.

“Gorgeous, dude! bet she gives great head” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, winked suggestively.

Beaming and smug at the same time, Mina looked like one who’s sure just dropped something so smart and funny, completely oblivious of the hands clutching on the cold marble of the kitchen counter. White knuckles, white pain…

“No complaints.“

Paterson’s reply of choice. Life was going on for everybody, for him too. Doc got a TV in his bar after all. Marie went to New York and Everett to LA. And he was still a bus driver, eating cereals every morning, writing in his yellow pages and sitting on the wet benches of Paterson’s waterfalls, so why would he complain?

“Go and freshen up, bathroom first door to the left”

“You’re no fun” She stuck out her tongue and left. Paterson couldn’t be mad.

Laura was laughing, straddling the arm of the sofa and eyeing him with mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Won’t ya help me with my clothes?”

“I can’t do much with a broken wrist”

“It hurts”

(…)

“Dude, come on, so prudish!”

Laura had a hand on her mouth now, in mock shock, her eyes were still laughing, and Paterson was confused, a pretty blush rising to his cheeks. He remembered now that the only clothes he had that might fit Mina were Laura’s, and even those were big for the bony creature waiting for his help in his bathroom.

“Hold… hold on a second”

Paterson drew in a shaky breath, fetched one of his sleep shirts from his bed drawers, strode to open the bathroom door and… oh God.

A trembling dry leaf stood before him. Only in her white crop top and equally white panties; Paterson imagined her cracking under the passers-by’s soles, giving in under their rough stumpings, each one leaving a stain on her weak frame. Paterson’s eyes descended to her bare thighs, and she kept her eyes on the floor.

“Jesus… Who… who did this to you?”

Her thighs were a hideous map, little red and yellowish scabbed dots and circles on tarnished, discolored skin.

She shrugged, eyes avoiding his. Why would he care, why was he so insistent, why couldn’t he just be like the others, why won’t he try something with her, on her, like she deserves… she would let him, this one, she would.

“Just help me with my top” a wobbly voice replied, but Paterson was already looking for something in his medicine cabinet.

“Sit on the stool there” His hands were shaking as he put the ointment and the bandages on the side and proceeded to wet a washcloth.

“Can… I?” He kneeled, and their eyes met. She kept silent and nodded and he thought the sparkle in her eyes was gratitude.

With infinite gentle touches, Paterson washed her thighs and legs, dried them carefully, applied the ointment and wrapped them in clean bandages.

Laura was watching in reverence. The scene exuded something religious; the saint washing the sinner’s faults. And none spoke a word.

Afterwards, Mina laid in white clean sheets, but for all the comfort she had, she couldn’t sleep the few hours separating the night from dawn. She counted the hours, watching the bus driver as he slept peaceful and soft; not so far from her spot on the sofa.

The domestic rituals, the warm clothes, the vanilla soap smell lingering, the nice buzzing of the fridge in a quiet space, and the dim light he kept on just for her… His… his kindness coiled her like sticky ropes. Mina was suffocating.

She got up, slid in her dirty jeans, but kept his shirt on, and with a final brush of his hair, she took his watch and slipped out of the quiet house, and the monsters took her in their arms again.

***

Recycled air and synthetic notes, shopping carts rolling and low, lustful giggles.

With his favorite brand of cereal in hand, Paterson’s food shopping was almost done for the day. He was just strolling, verses starting to form in the fog of his mind as he saw two forms melting in each other, just against one of the snack vending machines. A smile began to tug on his lips. Life was simple, young lovers making out in malls and supermarkets, in the streets and gardens; the boy handsy, in baggy jeans and a loose jumper, fake golden chains around black collar, the girl…the girl.

Paterson’s mind went blank, and verses fled away like frightened pigeons.

“Oi man, whatcha lookin’ at!”

The guy addressed a dazed Paterson, and the girl turned her head from off her lover’s chest.

In all the scenarios she imagined at night, curled up in the corners of the streets and between the brushwood of the parks , meeting him again while in the arms of another man was never on the list. It shouldn’t be like that, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. He shouldn’t think that she… but what was she anyway? She was everything he might think of her now.

He was so beautiful she wanted to bury her pain in his chest, between the threads of his regal hair. Curl all the hurt in a bundle and he would take it, in his large warm palm. He would know how to make it disappear, like by magic, vanish in thin air. With a touch of his finger pads, he could wash away scars; wipe away the purples and the blues and the burns. He was so clean she feared to touch him. He was so wholesome and she felt so queasy, so sickening she wanted to puke. Her hand skimmed the hidden pocket in her rat nibbled jean vest; the watch was still there, burning a hole in its worn fabric. She didn’t pass it on to Ian. It earned her new cigarette burns and a slap that made her nose bleed a little, but she had survived worse treatments.

“Who’s that, you know that guy? You do boring now?”

Carlos giggled, showcasing many missed teeth. He pinched her sides playfully, slapped her cheek playfully, squeezed her tits playfully, and she wished to die.

“Yo dude, wanna suck my dick? Ow no? Maybe a threesome? My chick here gives amazing head”

Oh, that again.

“See, not interested”

Carlos giggles sounded like gallows bells.

“I’m not your chick, for fuck’s sake!”

Mina screamed in frustration, pushed a stunned Carlos away, wriggled free from his sloppy hold, hand reaching out for salvation.

“I’m… I’m sorry!”

What she meant to be loud and clear, came out as a choked whisper.

But Paterson was already turning his back to her. This time he didn’t wait for her, not even a hum or a discarding hand, his long silhouette drawing away, swallowed by the light.

Life was going on, no complaints.

***

Mina was out, really out.

Even when she told him she wouldn’t play “pretend” with him anymore, Carlos still hung around for some time, and the money she could get from him she saved with scrutiny, starving herself to death. She never came back to the “pack”; her steps always took her to the quiet small house at the end of the stairs. She lurked there, watching when the lights went on, and stayed hunched behind shrubs and bushes, clutching the watch to her heart, listening to their combined tic tic tic… the mechanics soothed her, and she slept there every night.

Whatever happens, never sell the watch.

She started doing windshield scrubbing too, helped some nice grocery shop owners with their crates for some dollars, and by the end of the month she could buy a dozen cigarette packs and tissue boxes to sell in the streets. She was always hungry, but at least she could picture him in the back of her mind smiling, not disappointed in her anymore. He might not know, for now, but the thought was comforting. The thought was like a pier, supporting the bridge she was building towards him and she was sure she would reach him again, one day.

***

Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.

It was Saturday morning. The rainy clouds of the day before blew over for a shiny crystal sun to come out. Excitement and expectations wired the air with buzzing electricity around Hinchliff Stadium. Kids and teens, middle aged and old people formed noisy groups, stomping on empty chips bags and placing bets.

Mina thought herself lucky when she laid hands on second hand baseball game tickets. Her wrist completely healed now, she roamed the area around the stadium, surfed the crowd, hands full, voice rusty from a cold she was nursing, over exploited vocal chords, yelling, trying to convince hurried passers-by to buy, by means of jokes and charms.

That’s when she saw him.

“Fuckin’ Carlos” a livid Mina stumbled a few steps backward, eyes seeking a gap between the crowds, quickly calculating her way out.

Fuck!

She could recognize Ian’s red sneakers anywhere. She thanked the heavens for his poor cover-up skills, giving her the high ground for a moment. She knew he could see her, but she took her chance. One group blocked his vision for a moment, and Mina took off her oversized leather jacket, let her hair down and started to walk slowly in the opposite direction.

She mentally counted to ten, chewing furiously on an overused gum, her hands started sweating. She knew that if caught this time, it wouldn’t just be cigarette burns on her thighs.

So Mina ran.

She ran aimlessly, not looking back, eyes closed and breath shagged. She could feel the adrenaline rush shot through her bones, just like every time she plunged her skillful hands inside the pockets of an oblivious passer-by, but this time there would be no euphoria of the gain waiting at the end of the road, just a sliced head.

Five minutes of sprinting and she couldn’t take it anymore, were her lungs that damaged? Fuck you Carlos, couldn’t keep his trap shut! Fuck! She was losing speed, she could hear Ian’s red sneakers batting the asphalt, tap tap tap, just behind. It was common belief that, at moments like these, the film of your whole life would flash back before your eyes, that the spool of all your wrongs would unfurl the threads that would wind around your legs and throat, choke you to death, drag you to hell. But Mina only saw two amber gems, Mina saw warmth and large, strong arms wrapping her in endless depths of comfort, and she felt peace descend upon her, Mina saw the future so she ran faster, and this time, with one destination in mind.

[not-close-to-straight]

More Than Words (Five)

Things take a turn towards lightly smexy with our boys (HOLLA), Peter comes to terms with the whole ‘soulmate’ thing and our boys have an honest conversation about what their scent match means. Honestly, the way these two talk to each other just slays me. Like I wrote the damn thing, and it still makes me swoon a little bit. 

Generic TW for vague mentions of hunting/butchering an elk. I feel like no one actually cares about that, but when I was vegan/vegetarian hunting in general was sort of hard to read about so just throwing it out there for anyone else!

MTW MASTERLIST HERE

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

Peter woke before the sunrise to see Wade buttoning into his heavy coat, half a sandwich crammed into the Alpha’s mouth and a fire already roaring behind the grate. 

“Wade?” Peter rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times. “Where are you going? The moon is still out.” 

“Heya Pete.” Wade shot the Omega a quick smile before cramming another bite of sandwich into his mouth. “I gotta get into the woods and try for a couple deer to get us through the winter. Maybe an elk. Gotta fill the root cellar.” 

“Root cellar.” God it was hard to think when there will still stars outside the window. “We have a root cellar? That’s a real thing?” 

“Where do you think the food is stored?” Wade raised his eyebrows and gestured around the cabin. “Don’t pull beans outta thin air, Pete. We’ve got one in here and I’ve got a smaller one out by the barn where I’ll hang the meat before we can do anything with it.” 

“Right. Right, no that makes sense.” Peter’s hair was hilariously rumpled, standing up in tufts all around his head. “Okay, we have a root cellar. What goes in the root cellar? What do we--” a jaw cracking yawn. “--what-- I mean um-- food--?” 

“I think you’re too tired to put words together, why don’t you close your eyes again?” Wade suggested, and the sleepy sweet smile the Omega gave about made his knees give out. God damn Pete was gorgeous. “You can uh--” Wade coughed to clear his throat. “-- you can sleep late today. I’ll give the animals their feed now and be back in time to do the milking once it’s warm out again. The fire is already set so you can just rest.” 

“Nah, I’m awake.” Peter sat up and stretched, sighing out loud and wrapping one of the blankets around his shoulders. “Um, I can do chores. Or I can at least help when you get back home.” 

Home. If a smile had been enough to make Wade’s knees weak, hearing Peter call the cabin home was enough to put him on the floor. Ever since their moment in the barn when Peter had gone so soft and floaty, the Omega had been talking in terms of us and our, thinking out loud about how the cabin would be in the spring as if he were planning to be still be around, lingering over smiles and letting his eyes melt warm every time he looked up and caught Wade staring. 

Wade didn’t know if Peter even realized what he was doing, but the Alpha loved every single second anyway. 

“Or maybe I could do laundry.” Wade came back to the conversation just in time to see Peter sniff at his shirt and then wrinkle that adorable nose. “Man, do these need washed. I’ve never slept in the same jammies for ten days before. I am rank.” 

“You scent amazing, Omega.” Wade tightened his laces and stood up again, purposefully looking away from the flush he knew would be painted across Peter’s cheeks. “But if you want to wash up, use the rain water in the bucket outside. Otherwise we gotta haul it from the spring up the mountain a ways like I do for the animals.” 

“Rain water is fine.” Feeling inexplicably shy over Wade’s compliment-- and thinking perhaps he should just go ahead and fall sleep again so he wouldn’t say anything embarrassing in response-- Peter stared down at the quilts, pleating the material between his fingers. “Um, soap?” 

“Here beneath the wash basin.” Wade opened the doors of the small cupboard to show several wrapped packages of soap. “And if you want to heat the water up, I keep the big cauldron in the root cellar.” 

He waited for Peter to look up in confusion, then stamped his foot loudly so Peter could hear the echo of hollow beneath the floor. “Trap door is right here. There’s a line hung outside between the cabin and the barn--” 

“-- I read once that homesteaders would run a rope between the house and the barn so they could walk along it in blizzards and not get lost when they did chores.” Peter interrupted. “Is that why you have one?” 

The reference to another one of Peter’s books made Wade smile. He couldn’t imagine a life with enough down time to read as much as Peter did, but it was fuckin’ cute when the Omega spouted off random knowledge he’d picked up in a book one time. 

Just fuckin’ cute. 

“That’s exactly why I have it.” Wade finally said. “But you can use it to dry clothes since it’s not exactly blizzard weather yet.” 

“Oh right.” the Omega smiled sheepishly. “Not blizzard weather yet. So. Hunting, though. You’ll be safe?” 

“Um.” Wade slung his rifle over his shoulder and hooked a pouch of bullets to his belt. “Yes?” 

“Wade.” 

“I’ve never had to think about being safe, Pete. I just hunt.” An extra knife strapped to Wade’s thigh, the other half of the sandwich tucked into his pack alongside rolled bags to carry the meat home. “And remember how I always heal? I could shoot myself in the foot and be just fine by the time I make it back.” 

“Okay that’s awful.” Peter made a face over Wade’s attempt at humor. “And I know you heal and that’s great but-- but I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t come back, alright? So please come back?” 

It was a practical point, one worth mentioning. Peter had only been around a week and a half and had just the barest idea how to take care of the animals and the cabin. Peter hadn’t been to Haven yet and didn’t know how to get there, and beyond that he would have no idea who to ask for help if he made it down the mountain. Something awful happening to Wade would spell certain doom for the Omega, and Peter was right to worry. 

“Please come back.” he said again, softer this time as he picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Okay?” 

There was a thump as Wade’s pack hit the floor, then nearly running footsteps and Peter startled when the Alpha was suddenly right in front of him, Wade pressing their foreheads together and fitting his palm to the base of Peter’s neck in a protective hold. 

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “Wade--” 

“I’ll come back, Omega.” Wade rumbled and Peter shut his eyes, breathing out slowly and settling further into the touch. “Don’t worry. Stay here and stay warm, and I’ll be back real soon.” 

“Oh--okay.” Peter brought his hand up to rest on the Alpha’s forearm, digging his fingers into the flex of muscle and quivering when Wade thumbed firmly over his bonding spot. “Thank you.” 

“Back real soon.” Wade repeated, and Peter-- Peter might have imagined the barest brush of lips at his forehead, but Wade was out the door and gone before he could ask. 

Alpha. 

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

The cabin was comfortably warm this morning and Peter was very tempted to just cozy back into bed and maybe read his book for a while but a whiff of his pajamas had the Omega changing his mind, scrambling from the covers and stripping out of his clothes as fast as he could. 

It was nice that Wade didn’t mind how Peter smelled, but Alphas liked how Omegas smelled no matter what, so the compliment didn’t mean quite as much as it would if Peter had bathed in the last two weeks. 

After all, one time he’d done a mud run with MJ and Harry had gone half wild over the scent of sweaty Omegas, so Wade liking that Peter probably smelled like cabin and blankets and horses didn’t mean a damn thing. 

“Into the wash you go.” Peter piled the rest of his dirty clothes by the fire, then padded naked across the cabin to get into Wade’s dresser and borrow a clean shirt. Then it was over to the root cellar Peter had never once noticed to retrieve a pot that was damn near a cauldron and lug it back up the stairs.

It felt quirky and sort of daring to be doing chores clad only in his the Alpha’s shirt, but it was a clothing choice Peter sorely regretted the moment he stepped outside. 

“Oh son of a--!” A brisk morning wind swept up beneath the hem of the shirt and made the Omega scream high and girly as his most sensitive parts were treated to a wash of frigid air. Peter had never clenched his butt up so tight or so quickly in his entire life, and as he covered his front protectively and dove back inside, he was forever grateful to have had this particular snafu while no one-- not even the goat-- was there to judge him. 

“Alright. New plan.”

Wade’s pants were huge on him, but Peter wasn’t about to risk going outside with his bits uncovered again, so he rolled the trouser legs up to his knees and used his belt to tighten the waist as far as it would go, and tried again. 

Peter definitely wasn’t strong enough to lug a full cauldron over to the fire and up onto the hook inside, so it took fourteen different trips out into the early morning chill with a pitcher before the over sized pot was full and heating above the flames. 

Then Peter kicked out of Wade’s pants and refolded them because honestly not only did he look ridiculous, but it was practically impossible to move in them and the shirt covered him down to mid thigh anyway.

No one was here to look at him anyway, right?

While waiting for the water, Peter took a few minutes to dump his backpack and clean it out. His phone screen was dark and Peter’s lips twisted into a frown when he realized even if he could charge the stupid thing, it wasn’t as if cell phone service existed in this time period. The brand new phone was nothing more than an over priced paperweight and that-- that was depressing. 

The digital recorder had extra batteries at least, so Peter wouldn’t be fully without technology and if he ran out of paper, he could record all his thoughts and save them that way too. 

The recorder went down to the bottom of the pack next to his worthless phone and unnecessary wallet, and the Omega moved on. 

Granola bar wrappers from the hike were thrown away, but Peter kept the empty water bottle just in case, and his toothbrush and comb went next to Wade’s toothbrush and jar of tooth powder on the wash basin. A quick look into the small mirror on the wall and Peter brushed the bedhead away until his hair lay at least somewhat tame, and made a mental note to see about actually washing the mess later today. 

Gwen teased him mercilessly about never wanting to use hotel toiletries. Peter always insisted on bringing his own shampoo and conditioner, a pack of face cleansing wipes and a travel sized bottle of his favorite soap and while his friends insisted hotel toiletries were built into the price of the room and therefore free to take, now Peter was infinitely relieved to have packed all his regular items. 

He felt icky after being up close and personal with animals, after sweating in front of the fire before bed and then climbing under heavy blankets and after ten days of only brushing his teeth and wiping down with a rag and cold water, an actual shower or bath sounded amazing. 

Later, maybe. After the clothes and at least some of the blankets were washed  then he would heat up some more water -- ugh, his arms rebelled at the thought of carrying more water-- and take a proper bath. 

Then Wade would really think he scented good and maybe the Alpha would--

“Easy Parker.” Peter filled the wash basin and dunked a couple pair of boxers in while he unwrapped a chunk of soap. “No need to follow that line of thought.” 

That line of thought being of course, the one that inevitably started when Wade flashed those damnable fangs, moseyed down a path of jittery, tongue biting interest every time the Alpha brushed too close, and ended either in that easy, floaty realm where all Peter wanted to do was close his eyes and let Wade’s scent carry him away…

...or ended in a flash of too sharp heat, Peter’s stomach clenching as he gasped for air, core tightening and thighs squeezed together when Wade’s eyes slid from beautiful hazel to dangerous red. 

No. No need to follow that line of thought, Peter wouldn’t get anything done if he started thinking too much about that. 

Nope nope nope. Washing clothes it was. 

It took depressingly long for Peter to wash his few outfits. First he scrubbed at them in the basin so he could pitch the dirty water and refill with ease every few garments. Then they all went into the near boiling pot over the fire to get rid of any sort of germs, after which Peter had to carry the sodden pile out onto the line outside to dry in the slowly warming air. 

He started with underwear and socks and moved on to a few shirts, then onto the sweatpants he’d been wearing on the drive up, the ratty pair of brightly colored leggings he’d stolen from MJ as a joke and hadn’t realized he’d stuffed in the bottom of his pack, and finally both pairs of jeans and it took forever. 

Peter would never take a washing machine for granted again. 

Still, there was something to be said for the sheer satisfaction of having all clean clothes again and as Peter pitched the water in the basin and made a quick refill of the hanging pot, he made the decision to just go ahead and wash all the blankets in the cabin. 

Sleeping in clean sweats and clean sheets would be absolute heaven and well worth the time and effort of hand washing. 

“I can do this.” Peter looked down at his red fingers and palms, the skin rubbed raw from rough soap and already an hour and a half in and out of the water. “Clean blankets will be worth it. Come on, Pete. You can do this.” 

He could do this, but it was messy sort of surprisingly difficult work to muscle heavy blankets in and out of the water and out to the line. But Peter didn’t give up, scrubbing at the sheets and working thick lathers into the blankets until they were ready to go into the refilled cauldron. Then the pillow cases, then the blankets folded in a corner by the big over stuffed chair and as Peter held them up he realized that he’d never thought about where Wade slept every night. 

He took over the bed and was always passed out with in a few minutes, and even though there was a well worn couch pushed up against the far wall, it was barely big enough for Peter to stretch out on, certainly not big enough for an Alpha of Wade’s size. 

“Do you sleep on the floor?” Peter asked the empty room, and judging by the number of blankets stacked by the chair, the answer seemed obvious. “Holy shit, you sleep on the floor every night so I can have the bed?” 

Those blankets went into the wash immediately, and Peter gave the hot water a squirt from his bottle of body wash to freshen up the scent of the blankets too. 

The Alpha deserved a little something extra for always being so sweet. 

Busy with his self mandated chore, Peter didn’t notice the hours slipping away and once the very last blanket was drying on the line and all the others were refolded and set back on the bed, he tucked into the chair with his notebook and started scribbling down everything he’d done. 

Peter had a list of questions-- what was the soap made of? Was there an easier way to do laundry? How often did Wade do this? Was there a laundromat in Haven or was that not a thing yet?-- but the fire was so warm, Peter’s eyes droopy after waking up so early and he was honestly sort of embarrassingly tired after doing the laundry, so halfway through his list of questions, the pen slipped from Peter’s hand and rolled to the floor as the Omega fell asleep. 

He didn’t hear Wade whistle to let him know he’d returned, or hear the goat bleating in aggravation as the Alpha finally made it in to milk her. Peter didn’t hear Wade calling for him from the yard, and didn’t hear the cabin door open and close as the Alpha came looking for him--

--and Peter didn’t hear the way Wade’s breath hitched as he came around the chair and found Peter curled up and sleeping soundly wearing nothing but the Alpha’s long shirt. 

He was sleeping, so he didn’t see Wade’s eyes blur darkly possessive red or hear the growl of approval the Alpha didn’t bother muffling when he saw the length of Peter’s bare legs and the way the shirt only covered him to mid thigh.

The entire cabin smelled clean, the blankets scenting of strong soap and beneath that, faintly of sandalwood and Wade’s stomach did something swoopy and wishful as he took in the domesticity of the moment. 

He’d been out hunting all morning while his Omega had been home puttering around in his shirt and doing the laundry?

It was domestic and beautiful and Wade took a chance, bent down to nose over Peter’s soft cheek and inhale sleepy Omega scent like he’d wanted to do every single morning since Peter had arrived. 

Peter hummed in his sleep, then peeked an eye open and offered a quiet, surprised little smile and Wade grinned right back, baring his fangs and rumbling in satisfaction.“Good morning, Omega.” 

“Good morning.” Still loopy from his nap, Peter turned his head a little to press their cheeks together and Wade’s rumble grew even louder. “Did you get us a deer?” 

Us. 

“Not this morning, but I’ll go back out later in the afternoon.” Wade crouched in front of the seat so they were at eye level, giving in to the urge to slip his fingers into Peter’s hair and tug gently at the strands. “How are you?” 

“Washing clothes is hard.” Peter stated and the Alpha chuckled softly. “Remember how I said I might go vegan so I’m not taking things from animals? I might go nudist just so I don’t have to wash clothes anymore.” 

“I feel like I wouldn’t object to that.” Wade closed a calloused palm around Peter’s slim ankle, thoroughly enjoying the full body shiver from the Omega, and the way Peter’s honeysuckle and lavender scent tinged hazy with anticipation. “But I only stopped long enough to milk the goat so she’d stop yelling at me. I still need to take care of Bea and work around the cabin a bit before taking off hunting again and--” 

“--and me parading around naked might be a little distracting?” Peter finished with a nearly devious scrunch of his nose. “Hm?” 

“A little distracting.” The Alpha allowed. “But you sure could sit outside in the sunshine and show off these legs all day long. Come on out with me.” 

“You want me to come outside and show off my legs while you work?” Peter raised an eyebrow faux suspiciously, fighting to keep a smile away. It was so easy to flirt with Wade, so easy to get the Alpha’s eyes sparking as they teased. “And here I thought you said I couldn’t survive by just being pretty anymore.” 

“You keep wandering around in my shirt like this, and being pretty will get you just about anything you want.” Wade’s voice dropped, the words rough and just that quickly the moment slid from teasing to tense, their easy banter suddenly edging the line of much more, Wade’s hand at Peter’s ankle less casual and more claiming as he drew purposeful circles over the delicate bones. “You look good like this Pete. Look good in my clothes.” 

“...yeah?” Peter could hardly breathe through the tension in the air as the Alpha’s licorice and cedar scent rolled with arousal. “You like how I look?” 

“Mmmm.” Wade’s sigh was more of a growl, vibrating through his chest and clear into Peter’s body and Peter had the sudden hysterical thought that this was exactly the sort of scenario Omega’s got themselves into between the pages of his cheesy romance novels. 

It was always a platonic situation turned blatantly sexual, an innocent moment flush with unneeded innuendo, the Alpha almost aggressively turned on and the Omega reacting with a rush of arousal Peter had always chalked up to fanciful writing and authors with no idea how sex and attraction actually worked. 

But here he was anyway, pressing his knees together as if it would stop slick from trickling down his thighs, biting at the inside of his cheek until it tore so he wouldn’t whine. He was torn between staring at the Alpha’s tongue running greedily over hooked fangs-- and staring at Wade’s trousers pulling tight over his thighs and doing nothing to disguise the swell of the Alpha’s cock beneath the fabric. 

Oh oh oh. 

Wade inhaled, rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers where they lay on Peter’s body and then-- even though the hazel eyes had long past charged red and hungry-- then Wade stood up and moved away.

“N-no--” Peter clapped a hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t ask Wade to come back, fixed his eyes on a spot on the floor so he wouldn’t watch as Wade grimaced and adjusted himself.

“Take your time--” Wade had to clear his throat at least twice to smooth the snarl from the words. “Take your time getting dressed, come outside whenever you’re ready, okay?” 

“Okay.” Peter covered his face with both hands and sank deeper into the chair, both ready and willing to fall through a hole in the floor and just disappear if it would save him from the embarrassment of--

“Beauty.” Wade leaned over the chair and whispered into Peter’s ear, his hand steady and warm at Peter’s back. “Gorgeous Omega. Don’t ever stop wearing my clothes.”  

Peter peeked up through his fingers and Wade dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Come outside whenever you’re ready.” 

“I’ll-- I’ll be right there.” An unsteady breath and then too quiet for Wade to hear, “...Alpha.” 

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

Wade laughed for a full five minutes when Peter came outside wearing the brightly striped bottoms and even though the Omega huffed over the noise, he was secretly glad his plan had worked. 

The moment in the cabin had been real enough to be frightening, and Peter honestly didn’t know if he could walk outside and handle a repeate scene. Thankfully, Mary Jane’s leggings sported both migraine inducing stripes and retina burning colors and there was simply no way for Wade to think they were even the least bit sexy. 

Wade was still laughing when Peter walked over to help brush Arthur, and the Alpha laughed even harder when the gelding reared back in alarm and swung his big butt around to face Peter. 

“Stop that.” Peter swatted Arthur’s tail away. “They aren’t that ugly.” 

“Oh baby boy.” Wade leaned into Bea’s side and gave him a once over. “Those are definitely that ugly. Is that what people where in your time? Stripes and terrible colors?” 

“I’d wear just about anything, so long as they are this comfortable.” Peter said primly. “Besides, I just washed all my jeans. These are already worn out so it’s not a big deal if they get stained. I’ll just throw them away.” 

“When we get to town, I’ll get you some real clothes.” Wade finally ceased his chuckling and went back to grooming the mare. “Heavier work clothes so your other ones don’t wear out.” 

“...you’re going to buy me clothes?” Peter should absolutely want to object to that. Alphas who paid for their Omega’s clothes usually felt as if they deserved a say in what the Omega wore and that was unacceptable. “Really?” 

“I’d let you buy them, but you don’t have any money.” Wade pointed out, and for about the hundredth time since arriving in Wade’s life, Peter felt foolish for assuming the Alpha was anything like the stereotypes he knew back home. “Or if you do have money, it isn’t from my time, right?” 

“Right.” Peter thought about the wallet full of cards in the bottom of his pack. “Uh, yeah. I guess that’s true. But I don’t want you to spend all your money on me.” 

“It won’t take all my money to buy you some clothes, Pete.” Wade assured him. “But even if we do spend it all, I’ll put the rest on credit and when I run trap lines this winter I’ll pay it off. Not a big deal.” 

“What if you don’t sell enough…” Peter hesitated. “...fur? Is that what trap lines mean? What if you don’t get enough fur to pay off the bill?” 

“Then I try extra hard next year.” Wade sent him a strange look. “Why the questions, Pete? It’s not like we won’t be able to get our supplies. Mr. Lee would never deny anyone what they needed, what sort of person would refuse to give someone else food or clothing just cos they couldn’t afford it at the moment?” 

“Boy howdy, would you hate my timeline.” Peter said dryly. “People go without food, shelter and medicine because they can’t afford it.” 

“That ain’t right.” 

“As someone whose literally had to scrounge for pennies to buy groceries in the past?” the Omega nodded. “It definitely isn’t right.” 

They finished the majority of the chores in comfortable silence. Too bright leggings or not, the moment from before still simmered between them as the late morning spilled into afternoon and more than once Wade caught himself stopping to just stare when his shirt slipped off of Peter’s shoulder, or the Omega bent to get something and those damnable bottoms hugged his legs. 

By the time Wade was ready to try hunting again, the need to get Peter back in his arms was proving impossible to ignore, sizzling in the Alpha’s veins and running under his skin until he felt nearly electric. 

Omega. 

Mine. 

But Peter was still acting gun shy about earlier, ducking his head if he caught Wade looking, an acidic edge of uncertainty undermining lavender if they brushed too close. Not rejection, just uncertainty, and Wade didn’t let himself be discouraged by it. 

After all, there had been nothing but acceptance and want in the Omega’s scent when they’d been together, a surge of lust in Peter’s dark eyes that had about bowled Wade right over, and as he’d left to go outside the Omega had whispered ‘Alpha’ in a soft, secret tone that left Wade breathless. 

No, he wasn’t discouraged at all. Peter knew him and he knew Peter and they were meant to be-- differing timelines or not. 

He could wait. 

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

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

{{Author’s Note: For anyone that cares, elk have been considered technically extinct in upstate New York since 1877 so they would be very difficult to Wade to find. White tail deer are plentiful, but tiny. Example: an average bull elk can yield 200 pounds of meat, the average white tail, only about 50}}

The two weeks Wade had spent taking care of Peter had pushed him right past prime hunting season and into leaner hunting times and every day the Alpha couldn’t get a bead on a decent sized animal or even a couple smaller animals, the more worried Wade became. 

Early morning and late afternoon hunts changed to all day hunting as a few days passed and Wade hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anything decent, and the need to bring home extra this year to also provide for Pete had the Alpha out in the woods from before sunup to past sundown. 

Peter spent the time alone mostly trying to do chores so Wade wouldn’t have as much to do when he finally made it home. It still took Peter close to fifteen minutes to coax the goat close and tether her up to be milked, and even though he was recently discovering a new found fear of rickety ladders and high lofts, he still climbed up every day to shovel down fresh hay into the stalls. 

Dealing with Arthur was easy at least, and Peter lingered over grooming the gelding and familiarizing himself with the different gear and how to take care of bridles and saddles. 

In the late afternoons before evening chores, Peter sat in the cabin and tried to organize all the notes he’d taken so far or sat and flipped through the book from Gwen until he got bored and tossed it away. 

The romance suddenly felt much less interesting than it had only a few weeks prior. Peter skimmed through most of the conversations and rolled his eyes at the stilted interactions, skipped the sex scenes entirely because reading dirty things about fanged, mountain men Alphas while he had a real fanged mountain man Alpha sleeping only a few feet away from him every night...

.... well it just seemed weird. 

Peter gave up on the book after a few days and busied himself with sweeping the cabin floors, boiling water to sanitize some of the older looking dishes, making up his bed every morning and taking the time to fold the blankets Wade slept on. Johnny would laugh until he threw up if he knew Peter was willingly keeping house for an Alpha, but Peter didn’t feel so much like he was ‘keeping house’ for Wade as he felt like he was keeping their cabin clean. 

Wade came in from hunting to a clean space, at least an attempt at dinner even if it wasn’t much more than slightly burned meat and beans-- the Alpha kept a very sparse pantry-- and being able to help Wade in at least a tiny way settled a quiet part of Peter’s soul that was driven to take care of his the Alpha. 

It was a simple sort of life and as Peter spent more and more time outside in the late autumn sunshine and let freckles dot across his nose, he couldn’t find a single thing to complain about. 

...Except how hard it was to wash clothes, that is. 

He would forever complain about that. 

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

The good weather and low stress days couldn’t last forever of course, and the afternoon Wade finally managed to bag an elk, clouds began building black and ominous on the horizon, spilling over the high peaks and pouring down the mountain side. 

By the time Wade finished field dressing the animal and packed the heavy pieces onto Bea’s back so he could take them home, a fine mist of rain had turned into a near deluge and he had to walk alongside the mare on the slippery trail so she wouldn’t lose her footing and send both of them down the mountain slope. 

Lightning split the sky as they came into the clearing, the bolt highlighting the barn and the cabin and Wade’s heart squeezed in affection when he saw Peter huddled in the open doorway of the cabin, peering out into the storm and clearly waiting for him to return.

“I’m here!” he called, and whistled for good measure. “Get inside! I’ll be right in!” 

“Let me help!” Peter buttoned up one of Wade’s extra jackets and darted out into the rain, thoroughly soaking his sneakers as he skidded across the muddy clearing. “I can help with Bea, you do something else.” 

Peter clicked and trilled and coaxed the big mare into her stall, carefully undid the bit and bridle and nearly fell under the weight of her saddle, then wiped her dry with a soft rag all with in several minutes. Taking care of the horses was so much fun he didn’t even mind the work, and since both Bea and Arthur were gentle as could be, he wasn’t even nervous around the big hooves and blunt teeth. 

“There you are, pretty girl. do you need to eat?” Bea nickered at him and Peter patted at her nose with a smile. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” 

Wade overheard the myriad of comments and only shook his head in amusement as he got to work hanging the bigger pieces of meat down in the outside cellar, piling the smaller pieces on rudimentary shelves in the always chilly underground storage. Usually he would salt most of it and pack it tight, but he was worn out from long days hunting and with the storm coming in he didn’t have the time to try and cut the meat down into smaller, more manageable portions. 

It would have to hang here until the storm blew out which was alright anyway. The longer the meat hung, the more tender it would be, and while Wade wasn’t picky about what he ate, Peter would enjoy more edible pieces for the little bit of meat he managed to eat every day. 

“Was it a buck?” Peter wanted to know when Wade came up from the cellar. “The deer I mean. A buck?” 

Wade sealed the cellar door behind him and moved his heavy splitting bench on top to dissuade any animal visitors who might have caught the scent of fresh game. “I got us a bull, Pete. Bucks are deer, bulls are elk. Cow elk are usually pregnant this time of year and it’s gotten so hard to find the herds anyway, I didn’t want to risk shooting anything that could be expecting. Gotta keep the population up somehow.”

“But the bull--” 

“It’s after rut, so if this guy was gonna contribute to the survival of the species, he already got it out of his system.” Wade winked when Peter made a icked out noise. “Come on. No reason to be standing out here, back to the cabin.” 

They ran for the relative dryness of the cabin together, Wade holding his coat up and over their heads as they went and pushing Peter through the door first so he could bar it behind them. 

The soaked jacket was tossed over the peg closest to the fire to dry, then Wade crowded close to the flames too, chasing away the chill of several hours in the rain.

“Did I do okay with the fire?” Peter asked almost immediately, eyes darting purposefully towards the full box of kindling and the stack of logs piled close by. “Chopping kindling is about a thousand times more difficult than I thought it would be.” 

“Did you cut yourself on the hatchet?” Wade tugged out of his long sleeve and spread it over the mantle, then stripped out of his undershirt as well and started working on his belt. “I keep it real sharp.” 

“Real… sharp.” Peter’s gaze changed direction rather abruptly as he zeroed in on the play of Wade’s abdomen as the Alpha bent to yank at the ties of his boots, then straightened to put them on the mantle next to his clothes on the heated rock. “...yep.” 

“Pete?” 

“Yep.” Peter snapped back to attention, ignoring the smirk on Wade’s face. “I mean nope. No, I didn’t cut myself. No.” 

“Well you did a good job.” The kindling pieces were jagged and uneven, some nothing more than splinters and others still practically logs but Peter had tried and it was both heart warming and adorable, so Wade flashed his fangs in a reassuring smile and repeated, “You did a good job, Omega. Thank you.”

“I didn’t want you to have to do as much work when you got home.” Peter muttered, toeing at the floor self consciously. He knew his kindling pile was absolutely terrible, but he did feel proud that Wade had one less chore to do after hunting the last several days. “And I dunno how much wood it takes to last through the night, but I carried it in until my arms hurt so…” he shrugged. “Hopefully that’s enough.” 

“I can always run and get more from the shed. Pete, how’d you start the fire?” The Alpha glanced around the room. “Did you find the matches? I took my flint with me.” 

“....it didn’t occur to me to look for matches.” Peter admitted, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. “I had a lighter in my back pack, so I used that.” 

“Oh I see.” Wade’s eyes widened a little when Peter clicked the lighter and a flame burst into existence. “Oh. So you just used your future time magic to start the fire, huh?” 

“Is that what we’re calling that?” Peter’s chest swelled with pride when the Alpha made an impressed noise. “Future time magic? Don’t you guys have lighters?” 

“There’s a couple idiots out there who convert their old pistols to strike and light like that.” Wade motioned for Peter’s lighter and turned it over in his hands. “I prefer starting fires in ways that won’t blow up in my face.”

"That’s fair.” Peter acknowledged, and Wade flashed another one of those fangy smiles his direction. “Um, are you hungry? I realize I’m a terrible cook but--”

“I ate out on the trail.” Wade clicked the lighter on and off a few times. “I was always taught to say a prayer over any animal that gives it’s life so we can survive another winter, so I thanked our animal and then built a little fire to cook up some of the meat. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” A little relieved that he wouldn’t have to ruin dinner tonight, Peter backpedaled until he could fall into the chair, and tucked his knees up to his chest. Wade was still shirtless, damp trousers clinging to powerful thighs and Peter just let himself look for a long time, cataloging the myriad of scars cutting across heavy muscles and admiring the breadth of the Alpha’s shoulders. 

Wade was completely opposite of everything Peter had ever found even passably attractive in an Alpha before. Harry was good looking but his carefully gelled curls and smooth skin suddenly seemed so plain compared to the patchwork of stories told by Wade’s scars. And Johnny was hilarious and fit, but his shoulders weren’t near as broad as Wade’s, his arms not half as thick. And Gwen-- well it didn’t seem right to compare a female Alpha to a male Alpha, but there had been a time when Peter thought Gwen had the prettiest smile he had ever seen-- and now that he’d seen hooked fangs glinting in firelight as Wade laughed, well even Gwen paled in comparison. 

But Peter also knew it wasn’t just the physical appeal that drew him to Wade. If he’d come across an over large Alpha with wicked fangs and a tendency to growl at home, Peter would have turned on his heel and walked the other but now? 

Oh now he wanted to just sit back and listen to the pitch of Wade’s voice and feel the carefully restrained strength in those arms and lay against a too solid chest and feel their hearts beating together. 

It was more than physical appeal, it was more than circumstances, and more than some sort of side effect of the time travel. It was more than--

--Peter didn’t realize his eyes had closed until suddenly they were wide open, his breath stuttering as Wade’s scent weighted dense with interest. 

“W-Wade?” he croaked, clutching at the blankets when he saw the Alpha’s eyes shadowing red. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Wade rumbled. “Nothing’s wrong, you smell good, Omega. What are you thinking about?” 

“Oh. Oh my god.” Peter’s face burned in embarrassment. “I um-- sometimes I forget you can scent me, I forget you can read my scent so well. Back home we wear suppressants so no one’s emotions can affect anyone else. Scent blockers and all that.” 

Wade’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look away, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch even more of the lavender and honeysuckle scent. “You said that before. Sounds awful, having one of your senses taken away like that. How do you know if you’re mates if you can’t scent each other?” 

“Scent matches aren’t really a real thing anymore.” Peter explained haltingly. “We uh-- you know, just spend time together and fall in love, get married and bond. Or just spend time together and maybe we don’t fall in love but we still share heats. No-- no scent matching needed. Or if we get married, our scents end up matching because we’re in love, we don’t fall in love because our scents match.” 

“Seems like a backwards way to do it.” Wade passed by on his way to his dresser and Peter kept his eyes firmly on the fireplace while the Alpha changed into a pair of sleep pants. “Wouldn’t it be easier to match scent with someone first? Everything else works out after that. Scent match means your souls match, why wouldn’t people want it?” 

“I guess people want the chance to pick their own soul mates.” For the first time in his life and despite his past objections to everything related to bonding, Peter suddenly thought the idea sounded absolutely stupid. 

Who wouldn’t want a soul mate? 

“Besides.” He made a vague gesture, not even half convinced of his own argument. “What if they never find the person they are scent matched to? What if they live in California and their soul mate lives all the way across the world and they’ll never meet? Falling in love on your own means you can choose whether or not to be alone, not be left alone because the universe assigned you a mate you have no chance of ever knowing.” 

“I don’t think it’s like that.” Wade poured two drinks and came back to the fire, pressing one into Peter’s hand. “Soul mates find each other no matter what. Distance has got nothing to do with it.” 

“Right.” Peter swallowed. “Distance--” and time. “--has nothing to do with it.” 

Wade sat down at the foot of Peter’s chair, tipping his head back onto the arm rest and staring into the flames as he sipped at his moonshine and changed the subject. “Get you some wine or something when we’re in Haven, huh? Then you won’t have to drink water and milk like a damn toddler all the time.” 

“A toddler.” Peter cracked a smile. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”  Then he tightened his fingers around the cup of water and asked, “Um, Wade?” 

The Alpha raised his eyebrows, the upside down expression almost comical. “What’s up, Pete?” 

“Um--” 

Words weren’t going to work since it was all but impossible to form sentences when Wade was looking at him, and even if Peter could put together a sentence, he didn’t know where to find the words to possibly explain his acceptance of the pull at his soul and the way he craved-- no, yearned-- no, needed to be with the Alpha. 

There weren’t any words and it was so frustrating--

“Wade--I um--”  

“Pete.” Peter jumped a little when Wade turned around to face him, the Alpha up on his knees and looming into Peter’s space. “Hey hey, come here, c’mere.” 

Peter set his cup aside and leaned into the calloused hand at his cheek, lay his head back when Wade’s fingers slid around to tug through his hair before settling at the curve of his neck. Foreheads touching, noses bumping and Peter whined softly so softly in response to the Alpha’s rumble, didn’t hesitate to sway closer when Wade coaxed him forward and when he could fit his nose to Wade’s collarbone and open mouth inhale the Alpha’s scent, Peter couldn’t stop his relieved purr. 

“I know what you’re trying to say.” Wade muttered, other arm winding around Peter’s waist and holding him steady. “Don’t need words, baby boy. Not when it’s like this, you know?” 

“I’m… I’m starting to figure that out.” Peter whispered back, fingers trembling where they lay over the Alpha’s heart. “This is amazing, I never thought--I mean I heard stories but I didn’t know it was like-- like this.” 

“It’s what it’s supposed to feel like, Omega.” Wade moved tighter between Peter’s open knees. “Can only get better from here, you know?” 

“I-- I--” 

I’m not ready for more. 

The thought slammed into Peter’s mind and made him recoil, and the Alpha’s grip tightened when he tried to jerk away. 

“Easy, easy.” Wade hushed him, sweeping his thumb over Peter’s jawline. “What happened, what’s the matter?” 

“Oh god.” Peter shook his head, or tried to at least, the words coming unsteady and too fast as every inch of him locked up in a panic. “I’m not ready for more than this. And--and I know you. I know you and that’s amazing but I know being scent matched means we’re supposed to mate and everything and holy shit I don’t think I’ve ever wanted an Alpha the way I want you but I’m not ready--”

“Hush.” Wade held him even tighter. “Pete, Pete stop for a minute and just listen. Just listen.” 

“Listen?” Peter didn’t understand, but he went along obediently when Wade coaxed him in, took a shaky breath and forced himself to focus only on what he could feel from the Alpha. 

Anxiety and uncertainty. Excitement and surprise. Mate and mine. Heartbreak and hurt and hesitation.

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “You um-- you too?” 

“Me too, sweetheart.” Wade’s scent didn’t change from steady and comforting, lightly possessive and over whelmingly protective. The lust and heat that had flared so quickly the last time they’d found themselves in this position was banked now beneath a syrupy slow wash of affection, simmering but not important and once Peter relaxed enough to read everything the Alpha was saying, he was stunned by just how much he suddenly knew. 

Wade wasn’t ready for more either. 

“Wade?” he asked carefully. “You too?” 

“Losing my first mate was real difficult.” Wade said slowly. “And I never thought I’d get another chance at this, Pete. Figured scent matches and mates come along once a lifetime, you know? But then you dropped outta no where and changed everything. This is real scary for me, Omega. Feels like I’ve had you forever when really I don’t have you at all. I could lose you any minute and I keep thinking I should ignore our bond and save myself the heartbreak but every time I try to do that, you go and do something ridiculous and I fall for you a little more.” 

Wow. 

“I’m not saying I’m not tempted to throw you over my shoulder and claim you cave man style.” Wade continued and Peter bit back a laugh. “But I gotta be honest, I dunno if my heart is ready to take that step. Body sure is, but if I get Wade Junior--” another half snorted laugh. “-- to settle down long enough for actual thoughts, I don’t think I’m ready.”

It was an unexpected confession from the Alpha, unexpected and so heartbreakingly honest that Peter started purring again, trilling gently in an attempt to erase the vulnerable in Wade’s eyes. 

“That’s why I pulled away from you the other day.” Wade admitted. “Seeing you cozy in my clothes about killed me, but I’m not ready for that yet. I need you just like this and maybe-- maybe a little more but you know, maybe not. I dunno, Pete. Don’t really know anything beyond knowing right here--” he tilted Peter’s jaw up and stared down into those dark eyes. “Right here is where I want to be. And maybe we have time for more and maybe we don’t but I-- I can’t rush this Pete. I’m not ready.” 

“You uh-- you say we don’t need words, but that was a whole lotta words.” Peter coaxed the words past the ball of emotion closing up his throat. “You’re way better at this than I am.” 

“I’ve been hunting a lot lately.” Wade returned dryly. “Lots of time for self reflection and to work through what I want to say so I don’t sound stupid when I finally open my mouth.” 

“Okay. Well for the record.” Peter mouthed a featherlight kiss to Wade’s pulse and hummed quietly when the Alpha grasped at his side. “Right here is where I want to be too. One day I’ll be ready for more but I dunno when that will be.” 

“Yeah.” Wade’s lips swept soft over Peter’s cheek and up into his hair. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

“And by the way?” Peter tipped his chin up until their mouths nearly met, no more than a breath away from the edge of Wade’s fangs. “I definitely fall for you a little more every time you’re ridiculous, too. Which is a lot. All the time.” 

“Perfect.” Wade’s laugh shook through his shoulders as he gathered Peter into a hug. “You’re perfect, Omega.”

Peter’s body flashed with heat when Wade’s hand dropped to his hips and then down along the curve of his rear for only a split second before settling at his thigh, but the Alpha soothed him with a sweet croon of, “This is enough, Pete. This right here.” 

“Cos we don’t need words.” the Omega murmured, and Wade shifted closer, nodded against him. “That’s right, beauty. We don’t need words.”  

And after another gorgeous moment together, another moment of breathing each other in, another moment with the Alpha’s heavy frame wedged between the Omega’s slim thighs so they could hold tight, Peter asked very very quietly, “Will you call me that again?” 

“Call you what?” Wade nuzzled at the delicate curl of Peter’s earlobe, pressed his lips to the tender spot at the hinge of the Omega’s jaw. “What did I call you?” 

“Baby boy?” Peter tinged pink and the Alpha almost melted. “You called me that earlier today and again just now and I-- I like it. Will you call me that again?” 

“Baby boy.” The tip of Wade’s fangs peeked out when he smiled and Peter had the sudden, totally irrational thought to lean forward and lick the sharp points. “I’ll call you that whenever you like, Pete. Anytime at all.” 

“Okay.” Peter’s blush got a little darker. “Thank you.” 

This time the Alpha growled, “Baby boy.” and Peter’s head snapped back, his mouth falling open in a pant as his thighs involuntarily clenched, holding the Alpha captive between his knees.

Oh god.

Oh god, yes please. 

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