#but i do think fondly of her and i no longer resent her for anything

[angelastrology]

.

#im shocked beyond words that my ex messaged me today #ik its mercury retrograde and everything but of all people i didn't think she'd reach out after i stopped replying a year and a half ago #we weren't on bad terms or anything and we continued casually keeping in contact platonically after the break up #but when i entered a new relationship i just thought it was best to keep a distance #we did have a very intense relationship and a terrible break up in the span of 3 years #like if you look up the definition of a toxic karmic relationship our picture should show up #and in the long text she messaged me now she basically apologizes for having hurt me #which she already had done back then but this was a more detailed apology somehow #im not sure how to feel about this but it sure is overwhelming #i met her when i was 16 and we heavily shaped each other's formative years #trauma bonded too #its just a lot #but i do think fondly of her and i no longer resent her for anything #i just genuinely hope she finds happiness and love in whatever form it might be #i think that's what i will tell her #she also said that i was probably the closest to unconditional love she will ever experience.. which im not sure how to feel about either #i'm happy that she thinks positively of me and i know i gave everything i had to offer in that relationship #but i genuinely want her to feel happy and loved again

[eyelessfaces]

uncalled for

summary: you get quite upset when poe "saves" your assigned mission by giving orders to your teams without consulting you; poe is determined to fix his mistake.

warnings: (public) arguing, talks of the future; family and having kids

tags: gn!reader, angst, being parents to bb8, fluff, this ends up being real sweet tbh

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

(uh yeah I'm back if you even noticed I was gone lol. I might just post this and disappear again for a little longer idk but anyways I'll explain the reason whenever I'm back for good; I'm okay don't worry, and I'm still gonna post fics don't worry it's nothing too serious fr)

It causes a disruption when you both barge into the hangar; despite the constant clattering and whirring of tools and material there, both your bitter shoutings have been overlapping the sounds ever since Poe started following you closely, right from the moment you hastily jumped out of your x wing to try to forget about the awful management of your mission that would probably cost you to never get to lead one again. 

“It was my call, not yours” you affirm bitterly, voice dripping with resentment, your steps heavy and hurried as you try to shake Poe off but he is anything if not persevering, so it only manages to piss you off even more and fuel your frustration. “I didn’t need you to save my mission or whatever,” you exclaim, causing heads to turn as you walk across the large room, barely minding what is going on around you. 

“I did because I knew it would work!” Poe tries to explain, still heeling you closely. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t sure it would be successful” he declares louder than he needs to, thrown off when you suddenly stop in your steps, turning to him.

“So you think you can make decisions for me? You think I can’t do it, can’t command a mission correctly?” you rhetorically ask, revolted, sighing a profanity under your breath before you storm off again, your steps resonating with frustration. Poe sighs and winces before he follows you again, taking a hold of your arm.

“Babe come on you know that’s not–”

You stop again, your patience running short. “You had no right to encroach on my orders, I knew what I had to do, and you stepping in with your own instructions could have blown the whole mission up!” you call out, pressing a finger to his chest. 

It’s when you finally take a moment to take a look at his face that you realize it, what is going on; you are being the center of attention, the little show everyone stopped their current task to sit and watch, your every word carefully awaited by your unwanted audience. 

You sigh softly, taking a moment to step back from the situation. “Now leave me alone before we embarrass ourselves further or before I tell you things I don’t really mean just because I’m angry and don’t wanna talk to you” you hiss softly before leaving Poe in the middle of the busy room where he watches you walk away, helplessly standing there. 

When he looks around him, most people turn away and avert their gazes to pretend they haven’t witnessed anything, and Poe is well too aware of the tension still lingering in the air even as you exit the room.

When Jessika climbs down from her ladder after watching the scene from her cockpit, BB-8 rolls over to her and chirps sadly, having observed yours and Poe’s argument from afar just like most of the hangar after his master went running after you. She kneels down to the droid’s level, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s gonna be fine Beebs, they always end up figuring it out somehow” she affirms as the droid’s upper part sinks in distress accompanied by saddened beeps. Jessika can’t help but smile fondly at him and his obvious concern, at the fact that he quite literally acts like you are his parents.

—

A few hours have passed when Poe joins you again; you don't notice him at first, having made sure to get focused enough on your paperwork to forget about the whole situation and try to ease the frustration within you. It's only when you put your datapad down that you see him leaning against the door frame.

“You're so pretty when you're focused” he smiles gently when your eyes meet his figure, causing you to roll your eyes and reluctantly smile at his words despite your lingering frustration. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh softly as you try to hide your slight smirk, gaze darting back down to enter numbers into your datapad.

He acknowledges your feelings with a nod, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “I know.” he admits, stepping into the room. “That’s why I’m here” You look back up at him, taking a deep breath as you set your datapad aside; despite the fact that everything he did since you wrapped your mission up got on your nerves, deep down you only wish for this to situation to get figured out and eventually be behind the both of you. You join him in front of your desk, leaning against it.

“I knew what I was doing. I was handling it” you affirm before he even gets the chance to do so much as open his mouth.

He holds a hand up to slow you down. “I know,” he nods understandingly. “I shouldn’t have redirected the plan, I should have trusted you. I was just afraid things would go wrong considering how it was all starting to go down so quickly” he explains. “I know I could have fucked it all up, everything you put in place so the mission could go right” you slightly tilt your head to the side in agreement. 

“And I know my move was probably a lot more dangerous than the plan you had in mind to make everything right but you know I would never put you or our teams in danger, only myself” he declares with a concerned nod, causing your expression to soften. “You, never. I would never risk it, no matter what” there’s a soft frown over his face as his eyes flicker with sincerity, his confession making your heart ache as it hangs in the air before he talks again. “And I never doubted your ability to command a mission.” 

You nod with a heavy sigh, acknowledging his apology. “I should apologize too. I shouldn't have lashed out on you like that either.” you admit and nod sheepishly, reflecting on your impulsive behavior. “I really wanted this mission to go right”

“For what it’s worth,” he starts with a small smile, trying to dissimulate a bigger one. “I talked about it with Leia and she thinks you did pretty good” his declaration doesn’t fail to draw an appreciative smile from you, one that makes him mirror your action. “And she thinks we would work great together”

“And I agree,” you reply, finally feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the tension between you begins to dissipate. “We do make a good team.”

Poe’s smile widens, relieved to see you loosen up a bit. “Yeah, we do” he agrees with a small huff, stepping closer to you. “I just hate seeing you so worked up.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I hate getting worked up,” you scoff. 

“I’ll try to think about it twice next time,” Poe promises, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “I don’t want to step on your toes or make you feel like I don’t trust you or your judgment.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, the warmth of his touch calming you further. “Well I’ll try not to snap at you,” you promise in return, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as you let your head rest against his chest with a small, barely audible sigh. “Especially not in front of everyone,” you mutter, earning an amused chuckle from him. You melt into his touch as he leans to press a gentle kiss over your forehead, his hand that is not holding yours coming to wrap around you.

It is only after you pull away from his embrace and leave a chaste kiss to his lips that the corner of your eye notices a sort of spy in the corner of the door frame.

“What’s he doing here” 

Poe frowns before he turns around, huffing out a laugh when he notices BB-8 peeking out the door. “How long have you been here?” he jokingly scolds his droid that fully reveals himself now that he has been caught. “You know he doesn’t like when we fight” he softly sighs turning back to you, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes before he looks at BB rolling over the both of you.

You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile at BB-8’s presence. “Very sweet of him to be looking out for us,” you start, reaching out to pat the droid’s dome affectionately. “But maybe he should learn not to eavesdrop.”

BB-8 chirps playfully, obviously pleased with the attention, seemingly eager to be a part of the reconciliation.

Poe chuckles, kneeling down to scratch behind BB-8’s sensor with a fond smile. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll work on that,” he says before glancing back at you with a soft smile. “He's our kid, he’s been worried sick about us, weren't you?” he turns to BB, who's beeping frantically in agreement.

You glance at him, then back at Poe, a softness settling in your chest at the sight of them together, your little family. “Our first kid, yeah” you smile softly, heart fluttering inside your chest.

“First? Meaning there's gonna be more?” Poe asks with a playful smile, getting back on his feet. He raises his eyebrows as he awaits your response, and you both laugh at the sudden change of atmosphere as Poe wraps a hand around you before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You huff out a laugh at his quick jump to conclusion, “I don't know, you're a pretty good dad to this one,” you shrug.

“A couple hours ago I was dead to you and now we're talking having kids” he laughs into your hair, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“You weren’t even close to being dead to me, you’re so dramatic Poe” you declare with a small scoff, poking his chest lightly. “That’s the reason Beebs loves you so much” you tease, making him huff out a laugh. “I’d say we should focus on surviving one parenting experience first,” you chuckle looking down at BB-8, nudging Poe playfully. “But who knows what the future holds?”

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement as his arm grasps tighter around his hold on you. “As long as I have you by my side, I'm up for anything babe.”

—

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

star wars masterlist: @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious @stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fluff #star wars #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #poe dameron angst

[vilonnie]

petra's "knife against my throat" quote fucks me up so bad I'm scrolling through her fe3h datamine page and crying again do you guys ever think about the horrifying implications of that A support and how it retroactively reveals that petra must have been carrying this burden for not only since you met her but even before the game started and yet she was always so sweet and kind no matter what even when she was being used as a hostage against the country and people she loves more than anything. and she was only fifteen. do you think about the change between her teenage and adult voice acting and how she sounds so much more cheerful as a teenager because she's in a space where she has friends and safety and can manage to keep up the facade she's never allowed to drop just long enough to make it through the day, as if even for a moment she can maybe allow herself to believe it. and how it changes when she's an adult and she's been thrust into the middle of a precarious, dangerous conflict where she still must carry the burden but no longer gets any reprieve as she is now tasked with solving the problems of her oppressor nation when those of her own must seem so insurmountable at times. "for brigid, I find strength to carry on." the rage in her voice if she is forced to die so far from home, without knowing if it will ever be free. and of course she does not resent edelgard and thinks of her fondly even when fighting the empire (shamir and petra's support,) which must be strange because they truly cared for each other as individuals, as friends and partners, as humans and as equals, and what must it be like to love someone on a personal level when your actions as rulers and figureheads have such greater consequences in politics and as a whole? if you recruit her to another route and she is given the chance to rebel against the empire that strangles her and her country, does the feeling of catharsis and freedom she feels as a princess and heiress conflict with the feelings she had about edelgard when she was once a teenage girl before anything else? and does it matter when no matter what she has to continue onward despite all else because if she doesn't, who will be there for brigid? who will save her home? this is one of the most viscerally haunting support lines in the whole game and also I think I'm going to be sick,

#espposts #long post #fire emblem three houses #failed to normalpost again my brain is mostly petra by volume

[annas-hair-donut]

Waffle Waltz

Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Background Elsa/Hans Characters: Anna, Kristoff, Hans, Elsa, Bulda Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Norway (Country), Waltzing, Folk Dance, Weddings, Light Angst, Eventual Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Good Hans Words: 4408

Summary: Anna travels to Tromsø, Norway to attend her sister Elsa's wedding, and ends up renting a room with Bulda and her grumpy and resentful son Kristoff, who is the king of waffles.

1. Waffle, Noun: (1) A soft indented cake cooked in a waffle iron; (2) Empty or pretentious words 2. Waffle, Verb: (1) Equivocate, vacillate; (2) To blather

Read the entire fic @AO3. Preview below the cut.

“Another waffle, Anna?” asked Bulda.

“Yes, please!” Anna responded in her heavy American accent. “We don’t have anything like this back home.  Well, I mean, we have waffles.  But they’re different.  Oh, but Norway is just beautiful!  I’m really loving it here.  And Oslo is amazing! Not that I’ve seen much because I’m really trying to graduate in May.  But I absolutely love the Norsk Folkemuseum and the Fram Museum.  And I can't wait to see Tromsø!  I was just a baby when we moved to Boston so I really don't remember anything.”

Bulda's son Kristoff grunted and slid Anna’s third waffle onto her plate.

“Takk, Kristoff,” she said, daring him to look at her.  He didn't, which was only mildly infuriating.  But he did say something in Sami, which she didn't understand.

Anna hadn't spoken Norwegian since her dad passed away several years ago, and her mom died when she was too young to learn Sami. She'd been hoping to strengthen her Norwegian and to learn Sami when she transferred to the American University in Oslo, but all of her classes were conducted in English and most of her classmates spoke even less Norwegian than she did. She'd gotten much more practical experience speaking Norwegian in just the few days she'd been staying with Bulda and Kristoff, neither of whom spoke English.  But Kristoff wasn’t doing anything to help; he spoke in Sami every chance he got.  And Anna's Sami language class got cancelled because she was the only person to sign up.  Anna even asked Kristoff to teach her, but she took his response in Sami to be a no.  At least she learned one word.

Bulda smiled politely, then noted, "You’re here a bit early for Waffle Day, unfortunately, but I’m sure your university will have a big event.  Anyway, we don’t need a holiday to indulge in my son’s specialty, do we?” she said intimately.

Then she passed Anna small dishes with whipped cream, fresh butter, and cloudberry jam, which Anna generously heaped onto her waffle.  "This jam is so good!" she got in between bites.

Bulda clapped her hands together, and said, “Good!  Maybe I can show you how to make it while you're here?  Cloudberries are actually a staple of Sami cuisine."

With her mouth full, Anna nodded at her host.  And when she was almost done chewing, she said, “I'd love that!"

“You know, you remind me so much of your mom," she said, and Anna looked down from embarrassment.  And on the way up she caught Kristoff's eyes for a split second and ruined the moment.

"I just loved that woman. Sweet, sweet lady. We actually used to perform in a Sami dance group together.  Anyway, we’re just so glad you came to stay with us,” Bulda said fondly before turning steely eyes to her son. “Aren’t we, Kristoff?”

Kristoff flipped his eyes reluctantly to Anna in a way that shook her with equal parts discomfort and intrigue.  His eyes were warm and intelligent and completely wasted on him; eyes like that were meant to be stared into and admired properly, and he seemed unable to make eye contact for more than a second at a time.

“Well,” Bulda said, “maybe you’ll think about staying in Tromsø a little longer after your sister’s wedding?”

Her tone was full of hope when she addressed her son, “Wouldn’t that be lovely, Kristoff?”

“Wonderful,” he said without any emotion so they’d know he didn’t mean it.

“Well, unless our guest would like any more waffles,” he said with just a bit of a bite, “I need to practice for the wedding.”

“Oh, ok,” Bulda said with downcast eyes.  “I was hoping you’d give Anna a tour of the town today.”

He scoffed, “Just because she’s renting a room with us doesn’t obligate me to be her personal tour guide.  I have things to do.”  

Bulda said something to him in Sami.  Then he walked off, leaving his mother and guest in a bit of a shock.

“That’s ok,” Anna said meekly, trying to cover up her hurt.  “I have wedding things to do with my sister today anyway, like picking up my bunad from the tailor.”

Elsa was actually still on her research trip to Svalbard and wouldn’t be back for another couple of days.  Anna probably wouldn’t even get to see Elsa until the wedding.  So she was on her own until then.

But Anna didn’t need a tour guide anyway.  She could just wander and see everything on her own like she was used to.  She didn’t need any grumpy boys with big brown eyes and two day old scruff slowing her down!

Continue reading @ AO3.

#frozen #frozen fanfic #kristanna #waffle waltz #mine

[tootiredmotel]

Give him the real thing

For @floral-cas 's event!!! First time writing from an outsider/oc's pov so bear with me. Huge huge congrats on your milestone K!!! You are a PILAR of this lil community and we all love you 💚🌺💚🌺💚🌺

Read on ao3. 1.7k words

"Alright, uh… confession. I got no idea what I'm doin' here."

He looked around the shop like a monster was about to pop out of any corner. Like the carnations were going to bite him and the pots lined up on the windowsill next to them would come to life and crush his feet. The poor guy looked terrified, but it's nothing Maya hadn't handled before.

"That's what I'm here for. What's your name?" She asked, sensing they'd be there a while.

"Dean."

On any other day, Maya would've been resenting a burly, middle-aged guy with no idea what he wanted coming into the shop twenty minutes before closing, especially on a Thursday. Jade had their A.A. meetings on Thursdays so Maya was alone for the evening. But this Dean guy? He looked so lost, so nervous, so utterly out of place. There was something else about him that made her want to help, too. Maya wasn't sure what, but she'd figure it out.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maya. Let's start with this: why are you here today, Dean?"

"Anniversary tomorrow."

Concise and to the point. Maya made a mental note. She also noted how he wiped his palms on his jeans and clenched his jaw. Nerves.

"How many years have you been together?"

That got a smile out of him. "A lot. A whole lot. But this is, uh. First wedding anniversary."

She donned a wide smile. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."

"Yeah. Thanks, thank you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, still not meeting her eyes.

"Doing anything special?"

"Nothin' fancy. My brother and his wife are taking the kiddo for the night so, picnic in the backyard, lookin' at the stars, all that cheesy romantic crap."

His words didn't match his tone. It was evident Dean was absolutely smitten, Maya recognized the look, and he was making an effort. He was filled to the brim with giddiness and adoration for this person, and it shone through from him just thinking about them. Jade still looked at Maya like that every morning and night, and so did Maya at them. Every day since freshman year of college. Maya's chest swelled.

"Thing is," Dean continued, a bit more relaxed now. "Cas knows all about this stuff. We got this huge garden behind the house that I'm not allowed to even touch. There's a million books about nature and trees and flower meanings on the shelf, and Cas has read all of 'em. I didn't even know flowers had meanings, I don't know jack shit about any of it, but…"

"You want to impress Cas."

"I wanna impress Cas. It's gotta be good." 

"You've come to the right place then." Maya kept an eye on Dean as she circled the counter. He was studying the pride flags hanging in the window with a clenched jaw, and Maya went on alert. She pulled out the binder they kept in the drawer and plopped it down in front of him a little harder than she needed to, calling his attention. "My partner Jade is more of a nerd about this stuff than I am, but they made this for situations like these."

Dean read the cover, Jade and Maya's Quick Guide to Flower Meanings, and smiled. "Nice."

They spent forty-five minutes walking around the store, binder in hand, slowly constructing the message Dean wanted to convey with his bouquet. He was adamant on it containing blue, so Maya went for the Forget-me-nots first. “Love and hope,” said the binder, which she deemed fitting enough for a first wedding anniversary. 

Dean looked like someone content with his life, and he agreed when Maya suggested they look under the happiness category. “Well, Cas makes me happy,” he said, and they settled on Felicias, also blue. 

Dean eventually got comfortable enough and leaned over to look at the binder in Maya’s hands. “Think there’s anything in there for grace?”

Highly specific, but possible, Maya thought. “Let’s find out.”

And they did. Plumerias, white.

“Anything else?” She asked him. Dean donned a thousand-yard stare as he thought about it, and Maya figured this man had been through a lot. More than she could ever imagine. She was glad he’d found some peace.

“Freedom,” Dean said finally. Freesias, white as well.

It was an odd bouquet, Maya admitted, but Dean was an odd man, and he looked happy with it. He was still nervous, still out of his element, but there was more excitement in the twinkle of his eyes than anything else.

“Cas will love it,” Maya assured him, and he beamed. She still knew very little about this Cas person— Dean could speak a lot without really saying anything, careful and reserved, even dancing around using gendered pronouns for Cas, which Maya found interesting—, but she could see Dean was living a happy life as their husband. That was good enough for her.

“Here’s hoping,” he said as he handed over his credit card, but he seemed a lot more sure than hopeful. He knew Cas would like it, and Maya couldn’t help a sense of pride grow inside her. Dean also put some cash in the tip jar and left with a smile. A good day’s work, and maybe a new friend in town.

---

“Maya?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Jade poked their head in the door, beaming at Maya as she ran the books in the back room.

"There's a gentleman asking for you."

"By name?"

Jade nodded. Maya sent them a questioning look, to which they just shrugged. If Jade wasn't all that worried about it, Maya supposed there was no reason for her to be either. She made her way out, squeezing Jade's hip as she passed them, and stepped up to the counter. The trenchcoat-clad man smiled at her.

"Maya?"

The depth of his voice caught her by surprise, but she recovered in time to reply "That's me."

The man smiled wider. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Cas. You might not remember, but last week you-"

"Did you say Cas?" Maya couldn't contain her interruption, or the eagerness as she asked: "Dean's Cas?"

Cas's smile widened even more, which she didn't think was possible. It was blinding, and Maya, even in all her queerness, could definitely understand what Dean saw in him. "That's right."

Dean’s fixation on blue flowers suddenly made sense too, as she noticed his eyes. "He adores you, you know. You're his heaven and earth."

Cas's smile faltered at her words, and Maya feared she'd said something wrong.

"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping."

“No, no, it’s alright.” He looked down at his wedding band, and his smile returned. “He’s all that and more to me.”

Cas stared at his ring for a second longer. It was silver and had a small blue gem embedded into it. Maya could swear it appeared to swirl with light.

“Dean spoke wonders of you,” she said.

He looked back up at her. “You, too.”

She blinked in surprise at that.

“I loved the bouquet. I thanked him for it, over and over, and every time he said you were the miracle worker. That he was clueless the whole time and couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s not true,” Maya deflected, a steady heat rising to her cheeks. “He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. And, if anything, he and I couldn’t have done it without Jade’s expertise.” She gestured toward her partner, helping a customer at the other end of the shop, and also tapped the binder, which was out on the countertop today.

“Then I suppose I’m here to thank both of you.”

He reached into a tote bag that Maya hadn’t noticed he was carrying and pulled out a plastic container. “We run a small baking business out of our home. These are on me. Apple and honey tarts.” He placed the container in front of her. On top of it was a label that read D&C’s Pastries. “They are also gluten-free, just in case.“

“What’s going on?” Jade asked, approaching Maya’s side with an expectant smile.

“Jade, love, do you remember Dean? From last week?”

“You told me about him, yeah, wedding anniversary.”

“Well this is Cas,” she gestured to him.

“Dean's husband,” Cas interjected. Jade and Maya shared a knowing smile. “I just wanted to drop these off as a thank you for helping Dean. Apple and honey tarts, gluten-free.”

“That is so sweet of you,” Jade exclaimed, eagerly taking the pastries. Maya rolled her eyes fondly at the pun, which Cas didn’t seem to catch.

“I was just doing my job,” Maya said. “But thank you.”

“Papa!”

They all turned to the child, blond and adorable, running excitedly toward Cas. At the door, where the child came from, stood an exasperated Dean.

“Jack,” Cas started, scooping the child in his arms. Jack wrapped his arms around Cas’s neck. “I thought I told you and Daddy to wait for me at the café, I wasn’t going to be long.”

“He missed you. We both did,” Dean gazed at him as he approached. “Dude, what are you-”

Dean scanned over the scene he’d just walked into and seemed to realize what was happening.

“So that’s what the tarts were for. Hey, Maya.”

“Hi, Dean.”

“And you must be Jade,” Dean said, extending a hand toward them.

“Yes! Heard about you, nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

“You too. You and that book of yours are life-savers. If I’d known the tarts were for you guys, I would’a made more.”

“These are more than enough, thank you. In fact, here...” Maya turned to a vase of daisies they had on a shelf and pulled out three. “Now I feel like we’re even.”

“Not by a long shot,” Dean said as he took his flower and Cas’s. He put his behind his ear, and Cas’s in his trenchcoat’s lapel, as Maya handed Jack his own flower.

They all promised to not be strangers, and kept their promise. Dean and Cas would bring over baked goods, and in exchange, Jade and Maya would let them take home a potted plant for their garden. Jack would always leave with a small flower in his hand, a different one every time, wrapped in Cas’s arms as he explained the flower’s origins or symbolism to his son. Dean would be the last one out the door, always turning back and mouthing a “thank you” to Maya. Every time, without fail.

And every time, Maya would think that she wanted what they had. Happiness, peace, a family, unconditional and true love. And every time, she would look over at Jade, and know she was well on her way.

#pls don't question whether it's possible for all those flowers to be in season together #or even bloom wherever they live now #i am dean coded i know nothing about flowers pls just roll with it #floral-cas #floralnatural #spn #deancas #destiel #fanfic #fic #supernatural #jack kline #kid jack #gen.fics #creativecaviar #spncreatorsdaily #userjennmish #userstarry #userdorksinlove #tuserari #offbeattraxx #plantdadcas #gen creates

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter Nine || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello and happy Tuesday besties! ICYMI, I posted a bit of smutty goodness for all of you 18+ folks here. If you’d like to be added to my general Hotch fic taglist please let me know! 

Read previous chapters of this fic here! 

contains: canon-typical discussion of violence, food mention, therapy, cuddling. 

wc: 2k

When you woke up the next morning, there were flowers in a vase on your bedside table. You’re smiling before you’ve even wiped the sleep away from your eyes, grabbing the sticky note that was stuck to the vase. 

“Would’ve sent these to your desk, but figured that wouldn’t go unnoticed by a team of behavior experts. Hope they made you smile anyways. -AH

An expert on behavior and he was only hoping that he could make you smile, you laughed to yourself, rolling out of bed and finding Aaron in the kitchen with a mug of coffee, packing Jack’s lunch. 

“When did you find the time to do that, Hotchner? Don’t you ever sleep?” You asked, and he looked up at you, breaking out in a smile. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugs, looking back down to his carrot slices as you cross the kitchen in pursuit of a cup of coffee. He places the knife down and tugs you closer to him by the palm of your hand so he can drop a kiss to the top of your head. It makes you feel warm all over. You hear the insistent smacking of small feet on hardwood and step away from Aaron in an instant, not wanting to be caught by Jack. 

“Morning bud,” Aaron calls across the kitchen. Jack responds with a yawn, which makes you giggle. He smiles at you. 

“Are you gonna have to go catch bad guys again?” He asks. “I missed you and dad.” 

“Oh little man, we missed you too! We probably won’t get called away today but I can’t say for sure. If dad and I come home tonight, do you want to have a special movie night so we can all spend some time together?” 

Jack nods ferociously, and practically starts buzzing with excitement. “Can we watch monsters inc?” 

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites!” 

“Dad?” Jack looked to his father for confirmation. 

“Of course, bud. But you’d better eat all of these carrots I’m packing in your lunch if you want a treat.” Aaron smiled at Jack, who agreed easily. “Come on, we don’t want to miss the bus.” He said, ushering Jack out the door with a Danimals and an orange while you finished getting ready. You were struck for a moment by how easily you had slid into the Hotchner boys’ morning routines, and you realized that you would miss it once you found your own place. But it was for the best-- you hoped that you and Aaron would be serious enough to consider living together, but you didn’t want to force it too early in the relationship and cause problems. 

When Aaron comes back, you’re dressed and ready to head off to work. He grabs his briefcase and suit jacket off of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

“D’you eat?” He asked as he pulled his jacket over his arms.

“I had coffee. I’m not a big breakfast person.” You tell him, surprised that he hasn’t already noticed this about you.

“Grab a fruit.” He tells you. 

“Did you eat?’ You ask him, and the tips of his ears turn pink. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, Hotchner. Why don’t you grab a fruit.” You teased, tossing him an orange from the bowl and tucking a banana into your purse as you stepped out the door, with Aaron locking up behind you. He wrapped his free arm around your waist as the two of you walked to the car.

“I have something to tell you, and you’re going to be mad at me.” Aaron confesses about halfway through your drive to work. 

“Ah, so that’s what the flowers were about.” You said facetiously. 

“No, the flowers were from your boyfriend, this news is from your boss.” He clarifies. 

“Oh?” You asked, needing him to explain more. 

“You’ve got a psych eval this morning.” He confesses and you groan. 

“Ugh, Hotch, really?” 

“Even if we could ignore what happened with Josh-- which, for the record, you shouldn’t-- you were held hostage by an unsub.”

“For like, twenty minutes!” You interrupted him. 

“It’s bureau policy, dear. There’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“And you can’t just say that you gave me the psych eval and I passed?” 

“No,” he tells you, sighing. “For us to be together, we need to keep everything above board. Hopefully no one starts on a warpath when we decide we’re ready to share this, but if they do, I don’t want to give them any reason to undermine your professional credibility by arguing I gave you special treatment.” 

You’re a little bit stunned by Aaron’s use of “when” rather than “if.” It’s not in a bad way, of course-- it’s actually, really, really good, to hear that he’s just as in it as you are, even if you hadn’t expressed it very well yet. The idea that he’s already thinking about the future-- even if it is your professional future, not exactly a white-picket-fence kind of future-- gives you butterflies. You realize you’ve waited too long to respond when Aaron speaks up again. 

“I understand if that’s a lot for you to take on, or if that makes you rethink things. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you decided this wasn’t worth the potential professional issues.” He adds nervously, clearing his throat. You reach over and put a hand on his thigh. 

“I think you’re worth the risk,” you smile at him, and watch him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

 “Thanks for coming in,” Laura, one of the FBI’s resident psychologists said as you settled into the couch in her office. You err on the side of politeness and decide not to point out that you didn’t really have a choice. 

“Not a problem,” you smiled at her. 

“So how are you feeling?” She asked. 

“I’m good. I’m happy to be back at work, and to get my field clearance back. I’ve missed it.” You tell her.

“That’s right, you’d been removed from the field for a head injury.” She said, peering over your file. “Service related?” 

“No, I fell down a flight of stairs,” you lied, hoping she couldn’t read you as easily as Aaron could. 

“Hmm, so you travelled with the team even though you weren’t cleared for field work?” She asks, and you’re pretty sure you’re not imagining the judgement in her tone. 

“I didn’t go into the field. I stayed at the police station, in compliance to orders from my doctor and from Chief Hotchner. Unfortunately, the field came to me,” you attempted to make a joke. She didn’t laugh. 

“Was it not possible for your duties to be completed from Quantico?” 

“No, it wasn’t. The behavioral analysis unit works as a team-- we’re able to determine profiles as successfully as we do because we collaborate. My efforts, and the work of my team, would have been severely hindered if I had stayed behind.” You answer mechanically, trying, and most likely failing, to not sound defensive. “I fail to see how that’s relevant to my experience with Alec Gordon.” 

“I’m just trying to determine if you’re engaging in a pattern of self-endangering or careless behavior.” Laura answers honestly.

“I can assure you that my attitude regarding my work and the work of my team is anything but careless.” You bite back.

“You came back to work very quickly after your concussion.” She says, and it’s not a question, so you don’t take the bait. “Any particular reason for that?” 

“I felt ready to return, and Chief Hotchner was willing to accommodate my need to work partial days until I was fully recovered, so on the advice of my physician I returned to work on a modified schedule.” 

“Agent, I don’t need to tell you that withholding information in our session or on the forms you filled out prior to our appointment today, will only hurt you.” 

“With all due respect, I haven’t withheld anything and I resent the implication.” 

“Very well, agent. I will have a complete evaluation sent to your supervisor by the end of the business day.” 

“Thank you for your time,” you smiled, trying to make it look real. 

“The door is always open, agent.” 

“So, you kind of beat me to the punch this morning,” Aaron tells you as you’re walking out of the office together. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Well, the flowers were a part of my master plan to get you to agree to come to dinner with me tonight, but it seems you’ve made other arrangements with my son.” He smirks at you as you both climb into his SUV. 

“I guess now you know where you stand in the ranking of Hotchner boys.” You tease him. 

“It won’t get me ahead of Jack, I know, but will you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Aaron,” you laughed. “You don’t need to take me out to dinner.” 

“Yes, I do.” He tells you.

“We already live together. You’re going to have dinner with me regardless of whether or not we eat it at a restaurant.” You tell him, gesturing to his place as he parked the car.

“Maybe so, but you’ve already decided that we won’t be living together much longer. I care about you, and I want to spend time with you, and I’d like to take you out to dinner.” He said, shifting to face you now that the car was stopped.

You rolled your eyes fondly, feeling yourself blush. “I’ll allow it.” 

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Aaron muttered sarcastically, breaking out into a grin as you laughed.

You both got out of the car and headed inside, where Jess and Jack were working on a puzzle at the kitchen table. 

“Dad!” Jack says, looking up to see his father and abandoning the puzzle, launching himself into his father’s arms. 

“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good day?”

“Yes, and I ate all my carrots so that I could have a special treat while we watch Monsters Inc.” 

“He’s been waiting to tell you that all afternoon,” Jess laughed, standing up from the table and crossing to you to give you a hug. When Haley died, you and Jess got a lot closer, through Jack. “It’s good to see you,” she says as she squeezes you. 

“You too.” You smile. “I’ve got to go change into my special movie night clothes,” you smirked, leaving Jess, Jack and Aaron in the kitchen.

“Jack, why don’t you go put on your pajamas, and we’ll start the movie in a little bit?” Aaron suggested, and Jack scampered off towards his room. 

“Do you plan on ever telling that girl how you feel about her, or are you just going to look at her like she hung the stars in the sky for the rest of your life?” Jess asks Aaron bluntly. 

“I can’t possibly be that obvious.” 

“Aren’t you literally a behavior expert?” 

“It’s being handled, Jess.” He assures her with a quick grin as you emerge from your room in soft flannel pants and a tank top. 

“Do you want to stay, Jess? We’re just gonna order a pizza and veg out.” 

“I wish I could. But you kids have fun.” She said, looking between you and Aaron. Jack comes running out of his room to give his aunt a kiss goodbye and you all settle on the couch. 

Jack inserts himself in the middle of you and Aaron on the couch, a slice of pizza on a paper plate in front of him with the promise of ice cream later on. Aaron’s arm rests across the back of the sofa and his hand plays gently with the hair at the nape of your neck. You tilt your head in his direction, pulling Jack into your lap so you can scoot closer as the movie plays on. Jack falls asleep before you can even get him his ice cream, and you take the opportunity to rest your head on Aaron’s shoulder, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and tracing comforting patterns into the skin of your upper arms until the credits roll.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 6: The Slowest Cooker

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s Friday, April 17th, and they’re eating lunch in the Hoover building’s cafeteria. They eat lunch together almost every day now, Mulder realizes. They’re practically joined at the hip.

Except in the fun way.

Today is different, though. Because today she invites him over for dinner.

Scully’s devouring a caesar salad, and Mulder’s heart is warmed by the evidence of her returning appetite. Five months ago, she was dying of cancer, and now she’s here stealing the occasional potato chip from the bag he got from the vending machine. He doesn’t mind; she could take his entire sandwich from him right now, and he’d happily watch her eat it.

“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. “My mother got me a crockpot for my birthday and I’m thinking of giving it a test drive.”

His heart leaps, and he wants to shout yes, but instead he asks “What about Mark?”

She gives him one of her patented Scully looks. “I’m allowed to have friends, Mulder. And I still owe you for going to the bar with me that one time, remember?” She takes another bite of salad. “Also, he’s working.”

“Ah,” Mulder says knowingly. “Sure; what’s on the menu?”

“Pork roast,” she replies. “My mom’s recipe. The leftovers make great pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Anything you’d like me to bring?”

Scully shrugs. “Red wine would go nicely, but I’ll be testing you at the door to make sure you’re not Eddie Van Blundht,” she says dryly.

“You gonna check me for evidence of a tail, Scully?” he says in a low tone, leaning in so they’re not overheard.

“Keep that up and I’m rescinding my invite and keeping all the leftovers to myself,” she replies, picking a wilted bit of romaine out of her salad.

It’s not a date, he reminds himself. Just friends sharing dinner.

Regardless, he takes a shower and puts on one of his nicer sweaters before heading to her place.

He knocks on her door at 6:30 sharp, a bottle of Pinot Noir in hand. His palm is a little sweaty, and he grips the wine tightly to avoid dropping it.

“It’s open,” he hears her call out.

He opens the door and is hit by the savory aroma of meat and herbs. His mouth waters instantly. When he turns and sees her in the kitchen, it waters for a different reason entirely.

Scully’s reaching into the cupboard above the sink, her soft green sweater riding up to expose a ribbon of creamy skin. He wants to wrap his arms around her waist, kiss her neck, tell her to forget dinner because he’s got something else on his mind.

Instead he just says “Hey”.

“Hi,” she greets him, bringing down two salad plates and setting them on the table. “Do you want to hear the good news first or the bad?”

Mulder blinks. “Uh,” he says brilliantly. That goddamn little sweater-

“The good news is that I’ve had the crockpot running for about six hours, and nothing’s caught fire,” she says, leaning against the countertop.

He nods. “And the bad news is…”

“I started the roast at almost half noon,” Scully admits. “I had to go to the grocery store first and that took longer than expected. So the meat won’t be done until eight-thirty.”

“That’s fine,” Mulder says, hoping his stomach doesn’t rumble loudly enough for her to hear. “Oh, and I brought Pinot Noir,” he says, reading the label.

---

They eat the salad she prepared; it’s spinach and apple with vinaigrette, and Mulder has to admit it’s pretty tasty.

“You’re a good hostess, Scully,” Mulder says as she pours him a glass of Prosecco. “Maggie should be proud.”

“Please note the size of crockpot she gifted me,” Scully replies, gesturing to the slow-cooker on the counter. “She fully intends for me to feed a crowd, not just you. I have a long way to go.” She sits across from him and takes a sip of her wine. “But this is a start.”

“Can I make a confession?” he asks.

Scully nods.

“I… I don’t drink much wine. So I have no idea if the one I brought is any good. I told the store clerk I was having pork for dinner and he recommended that one,” Mulder says, cocking his head toward the bottle on the counter.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Scully assures him. “I’m not a wine snob by any means. I’m kind of surprised you’re not one, actually, considering your background.”

Mulder shrugs. “I don’t drink much, aside from the occasional beer. But this is good,” he says, lifting his glass.

———

The Prosecco is… very good.

“How long until the meat’s done?” Mulder asks, resting his head on his hand.

“Half hour,” Scully replies, downing the last sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, Mulder. Do you want some cheese and crackers to tide you over?”

“M’good,” he says lazily, stifling a burp. He’s feeling warm and soft inside, and the wine’s put him in a charitable mood. “How are things with Mark?”

“Things are good… things are fine,” Scully says, then sighs. “He’s… god, he’s so nice.”

“Nice is good, right?” Mulder asks, toying with his empty wine glass. “People like nice.”

Scully narrows her eyes at him. “Are you feeling okay, Mulder?”

“We’re not talking about me,” he says, slumping in his chair and stretching his long legs out under the table. “We’re talking about Mark. Mark Eidolanterns.”

“Einolander,” Scully corrects him. “And yes, nice is good, generally,” she continues. “But sometimes I wish he weren’t so nice. I don’t know,” she says, exhaling. “I need more wine if I’m going to talk about this,” she says with a huff of laughter.

“Hey, we got it,” Mulder says. “Dinner’s almost ready anyway. Let’s try the mystery Pinot I brought.”

---

The pot roast is done cooking and they’re definitely a little drunk.

“Whew… I’m feeling this,” Mulder says, holding the bottle up too close to his face as he attempts to read the label. “It’s been so long, I forgot that wine does this to me.”

“Higher alcohol content,” Scully says. “And you’re a lightweight.”

“That your medical opinion, Dr. Scully?” he asks.

“Yes,” she mumbles, slicing a piece off of the roast and dumping it unceremoniously onto his plate. “Tada,” she says, pushing it across the table to him. “Meat.”

“I can see that,” he remarks. He takes another sip of wine. “Wine’s good,” he assures her, even though she’s already on her second glass of the red.

“Can’t say the same for the roast,” she admits, chewing. “I skimped on the salt and in hindsight that was a bad idea.”

Mulder shovels a piece into his mouth. “Tastes good to me,” he assures her. “But I’ve only had wine and salad since lunchtime so at this point I’d eat anything. I’d eat you,” he adds, pointing his fork in her direction.

“Pass that idea along to Mark,” she sighs, then covers her mouth. “I didn’t say that,” she says, face red.

“You did,” Mulder crows, too tipsy to feel jealous. “You did and I heard you.” He takes another draw from his glass. “The store guy was right, this is good with pork.”

“You’re going to have an incredible hangover tomorrow,” Scully says, chewing meditatively. “Wine’s a bitch.”

“You should swear more,” Mulder says. “It’s endearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “I can’t believe how drunk you are,” she says, almost fondly.

“I’m not that drunk,” he insists. Just in love with you.

Scully smiles. “No sober man has ever said that.”

---

“There’s no spark,” she blurts out.

They’d taken the rest of of the wine to the couch and are slumped on opposite ends, goblets in hand.

“No spark?” Mulder echoes. It was an admission he wasn’t expecting. He angles his body towards hers, careful not to spill his glass.

“With Mark. I like him, I really do. He’s kind, intelligent, a devoted father, and quite attractive; and yet…” She gestures loosely to her body with the hand not holding her wine. “Nothing.” She takes another sip. “I can’t shake the idea that I should be feeling more. And the fact that he hasn’t kissed me yet... I understand wanting to move slowly and let things grow with time, but not even a single kiss?”

“Th-that did strike me as odd,” Mulder stumbles. “You have nice lips.”

“I do,” Scully agrees, seemingly unfazed by the comment. “I should be kissed.” She drains her glass and holds it out to him.

Mulder pours out the last of the bottle into her glass. “Maybe if… maybe if you kissed, you’d find the spark.”

Scully shakes her head. “No. No, it does’t work that way. At least not for me. I don’t want to force chemistry that’s not there,” she explains. “It should come naturally, feel like it does with-”

Mulder waits expectantly for her to finish her sentence. “With?” he prompts.

Her face is flushed with wine, and she licks her lips. “Mulder, tell me honestly; do you think I’m settling?”

The room suddenly feels too warm, and he takes a nervous gulp of wine that does nothing to calm his body. “Scully, I- I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“You’re my closest friend,” she says softly, eyes cast downward. “Who else would I ask?”

She has a point. “Your mother-” he begins.

“She set me up with him in the first place,” Scully reminds him. “Clearly she’d be no help.”

“What do you want, Scully? If you’re honest with yourself.” He raises his glass. “In vino veritas, or whatever,” he says, taking another drink.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I always do this. I find a man I want to impress or gain the approval of, then resent the authority I let them have over me. This cycle of… of compliance and defiance is exhausting.”

He can tell she’s tipsy, and yet at the same time she’s strangely lucid. He’s never gotten to experience this particular kind of vulnerability with her before, and it gives him a thrill. He can feel the warmth of her body permeating him from across the sofa, her bright hair like a wood stove fire on a winter night. He wants to wrap her entire body around him like a blanket and have a long sleep.

“Yup, I’m drunk,” he declares, and throws back the last of his glass.

#my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #DRUNK AGENTS WITH POT ROAST #i don't drink so i did a lot of research for this okay like a LOT #the next two chapters are gonna be WILD aaa

[poedameronloverx]

Changes and Surprises

Hiiiii! Finally posting the intro to the series I’ve been on about the past few weeks. 

Life In Lockdown - Series Masterlist

Summary - A stay at home order is issued, you now need to work from home. Your best friend and house mate throws a spanner in the works when she invites her boyfriend and his best friend, who just happens to be your long time crsuh, to move in with you for lockdown.

Warnings - Mentions of Covid

Word Count - 1545

Lockdown, quarantine, whatever you wanted to call it. It was going to be your new way of life for at least a month. The stay at home announcement had gone live and your work had sent everyone home with whatever they needed to do their jobs remotely. The stay at home notice started at 10pm, giving everyone the chance to sort out what they could. You were lucky, you had a nice house that you shared with your best friend Rose, there was a good sized garden and the house was big enough that you and Rose would both be able to work from home without getting in one anothers way. Rose’s job consisted of her making a lot of phone calls and doing spreadsheet work so she’d texted you and said she would set up her work station in her bedroom, leaving the desk in the living room for you to set up. You were happy with your new work space, it was right next to the large French doors that led out to the garden, giving you a nice view for working. You’d just finished setting up when you heard Rose arriving home. She’d said she would do a food shop on her way home to stock up the fridge and freezer for the first week or so.

“Hey, could you give me a hand with all this stuff?” she shouted from the door.

You threw a pair of shoes on and headed out to her car. You helped her bring her work stuff in then started taking the shopping out of the car. There was double the amount of stuff you normally had for a week.

“Rose, why did you buy so much food?” you asked as you set the last bag down in the kitchen.

“Well… you know that you’re my best friend in the entire world right?”

“What have you done?���

“I resent the fact you think I’ve done anything” she replied “But yeah I have actually done something”

“Which is?”

“Well, we don’t know how long this staying home thing is going to last right? I mean four weeks at least”

“Right”

“So I maybe, kinda asked Finn to move in”

Rose had been seeing Finn for a year and a half. You adored the guy, he was one of your closest friends and had been for longer than him and Rose had been together. Finn had stayed over plenty of times with Rose but living with him constantly would take some getting used to.

“Right, I mean thanks for asking” You replied, rolling your eyes “I’ll get to play third wheel in my own home”

“Well, about that…”

“Rose?”

“He said he would move in, but only if Poe and BeeBee could as well!”

Poe Dameron. Your friend, Finn’s best friend and house mate. Also your long time crush. Living with him would absolutely take some time to get used to. His corgi BeeBee was the cutest dog you’d ever come across so you were at least looking forward to one of your new house guests.

“Poe is moving in?”

“Yeah” Rose nodded “Look, I’m sorry I know you have a thing for him and I’ve probably put you in an awkward position but I can’t go weeks on end without seeing Finn. I know I should’ve told you first but when I heard the announcement while at work I panicked!”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked Rey and Ben to move in as well!”

“Y/N no offence, but nobody apart from Rey would want to live with your brother!”

You glared at her “Not the point here Rose”

“I know and I really am sorry” she replied “But it’s done now and I really hope you can be alright with it”

“When are they arriving?”

“Anytime now” she replied “Finn said he’ll bring takeout with him for tonight”

“I’ll let you put the shopping away then and I’ll go and sort the spare room for Poe”

You went upstairs and quickly cleaned up the spare room and put fresh bedding on. The room was practically spotless already but it gave you something to do to take your mind off the fact you were going to be living with your crush. The spare room was nice, it was spacious, it had a comfortable double bed and plenty of storage space where Poe would be able to put his stuff. There was also plenty of space in the room for BeeBee and his things. You’d just put the cleaning stuff back into the cupboard when you heard the door. You could hear Rose running along the hall to open it and let them in. You ducked into your room to check you looked alright before going downstairs to face them.

“Y/N” Finn beamed when you made it into the living room “Thank you so much for agreeing to this. I don’t know how I would’ve coped without my girl”

You caught Poe’s eye and he dramatically rolled his and made a face, you smiled.

“No problem Finn, it’ll be fun to have you guys here”

BeeBee was sniffing round the room, getting used to his new surroundings before he ran over and jumped up at your legs

“Hi BeeBee, have you gotten even cuter since I last saw you, I think you have!” you said, bending down to tickle the dog, his tail wagged excitedly with the attention.

“We brought takeout” Finn said “I didn’t know what anyone would want so we got Chinese, Indian, Taco Bell and some stuff from the new Italian down the road”

“I’ll get some plates” You replied

You all sat down at the dining room table and helped yourselves to all of the food Finn had brought with him, everyone chatted away about how strange life was going to be for the duration of the lockdown.

“So what sort of space does everyone need for working?” you asked “I’ve already stolen the desk over there and Rose is going to work from her room but what about you guys?”

“Well I need quiet for my job” Finn replied, he was a high school teacher “I’ll be doing classes online so ideally I could use someone’s room”

“I don’t need privacy or anything” Poe replied “I could set up at this table if that was alright”

“That would work” Rose said, “Y/N over there, Poe here, Finn can use Poe’s room and I’ll use mine. Keep the kitchen clear and we can all eat there together at lunch and use it for dinner for the time being so Poe doesn’t have to re-set up his work station everyday!”

“Sounds good” you nodded “I’ll wash up”

“No, I’ll get it” Poe said, taking hold of your wrist before you could get up “You’ve been so kind to let me stay here so it’s the least I can do”

“Let the man do it” Finn said, seeing you about to protest “It’s one of the rarest things you’ll see in your lifetime, let it happen”

“You’re hilarious Finn” Poe said, making sure to elbow his friends head as he picked up the plates

Finn smiled “Well I’ve always known I’m funny but thanks man, I appreciate it”

After the dishes were done you all watched TV for a while, eventually Finn headed off to bed. He wanted an early night so he was fresh for his classes the following day. He knew it would be a struggle to keep his students motivated whilst they were at home. Rose headed off to bed with him, she gave the excuse that she was tired but you knew she wanted to cuddle with Finn. Poe had been upstairs for a while before Finn and Rose went to bed, he wanted to set up his bedroom space and make sure he left enough room for Finn to work. BeeBee had gone up with him for a while but had since come back down to join you in the living room. You were curled up on the couch, watching a few episodes of a show you loved. BeeBee had wandered over for some attention and you’d lifted the cute dog into your lap where he slept peacefully. You heard the floor boards in the bottom stair creaking. Poe made his way into the room.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure” you replied

“I see the best boy is making himself at home” he chuckled as his dog opened one eye to glance at him before settling back down to sleep. “Thanks again for this. I know it must’ve come as a surprise to you that we were moving in. It certainly came as a surprise to me when Finn sprung it on me when I got home from work”

“Yeah it was a bit of a surprise but at least they’re happy right”

“Yeah” he smiled fondly “I would’ve stayed at home. I didn’t push to come here”

“I’m glad you’re here” you replied “Rose was right, we don’t know how long this is going to go on, but I’m certain it’ll be more than the 4 weeks they’ve said so I’m glad you won’t be on your own”

Poe smiled. It was certainly going to be interesting having him living with you.

A/N - So here’s the intro. Please let me know what you thought. I’m still really new to this, and I’m not totally confident with writing so I’d love some suggestions of how to get better and what you liked :)

#Poe Dameron x reader #Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader

[thetravelerwrites]

Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter One

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Words: 4366

This is not my original work!

This is a fan retelling of one of my favorite mangas, Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime, whose original mangaka sadly passed away in 2014, leaving the series unfinished. I will start at the beginning of the manga and go through the entire story that has already been written. Once I reach chapter 20, which is the end of the published chapters, I will have to start extrapolating and imagining how the story may have played out. I hope I can do the original story justice and not disgrace the original author.

I will say that I will be fixing a few things that made me uncomfortable about the original manga, in that the female protagonist was 15, which I didn't like. Otherwise I will try to stick as close to the original story as possible, though I will be arranging it so that it's a bit more linear.

I hope you enjoy!

“Blessings to you, my lady,” The visitor said, bowing deeply in greeting. “My name is Aquamarine. I am a servant of the high king of Banfarie and a chosen attendant to the future queen.”

The summons wasn’t necessarily a shock, but it was definitely a surprise. Lilya, the third princess of the former kingdom of Tritsia, had come of age during a bloody war between kingdoms to either side, and her small, impoverished land had been caught in the crossfire. Tritsia had been absorbed by the victorious kingdom to the east, Couliea, and was now a vassal state. As such, the royal family of Tritsia were now hardly more than paupers in their own kingdom.

Lilya assumed that she would no longer be eligible for the marriage interviews that were famously, or perhaps infamously, conducted five times every month in the largest empire in the continent, Banfarie. The interviews had been happening since before she had even been born, but as of yet, no queen had been selected. Or rather, no woman had accepted.

The rules for who would be chosen for the interviews was standard for most monarchs looking for a queen: a woman of royal or noble blood with proof of lineage, at least eighteen years old but no older that twenty five, no previous marriages or engagements, no children, and… well… consent.

Lilya met most of the criteria… except for one thing: she wasn’t a high born woman anymore. Her family’s royal status had ended when the kingdom was absorbed into another. Besides, even when her father had been king, they had never exactly been what anyone would consider proper royalty. Her father worked in the fields with his people, doing the same back-breaking labor as his subjects. Back then, she could hardly be called princess, but now she was nothing more than a peasant farm girl, more suited to feeding chickens and mucking out stables than attending grand balls and high teas.

So there had been quite a stir when their unusual guest came to deliver the summons. She was a woman who appeared very young in age, no more than perhaps sixteen, though she spoke as if she were a far older creature. She had a short bob haircut and a thick fringe, but it wasn’t enough to hide her pointed ears, her sharp eyes, and her upswept eyebrows, belying a nature that wasn’t human.

Her cloak was plain, but well-made and of fine cloth, likely silk or satin. She had all the hallmarks of a servant of a wealthy, prosperous nation. She had been given entrance to the house by the only servant Lilya’s family employed, Sebastian, and was standing in the receiving room with Lilya’s mother and aunt.

“I come with greetings from my Lord King, to relay a question and to present a gift to you, beloved princess.”

Lilya tilted her head. “A gift? His Majesty didn’t need to send a gift.”

Aquamarine simply chuckled and bowed. “From his Majesty, with his kindest regards.” From her cloak, she produced a velveteen box and opened it, revealing a tiara of breathtaking beauty. Sizable diamonds and sapphires lined the circlet and rose up to create a lovely sloped and winding style like that of wind on water. It was a crown that would suit any head it rested upon.

“Oh!” Lilya breathed. “It’s breathtaking!” She rushed to her mother in delight. “This is the answer to the famine on the outskirts in the south! If we sell the tiara at the biggest market in the neighboring kingdom, we could feed the farmers for months, maybe a year!”

“Lilya!” Her aunt exclaimed in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? This was a gift from a king, for goodness sake, you can’t just sell it!”

“But, Auntie, I can’t hoard something like this when people are starving!”

“You would not wear it?” Aquamarine asked, her face shrewdly assessing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Lilya insisted earnestly. “It’s lovely, more so than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. But… truly, for me to wear it would be like putting silk ribbons on a pig. It would be far less useful as a trinket in my wardrobe and better as a tool to feed the hungry. I’m afraid that Couliea doesn’t pay much attention to our struggles, so we have to fend for ourselves. This,” Lilya gently took the box from Aquamarine and turned it so that she could see the tiara properly. “This is indeed a kingly gift. This will save lives. There is no more noble a gift as that.” She bowed her head and handed the box back gingerly. “If his Majesty would not be pleased with my conduct, I understand, but I would hope he would see the sense in my actions.”

Aquamarine laughed a little. “I do not think his Majesty will be displeased. Quite the opposite. Even still,” Aquamarine set the box down on the table and carefully pried a dangling jewel from the very center, threading it through a silver chain she had worn around her own neck, and placed it on Lilya. “His Majesty will want confirmation that his gift was received. This will suffice.”

“Then I shall wear it to the marriage interview,” Lilya said, patting it fondly.

Aquamarine’s head cocked back in surprise. “I had not even had the chance to ask you, and yet you’re agreeing to go?”

“Well, yes,” Lilya said. “That’s why you’ve come to call on me, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Aquamarine said with a smirk. “But usually it takes much more convincing on my part. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so… eager.”

“At the very least, I have to thank him for his generosity,” Lilya said. “Even if he decides I’m not a good match for him, I have to express my gratitude in person.”

“You’re not scared? I’m certain you’ve heard the rumors about my Lord King.”

“Well… yes,” Lilya admitted. “I won’t lie and say I’m not apprehensive, but kindness like this can’t go unacknowledged. It’s only right that I meet with him.”

Where Aquamarine’s smile had been playful and mischievous before, it was now wide and warm. “I will happily go now and inform his Majesty of your decision. My sisters and I will return in a fortnight to collect you for your interview. You may bring a guest with you, if you wish, though I assure you that you’ll be quite safe in our care.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Lilya said, bowing. “Would you like some refreshments to take with you on your trip back?”

“How kind of you, dear, but that won’t be necessary,” Aquamarine said, patting Lilya’s cheek. “We shall return in two weeks. You make sure you take care now. Our Lord King would be much distressed should something happen to you in the meantime.”

Aquamarine snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light from which everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. When they blinked, the young woman was gone.

“Witch...” Sebastian said in horror. “My Lady, you can’t meet with this monster! What kind of king employs such demons?”

“Likely someone who understands that people like them also need to earn a living, I’d imagine,” Lilya said reasonably. “Besides, I’ve already agreed and accept his gift. I can’t go back on my word.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually sell such a treasure,” Your aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re so like your father.”

She didn’t mean that in a good way. Lilya’s mother’s sister, Kiya, had always disliked her father and resented him for being too weak a king, unable to protect his people during the war. She had also resented Lilya ever since she had been born. There was worry that Sophie would not be able to carry another child at her age, and that the royal line would end as there would be no male heir to Tritsia.

The birth of Lilya’s little brother shortly before her father’s death was not enough to warm Kiya to Lilya. In fact, it seemed to drive the wedge even further, as Sophie and her brother were both terribly weak afterward and there was concern they wouldn’t survive. Kiya had gone so far as to blame Lilya, telling her that it would have been her fault if they died. As a nine year old, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done to cause such a terrible thing, but now she understood it was just her aunt lashing out.

Perhaps it was because Lilya resembled her father the most out of all her siblings, or because she was most like him in temperament, but she doubted Kiya would ever view her favorably. She was still family, though, and Lilya tried not to take her criticism to heart, though her aunt’s cutting eyes often wore into her painfully.

“I’m doing this for our country, even if it no longer exists,” Lilya said, determinedly putting the box away in a case so that Sebastian could take it to the neighboring kingdom for appraisal. “The king has called for me. The least I can do is answer.”

“Lilya’s right, Kiya,” Lilya’s mother, Sophie, said reluctantly. “It would be improper for us to take his gift and ignore him. Though I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of this.” Sophie sighed unhappily. “Lilya would have been expected to marry soon as it is. I supposed we couldn’t hope for better than a king.” Sophie took her daughter’s hands in her own. “Still, I’m very worried. I should come with you.”

“No, Mama, they need you here. You’ll have to be the one to make sure that the tiara gets a fair price and oversee the distribution of the food to the needy. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, Aquamarine said that she and her sisters were part of the Queen’s guard, and I liked her very much. I couldn’t be any safer.”

Lilya’s mother grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You have many lovely qualities, my sweet child, but being a good judge of character is not among them. All anyone needs to do is tell you a sad story for you to want to take them under your wing, regardless of their true intentions.” She smiled fondly. “You’re much like your father in that respect.”

Lilya smiled in return. “Father was not a good king,” She said sadly. “But he was a good man.”

“With that, I cannot argue,” Sophie said, but she frowned in distress. “You’re elder sisters had married before they got the summons, so I’ve never met with the king. Your father met with him only once, during a conference of kings, but he never told us anything about him other than he found him to be… striking. I think he didn’t tell us more because he want to frighten us.”

“Have you heard much about him?” Lilya asked anxiously.

“Reports are varied and hard to believe; that the king is a headless monster, thousands of years old, ten feet tall, winged and hulking, who eats the women who refused him. I’m not sure I believed any of that, but the rumors are still enough to make me trepidatious.”

Sebastian grumbled, his mustache shuddering. “It is the rumors that could be true that make me uneasy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am an old man now,” Sebastian said. “Well into my seventies, so I remember when the interviews began sixty years ago. In all that time, and no queen of Banfarie has been chosen. It concerns me. The king himself may now be an old man.”

“Is that why he’s being turned down?” Lilya asked.

“No, young madam,” He said. “You see, even before the interviews began, Banfarie had no queen in nearly one hundred years. In fact, since that time, no new kings had been crowned, either. The king from one hundred years ago was an elusive man who few had ever met, and those who did were terrified of him. If the current king is that man’s successor, it’s certainly distressing. But if he is the same man, then he is a creature of deeply evil magic, and Lady Lilya should stay far away from him.”

“Even if he were the same man, which should be impossible, his reputation is less than ideal,” Sophie said pensively. “The house of Banfarie is known historically for it’s cruelty and harsh punishments, even of neighboring kingdoms. It instituted a law that allowed Banfarie to make judgments on the conduct of royals, indict them criminally, and even sentence retribution against them, up to and including execution. The neighboring kingdoms pushed back against this, of course, but eventually they all fell in line and wrote it into their countries’ laws. I don’t trust any man who could wield that level of power over others.”

“But think of what that level of influence could do for Tritsia!” Kiya said. “A king with that kind of power could protect us and provide for us!”

Sophie shivered. “I don’t want to know what he would want in return for that protection.”

“Well, I would think that’s be obvious,” Kiya said, looking pointedly at Lilya.

Sophie, normally a mild, even-tempered woman, grew angry. “And you’re alright with that, are you? You’re willing to sell my youngest daughter to a monster if it benefits you?”

“Sophie, don’t be sentimental,” Kiya said, folding her arms. “Political marriages are common for royalty. If we had been a stronger country, this would be completely normal, even for a third daughter.”

“We’re not royalty anymore,” Sophie said firmly.

“But we could be, that’s the point!”

“Please, don’t fight,” Lilya said, getting between the two sisters. “I’ve already made the decision. Kiya is right; if I were to marry His Majesty of Banfarie, our kingdom would then be his responsibility rather than that of Couliea. However he treats that responsibility, it can’t be worse than the wanton destruction from the war or the indifferent cruelty of Couliea. If he accepts me, even if it is only a political marriage and nothing more, it would greatly benefit us both. He would at last gain the queen he’s been searching for and our country will be protected. I will meet him. Perhaps the rumors are wrong.”

“I can only hope,” Sophie remarked grimly. After throwing an angry look at her sister, she pulled Lilya away from Kiya and spoke in an undertone. “But… is this what you really want?”

“I want my family and people safe and well above all,” Lilya said. “If this king can offer that, then I can ask for nothing more.”

“If this is what you wish,” Her mother said slowly. “Then I will respect it. But… it is not what I would wish for you.”

“I know, Mama,” Lilia said. “We don’t always get what we truly wish for. But this is as close as I can get.”

“If the king accepts you,” Lilya’s mother remarked sadly. “We may never see you again.”

“That may not be true. I would hope that his Majesty wouldn’t prevent me from seeing my family once I settle in.”

“Just be careful, my love,” Her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “Be careful.”

As promised, Aquamarine returned in a fortnight to collect Lilya to take her to the capitol of Banfarie, Rukruf. A carriage had come with them for Lilya’s comfort.

“Couldn’t you transport me like you did the day you first came?”

“I’m afraid that’s a rather disorienting way to travel for humans, My Lady,” Aquamarine said, taking Lilya’s luggage. “It would require some degree of acclamation, and I don’t think his Majesty would want you to be sick during your interview.” She lifted Lilya’s bag up with one hand. “Is this all you’re bringing with you?”

“This is all I have,” Lilya replied simply. “You admit that you’re not human?”

“I was never attempting to hide it. I’m a spirit, specifically an stone spirit, as are my sisters. There they are now.”

She jerked her head toward the carriage. There were two more women identical to Aquamarine near the carriage, one in the driver’s box and another holding open the door to the carriage. All three women had short, pale lavender colored hair and large, glittering eyes. They wore identical uniforms similar to that of an attendant, but the skirts were rather short, stopping just below the knee, giving them a freer rang of movement. Each one had a dagger hanging from their hip.

Both new sisters bowed deeply as Lilya approached.

“My lady,” They said in unison.

“Garnet,” Aquamarine said, pointing to the driver,and then to the coach-woman. “And Peridot.”

“I don’t doubt the three of you are sisters; I can’t tell you apart,” Lilya said.

“Ah, but see?” Peridot said, pointing to a white bow on the right side of her hair in the shape of a butterfly. She then pointed to Garnet, who wore a black butterfly bow on her left side, and to Aquamarine, who wore no bow at all. “Even people who know us well have trouble distinguishing us from the other, so we’ve taken to wearing these. Only his Majesty can tell us apart without them.”

“Here, my Lady,” Peridot said, swinging a beautiful, fur-lined, snow-white cloak around Lilya’s shoulders. “We’ll be going through the mountains and it’s likely to get cold. His Majesty had this made for you.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilya said, petting the soft, veltvety collar that ruffed around her neck. “I’m starting to get anxious about meeting him.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Peridot asked ash she helped Lilya up into the carriage.

“I can’t tell,” Lilya replied, laughing nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peridot said as she came in and closed the door behind her, rapping sharply on the roof before settling. “His Majesty is only a threat to humans.”

Lilya looked at Peridot in alarm.

“It was a joke,” Peridot assured her, giggling. “…mostly.”

The carriage lurched forward and Aquamarine put a hand out to steady Lilya before she fell out of her seat.

“When will we arrive?”

“Around sunset tomorrow,” Aquamarine replied. “We’ll continue on through the night rather than stop at an inn. His Majesty is eager to meet you.”

“Won’t you be tired?” Lilya asked.

“Not to worry,” Aquamarine said. “Spirits like us don’t need much sleep, only a few hours a week. We’re all rested up.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is awfully handy,” Peridot said rather smugly. “Are you hungry? We’ve brought things for you to eat.”

The two days passed pleasantly and Lilya spent the time having long, friendly conversations with all three sisters. Lilya had never had lady friends her age, and though the women were spirits and likely far older than she was, they seemed to enjoy her company and asked her many questions.

“Oh, Lady, come and see!” Garnet said, pointing out of the window. “You can see the capitol city from this vantage!”

Delighted, Lilya looked out of the window where Garnet was pointing. “It’s huge!” She exclaimed. “I can’t even see the end of it! It must be as large as my entire country!”

“Your country is larger by about fifty miles, in fact,” Aquamarine said. “It’s the smallest country on the continent.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t know that for sure, but I’m not surprised.”

“Are you sad to be from such a small country?”

“No,” She replied. “My country is beautiful and my people are good. I just wish we were better able to defend ourselves.”

“Well, you may not have that problem anymore,” Aquamarine said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Will I meet his Majesty today?”

“No, you will be tired from the trip and will rest for tonight. He will conduct your interview tomorrow after you have your breakfast. His Majesty has instructed us to see to your every comfort.”

“That’s just going to make me more anxious,” Lilya said.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” Peridot said.

That evening, they arrived at the castle, which was every bit as colossal as described. Over it was a cloud of purple, blue, and pink particles, as if it were perpetual sunset over the castle.

“What is that?”

“It’s called the Aurora,” Garnet said. “It’s a magical field that has existed over the castle for hundreds of years and is the source of the royal family’s magical power. It ascends and descends over the castle, depending on how the king feels. It’s highly reactive to his emotional state.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said. “It’s rather low right now. What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” Garnet said. “I believe he may be feeling rather withdrawn.”

“I wonder why that would be,” Lilya mused.

Standing at the front steps of the castle as they pulled up were two young men in uniform, one blond and one dark haired. The blond wore glasses and seemed to be the junior of the two. They bowed as Lilya exited the carriage.

“Miss Lilya, these are the King’s personal attendants, Larima,” She gestured at the dark haired one first, and then to the blond. “And Raba. They are meeting you in place of his Majesty today.”

“Does that mean his Majesty is watching?” Lilya asked, looking up at the windows.

“Whether he is or is not,” Larima said as he straightened. “We are pleased to meet you, My Lady. Please allow us to show you to your room.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lilya replied. Curiously, she noticed as they turned that there appeared to be leaves growing out of their hair.

The sisters were following behind her at a short distance. “Are they spirits, too?” Lilya asked them in an undertone.

“Yes,” Peridot said. “They’re tree spirits. All of the staff employed at his Majesty’s main castle are not human.”

“Why?”

“His Majesty distrusts humans,” Aquamarine replied.

“But isn’t his Majesty human?” Lilya asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Peridot responded.

“And no,” Garnet said.

Lilya made a noise of uncertainty under her breath.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

“This is all very ominous,” Lilya said uncertainly.

“Yes!” Peridot said. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Before she could answer, she was lead to an opulent guestroom, far larger than any of the rooms in her home, filled with luxurious furniture and carefully crafted decorations.

“This can’t be my room,” Lilya said with a laugh. “What would I do with all this space?”

Raba and Larima exchanged looks. “Do you dislike it? We have a number of other rooms. You’re free to choose any one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Lilya said hastily. “It’s beautiful, I adore it. Please, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just feel like… I don’t know… isn’t it wasted on me?”

The triplets sighed sadly, having become used to Lilya’s unusual behavior, but the men continued to look confused.

“You do realize that if his Majesty chooses you and you accept, you’ll be queen?” Raba asked. “This,” He gestured at the room. “Is nothing compared to the queen’s suite.”

“Oh…” Lilya replied, a little disconcerted. “This will take some getting used to.”

“I understand,” Larima said. “You’re the princess from Tritsia, correct? The smallest, poorest kingdom on the continent, now a captured vassal state of Couliea. I suppose you must not be accustomed to living so resplendently.”

“Larima!” Aquamarine hissed. “Don’t be so tactless!”

Lilya laughed a little, relieved. “No, it’s alright. I’m not used to this at all, that’s true. Will that bother his Majesty?”

Larima smiled and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Don’t worry so much about what’s appropriate and just enjoy your time here. Come.” He lead Lilya inside and showed her two cords right next to the bed, a small blue cord and a larger red cord. “The blue cord is attached to a bell in the queen’s attendants’ quarters. If you need for anything, just ring it and one of the triplets will be here in an instant. The red one is an alarm. If you pull it, bells will go off all throughout the castle. Ring it only if it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Lilya said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Raba and Larima bowed and left, and the triplets ushered Lilya into an adjacent dining room to have dinner.

After a restless night of sleep and a breakfast she barely touched, Lilya was dressed in a lovely blue gown that complimented her hair, which was pulled back with matching ribbons. The bodice was tight but comfortable, the cut of the dress was simple but elegant, and for the first time, Lilya felt like a proper grown woman.

A knock on the door revealed Raba.

“His Majesty is ready for you and is waiting in his office,” He said.

Lilya stood and clenched her hands to stop them from shaking and followed Raba out of her quarters with Garnet and Aquamarine following behind her.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “I think the king will like you very much.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes,” Aquamarine replied. “We’re more concerned whether or not you’ll like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?” She asked.

“Well…” Garnet began regretfully, but then stopped.

“Here we are,” Raba said, gesturing to a set of large double doors. “One moment please.” Raba knocked on the door. “Your Majesty, I have retrieved Lady Lilya for her interview. Are you ready?”

There was silence, though Raba tilted his head as if he were listening.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raba opened one of the doors and stood aside. “You may enter.”

Gulping, checking that the pendant was in place, and taking a deep breath, Lilya stepped inside.

There, standing rail-straight behind a desk, was a tall, thin man wearing elaborate garments in keeping with his status as a king and emperor, as well as a sash and badges of his station. Almost immediately, one of the many rumors about the king was confirmed with Lilya’s own eyes.

His Imperial Majesty, the king of Banfarie, had no head.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime #The Princess and the Forgotten Head #Manga #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Manga Fanfic #Manga Fanfiction #Exophilia #Headless King

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (1)

Minnie the Moocher

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Ao3 | FF.net

This was started before season three ended, though I was busy at the time and couldn’t finish it. Basically, season 4 never happened, and the Peacock Miraculous is still broken. 

—

At the age of 22, life had a good projection for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She finally got her big break, somewhat thanks to Adrien. She was working at Gabriel, as one of Gabriel Agreste’s lead designers, though she was still technically an intern. Though Adrien didn’t directly have a hand in getting her the job, his continued praise of her work in front of his father probably had something to do with it. 

Though it was never confirmed, Marinette would never have to worry if she got the job on her own merit or not. She did. 

In fact, Gabriel was continually impressed with her work, even after she had landed the position. His harsh criticisms ended with her. Where he never hesitated to rip another designer to shreds for a mistake, Marinette never had to face that rage. 

He just honestly respected her too much to do so. And it helped that she was so gracious with his critiques. Never taking anything personally, and doing everything for the brand. 

Co-workers probably could have been resentful to her, but if they were, it was never outwardly shown. It helped that she readily got along with and tried to be friends with everyone. She took advice to heart, and accepted criticisms professionally. So it was hard to dislike her. Even when she was the one that was accepted into the Agreste Manor to work with Gabriel in person. A rare treat for any employee. And she got to go at least twice a week.

There was just one little tiny problem. 

8 years later, Marinette no longer had a crush on Adrien. Oh no, she was head over heels in love with him. The deepest, most pure, sweet, and sincere love there was. And he had no clue.

It was her curse. As they got older and matured, so did her feelings. He only got more handsome, more friendly and outgoing, and more perfect to her. He learned he was allowed to be affectionate with his friends, her, Alya, and Nino, and didn’t hold back. Marinette was showered in hugs, cheek kisses, and hand holds. All punctuated with the dreaded phrase, ‘you’re such a great friend, Marinette’. 

It’s like he wanted her to suffer. 

As they graduated Collegé, Adrien confessed that he was afraid they’d all grow apart as they went off to University. Marinette took that as a challenge and made sure to invite them to weekly get-togethers. And so friends did they remain. 

And only friends. 

Marinettte came home to her shared apartment with Alya. Her long time best friend was sprawled out in the middle of the living room, surrounded by swatches. 

Marinette laughed at the sight. “Wedding blues?”

“Yes!” Alya shrieked, sitting up. “We’ve been together for 8 years, engaged for six months, and I still haven’t picked our colors yet!”

“I thought you were doing burnt sienna and forest green? You know, a call back to your stint as Rena Rouge and Carapace?” A supposed secret between them up until a few years ago. 

“I can’t. I don’t like the combination anymore. And no matter how temporary, our superhero run should remain a secret. I shouldn’t have even told you.” She started cleaning up the swatches, resigned to know that she wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. “How goes the apartment search?”

Marinette winced. “Not as great as I was hoping. A lot of places that I could afford, but I could afford better with a roommate. I want to have savings, you know?” 

“Did you ask Adrien?” 

Marinette blushed. “You know that’s not a good idea.” 

“Why not? He’s still living at the mansion. And you’re such good friends.” Alya smirked at her. “Or, you could just ask him out. Then live with your parents for a few months until he realizes how perfect you are and proposes.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” 

“Says you! Look, you’re my maid of honor, he’s Nino’s best man. At least ask him out as a pretense to have an official date to the wedding.” 

“A wedding that’s six months away?” Marinette asked, as she hung up her purse and coat. “And what if something catastrophic happens between then?”

“Then you kiss and make up at my wedding.”

Marinette rolled her eyes before heading over to the kitchen. “Alya, he hasn’t dated anyone since Kagami. I think he’s holding out for someone.” 

“Yeah! You!” 

Marinette fondly shook her head. “He’s not.” 

“He is!”

“Did he tell Nino, and he told you?” 

“Well, no. Nino’s been trying for years to get his crush out of him.” 

“Then, there you go. If it was me, Nino would have found out by now. No, it’s someone else. Maybe a married woman, or a man.” 

Alya laughed at that. “Girl, you always go to the worst case scenario. Just…flirt with him a little, prod him with your womanly wiles.” Then she batted her eyes. “Please? For me?” 

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. You know it’s going to go so well this time, right?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I was being sarcastic!”

Folks here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher,

She was a red hot hoochie coocher,

She was the roughest, toughest frail,

But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale.

The next day at work, Marinette forgot all about flirting. It was a race to finish her project. She had gotten the design approved, and now it was on to start assembling the piece. 

There was a knock at her office door. 

“‘Ome ‘n,” she said with a mouth full of pins. 

Who would arrive except for handsome, angelic, and...pale? Adrien. “Are you busy?” He asked with a small voice. 

Quickly, Marinette shoved the pins into the fabric to hold it in place, and dumped the rest back into the tin. 

“I can take a break.” Anything for you. She thought, offering him a chair. 

“Thanks,” he nearly collapsed into it. Then he looked around the office, for what, she didn’t know. 

“Soooo...what’s up?” 

Adrien didn’t answer right away, still scanning the room, eyes narrowed. He rubbed his palms on his pants. 

“Are you okay?” She pushed a little more. 

“Huh? Oh, uh…” He clenched his fists and swallowed harshly. “Do you…want to have dinner with me tonight?” 

A blush stained her cheeks. “Really?”

“Yeah, um…somewhere private. I want to talk to you about something, but um…it’s a secret.” 

“Well, Alya is going on a late night date with Nino, if you want to come to our apartment. I could just order some Chinese?”

He exhaled slowly and smiled at her. “That sounds awesome, thanks Marinette.” 

“What time? I get out around 6.” 

“I’ll meet you at 7 then?” 

“Yeah, yeah that sounds perfect.” Spurred on by the fact he was finally asking her out on a date, Marinette leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

Adrien blushed furiously before standing. “Um, I’ll see you tonight then. Thanks for um…yeah, I’ll let you get back to work.” 

Marinette continued to grin at him shyly until he left. Then she collapsed in the chair he had occupied. She didn’t have to flirt or do anything! It was finally happening! A date! With Adrien! 

She ran to her purse and snatched up her phone. “Alya!” She called. “Alya, it finally happened! Clear the next 15 minutes and get the popcorn, I need to panic!” 

He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses

Each meal she ate was a dozen courses

She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes

She sat around and counted them all a million times

That night, Marinette sat ready and waiting. The apartment was spotless. She had ordered his favorite dish, and wore a cute little green dress (his favorite color.)

“Alright, I’m leaving,” declared Alya. “You two behave.” 

“It’s a first date, Alya. Like we’re going to do anything at all.” 

“Puh-lease, the sexual tension between you two is unbearable. He’s going to be on you like white on rice!” 

“Don’t be so vulgar!” Marinette laughed. “Adrien is a gentleman.” 

“Sure. Anyways, I hope you have fun!” 

“I’m sure we will.”

“Bye girl, bye.” 

“Bye girl, bye!” 

And the door closed. 

Any minute now, Adrien would be knocking. And then what? Would he kiss her cheek like she had? A hug maybe? Or both? What was appropriate for her? Offer to take his coat? Yes yes, that sounded right. Was her hair okay? She brushed her teeth, right? 

“Wine!” She announced. “What wine pairs with Chinese food?” 

“Might I suggest Riesling?” Said Tikki, from her hiding place. 

“Riesling! Riesling…I don’t have Riesling! I don’t know what that is!” 

Tikki laughed at her. “Marinette, just relax. Just do a Rosé. It’s fine.” 

Marinette hurried to the cabinet and fetched a bottle and two glasses. Then she poured one for herself and downed it in one go. “I don’t know if I can do this! I’m so nervous!” 

“You and Adrien are great friends, it’ll go great! Just relax and enjoy it. He’s not even here yet, there’s no reason to panic.” 

“You’re right! I’ll just…I’ll just wait!” 

So she sat and fidgeted. Nothing to do but wait.

And wait she did.

8 o’clock came before she knew it. And she checked her phone. Nothing. 

Did you forget about dinner? She texted.

There was no reply.

“It’s alright Marinette, he’ll come. Maybe he got held up in traffic, or his father needed him for something?” Tikki said encouragingly. 

“Yeah, maybe…he’d at least call, wouldn’t he?” Not waiting for an answer, she called him first. 

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…” 

She hung up.

She poured herself another glass. “He wouldn’t just…ghost me?” 

“He cares a lot about you, of course he wouldn’t.” 

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…” Another voicemail. 

9 o’clock. 

Poor Min, poor Min, poor Min

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…”

The Chinese went cold, and the bottle of Rosé was emptied. 

He never showed up.

--

I can’t guarantee prompt updates for a little bit. I have some logistics to figure out, but I have a few chapters ready, so I figured I’d start posting! All the chapter titles are songs from my spooky halloween playlist that inspired this fic (and their lyrics will be in the chapters)! You can find that playlist here. The playlist will be updated as the fic goes on.

I hope to post the last chapter on Halloween!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #the ghost of Smokey Joe #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #mystery #murder mystery #horror #ghosts

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.24

A Stressful Morning

02/03/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,127

Warnings: fluff, smidge of angst, lots of sweet Steve

A/N: So I had planned on making this chapter super long. Like probably 10k words but rather than have you all wait longer for more, I decided to just post what I had ready to go since it was at a good stopping point too. I hope you like it! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! Reblogs are SO appreciated. xoxo

“Are you alright?” Nat’s gentle touch is reassuring.

“I’m nervous.” You confess, holding your arms out as Nat pulls over your shoulders a warm linen nightdress.

There is a thick sash that wraps around your waist several times before she ties it off with a bow at the back, a large slit down the middle for the ease of the doctor’s inspection.

The fabric is heavy. For good reason.

Outside the blizzard that had begun to freeze you by the small shack full of Steve’s past had hit harder over the night and you’d awoken snug in Steve’s arms with the strong wailing of the winter storm making the ancient stones of the cottage quake.

You and Steve had only a few moments alone—eager to reassure you that he’s capable of making love to you, his hands had traced down the length of your leg until he could flip your nightdress up and trail tickling fingers up until he gently coaxed your legs apart to feel for his prize—before a gentle knock interrupted your good morning.

It had been Bucky and Nat, whispering in tense tones, cutting your good time short because something much more pressing had come up.

“Who will be there?” You swallow the lump in your throat and then reach down to rub the small swell of your stomach.

Your little one is still so tiny. So fragile. What if they hurt him?

“It will be the doctor, Lord Ross and Lord Pierce.” Nat leans down, sweeping her crimson and silver threaded skirts back as she takes hold of your left calf to lift your leg and slip on your foot a simple satin slipper.

“There will be men in the room?” You gasp, staring with wide eyes as your heart begins to pound.

“You’ll be behind a screen, dear one.” She slips on your second slipper then stands up, fixing her skirts before she takes hold of your arms and gives them a reassuring squeeze.

“And Steve will be there, with you. And I, to make sure that they respect your dignity as a woman and Queen of Broklin.”

The way Nat says it, the truth of you having a right to your dignity as ruler of the kingdom…the respect that the title should command. A reverence that you’ve never had before.

Can I possibly do this? Is this my life?

“Nat…” You nearly whine, but really your nerves are frayed. You’re absolutely on edge. “What…what if Grandmother was wrong? What if I’m not really pregnant? What will they do to Steve if I’m not as I should be? We have so little time left!”

Nat chuckles sympathetically with you, reaching to pull you into her arms. She strokes the back of your head gently.

“Shh, oh Y/N. Don’t worry. You are most definitely pregnant. And they will know that as soon as they see you.” Nat pulls back, cradling the sides of your belly. “Look at you.”

You’re not sure what she’s seeing, but the look of fondness in her emerald eyes soothes your worry if only a smidge.

“You are a vision. Glowing with life. And I have never seen Steve so smitten. Even with Margaret.” She smiles and you halfway manage to return it.

“Because I’m pregnant?” You wonder.

“Because you’ve embraced it so readily. So happily. Margaret wanted to wait. Steve…would have done anything to make her happy. She was a good woman, but her life was in her work. As was Steve’s but he was ready to be a father.” Nat nods.

“For Margaret, the Avengers were the most important? The work all of you did?” You try, not having spoken of this to her just yet.

Nat continues to caress your belly, feeling the warm fabric of your nightdress.

“He finally told you?” She smiles, nodding and biting her lower lip. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” You tell her, trying to catch her eye. “It doesn’t matter to me whatever it is that happened before I met you.”

Nat’s smile grows, her eyes twinkling with pure joy.

“You’re not like anyone that I’ve ever met before.” She nods. “I will tell you my story, my Queen. But perhaps later?”

She finally meets your eyes.

You nod. “I love you, Nat.”

Nat nods. “I am so grateful. You know that you have mine. You are my closest friend.”

You like the way she looks happy. You don’t want her to think that her past will weigh on your opinion of her.

“When my little one is born. Will you be his Godmother?” You ask, and the look of utter shock on Nat’s face makes this choice worth it.

She will make a wonderful second mother to your prince when he is born. No one better to protect him and nurture him if something should happen to you.

“You are the only real choice.” You tell her. “I trust you, with my life and the life of my son.”

She stares at you, dumbstruck.

“Nat?” You check, starting to worry.

Snapping out of it, she pulls you into a hug once again, so tight you groan but laugh.

“Of course, I will be the baby’s Godmother!” She squeezes you. “You honor me.”

In all of the joy, you almost forget what you’re about to face.

There’s a knock on your door, and you’re suddenly reminded.

Panic begins to bubble up in your tummy. As Nat pulls back, she quickly wipes away tears from her cheeks, shocking you back into forgetting your impending inspection.

“Nat?” You ask, reaching out to hold her arms as she smiles and laughs a little in an attempt to shrug this slip of unexpected emotion away. “What did I say?”

“It’s not you.” She assures you, reaching to take your hand. She pulls it to her lips and kisses it in genuine affection. “Later.”

Her promise is heavy, the sadness in her eyes is real, but there’s happiness there too. Gratitude.

“We’ll speak again later. Maybe send the men away and spend some time just us ladies?” Her offer is tempting and how can you possibly resist?

“I’d like that.” You nod.

Another knock on your door interrupts, and this time there is a voice to accompany it.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice, gentle and coaxing. “Are you ready for us?”

“What’s wrong?” Thor’s booming voice sounds on the other side of the door and your heart gives an excited beat.

“Thor?” You call, instinct pulling you forward as Nat moves out of your way.

You pull the doors open and Thor stands beside Steve wearing thick dark trousers and a stylish charcoal jacket with a set of sterling silver buckles all the way up to his neck where the collar of a yellow shirt peeks around his perpetually sun kissed skin.

“Little bird!” Thor smiles, looking just as elated as you feel.

“Thor!” You spring forward, throwing yourself into his open arms as he rushes to meet you.

He laughs, a big rumbling laugh that shakes your ribs but fills you with warmth.

“How have you been, little bird?” He asks fondly and doesn’t put you down as he pulls back to look at you.

You reach up and push his hair back, caressing his cheeks fondly. It isn’t the same way that you caress Steve. Not one bit…but as you chuckle once, happy to see Thor after so long an absence, you catch sight of Steve’s pout.

You wiggle down out of Thor’s hold and he looks over his shoulder at Steve.

“Oh, I forgot you were there.” He says playfully.

You chuckle, but Steve frowns.

“A jest, my friend.” He tells Steve then rests his hand briefly on your cheek in affection before taking it back.

Steve moves in to stand at your side, his arm wrapping around your waist as the other finds a resting spot on the small swell at your front which is much more visible now in the thick white nightdress for your examination.

As he meets your gaze, his glowering look fades, replaced by the cutest look of adoration you’ve seen on his face to date.

For a moment you’re flabbergasted. You can’t reconcile this man…those storm blue eyes absolutely full of love, had once looked at you with distaste and resentment. The man on your wedding day seems like a different life.

The normally angular lines of his chiseled chin feel softened by the warmth in his eyes. The small curve of his lips, the pink in his cheeks.

He’s so happy and you’re so giddy to be the one to make him so.

Steve leans down to press his lips to your own for a quick peck, then stands tall and holds you against his side, dropping the hand on your belly.

“I’m glad that you came around.” Thor nods, approving of the sight before him.

“So am I.” Steve indeed sounds grateful.

Your mind begins to wander however, and Thor’s sudden appearance, while very welcome is a surprise.

“Thor?”

“Yes, my little bird?” He gushes, chuckling again at the frown that Steve gives him.

There’s a playfulness in their looks, a fight of siblings.

He knows that Steve doesn’t like his little pet name and he’s calling you by it on purpose. It’s not malicious and Steve’s distaste for it is superficial.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t want you to think that I’m not happy to see you but, why are you here?” You ask, brow furrowed with thought.

Thor’s playful expression shifts, curious confusion etching is own brow.

“Well, I brought the doctor for your examination.” Thor says.

“You did?” You reply with a gasp.

“Yes. He’s a close friend though not many know it. His name is Selvig. Erik Selvig. He is a very skilled doctor. And he has assured me that if he finds you void of an heir, he will happily lie to the council that you are indeed pregnant.” Thor smiles.

You look between him and Steve as they exchange a look of amusement.

“You’re teasing me.” You accuse them and both of them chuckle.

“Only a little, my petal.” Steve kisses your head. “But Thor really does know Doctor Selvig and escorted him here as a favor to me. The council was presented with several doctors and they chose Doctor Selvig.”

“Of course, they did not know that he is a close friend of mine.” Thor explains. “And we will keep them in the dark as long as we can.”

“Must you leave straight away?” Steve asks Thor, his tone changing quite a bit from its disapproval to careful and easy flowing concern. “Have the attacks ceased in the Southern villages since I left?”

“They have.” Thor nods. “I can spare a few days. I will stay.”

Steve nods. “You can take the tower on the North side of the house. There’s a balcony if you need to use it.”

“Thank you. I’ll go there now. I haven’t slept in three days. Not the longest I’ve ever gone without sleep but if I can, I will take it.” Thor smiles and for the first time you see the small signs of his weariness.

He’s still beautiful, Godly…but tired. Listening to them talk, the ease and the familiarity with which they converse is pleasing.

You suppose that now that you know about the Avengers, they don’t feel the need to be so tense around you.

“Good luck, little bird.” Thor tells you, his smile winning and knowing. “Don’t worry. I only look this tired.”

You frown at him. “You’re both insufferably self-sacrificing.”

Both of them chuckle.

Thor leaves the two of you without another word, smiling fondly at the two of you before he shuts the door.

“Are you ready?” Steve asks, chaffing your arms with the intent to give you comfort.

“What if-?” You begin, terrified once more at the reminder of what’s to come, but are interrupted by more knocks on your door.

“Doctor Selvig is here, your Majesties.” Peter’s voice chimes in. “Uh…shall I show him in?”

“Why are you waiting out here?” A deeper irritated sounding voice butts in. “Where is her Majesty?”

“Is she refusing the examination?” Says another more charming sounding tenor.

He almost sounds hopeful that you are.

“First one was Lord Ross. He sounds angry but he’s on our side…mostly.” Steve whispers for you. “The second was Lord Pierce.”

Steve’s voice darkens as he speaks the second name and you have to wonder what makes him hate the man, because clearly, he does.

You cling to his arm, feeling suddenly nervous about them being in the room while you’re exposed and vulnerable and Steve so clearly disapproves of one of them passionately.

“Let them in, Peter.” Steve instructs and the door creaks open.

Peter peeks in first. When he gets his eyes on you and Steve and sees that you’re alright, he smiles at you and straightens up to stand at full height.

“This way, my lords.” He pushes the door open fully and holds his arm out to show them in.

Nat appears to your left pulling a folding screen along with her. It’s made of what looks like deer hide. Thick. No one is going to be able to see you through it. It comforts you a bit.

She begins to unfold it, blocking the bed behind you from the view of two large chairs set before a smaller fireplace than what you’ve become used to the past few weeks.

It’s a little cold in this room but with Steve beside you, you’re fine for now.

Still, you’re grateful for the room. You and Steve had discussed very quickly where you wanted your examination done and you were terrified of doing this in the bed where you both spend so much time together. So, you chose to have it done here.

This examination is invasive and you’re terrified of having yet another bed that you share with Steve be tainted by a feeling of violation.

No. You might have to go through with this in order to help Steve keep his crown, but you will be damned if you don’t demand to control that which you can.

The first man that walks through the open door is stern looking. His brow set firmly with disapproval. He looks displeased with everything he sees. Even you.

Still, he bows, the sleek gray tunic and trousers he wears have no frill. They are simple but made with beautiful linen and only the intricate stitching gives away that he has money. There is no vanity in his outfit at first glance, but you can also see the pride in his demeanor.

It’s slightly aggressive. Combative. The cold look in his eyes gives you pause.

“Your Majesties.” He says, bowing at the waist to both you and Steve.

Already tucked into Steve’s side, you hide even further behind him, hoping to shield your baby from this man’s disapproval.

Steve gives you a glance before he clears his throat lightly and tugs on your hand back forward.

You know what you need to do and what he’s reminding you of.

After steeling your nerves, you come around from behind Steve and offer the man your hand.

“Lord Ross.” You assume, and it seems correctly so.

Lord Ross gives you what must be the closest thing to a genuine smile, takes your hand, and kisses it gently. A mere brush of his prickly lips with their black and white moustache.

“You are looking radiant, your Majesty, if you don’t mind my saying?” He flatters you, as every good subject should do to their Queen when she’s expecting.

“Thank you, Lord Ross. I’m glad to finally meet the man who keeps my husband from my bed.” You feel weird talking to him, but he seems at ease as he releases your hand.

“I will endeavor to do better, my Queen.” He says. “In your delicate condition however, is a husband really what you need around you? Should you not rather have more ladies?”

You smile, taking no offense. He’s only making conversation and from what you’ve seen here in Broklin, the gentry tend to let their wives take comfort in their servants rather than spending the time themselves.

“All I need is Steve.” You tell Lord Ross and he seems taken aback for a moment by the real way that you say those words. Not to mention the use of his name sounds natural and casual as it slips from your lips.

Ross bows his head again and moves to stand by his designated seat as a second man with a rounder face but handsome. This man was very good looking in his youth. The red of his hair is still speckled throughout his head.

His skin is more vibrant than Lord Ross’s. More pink.

You do see what Steve meant about the charming nature of his character. At first glance, Lord Pierce looks like a kind man. A gentle smile stretched across his lips. The aura that surrounds him is non-threatening, and he keeps his body bowed so as not to appear a threat.

He’s trying so hard not to be intimidating that it makes him seem suspicious.

Only the sinister gleam in his eyes gives him away. You don’t trust him.

“Your Majesties.” He gushes, his voice a lovely tenor, aged…but inviting. “How lovely to see you, my Queen.”

“Lord Pierce,” You state, then offer him your hand.

Steve steps closer, wrapping one arm around your waist and you feel like this is more for his state of mind than for your own. He needs to feel you safe there beside him maybe?

Pierce takes it and kisses it briefly before releasing it.

“I’m sorry that we must meet again under these circumstances.” He tells you, not meaning it.

“We’ve met before?” You cock your head to the side, trying to remember when you’d made his acquaintance.

He stutters. “Uh, not formally, my Queen. I was at your wedding feast. Both of them. I hope you are fully recovered after the illness that kept you from court for so long?”

He’s probing into you, searching for a crack. You don’t like it. Still, you smile.

“I am recovered. It seems my pregnancy did not fair well with me the first few months. It put me in bed and made me very ill, but I am much better now.” You assure him, then reach down to cup your barely bulging belly. You caress it, rub it, and hope that it looks bigger than it really is. “And as you can see, faring well with our heir growing ever stronger within me.”

You smile at him, smug, but genuinely happy.

Pierce’s smile falters, its truth momentarily exposed as ire.

“That is as it should be, your Majesty.” He bows once again then moves to stand by his own chair.

Where he stood now stands a man with a wide face. He’s handsome for his age but is younger than the two lords waiting to sit.

With ashy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, he approaches you wearing a kind smile. It’s unthreatening, but almost secretive and makes you feel as if he knows something you do not.

You offer him your hand, feeling comforted by the fact that this man is a friend of Thor’s.

The doctor takes your hand, kisses it, and holds it as he knows.

“Your Majesty,” he remains stooped over but looks up to meet your gaze. “It is so wonderful to finally meet you.”

His voice is lightly accented. The cadence a little different but otherwise his voice is smooth and relaxing.

“Good day, Lord Selvig.” You smile.

“Oh, no.” He smiles wider, a small chuckle escaping his lips and a tinge of pink painting his cheeks. “I am no Lord, your Majesty. Only a doctor.”

“Is that so?” You ask, raising your eyebrows, amused by his blush.

He nods and finally releases your hand.

“Nat?” You call.

Nat comes around the screen and stops to look at you.

“Are we ready?” You glance back at the screen and find it perfectly set up and angled to give you all the privacy you may need.

“We are.” Nat nods, she motions for you to follow her behind the screen but you turn to Lord Ross and Lord Pierce first to give them a small smile.

“I hope you will find the results to your liking.” And the slight venom in your voice is reserved for Lord Pierce specifically.

Lord Ross seems to know that because his eyes twinkle with delight at your bite, and speaks first. Before Lord Pierce can maneuver is charisma for you.

“I am sure we shall everything as it should be, your Majesty.” He says, then nods once.

You move around the screen and Nat follows. Doctor Selvig comes too.

Nat helps you onto the bed and with a pounding heart you settle yourself where she indicates. Doctor Selvig giving her quiet instructions.

“Just here at the end. A legs here.” He points at the base of the bed and where he wants you to place your feet.

You do as he says and slide close to the end, legs still clenched closed as your nerves begin to fray.

He seems to realize your worry and places his hand over yours while you sit.

“I’m sorry that this must be how we meet. It will be over quickly. I promise.” He swears, and you believe him.

You begin to lay back then realize that Steve isn’t with you.

“Steve?!” You call, a little more frantic than you like.

You don’t want Lord Pierce to know how this whole thing is affecting you.

“Nat?” You turn to look at her as you sit back up. “I thought you said-?”

Nat rushes around the screen.

“Excuse me, my lord, but our Queen needs her King.” You hear her say.

“She-?” Lord Pierce begins, confused.

For men to be present at these things is strange in itself. To be right there while it’s happening? Unheard of.

“Excuse me, Lord Pierce. My wife needs me.” Steve says, cutting him off.

A moment later, he rounds the screen and moves to stand to your right, taking your hand gently between both of his.

“I’m here.” He assures you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Having Steve beside you helps, but as Doctor Selvig settles between your ankles, your heart begins to pound.

“Ready?” He asks you, and you are.

You nod.

The examination takes only ten minutes. The most invasive portion is over in less than a minute. As Doctor Selvig straightens up, he gives you a nod then looks at Steve as he brings your legs down and together.

“Healthy so far.” He tells you both and Steve releases a breath he’d been holding.

You look to meet his gaze and see the same nervous energy you can’t seem to escape reflected back at you from those storm blue eyes.

“Are you alright, petal?” He checks, brow knit with worry.

Still on edge, you can only nod as Doctor Selvig moves over to your left.

“I’ll be feeling for the baby now.” He tells you, then waits a moment to let your mind catch up before he begins to feel your tummy.

He traces the sides of your bump, up and down, pressing with gentle but firm fingers.

“There he is.” Doctor Selvig says, pressing on your left side more than your right.

“I-Is he okay?” You stutter, frantic energy coursing through you as the possibility of this pregnancy being in your head flies out the window.

“Perfectly fine, as far as I can tell.” He says, then scoots up closer. “If I may, your Majesty?”

He indicates your chest and you’re not sure what he needs but if it’s for the health of your baby, you’re willing to do anything.

“Of course.” You say weakly.

Steve’s hands tighten.

Doctor Selvig dips down, resting his ear between your breasts. You turn to Steve who stands chewing on the inside of his cheek, restraining himself. He doesn’t like this any more than you do.

“Nice strong heartbeat.” Doctor Selvig says. “I foresee no complications, as long as you take care and remember to prioritize your health over everything else.”

“So, she’s alright?” Steve wonders.

“Perfectly so. She is indeed with child and very healthy. Congratulations, your Majesties. I cannot wait to meet the young Prince.” Doctor Selvig’s smile widens and his words fill you with comfort.

You are indeed carrying Broklin’s future. You are mother to Steve’s heir!

And no one will take that from you.

Smiling, you look at your husband. Steve is beaming and he reaches over to shake Selvig’s hand before placing his hand on your belly and leaning down to kiss you.

You chuckle, ecstatic. All of your stress has melted away and you can’t imagine how anything might bring you down from this high.

There’s a knock on the door.

As Doctor Selvig moves back around the screen to deliver his findings, Steve helps you sit up while Nat rushes to answer the door.

“What do you need?” Steve asks, scooting closer so that your side is pressed up against his chest, his arm extended behind you on the bed to help prop you up and support your weight. “Are you…okay?”

“He was very gentle.” You assure him.

“Good.” Steve smiles. “Good. I’m glad it’s over.”

The relief in his face is apparent. He’s so glad that the examination is done, and you don’t blame him.

“Are you hungry? I can have some food brought up here or to our room?” He offers.

Just as you’re about to tell him you’re fine, your stomach grumbles loudly.

Steve huffs a small laugh, reaching up with his other hand to smooth out a stray hair along your right temple.

“Are my loves absolutely starving?” He asks you, a slight teasing quality to his tone.

Your cheeks burning, you nod.

“You were so worried this morning; you really did eat like a little bird.” He points out. “I’ll have something brought up.”

He kisses your cheek then gets up to pull on the cord by the bed while you scooch over to the end of the bed and reach down to put your slippers back on.

“I’ll do that.” He fusses and hurries around to the end of the bed before dropping down onto one knee.

He takes your left slipper and coaxes your leg up, wrapping his large hand around your calf. His fingers tickle the skin there as he slides your shoe on. He does the right too and you can’t stop smiling.

“You’re a king.” You remind him. “You should not be on your knees.”

Steve smiles, his beautiful lips twisting up into a half smile as he runs both hands up from your ankles, calves, to rest behind your knees where he hooks them and pulls you a little closer.

“For you, my knees must bend. Only you.” He says, flooding your tummy with heat.

“Your Majesty?” Nat calls from the other side of the screen. “Lord Barnes and Wilson are here to see you. They say it’s urgent.”

Steve looks back at where her voice floats in from before breathing in deeply then sighing forlornly.

“Urgent?” You worry.

Steve looks at you, smiling sadly. “I suppose I can’t forgo everything forever for you, no matter how much I may want to.”

Caressing his bearded cheeks—which he grew out for you after you mentioned how much you missed his scruff—your heart aches just a little.

“If you must go, you must. But please stay out of danger? I only just got you back.” You stress.

Steve chuckles, amused by your worry.

“I’ve had worse, my petal. No matter what I face, with you waiting for me, how can I do anything but come back to you?” His attempt to reassure you is weak and he can see it in your pout because he gets up to sit beside you, wrapping your up in his arms. “I promise that I will not do anything reckless.”

“Truly?” You lean back to look up into his face.

“Yes. I promise.” He reaches down to rub your tummy, a loving caress as he leans down to kiss you silly.

His lips are soft and slow, his tongue coaxing your lips open as both of you lose yourselves in it.

Someone clears their throat, Bucky it sounds like.

“Your Majesty?” He urges.

Steve pulls away, a quiet smack, as you pull apart.

“I’m coming.” Steve says, voice deep. It penetrates your bones and makes you want to trap him back in your bedroom where you can ravish him and also keep him safe.

“Will you be alright without me?” He checks, and you see that he doesn’t want to leave you either.

This gives you comfort.

“I will cope. I won’t be alright until you return.” You admit.

“Then I shall return quickly.” Steve kisses you again quickly and with one final caress to your cheek he turns and leaves. “What’s happened?”

“More attacks in the South. I didn’t want to wake Thor.” Bucky says.

“No. Let him rest.” Steve agrees, their voices fading as they leave. “Peter, stay close to her Majesty until I return.”

“Will do, your Majesty!” Peter replies.

Nat pushes the screen away, revealing Steve’s wide shoulders as he moves down the long hallway on the other side of the open doorway, Bucky and Sam moving briskly at his side before they turn the corner and disappear from sight.

“I’ve ordered a feast for us.” Nat tells you. “I heard his Majesty ask if you were hungry.”

“Nat…”

“Don’t worry.” She offers you her hands and you take them. She pulls you to your feet then hooks your left through her right and begins to lead you out of the now empty room.

Lord Pierce and Ross must have left just after the examination.

“If he promised not to do anything reckless…” Nat thinks for a moment.

“Something tells me that he’s always a bit reckless.” You frown.

“Looks like you’ve gotten to know your husband a bit more.” She praises. “But if he promised you…he will keep it.”

You frown, not really believing her.

“Are you ready for our day of self-indulgence and bonding?” Nat offers, smiling at you with those green eyes of hers betraying no worry. “Are you ready to hear my truth?”

In all the craziness of your examination, you’d almost forgotten Nat’s promise to tell you why she cried when you asked her to be Godmother to your little one. Now it’s all that matters.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #king!steve x you #steve x reader #steve x reader fanfiction #steve x you #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #medieval au #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #mcu au #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt24

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3 

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going. 

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it. 

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.  

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air—was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?”

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they  spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man’s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911ls #tk strand #carlos reyes #brooke writes

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

(Which Spider-Man?) Mary-Jane takes Miles under her wing instead or Peter has to kill Beck

(set after into the spiderverse)

1.

defeating kingpin and sending the other spider... well, men off to their own worlds felt great, but once it’s over miles has to face the fact that he’s still starting out on his own here and this world’s peter parker, his spiderman, is still fresh in the city’s memory. it means he gets some weird and mixed reactions from people during his first few swing-throughs of the city, but he tries to take them in his stride.

he reminds himself that he has people to go to for advice and support and an entire, whaddayacallit, spider cave to peruse if he wants to. there’s fresh and advanced webshooters, web fluid, costume changes, tracking and recording equipment, and besides, may parker is badass. there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be hanging out there all the time.

except--

there’s this way may’s eyes soften and get watery when she’s looking at him and thinks he isn’t noticing, her entire body cratering at the centre after being upright for so long. it’s awkward when she once asks him to call her ‘aunt may’ then stops herself, looking stricken, then never brings it up again. sitting in her house sipping hot chocolate means remembering the first time he was sitting in that hall; looking at the fading scorch marks on the wall; thinking uncle aaron i miss you and realising for probably the hundredth time that week that he’s never going to see his uncle again. it’s like he’s surrounded by a thousand invisible emotional tripwires, and he’s always walking into them and falling into some memory.

so, yeah. he doesn’t really go to may’s much, unless it’s for an emergency, or he’s running low on web fluid, or needs to repair his costume. it’s during one such trip that he finds mary jane watson sitting in the spidercave.

2.

mj (because of course she wants him to call her mj) is… nice. she’s nice. there’s not a whole lot more miles can say at first because again: peter parker is this sort of insurmountable wall between them, and as much as he bonded with other (his) pete, he isn’t quite sure what this (not his peter but technically his universe’s, so, well. shit. this is all very confusing) peter was really like. he was very kind to miles when he first saw him (and quicker to put two and two together) but did he have that same exhausted dad energy? was he scarily competent and an absolute slob at the same time? did he get that soft, wondering look in his eyes, like he’d received a gift he never expected to get, whenever he thought nobody was looking at him? did he ask his famous-in-her-own-right journalist girlfriend to help him be spider-man, or was that part of him mostly a mystery to her too?

miles could ask said-girlfriend, but… it’s too soon. too raw. too awkward. too miles-has-schoolwork-and-vigilantism-consuming-every-second-of-his-life-and-he-just-doesn’t-have-any-leftover-energy-to-deal-with-this.

they exchange phone numbers during their second meeting and it continues to be weird at first (what’s miles going to do? send mary jane watson pictures of minecraft memes?), but he quickly discovers that mj isn’t really interested in spiderman related--or even adjacent--conversations either. it’s mostly messages asking him about his day, or about school, or if spiderman’s really taking the subway every other morning (miles’ spider genes apparently don’t allow him to withstand swinging from building to building after a full cheeseburger meal). miles quickly loses his nervousness and it even becomes a sort of comfort.

then: the messages start getting… different. what you’re looking for isn’t there and see attachment and i can get you oscorp’s internal files on this and the nuclear material is coming in from oslo not ohio what the fuck even is this spellcheck

all the tips pan out because of course they do, it’s mary jane watson. miles isn’t entirely sure how she seems to know so often what he’s working on, but he suspects that she watches where he’s been as spiderman closer than he first thought. 

still, he feels awkward enough that it’s a while before he texts her i think i’m stuck on this one.

the reply is almost immediate: i thought you’d never ask.

3.

being spider-man is all fun and games until it suddenly isn’t: when miles realises he’s out there in the middle of an inferno without backup, during every moment he jumps off a building and thinks for a split-second, mid-air: what if i don’t make that next landing. more often than not he makes it out okay at the end of the day, but there are also moments like this: stuck under a wooden beam, hurt just enough that he can’t muster the strength to throw the beam off his back, fire raging in the floors beneath him, the heat wafting up threatening to cook him in his nice superhero suit.

i might not make it is no longer a split-second thought. in fact it’s a thought that occupies a lot of whole seconds strung together.

then: “spiderman!”

the shout is followed a few seconds later by mj herself, her form shimmering and wavering in the heat, handkerchief pressed to her nose and mouth. when she sees him her watering eyes light up.

miles’ jaw hangs open, and something clicks in his head: there’s no way spiderman could’ve existed without this reckless, brave, smart yet so stupid, incredible person. 

he’s a lot less nervous about asking for help after that, and about reminding her that yeah, he can be a little foolish at times, but she was the one who ran alone into a burning building to help somebody with super-strength and super-healing. she never argues that last one, just smiles fondly.

4.

mj becomes fast friends with miles’ mother. miles doesn’t even remember how they met--ran into each other at the grocery store every weekend? something. it isn’t really relevant. what’s important is that now mj and his mom appear to be best friends, and miles isn’t sure how to feel about this. he gets the notion that, despite not being bitten by a radioactive spider, mj is much farther along in this world than he is. boundaries are different. more porous. 

even so, mj is… something else.

sometimes, sitting across from her at the dining table at home, it feels like the world is a little bit warmer, a little more… complete. then she would catch his eye and give him a knowing smile, and miles is in his costume again, poised at the apex of an expansive arc and not knowing where he’s going to land in a world he’s starting to realise he doesn’t really understand after all.

he never tells mj about the multiverse spidermen, though he can tell she is curious about where he disappears to every now and then. truth be told, he’s a bit scared of how she’ll react to the idea of other peters existing.

5.

months after that first meeting, miles and mj visit peter’s grave together. 

it’s probably the first time miles has seen mj be anything but calm and put-together. exhaustion piles in like sand in a tipped hourglass. her shoulders slump and her nails claw into a faded sweatshirt that she’s holding in her hands. and yet… she’s holding back, miles realises. for all that he’s seen of her in the last several months, there’s a layer she’s still reserving for peter and miles… doesn’t resent it exactly, this peter spectre that keeps coming up between him and everything that he wants to know about how to do his job, but he hopes…

he hopes he’ll get to know mj some day.

he walks away to a cafe nearby. mj joins him half an hour later, eyes red and mascara smeared but her face dry. they buy milkshakes and plot their next move against doc ock.

 -

( send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons! )

#spiderman #into the spiderverse #miles morales #mary jane watson #my fic #sillierthanasillylaugh #i got stuck halfway through this #like proper STUCK - for a whole month #and my brain didn't allow me to work on anything else until i finished this so #it's been a frustrating month #it's done and i kinda never want to see it again

[nogods--nomasters]

A Dance

June, 1814

Glittering. Her eyes, traveling across the ostentatiously decorated ballroom, saw nothing but the crystal chandeliers, delicately twinkling champagne flutes, and twinkling beads on the dresses of the ladies present. Penelope sighed as she watched each Debutante whirl around the dance floor, laughing absently at whatever her lord or baron or viscount dance partner was prattling on about. She could feel the slight, gentle sway of her body to the rhythm of the orchestra, both present yet detached from the society ball that surrounded her.

She did long to dance, truly. She had not had many opportunities to dance, and, as she was swiftly approaching the mid-point of her second season, she doubted she ever would. She was a rather good dancer, although there were few that had the opportunity to experience that side of Miss Penelope Featherington. There were fewer, still, that felt the need to comment upon it.  

She could not find a smile as she watched the dancing end and resume again with a new song, some dancers continuing with the same partner, and others asking for a spin with a new one. As she stood to the side of the excitement, she couldn’t help but wonder why it couldn’t be her being asked to dance for once. Sure, she danced the obligatory dances with the Bridgerton boys at each ball, but she longed to be asked by someone who specifically wanted to dance with her. Penelope. Not because she was the best friend of Eloise Bridgerton, not because anyone’s mother asked them to, but because they deigned her specifically interesting enough to waltz with.

She was so lost in thought, she hardly noticed the new presence beside her until she heard a voice. “Why, isn’t it just ever so tiring?” the feminine voice asked, prompting Penelope to turn her head towards the source.

Cressida. Penelope’s frown was immediate. As though her evening had not been bad enough, the person she could not have possibly wanted less to do with was standing beside her, positively simpering. She was baiting her, but with what Penelope did not know. “Sorry?” She replied, keeping her eyes somehow both on Cressida and anxiously circling the ballroom for any means of escape.

“I was just inquiring whether it was as tiring as it looks.” She responded, the smirk that was playing behind her eyes hardly being fought off of her lips.

“Tiring as what looks?”

“Why, constantly praying for any man to ask you to dance, of course.” The giggle that left her lips was anything but joyful, “I can imagine it is not quite as tiring as actually dancing, more than likely. I also don’t suppose you would have much dancing to compare your constant daydreaming to measure, but I did not think it would hurt to inquire.” Cressida reminded Penelope of a snake. A scaled, beautifully colored serpent, stalking pray and unhinging its jaws at any sign of weakness.

Penelope imagined she looked just like a fish on land, mouth open and gasping for air. She was very consistently at a loss for words, but right now she could not foresee finding them again in the near future.  

“I-“ she began, still unsure what she was to say in response to such a cruel question, “I-oh, I-“ she could not seem to find anything cutting that would stick. Cressida was openly smirking at her now, the cruelty of her remark having hit its mark like a masterful marksman to a soaring pigeon.

“Anyway, Miss Featherington, have a wonderful evening. I hope one of these seasons a man asks you to dance.” Her parting remark stung more than the previous, having hit such an obvious weak point for the young debutante.  

“Oh, off so soon, Miss Cowper? And here I thought you might love to stay for Miss Featherington’s comparison between dancing and, what was it you said, ‘praying for any man to ask her to dance’? You did seem ever so curious.” She felt a breath she did not even know she was holding release at the familiar voice that appeared to her side. She turned her head in his direction, then, knowing she would find the kind, towering countenance of Mr. Colin Bridgerton. She found his green eyes, and noticed they were not looking at her, but instead trained on the rapidly reddening face of Cressida Cowper. His eyes, usually open and kind, were hard and cold as they all but glared at the calculating blonde.

“Why, Mr. Bridgerton, I had not the slightest inkling you could hear us.”

“Then, perhaps you should be more reticent of those who are within ear shot, Miss Cowper. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be off to share a dance with Miss Featherington,” his eyes found hers for the first time following his sudden appearance, “that is, Miss Featherington, if you will allow me the honor.”  

All Penelope could bring herself to do was nod. Colin was her knight in shining armor, and she doubted very much that he even knew. That dance, with the feeling of his hand on her waist, the warmth of his hand on her own, the swelling giggle that threatened to burst from her lungs at any moment, was the second best moment of that entire second season.

The first was seeing the beat red face of the avidly watching Cressida Cowper, whose expression could effectively be pegged somewhere between resentment, jealousy, and mortification.

 _____________________________________________________________________________________

 Penelope gently pulled herself from her reverie. She felt her lips drift absently into a smile as she plaited her hair for bed, the dim candlelight accompanying her memory from a decade prior. She had, back then, held little hope that she would ever become Mrs. Bridgerton. But as she tied the end of the braid and looked in the mirror at her avidly reading husband, Mr. Colin Bridgerton himself, she couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at just how wrong she had been.

“Why do you sigh so, wife?” Colin questioned, looking up at her from his book as she rose from her vanity.

“Why, no reason, husband. Just feeling tired. The day has been rather long, wouldn’t you agree?” She peeled back the covers and climbed into bed, hoping the warmth of the blankets and the warmth of her unreasonably hot husband might chase away the winter chill. She drifted closer to his side of the bed, nestling herself tightly against his side as he moved his arm to make room.

“It has been a long day, yes, but as for the length of the day being a reason for your sigh? I find that highly debatable.” She felt the gentle kiss on the top of her head and found herself longing to be even closer to him, despite the impossibility of such a feat.

“Leave it to you, husband, to not let sleeping dogs lie.” She chanced a look up at him, expecting to find him still engrossed in his novel, but was surprised to find him looking down at her.

He leaned down and met their lips together, a gentle press that Penelope felt deep in her stomach. “My love, these lips could find much better things to do than sigh, do you not think?” She reached for his mouth with her own again, only to be met by empty air. “But I think we shall have to wait until you tell me what the matter is to explore those opportunities, lovely girl.”

“Colin, it’s really nothing.” She excused, then found herself looking away. Suddenly, she found the pattern of the bed quilt more interesting than ever before. “Besides, you’ll think it’s rather silly, I’m afraid.”

“Now, Pen,” he began as he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “nothing in that head could ever be construed as silly.” The kiss on her forehead was gentle, and she found herself sighing again. She had a feeling she would not be escaping this so easily.

“I’m sure you don’t even remember, but I was just thinking of a time during my second season where you, my white knight, heroically came to my rescue from the dragon that is Cressida Twombley.” She smiled fondly up at him, hoping that would be the end of it. Instead, he frowned. The frown puzzled Penelope, and she found herself mirroring him, “Whatever is the matter? You know how things were, are, and always shall be between Cressida and me.”

“I do, but it just,” it was his turn to sigh as he lightly pushed a curl behind her ear, “pains me that there are all these memories in that pretty head of yours that trouble you so. You are so beautiful, Penelope, and the fact that anyone ever made you feel less than is just too much for me to bear.”

She found herself shaking her head, “you misunderstand me, husband. Yes, Cressida was cruel, but the memory was more about you. How handsome and heroic I thought you were, coming to whisk me away to the dance floor when I had not one dance the entire evening. How, I know without a doubt, you’d do it again today. Although, I imagine, the ending of our dance would be returning to our home in the carriage, not you being whisked away by your mother.”

Penelope found herself giggling, but Colin’s eyes remained serious. She wasn’t so sure she liked it when Colin was so serious. The gears in that head of his turning like that tended to have some dangerous results. She gave him time to think, taking the time to admire his dark hair, the emerald of his eyes, the chiseled cheeks and jawline that she had been dreaming about longer than she cared to admit. She reached for his cheek, gently resting her palm along the newly-scruffy skin.

“Come.” He spoke suddenly, his eyes still serious, “Up, out of bed you go.” He threw the sheets from the both of them, bounding out of the bed and grabbing his dressing gown. “Put your dressing gown on.”

Penelope faltered for a moment, looking at him. What was happening? Had he gone mad? She continued to stare, thinking on what to say, “Where are we off to at this time of night, love?”

Colin ignored her question. Instead, he all but pulled her out of bed. He helped her into her dressing gown, and Penelope slipped on her slippers. She decided that perhaps she would play his reindeer games. He offered her his arm, and she took it despite feeling rather formal for an adventure in bedclothes. He led her swiftly out of the bedroom door, his large steps almost pulling her to catch up. She could not imagine where he was taking her. To the kitchens? Perhaps he was hungry? She knew not how to cook or bake, but she was hopeful that there might be something left behind from dinner that evening, perhaps a bit of bread. They continued down the corridor, down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the library.

Had he dragged her down there for a book? She had her own beside her bed, surely he-

Colin stopped suddenly once securely inside the library. He released her arm. “Colin? I really do not understand. Did we truly come here for a book?” He turned to her, an amused smile playing at his lips. He said nothing, but a strange expression overtook his features. Penelope felt herself blush. Even after two years of marriage, he still had that strange effect on her. She averted her eyes, suddenly overcome with a nervousness long ago replaced by the knowledge of what a husband and wife do together in bed.

If other wives were like her, and other husbands like him, then nervousness should never exist in a marriage.

She felt him approach her, then. He grasped her chin between his fingers, bringing her gaze up to match his own. The green of his eyes would never not be distracting, she knew. “Excuse me Miss Featherington, but would you allow me the honor of a dance?” The question was accompanied by a deep bow. Through her giggles, Penelope curtsied and took the hand he had reached out to her. She allowed him to lead her in a simple waltz. The feeling of his large, firm hand through her thin nightgown warmed her. She could feel the familiar butterflies in her stomach as her gaze kept firmly to his. Their hands were grasped together, and their bodies were much too close for the confines of a ballroom. The entire thing, despite being between herself and her husband, despite being in their own home, felt terribly scandalous.

Colin leaned down to press their cheeks together. The touch, warm and slightly rough, made her shiver. “Why, Mr. Bridgerton, I am a lady.” She responded to the touch. His only response was to draw her closer, replacing his cheek with his lips.

“I know that now, Pen.” He kissed her again, this time on her jaw. His hand on her back as they danced held fast. She was consumed by him as he brought his kisses lower, lower, lower, trying but failing to keep the pace of the dance. He, too, had seemed to have given up entirely as both hands stretched across the small of her back. The dancing slowed to a complete stop as his mouth reached her collar bone. She grasped his hair lightly, the strands soft between her fingertips. “I wasted so much time not knowing that. You were perfect for me Penelope,” he stopped his kisses then, pushing his forehead against hers, “you were perfect and I wasted so much time just not realizing. You were right in front of me the entire time, and yet all I did was attempt to defend you from people like Cressida and dance with you out of-“ he inhaled deeply, shaking his head, “I want to dance with you for the rest of our lives. Not because I want to, but because I need to. You are mine, Pen, and I don’t intend to waste another moment.”

The kiss was searing. Unexpected. Everything was fast, the movement of his lips, to the grasping of his hands, to the way she gave him everything she had in return. She felt her back bump the bookcase, not having realized they had even been moving. He pulled away, breathing harshly, his lips gravitating back to her throat. She keened as he pulled her hips forward, feeling his want against her.

“Colin, we- are we to do this here? In the library- I” thoughts were few and far between as he raised his head, pupils large and focused only on her. He slid her dressing gown from her shoulders, attaching his lips to the newly found skin. He traveled lower, then, unlacing her gown as he went until it pooled around her feet.

“Beautiful.” He practically growled against her chest, his mouth finding purchase on her hardened nipple. Her head flew back, hard enough to hurt if he had not moved his hand there for stability. The rapid knocking on the door to the library startled both of them apart, red faced, thoroughly kissed, and panting. She quickly slid her nightgown to cover herself, her dressing gown long ago discarded and too far away. He adjusted himself, attempting to look the part of gentleman of the house.  

“Yes?” She called out, her voice quivering. Colin’s smirk was dastardly at best at the sound of her voice, and if she weren’t already flushed, she surely would be now. The sound of the heavy door opening was deafening in the old library.

“My apologies, my lady, my lord. I have come to check if the fires were out.” The maid that appeared before them was young, her eyes unsuspecting that anything was even amiss.

“We’ll just be heading up to bed, then. Goodnight.” Colin answered for them both, ushering them out of the room with a hand too low for anywhere except the bedroom.

Her giggle upon entering their bedroom was hysterical. “Colin! That poor girl.”

“She was none the wiser.” He took off his robe, finding his way to her. “Now, where were we?”

“I can’t seem to remember.” She replied, coy. Her night gown was on the floor before she could breathe.

When they finally retired to bed, she couldn’t help her smile. He was lovely, Colin Bridgerton. A scoundrel, maybe, but so well intentioned she felt she could weep. His arms, tightly wrapped around her, were home. His even breathing told her that he was fast asleep. Penelope was not far behind him, soundly sleeping and dreaming of dark brown hair and kind green eyes.

#polin #penelope x colin #bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

Hello!! I saw you take prompts for TW and I couldn't resist. I was wondering if you could work some magic with the pairing Erica x Boyd? Berica is my second fav ship (after Sterek) and I feel they need more love. I don't know if you have specific themes/tropes you like to write but would love anything fluffy. A marriage proposal or love confession perhaps? Whatever takes your fancy :) Thanks heaps!

Did I get so excited when I saw this ask that I sat and wrote this immediately? Yes. Absolutely. Berica!!! Ok so this kinda takes place after 3A, but they lived!!! ~1600 words

———

After the alpha pack, Erica and Boyd were inseparable.

Erica had been near death after fighting Kali in the vault. Boyd stayed by her hospital bed for weeks as she slowly healed. He slept in the wooden chair, that was just too small for him, night after night. Erica had always been so animated. She always had a snarky comment, or she was starting a fight. Boyd was never much for conflict, happily fading into the background. Now she was silent, and her expression was softer than he'd ever seen. The others tried to coax him away, asking for his help with the various attacks on the town, but he'd always refuse. Boyd was adamant. He would never leave her alone in that horrible white room. He knew how much time she'd spent in the hospital growing up, and he would make sure she wouldn't wake up alone this time. Erica was his only true friend. Even Issac, his fellow beta, was a stranger to him. He'd sided with Scott, probably the smart move considering his new true alpha status. Their alpha, however, he'd been demoted to beta like them. Boyd wasn't sure if he and Erica even had a pack anymore, but he knew they had each other. She kept him sane in the vault. Her strength amazed him, so Boyd stayed. He stayed until the day she woke up.

The day she woke up was one he'd never forget. After almost three weeks, Erica slowly stirred awake around five in the morning. The steady rise in her heart as she woke up caught his attention from his slumped position beside her. He raised his head and studied her face as her eyes opened with slow, heavy blinks. Erica had looked down at the heart monitor and IV with a hollow familiarity, but then she met his gaze. They just looked at each other silently for a moment, but when her lip began to quiver, he was out of the chair without another second. Boyd just held her. Erica's grip tightened around his large frame with the strength that would crush a normal human's bones. They just stayed like that for a long time.

After her release, Erica wanted to see Derek. She was still loyal to their alpha, even if she hadn't spoken to him since they'd tried to run away in search of a new pack. Boyd explained that Derek was no longer an alpha, that he'd given up the power to save his sister, Cora. Erica just looked at him with those big brown eyes, and he was already on his way to the loft.

When Derek saw her, Boyd could see the guilt and relief wash across the man's face. Their alpha had been so clearly distraught when he found her in the vault, bloody and barely alive. Boyd knew he cared about them, even if he wasn't always a great leader. He made them to increase his own power, but pack is pack.

Erica wanted forgiveness. She wanted Derek to accept that as pack again. Boyd thought he looked physically pained when he told her that Scott had to be the one to accept them as pack. She understood, but she still starred at him. Boyd knew what she wanted. Maybe he wanted it too. They wanted Derek to tell them he didn't resent their past mistakes. What they got was a stiff smile, but for Derek, that meant a lot.

Erica and Boyd weren't quite ready to go to Scott. They knew they'd need a pack, an alpha, but they needed time to heal from what they'd been through. Putting off talking to Scott was like ignoring the rest of the world for awhile. They just drove out to the woods and laid on the hood, starring up at the sky. The clear night let the stars shine brightly overhead. Boyd looked over to Erica, her blonde curls surrounded her head like a messy pillow. He'd seen her face every day for weeks, but it was like she'd finally become herself again. The warmth in her skin and the way her lips twisted up in the corners, like she was mocking the world, were a welcome change to her recent cold, lifeless state. Erica glanced over at him, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the stars.

"Boyd, we're omegas now, right?" Erica asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"Right," Boyd nodded. Erica seemed to ponder this for a minute.

"We have each other though, right?" Erica asked quietly. Boyd smiled.

"Right," he repeated. He'd never felt so close to anyone else, even feeling like a stranger to his own family most days. Erica smiled.

"Boyd, you know I love you, right?" Erica turned to him, her blonde curls falling to the side. He turned to face her.

"Right," he said softer this time. She watched him for a moment. "I love you too, Erica," Boyd returned her feelings without any doubt. He felt like he'd said it a million times before, and he knew he'd say it a million times more. Erica beamed up at him, and she leaned over quickly, grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he melted into her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She was all the pack he needed.

— 5 years later —

Boyd unpacked the last of the boxes from the truck. They'd had been moving in all day, their collective belongings from each of their college housing filled the moving van almost completely. Though, Erica's things probably took up three quarters of it. The pack came together to get them moved into their new apartment. Scott, Issac, and Derek helping with most of the heavy lifting. Stiles, Lydia, and Allison decided their skills were better suited for directing them, while they sat off to the side and watched the wolves do all the hard work.

"Hell ya! Take your shirt off!" Stiles shouted at their former alpha, causing Derek to roll his eyes. Lydia and Allison just dissolved into laughter. Erica smiled and shook her head behind a large box. Boyd came over, lifting the box from her hands.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" Erica jumped up, trying to reclaim the box. Boyd smiled and laughed.

"I got this. You go hang out with the girls," he said gesturing over to the trio of humans. Erica pouted and glared.

"I'm a werewolf. I think I can handle a heavy box," she pursed her lips.

"I know you can, but there's only a few boxes left. We got this. Go have fun," Boyd leant down and kissed her head. A smile broke out across her face. Erica gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before taking a seat on the counter beside Stiles. Boyd smiled fondly over to her before going back outside to the truck.

"So, when are you doing it?" Issac popped up beside him, asking in a hushed tone. Scott came up behind him and raised an eyebrow.

"Later," Boyd smiled and grabbed a box.

"Very specific," Issac rolled his eyes.

"How are you doing it? Are you gonna take her out to dinner? Go somewhere special?" Scott, ever the romantic, flashed his lopsided grin.

"Here. Down on one knee. What can I say? I'm a traditionalist," Boyd smiled before heading back up the stairs. Issac and Scott sighed, hoping for more theatrics, Boyd assumes. That wasn't his style though.

He got back upstairs and found Erica laughing with Lydia and Allison, while Stiles and Derek bickered. Boyd rolled his eyes. Derek never was much help when Stiles was there to distract him.

They finished unpacking the truck and got the boxes sorted into the right rooms. The pack went their separate ways, and Boyd and Erica fell into their couch with a exhausted huff.

"Pizza?" Erica prompted.

"Pizza," Boyd nodded. She smiled and pulled out her phone, ordering it to their new apartment.

They ate the greasy food and watched their favorite movies. The boxes could wait till tomorrow. After a few hours, they were resting comfortably, Erica leaning into his side, and his arm holding her close. The sun was slipping under the horizon, and the glow from the TV and kitchen lit up the room with soft, warm light. Boyd glanced down at Erica. Her hair was in a messy bun, with random blonde curls poking out in various directions. Her black eyeliner was smeared at the edges from the long day. He smiled down at her and caught her eye. Erica glanced up at him, returning the smile with a questioning look.

"What? What are you thinking about?" Erica leaned up a bit to get a better look at him. She paused the movie, studying his coy smile. Boyd shifted to face her.

"You know I love you, right?" He watched her lips hold back a large grin. She nodded.

"Right," she answered firmly.

"You know you're everything I've ever wanted, right?" Boyd said with great fondness. Erica smirked.

"Right," she repeated cockily. Boyd just smiled wider. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the small black box. Erica's eyes got wide, and her confident expression fell to surprise.

"Will you marry me?" Boyd was never one for dragging thing out. He never wanted to waste time, when he knew how quickly it could be taken away.

Erica was nodding before he even got the words out, "Yes! Oh my god, Vernon!" She grabbed his face and tackled him in a kiss. They toppled to the ground and laughed against each other's lips.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fic #erica reyes #vernon boyd #berica #berica fic #ask

[pikapeppa]

Cullen solo smut: Personal Correspondence

In which Cullen has some private commander time when he receives a rather PERSONAL letter from Piper. 😏 Also, some conversations just because they’re fun.

~5200 words; read here on AO3 instead.

Beautiful sexy art by @schoute​​!!

Cullen was bored.

That wasn’t to say that this meeting with Josephine and Leliana was boring. The issue they were discussing was quite important, in fact: an odd flurry of activity among some minor Orlesian noble houses that seemed related to red lyrium. Despite the importance of the issue, however, the unfortunate truth was this: any discussion involving Orlesian nobility inevitably drove Cullen’s otherwise-disciplined attention toward… well, anything else. 

He forced himself to listen as Josephine tapped her quill thoughtfully on her tablet. “We must be cautious if we approach the de Mouriers,” she was saying. “But I do believe we will get an answer more quickly from them than from Marquise Courtmance.”

“Quicker may not be better, Josie,” Leliana said. “If my spies slip into the Courtmance compound under the guise of servants, they can get a clearer and less roundabout answer.” 

Josephine twisted her lips. “I’m not so sure. I have heard that the Marquise’s butler is particularly stringent about monitoring the comings and goings within her estate.”

Leliana smiled faintly. “Yes, he certainly is.”

Josephine blinked. “Ah. I see. Who told you of their… liaison?”

“Nobody needed to,” Leliana replied. “It was evident at the Winter Palace, no?”

Josephine opened her mouth to reply, but Cullen had had enough. He planted his palms on the table. “Shall we make a decision, then?” he said. “The Inquisitor left the choice in our hands. We should settle on a course of action and move on.” 

“We can’t rush this, Cullen,” Josephine said earnestly. “Every move we make will have a ripple effect across all of Orlesian society, like— “

“—like stones thrown into a pond, yes, I know,” he said impatiently. He folded his arms. “I for one would be thrilled to simply throw stones at the lot of them, but what do I know?”

Leliana smiled serenely. “Now now, Cullen,” she said. “Just because every Orlesian family is trying to marry their daughters to you, it’s no reason to pout.”

Josephine giggled, and Cullen scowled at them both. “I’m not pouting,” he said. “And even if I were, I think it’s a perfectly good reason to pout. Why are they hassling me?” He shot Josephine a resentful look. “Why aren’t they hassling you? You’re just as marriageable.” 

Leliana’s smile widened. “Josephine isn’t as pretty as you,” she said slyly.

“It’s true,” Josephine said happily. “I have yet to hear anyone composing any songs about my hair.”

Cullen double-taked at her. “Composing–! Where – who is composing songs about my hair?” he demanded. “We need to stop this at once.”

Josephine delicately patted her mouth, and Cullen scowled again; she was clearly trying not to laugh. “Unfortunately, we cannot afford to invest the resources into stopping these dastardly songwriters just now,” she said.

Cullen gave her a reproachful look. “You said just this morning that you convinced the Merchant Princes to invest a large sum to our coffers.”

Josephine let out a tiny cough, and Leliana spoke in her stead. “Well, I’ve heard that the ballads about your hair are boosting morale among the soldiers. Especially out at Griffon’s Keep.”

Griffon’s Keep? Cullen thought in annoyance. Was Rylen encouraging the men to engage in these sorts of foolish hijinks? Cullen ought to speak to him about it. 

Then again, if making up songs about his hair was boosting morale among the men…  

He sighed. “Fine. Let them sing about my blasted hair if it amuses them. Are we finished here?”

“Nearly finished,” Josephine said soothingly. “Just as soon as we decide on a course of action.”

Cullen sighed again, then waited with increasing restlessness as Josephine and Leliana discussed the pros and cons of addressing each noble house. When it was finally decided that they would send Leliana’s spies to the Courtmance mansion, Cullen exhaled in relief.

“Are we done here?” he asked. “I have a dozen reports waiting for me.”

Josephine smiled and gave him a small bow. “Yes, Commander. Thank you for your patience.” She drifted toward the war room doors, and Cullen began to follow her, but Leliana held up a hand to stop him. 

“There is one more thing,” she said. “A letter for you.” She pulled a letter out of her pocket. 

It was a rather grubby letter that was sealed with a crude wax seal of a ‘P’. Cullen raised his eyebrows as he took it. “This is from Pipe— from the Inquisitor,” he said.  

“Yes,” Leliana said. “I see no harm in you receiving her… personal correspondence directly.” Her lips curled in the tiniest hint of a smile. “In any case, nobody else can read her handwriting. It’s quite atrocious.” 

“It… yes, it is,” Cullen said. In fact, Piper’s handwriting was so dreadful that her official reports were dictated to Varric or occasionally Dorian when she was in the field, or even Solas on the odd occasion. 

Cullen fondly studied the filthy letter for a moment, then frowned at Leliana. “Receiving these directly, you said. You no longer feel the need to screen these?”

She shook her head. “If there is anything of relevance to our cause, you can pass it on to me.”

Cullen peered suspiciously at the unopened letter, then at Leliana. “Why do I get the feeling you already know the contents of this letter?”

“I don’t,” Leliana assured him. “But it doesn’t take spies to know what is happening around the castle. I suspect that I don’t need to know what that letter says.”

Her tone was rather bland now, but her expression held a trace of humour. Cullen’s ears began to warm, but he straightened and nodded politely. “All right. Thank you,” he said. “I’ll, er… thank you.” He awkwardly patted the letter, then nodded to Leliana once more and left the war room. 

He tucked the letter carefully into the inner pocket of his mantle, then strode purposefully back to his office. Once he was alone in his office, he eagerly broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

A dried flower fell out and crumbled into pieces on his desk.

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up in dismay. “Blast it,” he muttered. He put the letter down and tried to reassemble the flower, but it was no use; the poor dried plant was so crumbled that some parts of the leaves were little more than flakes of greenish-grey.

He gazed guiltily at the dead flower, then sighed and picked up the letter, and his eyebrows rose again: Piper’s handwriting was even more scrawly than usual. Had she been drunk while writing this?

Dearest Commander Golden Boy,

Greetings and evenings from the Exalted Plains! There are a lot of fucking statues here. So many fucking statues. And I mean a LOT of them. The humans reallllllly wanted to mark their territory here. It’s pretty gross. 

Cullen smiled to himself. She’d most certainly had something to drink prior to the writing of this letter.

My official fancypants report will have all the important shit in it, so I saved the good shit for you. For example, Dorian nearly stepped in some actual ram shit today. He practically jumped into Varric’s arms when he realized there was shit on the ground and it was so fucking funny.

What’s some other good shit? This flower I sent you is called Andraste’s grace. Not crystal grace, ANDRASTE’S GRACE. GET IT STRAIGHT. Though if you really want to get it straight, it’s felan’asahngar in Elvhen. It means ‘lucky plant. It’s good luck, see? My kind of plant. I’m sending you one for luck. Dorian says I’m too drunk to be sending anything anywhere aside from sending my ass to bed, which makes noooo sense because there are no beds in the Exalted Plains, DORIAN.

Anyway, this plant is for you. It’s for luck. I’ll bring you another one just in case this one gets all roughed up, though. But DON’T TELL DORIAN I LISTENED TO HIM.

What’s some other good shit? I miss you.

Cullen’s belly did a pleasant little jolt. Piper had only told him once before that she missed him while she was away on her forays. She brought little souvenirs for him and spent as much time with him as she could whenever she returned to Skyhold, but she rarely said that she missed him.

A warm feeling was swelling in his chest. He slowly sat down in his chair and continued to read.

I miss you. I miss your face. Did you know I like looking at your face? Because I do. Everyone likes looking at your face because it’s a really handsome one but I like your face more than anyyyy other face. I like looking at your lips when you smile and I like your scar. I want to lick it.

Cullen’s heart leapt into his throat. He instinctively covered the letter with his hand even though he was alone, and for a moment he sat in his chair trying to breathe normally. 

This letter really ought to wait until he wasn’t working. Leliana was right; it was very personal, which meant he should really be saving it until later. 

The letter was like a beacon beneath his palm, drawing his attention despite his faint feeling of guilt. After a few tense seconds, he picked it up and continued reading. 

You know what I really want, Golden Boy? I want to put a big huge kiss on those nice scarred lips of yours. You have lip scars and I have lips scars so we should definitely kiss more. We should kiss all the time. Kissing allllll the time. I wish we could kiss right now. I wish I could have my tongue in your

Someone knocked sharply on the door, and Cullen jumped. He slapped a hand over the letter on his desk. “Wh-who is it?” he called.

“It’s Cassandra,” she said. “I wish to discuss something with you.”

“Just — just a moment,” he called out. Flustered and embarrassed, he hid the letter under some other papers on his desk and stood up from his chair.

Then he realized that he couldn’t stand right now. Not unless he wanted to draw attention to what Piper’s personal correspondence was doing to him.

He immediately sat back down while silently cursing his own body, then arranged his face into a neutral expression. “Come in,” he called.

Cassandra briskly entered his office and launched straight into business. “We should discuss Emprise du Lion. You have seen the preliminary reports from Sahrnia?”

“Yes,” Cullen said in the most professional tone he could muster. “They’re troubling.”

“They are disastrous,” Cassandra said brusquely. “Townspeople disappearing, unaccounted for? The Inquisitor has agreed that we will go there immediately upon her return from the Exalted Plains, but it was my hope that…” She frowned suddenly. “Are you all right?”

He blinked. “Pardon? Yes. I – why do you ask?”

“You are flushed,” Cassandra said. “Do you feel unwell?”

Damned blasted cheeks, he thought furiously. “I — no. I’m not unwell,” he stammered.

Cassandra’s frown deepened with concern, and Cullen realized what she was thinking about: his lyrium withdrawal. He relaxed slightly; at the very least, he could reassure her on that front.

“Cassandra, I swear to you, I’m well,” he said. “My… symptoms are controlled. The aches and pains are largely gone.” The nightmares were another matter, but they weren’t disrupting his daily activities, so it didn’t bear mentioning to her again.

She took a step closer to his desk. “If you require a break, you have only to ask. We can–”

“I don’t need a break,” Cullen insisted. “I am able to do my duties for the Inquisitor.” The Inquisitor, who was also the woman he loved. The Inquisitor, who was braving the dregs of the civil war in the Exalted Plains. The Inquisitor, who wanted to lick the scar on his lip and place her perfect tongue somewhere...  

His manhood pulsed again, and he forced his face not to react. Unfortunately, Cassandra noticed his discomfiture nonetheless. “Are you certain you don’t have a fever?” she asked. “We can summon a healer–”

“No!” Cullen blurted. “No. I don’t require a healer, I’m… nothing is wrong. I am…” He trailed off uncomfortably. Why in the Maker’s name did his reading of Piper’s naughty letter have to be interrupted by a Seeker of Truth, of all people? 

Cassandra was still staring at him with a combination of sharpness and worry, so he was forced to give her a hint of the truth. “It’s personal,” he muttered shamefacedly. 

“Personal?” she said. “What does that mean?” Then her eyes dropped to his desk and to the crumbled flower that was sprinkled there – a sign of Piper’s well-known hobby. 

Cullen couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or horrified when Cassandra’s face went blank with recognition. “Ah,” she said. “Oh. I – I see.” Her cheeks went bright red, and she immediately changed the subject. “Alban Poulin is managing the villagers who remain in Sahrnia, but they continue to disappear. Do you think it might be worthwhile sending some troops…”

Cullen forced himself to listen to Cassandra, and eventually his shameful excitement waned as he returned to the usual activities of work. By the time Cassandra left, with Cullen’s promise to look over the map of Emprise du Lion for places to fortify with troops, he was almost feeling like his usual focused self. 

He regretfully swept the dried flower off of his desk and into the wastebin, then pulled Piper’s grubby letter out from under the other papers on his desk. I will save it for later, he told himself. If the remaining contents of this letter were as… titillating as the parts he’d read thus far, it would be truly inappropriate to keep reading it now during his working hours. 

He tenderly smoothed out the edges of the letter and folded it up again. He opened the drawer of his desk and lowered the letter into the drawer.

Then he hesitated. How much harm would it be to just finish reading that last sentence? The sentence that he’d had to stop reading when Cassandra knocked on the door?

He sat there thinking for a few seconds longer. Then he unfolded the letter and continued to read.

I wish I could have my tongue in your mouth. But not just your mouth! I want my tongue on your neck and your chest and your scars do you have scars on that big handsome body of yours? I bet you do. If you have scars on your face then you definly definitely have scars on your body and I want to lick all of them. I wonder if you have any scars on your abs? Are there any scars on your thighs? Because Cullen, I would lick every last

Someone knocked on the door, and Cullen flinched. “What?” he barked.

A timid voice called through the door. “It’s, er. It’s Scout Jim, Commander.”

Cullen growled in frustration. His cheeks and groin were tingling in a terribly pleasant way, and it was completely and utterly inappropriate. 

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Then Jim knocked on the door again. “Commander? Are you–”

“Enter,” Cullen snapped.

Jim slowly pushed open the door. “C-Commander, ser? Krem was wondering – I mean, Kremisius Aclassi, he and Bull’s other men – a-and women, my apologies–”

“Spit it out, will you?” Cullen snarled. “I haven’t got all day.”

Jim’s face blanched, and Cullen immediately felt guilty. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then gave Jim a frank look. “I apologize. Please, give me your report.”

Jim swallowed hard and bowed. “Serrah Aclassi said you offered to train with him and the other Chargers today in the lower courtyard. They’re waiting for you.”

His gut twisted in dismay. He had completely forgotten about this appointment, thanks to his… distraction. “Thank you,” he said to Jim. “Let Krem know I’ll join them shortly.”

Jim saluted and left his office, and Cullen roughly scraped a hand through his hair. He stared longingly at Piper’s half-read letter, then refolded the letter and carefully locked it in the top drawer of his desk before going to train with Krem and the Chargers. 

After two hours of hard training with the Iron Bull’s people, Cullen felt much more fortified to tackle the rest of his day. For the remainder of the day, he was focused and determined and attentive: he caught up on reading all of the less urgent reports from the last few days and composed his replies, and he developed a plan to heighten the defenses of Emprise du Lion until Piper and her party could venture there. He worked with Bonny Sims to start figuring out a more efficient way to get supplies out to the Storm Coast, and he ate supper in the barracks with his men. And all day long, he very deliberately did not touch his desk drawer with its dangerous and tempting contents. 

It wasn’t until later that night, when Cullen had finished all of his tasks for the day and even some of the tasks he’d planned to do tomorrow, that he finally opened his desk drawer and pulled out Piper’s letter. 

He nervously licked his lips as he unfolded the letter. But before he could fully open the letter, he paused.

He rubbed the paper nervously between his fingers. Then he placed the letter on his desk and started preparing for bed. It wasn’t very late, only about two hours past dusk, but Cullen was rather tired from the long and hard-working day he’d had. It only made sense for him to take his armour off now and have an early night. 

He locked all the doors that led from the battlements into his office, then stripped off his armour and hung it carefully on its stand. He put on his loose cotton sleeping trousers and washed his face and brushed his teeth.

Then, with Piper’s dirty letter in hand, he climbed into bed. And finally, at long last, he continued to read.

I wonder if you have any scars on your abs? Are there any scars on your thighs? Because Cullen, I would lick every last one of them. And you could lick my scars too if you want. I have a lot of scars so you’d be hard at work for quite a while, Golden Boy.

He took a slow breath. Licking Piper’s scars? Licking any part of Piper’s lithe body? He… Maker, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. In truth, his thoughts of Piper were becoming more and more heated as time went on. With every week that passed, with every pressed flower she sent from the wilds and every enthusiastic kiss she gave him upon her return to Skyhold, Cullen felt closer and more comfortable with her. And with that closeness and comfort came an undeniable urge to be… very close and comfortable with her. 

He kept on reading. 

I wonder what you’re doing right now? Are you standing in your office looking all studious and sexy? Maybe you’re sitting in your chair being all busnessy businesslike. If I was there in your office I’ve be sitting in your chair with you and you can bet we wouldn’t be doing business because I’d be kissing you. I really like kissing you. You give really good kisses, nice kisses with nice scarred lips and it’s like your usi you’re using your entire big hard body to kiss me when you bend me back against the desk like a big handsome warrior. You can bend me back over that desk anytime, Commander. 

He paused and took another shaky breath. Piper’s words were like hot coffee, pouring through his throat and down to his belly and below with a thrumming sort of heat that was bringing his manhood to attention. 

Bending her back against the desk… Now that she’d mentioned it, he couldn’t stop imagining it and remembering how good it felt to do just that. To have Piper pressed back against his desk while he kissed her, his hands on her waist and her thigh sliding up along his hip as he carefully pressed himself against her front… 

His manhood was straightening in his loose trousers, but he didn’t mind, not now that he was alone in his bed at night with no one to bother him. He avidly continued reading the letter.

Now I’m just going on and on and Varric should probably have taken this quill and parchment away from me but I’ve never liked kissing anyone as much as I like kissing you. Kissing you is better than sex with anyone else I really like kissing you a lot. A lot a lotttttt. Kissing Cullen. I hope you like kissing me a lot too because I’m going to kiss you so hard when I get back to Skyhold and that’s a promise and Piper Lavellan always keeps her promises unless the promise is to pay my tab to Cabot ALWAYS.

Cullen gazed at the letter, excited by her words in more ways than one. Did Piper really feel that kissing him was better than sex with her other lovers in the past? If that was so, then… then Cullen was thrilled, because he felt the same. He had never felt the same connection to anyone else that he had with Piper. He had always hoped to find this sort of comfort in another person, this feeling that he could finally truly relax and be himself, but he had never managed to find it. Eventually he had begun to wonder if perhaps that sort of connection would never happen for him. After what had happened at Kinloch Hold, followed by everything he’d seen in Kirkwall, Cullen had started to wonder if… well, perhaps he was too guarded to permit the kind of connection that he sought. Perhaps he was too… damaged. Too scarred by mistrust and anger and regret to believe he could trust anyone else to see beyond the damage. 

In her letter, Piper had mentioned scars. But the scars that Cullen harboured weren’t the sort that could be soothed with a stroke of the hand or the sweep of a tongue.

But maybe... maybe they could be soothed, if the hands doing the soothing were Piper’s.

He swallowed hard, then looked at the letter once more. 

Now I’m in my tent. Dorian tried to take my quill away because he think I’ll regret writing this in the morning but he’s wrong. This is the best fucking letter I ever wrote. Someone should frame this fucking letter it’s so good. And now that I’m in my tent, you can think of me crawling into my bedroll to sleeeep. And you remember how I told you I like to sleep, don’t you?

He certainly did remember. As though he could ever forget Piper telling him that she slept naked.

His manhood pulsed at the tempting thought of Piper’s naked body, and he finally gave in: he slipped his hand into his trousers and wrapped his fist around his length. 

He stroked himself, and a rush of pleasure rippled through his abdomen. He shifted his hips restlessly, then settled back against his pillows and continued to read the letter.

Okayfineiconfess I don’t sleep naked in the field because the boys are around and NICE TRY BOYS, THIS ELFY ASS IS FOR CULLEN’S EYES ONLY. Even though you haven’t seen me naked yet but you can if you want to. You know you only have to ask, right? You say the word, and I’ll get naked for you. Naked for Cullen. Nakednakednaked on your bed or your chair or even on your desk with all your papers all over it.

Cullen dragged in a breath and stroked himself firmly. Piper naked on his desk? Piper sitting on his desk while he was trying to work, naked as the day she was born? Naked aside from the intricate tattoo on her lower sternum that peeked teasingly through her billowing shirts, that is. That tattoo that clearly extended beneath her breasts, though Cullen didn’t yet know just how far it extended… 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Now all he could imagine was seeing the full span of Piper’s tattoos. Imagine if she was sitting on his desk and leaning back on her hands so he could stare at her – so he could take in the full extent of the pale ink that crossed her bronze skin, and the full extent of the scars that she’d bragged about in this letter, and the precise shade of pink that her nipples would be… 

He sighed longingly and squeezed his shaft. Would Piper’s nipples be a deep dusky pink, or would they be more of a warm peach? If he was to run his tongue over them, what kind of sound would she make: would she cry his name, or would she gasp? Or maybe she would growl like the fierce little thing that she was? 

Piper. He groaned softly and ran his palm along his rigid length. He desired her terribly, and he was getting increasingly frustrated with himself for not taking their relationship in the direction that they both so obviously wanted. Piper was clearly willing, and Cullen was willing too – Maker’s breath, was he ever willing. ‘Willing’ was an understatement, in fact; Cullen wanted Piper more desperately with every kiss they shared in his office and every heated look that passed between them over the table in the war room, and… and he didn’t want to disappoint her. 

Piper had more experience than he; she was well-travelled, and Cullen knew she’d had her fair share of lovers during her travels. And then there was Cullen, with his paltry handful of partners many years ago, and… Maker, he didn’t want to disappoint her. She was special, more special and more important than anyone he’d ever known, and he couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing her. Nor could he bear the thought of their first time being a rushed and frenzied moment between the endless meetings that they both were constantly being pulled into. Piper was special, and Cullen wanted their first time to be special and for her to enjoy herself, and…

And the more he ruminated about this, the more anxious he was going to get. Perhaps there was something to be said about a more Piper-like impulsive approach. 

Perhaps having Piper naked on his desk wasn’t the most terrible idea.

His manhood pulsed against his palm, and he stroked himself more quickly. Perhaps having Piper spread naked on his desk was a good idea, actually. If she was sitting on his desk and he was sitting in his chair, he could push her legs apart and really make sure she enjoyed herself. She’d written that she wanted him to lick her? Well, that was precisely what Cullen would do if she was spread wide on his desk. 

He imagined Piper lifting her hips to request the touch of his tongue, and his manhood throbbed eagerly against his stroking hand. He inhaled sharply and pumped his hips toward his hand, and he imagined what it would be like to feel her soft and tender folds against his lips while he kissed her so thoroughly that she was gasping. 

Piper’s naked body on his desk, her naked thighs spread beneath his hands, her dewy taste on his tongue… Cullen groaned and squeezed his shaft harder, stroking himself with rising speed and ardour as he imagined her. Imagine her hands clutching his hair as he lapped at the glory between her legs. Imagine her hands smoothing over the broad scar that ran from his left collarbone to his right pec, then her tongue sliding hotly over that same scar as she slid off of his desk and down to her knees…

His pleasure ratcheted higher, and he gasped and bucked his hips. Imagine if Piper was kneeling between his legs while he sat in his chair. Imagine if she was pushing her gorgeous mass of hair back and bowing her head over his lap and her perfect scarred lips were parting to take him deep…

“Please,” he gasped. Imaginary-Piper smiled at him, that cheeky heated smile that he loved so much, and then his manhood was sliding through her lips and down to the heat of her throat.  

He stroked himself more desperately, and with every stroke he imagined Piper’s exquisite mouth moving up and down his shaft. A blissful and torturous minute later, his climax burst with a blissful rush that fanned through his thighs and up to his throat. 

His pleasure spattered over his belly, and he gritted his teeth silence himself. When the heady rush faded away, Cullen let out a long and satisfied sigh, then lifted the letter once more. 

To his amusement, the final paragraph was written in a slightly neater – and clearly sober – hand.

Well shit, I clearly fell asleep before finishing this letter last night. I’m of half a mind to not let this fucking thing see the light of day but now Bull is daring me to send it and I never say no to a dare. I hope you enjoy Drunk and Rowdy Piper Lavellan!

Also… eh, might as well go full sappy for once. I miss you. A lot. And this letter might just brighten your day, so why the fuck not. 

Don’t work too hard, Golden Boy. ❤️

- Piper xxxxx

He chuckled softly. Piper truly was a creature of chaos. He gently placed the letter on his bedside table, then glanced ruefully at the evidence of his own pleasure that was still spattered on his belly. 

He’d expected to feel somewhat guilty about this, but to his own surprise, he simply felt sated. Or as sated as he could be when he was in his bed alone, at least. Now imagine if he wasn’t alone – if Piper was here instead, sprawled beside him and obscured only by her mass of silvery hair… 

Cullen sighed again, more wistfully this time, then gingerly rose from his bed to clean himself up. Once he was tidied up, he climbed back into his bed and blew out the candle, then gazed up at the stars through the hole in his ceiling. 

For now, he was in his bed alone. But as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he was comforted by the idea of Piper being in bed beside him. 

Someday soon, that thought would become a reality. Someday, when Cullen mustered his courage, he would have his heart’s desire, and Piper would be in his arms and in his bed.

Until then, he would be satisfied with the messy scrawl of Piper’s personal correspondence. 

#please Maker let the formatting on this have worked #IT WAS HELL TO DO #cullen rutherford #cullen smut #cullen fic #cullen/lavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #piperford #pikapeppa writes #schoute draws