#[ PROMPTS — Books are just fancy words that often hold no value ]

[hermannsthumb]

26 + 70 please! I'm loving these!

Anonymous asked: 89 + 70 to ease ur boredom?

26. Massage Fic + 70. Locked in a Room + 89. First Time

from fanfiction trope mash-up prompts here

some VERY OLD prompt fills I never got around to finishing! im talking like 3 years old. better late than never? this fic has a similar conceit to this one I posted last year, but it’s not like newt and hermann aren’t probably quarantining themselves constantly after lab accidents LMAO. sexy/not SFW stuff under cut

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“Mandatory isolation,” Newton says. “This blows.”

Hermann says nothing, choosing instead to aggressively turn a page in his book. He’s already said plenty to Newton on the subject, and he doesn’t imagine anything he has to say now will provide any new insights, or indeed even be moderately politer. Newton has—really, really—royally screwed things up this time. More than anything he has before. Hermann finds his anger over it all to be quite righteous, really. “Hm,” he hums instead. He turns another page.

“One whole week,” Newton says. “Locked in, nothing to do…”

Hermann grits his teeth. Truthfully, the book is for show, and for the excuse to ignore Newton, but it’s very hard to pretend to concentrate on it when Newton won’t stop talking to him. It’s especially irritating considering Newton is saying absolutely nothing of value. Then again, when is he ever? “Is there something you’re trying to say to me?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes his head. He’s playing with one of the little stress toys he keeps in his desk (a large foam strawberry), squeezing it over and over. “Oh, nothing. Just trying to make small talk.”

One whole week, locked inside the laboratory after one stupid little mistake meant Newton’s scalpel slipped where it shouldn’t have on his kaiju sample. One whole week of bloody self-isolation to make sure they don’t…infect the Shatterdome with anything they might’ve picked up in the resulting explosion. Not even a day in and Newton is already acting up. Kaiju withdrawal, perhaps, having been explicitly forbidden from working on any new samples until their containment passes. Squeeze. Squeeze. Hermann flips another page in his book. Newton clears his throat. “I know you’re not actually reading that,” he says.

“Aren’t I?” Hermann says.

Newton tosses the foam strawberry in the air with one hand and catches it with the other. “Tell me one thing that’s happened so far in it. Actually—tell me the title.”

“The title,” Hermann says, “is—”

“And no peeking,” Newton says.

This stumps Hermann. He slams the cover shut and makes to chuck the whole thing at Newton’s head, but decides better of it. He could get written up for workplace violence or some rubbish of that sort. Plus, without access to medical until the end of the week, Hermann would be the one who had to tend to any resulting wounds. Not worth it. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not reading it. Are you pleased, now that you have my undivided attention?”

Squeeze. “I guess,” Newton says. He smiles at Hermann. “Want me to suck your dick?”

This the last thing Hermann expects to hear. He startles; he blushes; he stammers; he nearly falls off his chair. Surely he must’ve misheard Newton—or, if he didn’t, surely Newton is teasing him. Newton has never done anything of that sort to Hermann before. Nor has he ever offered. It’s simply not how their relationship works. “I,” he says. “What?”

“Do you want a blowjob?” Newton says. So Hermann didn’t imagine it. “I just thought, since we’re both stuck here and bored as shit, may as well have some fun. People tell me I’m pretty good at it.”

“Good at—what?” Hermann says.

“At sucking dick,” Newton says. “Obviously.”

Hermann wonders what the appropriate response here is. Certainly he would like nothing more than to take Newton up on the offer and forget all his annoyances for a few wonderful minutes, or rather, to take his annoyances out on Newton’s never-ceasing mouth. If Newton’s offer is serious, Hermann is sure such an acceptance would be welcome. If Newton is not serious—if he means it as a joke—it could only lead to humiliation for Hermann. Something for Newton to hold over his head for the rest of the week. Hermann really thought Newton would suck him off? But the temptation of getting Newton’s mouth on him is too much for Hermann to resist, and he really is quite bored: he nods, shyly, and legs his legs part open an inch.

Newton grins.

He tosses his stress toy to his desk and gets down on his knees in front of Hermann with an admirable speed. Not saying a word, he settles his hand on Hermann’s thigh, then creeps his fingers along Hermann’s right inseam. “I bet it’ll make you feel better,” he says. “It’s gonna make me feel better. When’s the last time someone blew you, Hermann?” He fixes his eyes on the vee of Hermann’s parted legs, where the fabric of his trousers is tightening none-too-subtly at the mere notion of what Newton is offering. Hermann makes a weak show of closing them. He swallows a few times.

“I don’t, ah—I don’t remember.” Newton’s wandering fingers stop just before where Hermann wants them most, then skip over to the left side. “A few months. Years. Newton, I must—must ask—why are you…?”

Newton shrugs, and begins rubbing circles across Hermann’s inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking about how to get you to stop being pissed at me all day, and honestly, this seemed like it would work. Pretend it’s an apology or something. Man, Hermann, you’re tense.”

“You have no one to thank for that but yourself,” Hermann says. He shuts his eyes with a groan when Newton squeezes his left thigh like it’s his bloody stress toy. “By Jove, Newton, that feels marvelous.”

“Tense,” Newton says. “I told you. You don’t need a blowjob, dude, you need a goddamn massage.” He braces a hand on each of Hermann’s thighs and begins to work them over—clumsily, since (for all his skills in human biology) Newton is hardly a masseuse, but far better than anything Hermann could do all the same. Hermann sinks lower in his seat and muffles another embarrassing noise behind his hand. “Luckily, though,” Newton says, “I’m gonna give you both, because I’m an awesome lab partner. Let me know if something starts to hurt.”

Newton begins to focus his efforts on Hermann’s left leg, avoiding his knee at first, and then tentatively working his fingers over it as well. Hermann wonders if Newton can feel the scar tissue beneath his fingertips, or if Hermann’s trousers are acting as buffer enough for it. Hermann begins to sag in his chair. He feels positively boneless. He also feels that if Newton does not move those fingers (or, better yet, and as promised, his mouth) to his rapidly-stiffening prick soon, he’ll positively burst. “You enjoying yourself?” Newton says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. “Though, Newton—I don’t mean to be impolite, as I’m awfully grateful for this, but…”

Newton laughs, and with a final parting squeeze to Hermann’s leg, moves those lovely fingers to Hermann’s belt buckle and fly instead. “I got you, man.”

Hermann opens his eyes (not fancying missing this) and watches with bated breath as Newton draws down his trousers to settle comfortably at Hermann’s knees. He nearly blushes at the sight of his white boxer briefs, not just for their plainness, but for how badly they hide how wet his prickhead is already. Newton must feel Hermann’s eyes on him; he shoots Hermann a wink, and, not breaking eye contact, leans forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Hermann through his briefs.

Immediately Hermann clamps a hand down over his mouth to keep from shouting. He feels Newton laugh again, a vibration that thrums in the pit of Hermann’s stomach, and he pushes his hips eagerly up towards Newton’s mouth. Newton darts his tongue out this time, dampening the fabric of Hermann’s briefs further. Then he tucks their elastic waistband down below Hermann’s prick. “I didn’t expect it to look like this,” he says, and grazes his thumb idly across the head. He pulls it away sticky, and Hermann whimpers.

He moves his hand from his mouth long enough to say, “Have—have you thought about it often, then?” He means it teasingly—to regain some ground from Newton, some sliver of self-respect—but his voice trembles, and Newton’s grin returns with a certain lasciviousness to it that it’d not held before, and Hermann knows he’s merely given Newton more ammunition. He licks Hermann’s precum off his thumb. Hermann shivers.

“Oh, sure,” Newton says. “I jerk off thinking about your dick all the time.” He flicks his tongue over Hermann and makes a satisfied little noise, his eyelashes fluttering. He leaves another sucking kiss further down Hermann’s prick. Then another back up at the top. His fingers (Hermann notices vaguely, as if through a heavy fog) have begun rubbing soothingly at Hermann’s left hip. Hermann can only take so much: when Newton finally gets his whole mouth on him, two pink lips circling just under his head, Hermann grips blindly at Newton’s hair and comes down Newton’s throat with a muffled grunt. He feels Newton choke, but swallow it all down.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, when he finally finds himself able to speak. “I ought—ought to have warned you.”

But Newton merely wipes his smug little mouth on the cuff of his sleeve and waves Hermann off. “I’m just that awesome, huh?” he says. He gently tucks Hermann back into his briefs, then does up his trousers. “It’s cool. It was pretty hot, actually.” Once he finishes looping Hermann’s belt, he stands and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “Hey, you want some coffee?”

“Coffee?” Hermann says, dizzily.

“Yeah, I was gonna brew a pot,” Newton says. “Get the taste out of my mouth and everything.”

Hermann blinks at him. Newton’s rather thrown him for a loop. Aren’t these sorts of things meant to be reciprocated? Hermann didn’t mean to assume—but he really was looking forward to the chance to, er, give Newton a similar favor. Very much looking forward to it. “That’s it, then?” he says.

“We have six days to go, dude,” Newton says. “No need to rush anything, right? We can work on your,” he smirks, “endurance after lunch.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. He considers it. “Coffee would be nice, then.”

[writings-of-dumpy]

George Weasley and the Girl in Ravenclaw: Part 2

A/N: Mentions of fighting and oh, the pining

Cheers and whoops flooded the great hall as Fred and George entered with heir freshly brewed aging potion. There was a solid mob of fourth and fifth years around the goblet and they cheered the Weasleys on.

“We’ve done it!” George said triumphantly.

“It’s not going to work,” Hermione said plainly. Fred led the way over to her and noticed that she was sat next to Raven, both of them with books open. George hadn’t spoken much to Raven in the past few weeks since their argument and his heart hurt to think about how they left things. He hoped that she’d cheer him on if he was chosen, but he mostly just wanted to get his name in the goblet for a chance.

“And why’s that, Granger?” he asked her.

“This is an age line, Dumbledore drew it himself,” Hermione said with a motion of her hand outlining the pale light that surrounded the cup.

“So?” Fred asked.

“So… A wizard as brilliant as Dumbledore couldn’t possibly be outdone by something as pathetic and dim-witted as an aging potion,” Hermione reasoned. George saw Raven nod her head in agreement.

“But that’s why it’s brilliant!” George said and stood up with Fred.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted,” Fred continued. The pair made their way to a bench and stood on it as they shook their potions to activate the ingredients. Hermione and Raven shared a look of defeat and exhaustion.

“Ready, Fred?”

“Ready, George.”

“Bottoms up!” they said in unison and linked their arms, then took their potions. George glanced over at Raven, who was rolling her eyes.

Once their potions had settled, they jumped over the line and when nothing happened, they looked at each other with glee.

“Yeah!” they said and the crowd around them agreed. They faced the flaming goblet and on three, threw their names into the fire.

“Yes!” they celebrated, but it wasn’t long-lived.

Suddenly, the blue flames flew in random directions around the room until two balls of light hit the twins square in the chest, flinging them backward. After a gasp from the crowd, George sat up with Fred and felt his face beginning to tingle. He felt quite a bit of hair on his face and the hair on his head felt heavier and heavier by the second. He looked at Fred, who now sported a long white beard and hair to match.

“You said—”

“YOU said—”

George tackled Fred in a jealousy and humiliation frenzy, and the two fought for a few minutes, fueled by the crowd chanting. There was beard tugging and hair pulling and plenty of punching. George felt his lip get busted open at one point before he heard Raven’s voice calling over their grumbles.

“Enough!” she said. The room silenced and the attention was drawn from the twins when a gang of Durmstrang boys entered. Raven seemed uninterested and moved from her seat and past the clump of students to where the Weasley boys were fighting.

“Go to Madam Pomfrey’s,” she said to them. “And then Dumbledore’s office I’m assuming.”

George looked at her apologetically, though he doubted she could see his expression beneath the hair.

“We need to apologize to her, don’t we?” Fred suggested that night.

“I’d say so,” George agreed. They decided that in spite of their usual fanfare style of gestures, they’d write letters to her and give them to her personally before class tomorrow. George poured his heart into his apology saying that he was selfish and didn’t consider her feelings before putting himself in harm’s way. He explained his reasons for wanting to enter the tournament and told her that he valued her opinion most of all and that he cares very much about her. Even though she had used the word “love”, he found it hard to confess deeper feelings through a note.

The following morning, George and Fred sat quietly next to Raven as they usually did, except today she was given a note from each of them. She looked at them with curious eyes and opened the letters, Fred’s first. George didn’t know what he had written, but it made Raven smile solemnly. She looked at Fred to say something, but he held his hand up.

“Read George’s first,” he said quietly. Raven looked over at George as she opened his paper. He could see her smile grow as she read and then completed his letter.

“We’re sorry,” the twins said as she re-folded the papers and looked at them.

“I am too…” Raven said. After class, the trio shared a brief embrace, and things seemed to be back to normal, except George’s feelings were stronger for her now, so each look she gave and each touch they shared were fuel to the fire within him.

~*~

A week after the first task, Professor McGonagall called all of the Gryffindors into a completely bare classroom where she and a record player were patiently waiting. After a brief explanation, McGonagall called Ron over to demonstrate how to dance appropriately at the celebration called a Yule Ball. Fred and George made fun of their brother for dancing with such an older woman.

“Gentlemen, on your feet! Girls!” McGonagall called as the music played. The Gryffindors paired up on their teacher’s command. George managed to fall into the clutches of Padma Patil for this rehearsal dance and the girl’s sparkling brown eyes and charming smile met his.

“Hi George,” she said in a low voice. George was slightly apprehensive, but smiled at her and did his best to copy the moves McGonagall had showed them. Padma looked elated to be so close to George and he did his best to not make it a miserable experience for her. At the end of the lesson, he wondered what it would feel like to hold Raven that close to him, or even closer, for a dance. He had approximately one month to perfect his moves, and he was determined to do so.

One morning, he and Fred were sat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione for breakfast. George noticed Harry’s eyes often wandered in the same direction his did—toward the Ravenclaw table. Harry nearly spilled pumpkin juice on himself when Cho Chang made eye contact and smiled at him from across the room, and George sent a wink and a smile to Raven, who was sitting and chatting with a very blonde girl with radish earrings. Butterflies swarmed inside of George when Raven blushed slightly at his flirtatious endeavors. The blonde girl looked over with a dreamy look in her eye and waved to George. He politely waved back.

During a study hall session supervised by Snape, Ron and Harry were panicking about who they’d ask to the Yule Ball. The event was two weeks away, and George had yet to pluck up the courage and ask Raven. He paid little attention to the conversation, but was shocked to see Fred throw a paper at Angelina Johnson and ask her to the ball so casually. The girl’s radiant and dark face melted from slightly annoyed to lovestruck and gushing when she said yes.

“I’m surprised…” George said to his brother on their way back to the common room.

“About what?” Fred asked with a furrowed brow.

“You asked Angelina? I thought you fancied Raven,” George commented.

Fred looked at him oddly. “Fancy Raven? She’s like a triplet, mate.”

“But you said you liked her,” George challenged.

“Yeah, we both do, but not like that. We like her, but fancy her? Not me,” Fred said. George’s heart soared. Without his brother to stop him, he could ask Raven without any repercussions… unless she rejected him.

“Well, since you’re going with Angelina, I’ll take Raven, then,” George suggested. “She hasn’t mentioned anyone asking her yet…”

Fred nodded. “You sure you don’t fancy Padma? Or Katie? I know they’re both tits over tails for you.”

George laughed and his brother’s obliviousness.

 Fred was not oblivious. Fred was the farthest thing from oblivious. He knew all too well how in love George was with Raven. Fred also had budding feelings for the girl, but when he and Angelina connected on the field earlier this term, his crush on Raven ended as deeper feelings blossomed for Angelina. He did notice, however, that George blushed whenever Raven walked by, and his confidence dwindled ever so slightly when she was around them. And when she yelled at them and stormed off, he saw how hurt she and his brother were. He was hurt too, but on a different level. Like when siblings fight, which was a comforting revelation he had made. Fred wanted nothing but happiness for his brother, and Raven clearly provided that for him. He hoped that asking Angelina right in front of George would prompt George to finally ask Raven out, and it looked like his idea worked. He smiled and encouraged George as he watched his twin wander off to find Raven that evening.

[viostormcaller]

Ego Headcanons: Jackieboy Man

I meant to do this yesterday night but I had schoolwork and then I had a headache and was burnt out, so whoops! But I'm doing it now! Just like the others it's probably gonna be long so ya know. Here goes:

Jackie has adored superheroes since he was little. The superhero persona he is seen as is actually just a silly character he made up when he was younger, but he kept the name because of the sentimental value behind it. It took the city a long time to take him seriously, and even then not everyone does

Jackieboy Man is transgender! He was born female, and over time saved up to get top surgery. He wasn't able to get bottom surgery because he had to start focusing his money into upgrades for his suit and equipment, which he figured was much more important

This is also the reason why his hero name is Jackieboy Man. When he created the character as a kid he was adamant about being seen as a boy. The name meant a lot to him, so he refused to change it when he became a superhero

Jackie's real name actually is Jackie -- it was the name he was born with. Because he sees it as a gender-neutral name, he didn't feel the need to change it after his transition

Jackie went to a fancy prep school in high school. It was around then that he got his powers. He still doesn't know how it happened. He had been trying to get his phone that slid underneath a parked car, and for whatever reason his brain told him to lift it. He did, and found the car weighed virtually nothing. He almost dropped it on himself in surprise.

He became a student by day, crime fighter by night. This made his studies difficult, but he managed through it. Once he graduated, he got a job at a comic book store and used any extra money he had to try and design a suit for himself. For the time being he wore a red hoodie fitted with shoulder and chest pads, he wore kneepads over a pair of leggings, and he wore gloves and boots as well as his signature mask.

Jackie is insanely intelligent. Like, insanely. He's an absolute master at puzzle solving and is extremely well versed in technology. He invents things often and is an impressive coder.

Once he saved up enough to make his first armored suit, he started taking on more difficult enemies rather than just fighting robbers and criminals. However, because the police saw him regularly turning in these people, they grew to trust Jackie and eventually partnered up with him. He began earning money through the city and was able to quit his day job before long

On the side, while Jackie was hunting down the supervillains that lived in the area, he was also on a secret mission to hunt down people on the Deep Web. He was forced to give up the case after he had been kidnapped, his captors not quite realizing who they were dealing with

He met Marvin when a powerful villain attacked a theater. At the time, this villain's skills were about on par with Jackie's, so taking them down prover to be tough. When Marvin revealed he knew real magic, they teamed up to take the villain out

Jackie, figuring a partner was just what he needed, offered to meet up with Marvin that next weekend to get to know him better. Marvin accepted and they went out for pizza and talked everything over

After a while of teaming up and growing close, the pair moved in together.

They may not be brothers or related by blood in any sense of the word, but they might as well have been. They were rarely seen without each other. They never fought, and their interests overlapped so they always had something to talk about

They made it a habit of theirs to always cook something for every meal. Marvin was an exceptional cook, while Jackie was still learning. Marvin taught him some things that he knew, and on mornings and at night they both cooked together. Every meal was home cooked, no matter how simple it was

They were both usually home during the day; since they both earned money from the city, they didn't have any obligations. They both dedicated this time to research and studying, and they would spar occasionally

Jackie and Marvin both suffer from gender dysphoria. On a day that it was particularly bad, Jackie revealed to Marvin that he was transgender. After Marvin revealed he was genderfluid and he understood where Jackie was coming from, Marvin offered to use transformation magic to finish off Jackie's transition. Jackie agreed, and while he swore he had never been in so much pain in his entirel life, he still feels eternally indebted to Marvin because he did that for him.

They met Schneep on a night Jackie was gravely injured. The three felt a connection between each other and stayed in touch after Jackie and Marvin both recovered, and refused to see any other doctor after a while. They moved in with him once Schneep bought a house.

Jackie, like Schneep, is also pansexual. Unlike Schneep, however, he hasn't been in many relationships because he was too afraid he'll put his future partner in danger by being in a relationship with him. Moreover, he's constantly busy doing hero-related stuff, so he doubted he would have the time.

Schneep once made Jackie a picture of him in a comic-book style. Jackie had it framed and hung it up in his room, right over his bed. When Schneep found out Jackie did that, he teared up

Jackie is up the earliest out of all the Egos. He spends the mornings doing research, and then cooks with Marvin once he gets up. He goes on patrols at night

Jackie's powers include super strength, super speed, the power of flight, the ability to envelop his fists in green flames, and a sonic clap (which he only uses if he absolutely must; it's extremely dangerous and destructive). He excels in melee combat which compliments Marvin's ranged combat

When Jackie's using his powers, his eyes will glow a bright green, and if he's under a lot of strain his veins will glow faintly green as well. When this happens he knows he's reaching a limit

Jackie is the most optimistic. He's also the most silly (with Chase coming in close second). Chase and Jackie share a lot of jokes together, which is how they grew closer. Jackie often uses his optimism to cheer Chase up when he's feeling low.

Jackie can actually be one of the most serious Egos when he needs to be (though Schneep will always hold first place on that front). He knows when to joke and when to be focused, and is often seen as the leader of the household because of his commanding presence when he's serious

Jackie and Jameson often work out together. Jameson is almost as physically fit as Jackie is, because in his time he did all his own stunts. He may not do them anymore, but he didn't want to stop exercising regularly, and knowing Jackie often worked out he went to him for advice on keeping a good regimen.

During the day, when he's not researching, Jackie is more often than not checking in on Schneep and making sure he's doing alright. He feels the need to he Schneep's protector, just as Marvin does with Chase. Especially after his kidnapping, Jackie wants to keep Schneep safe. He's usually there to ground him during flashbacks and panic attacks. The two are rather close and spend quite a bit of time with each other talking about work or venting general frustrations. Jackie's optimism and general bubbliness counteracts Schneep's serious attitude, and while Schneep reminds Jackie when to be serious, Jackie reminds Schneep when to loosen up.

Jackie loves movies, but sadly doesn't have a whole lot of time to watch them. He also adores retro video games, but agrees the modern ones are super cool, too. His favorite game is easily guessed.

Jackie's favorite superhero, like Jack's, is Spiderman. He sees a lot of himself in Spiderman, and on the days he doesn't go on patrols or research he's often seen playing the most recent Spiderman game on the PS4. He wants to 100% complete it.

Jackie doesn't rely on coffee as nearly as much as Schneep does, but he does drink a cup to help wake himself up in the mornings. He drinks his with a bit of cream, that's it.

Jackie can easily lift the others. Sometimes he'll sneak up on someone and lift them up, carrying them in his arms and spinning them around while laughing.

Jackie is a HUGE cuddler, and has a very tight hold. He's also a heavy sleeper, so if he falls asleep, good luck getting back up! He's always the big spoon

Most of his research is dedicated to tracking down Antisepticeye. He has Marvin help with this, since Marvin has more knowledge on demons than he does. However, Schneep, Chase, and Jameson also all have had direct contact with Antisepticeye and offer up any information they gathered. They all work together as a team to gather knowledge and keep track of common traits, symptoms, and telltale signs that Anti is active. Jackie also relies on the community and Jack's channel for information, since the community finds things first. This information is given through Chase. Jameson has only been in contact with Anti once, but his knowledge that he gained in his experience is also helpful to Jackie and isn't overlooked.

Jackie doesn't get sick often, but when he does he gets hit hard. Schneep is the one who takes care of everyone when they get sick, so every time Jackie comes down with something he gets all sappy and thanks Schneep for being a doctor and helping them. When he's sick, he's an emotional mess, but he does mean everything he says.

Jackie never makes a promise he can't keep, but he also never breaks his promises either. He's probably the most dependable out of everyone

I think that's everything for Jackie! The headache hasn't gone away so if I felt I missed something I'll probably add it in a seperate post. Same with any of the Egos, actually. If I need to add something I'll just make a continuation post and add it there. In any case, there's one more Ego to go! After that I'll clean out my inbox, though because I'm currently feeling shitty and moody I may not open prompts for a little bit, like a few days or so. But yeah, that's Jackie's list done!

[irelise]

the yew tree 1.2/?

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw, mutant revolutionary, ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier and claiming his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

start reading here!)

Warnings for this part: past suicide Rating: M Word count: 2189

Sebastian had prepared tea for them today; most generous. He balances the cup on his saucer, breathing in the smoky scent as he watches Sebastian move around the room.

“And how have things been progressing on your end? Any complications?” Sebastian asks.

“Not as such, but I admit he is different from what I was expecting.”

“Oh? I’ve always thought he was simple. No depth to him at all. It’s why I chose him for this plan.”

His skin itches. “Do try not to ruin everything with your overconfidence.”

Sebastian laughs. It’s an unpleasant sound, far too smug by half. “You worry too much.” He picks up a book. “Ready to move onto the next phase?”

***

Erik knocks on the door, a stack of books balanced precariously in his arms. “In the study,” Xavier calls, and Erik lets himself in.

Xavier is at his desk, the gas lamp bathing his face in a warm glow. “Erik! How did your errand for Dr. Schmidt go?”

“He wanted you to have these.” Erik sets the books on the desk and steps back. Xavier picks up one immediately, flicking it open.

“Oh, this is wonderful. Come see, Erik.”

Obligingly, Erik steps closer again, peering at the pages. The paper is of fine quality, the print crisp and clear, but the text itself is too technical for him to grasp without further study.

“Dr. Schmidt has kindly agreed to tutor me in the medical sciences,” Xavier says, sounding delighted. “He said he would lend me a few books from his personal collection; this must be it.”

Erik shakes his head. “No, these are for you to keep. A gift, he said.”

“Truly?”

And here’s an opportunity to slip in another sly comment about Shaw’s high regard for Xavier, but there’s a bad taste in Erik’s mouth as he says, “He’s told me that you’re one of the cleverest people he’s ever met, and he would be honoured to help you achieve your potential.”

A charming dusting of pink settles over Xavier’s cheeks and he absently flips to another page. “It’s very kind of him to say. Going to university has always been one of my dearest ambitions, but my health makes it impossible, and my uncle has been reluctant to hire more tutors for me when it’s unlikely I’ll be able to put their knowledge to any practical use. Have you had much formal schooling, Erik?”

“No.”

“But you’re literate?”

“Yes, Dr. Schmidt taught me my letters and numbers. Basic sciences. Enough to get by.”

Xavier toys absently with his book, tongue darting out to run against his upper lip. “Would you – that is, only if you want to, would you like to join me in the evenings when I study? I’m sure you’ve noticed already –” Xavier glances at the bookshelves around them “– evolution and genetics are my preferred fields, but I have plenty of old textbooks lying around on all manner of subjects. I’m sure we can find something to your interest.”

Erik is no academic. He values knowledge only for its practical use, but something in him stirs at the thought of learning about mutation – his heritage – even if it’s from a human.

There’s just one thing holding him back. “…What do you want from me?”

“I’m sorry?”

He knows he shouldn’t be questioning Xavier like this, but he can’t stop worrying at the question like a hound on the scent. “Men like you, men of your station, they don’t just offer things. So tell me, what do you really want?”

That unreadable look comes over Xavier’s eyes again. “Oh, my friend. You’re so quick to believe the worst in people.”

My friend? Erik bristles defensively at the appellation. “I have my reasons.”

“I know,” Xavier says simply. “And I’m sure they’re good reasons. Better safe than sorry, yes?

“Exactly.” He isn’t going to let Xavier off the hook. Erik looks at him, angling his chin up in challenge. “Well?”

Xavier’s mouth quirks, giving him a rueful look. “Would you believe it if I said I’m lonely?”

And there it is again – Xavier’s damnable openness about his own weakness. A familiar spark of anger flares up in Erik’s chest. “So, what, am I going to be your charity case? Are you going to pretend I’m your equal? Your friend? I can’t be your equal and your servant at the same time, my lord, that’s not the way things work.”

Xavier looks surprised, and then delighted, the madman. Erik scowls. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smiles. “Thank you for your honesty, Erik. So, is that a yes to evening lessons?”

“Did you hear a single word I said?”

Xavier laughs, rising to his feet. “Come, let’s see if we can find a good textbook for you to start with.”

***

They develop a routine after that. Every evening, after Erik retrieves Xavier from his sessions with Shaw, he helps Xavier bathe and brings him dinner (Xavier must have an enormous lunch with his uncle, because his dinners are as frugal as his breakfasts), then the two of them retreat to the study, sitting side by side either on the armchairs or at the desk, depending on what strikes Xavier’s fancy that particular night. Often, Xavier reads aloud to him – and all that poetry reading must be good training, because Xavier is an engaging speaker, with just the right balance of liveliness and seriousness. His enunciation is perfect, and Erik admits (very privately) that his accent has a certain charm.

Tonight, Xavier reads from a book on the origins of humankind: “As we peer back through the fossil record,” he recites, “through layer upon layer of long-extinct species, many of which thrived far longer than the human species is ever likely to do, we are reminded of our mortality as a species.”

Xavier pauses, and Erik watches the back-and-forth dart of Xavier’s eyes as he scans the page before continuing.

“There is no law that declares the human animal to be different, as seen in this broad biological perspective, from any other animal.” And with an air of finality, Xavier concludes: “There is no law that declares the human species to be immortal.”

Erik scoffs, rearranging his long legs into a more comfortable position. “Leakey must be delusional if he seriously believes that humans will quietly lie down and accept their own extinction.”

Xavier looks up at him. The gas lamp casts soft shadows, smoothing the angles of his face. He looks impossibly young. “Really? Personally, I find it quite comforting to know I’m part of something bigger.”

Scowling, Erik waits for Xavier to start preaching we’re all part of a bigger, unseen plan; we should strive to live humbly and obediently, but Xavier only says: “Even if I were to die tomorrow, nothing about the world will change. The Earth will continue with or without me – just as it will continue even after the last human is gone.” His gaze flicks past Erik, to the window, and he smiles ruefully. “I’m sorry, my friend, I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.”

“You’re not,” Erik grumbles. “The way you talk, it sounds like you think nothing lasts.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t. I’ve seen too many people hide behind that sort of philosophy as an excuse to do nothing.”

Xavier looks delighted. “Why, Erik, are you calling me lazy?”

Mad, he’s absolutely mad. “You’re free to interpret it however you want,” Erik shoots back, wondering why he isn’t more annoyed at Xavier. “All I’m saying is – you’re bright. You’ve got the money and the connections. If you wanted to, you could make a lasting difference.”

“A difference to what?” Xavier is looking out the window again.

Mutants, Erik thinks. He follows Xavier’s gaze, looking past the deep dark of the yew tree, past the fencing that marks the boundaries of the property, all the way to the emptiness beyond. He wonders if it’s true, if Xavier has never left the estate since his arrival here.

“What’s important to you?” He finally asks.

Xavier closes his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Erik wants to shake him, but he just takes a steadying breath. “Then that’s something you need to figure out,” he says gruffly. “You’re not going to spend your whole life inside this mansion.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” Xavier shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter as he props his book open again. “Well! That was certainly a tangent. Let’s keep going, shall we?”

Erik can recognize someone trying to make an escape. He almost presses the point – but then reality floods back in and he remembers, for the first time that night, the mission. He’s only a servant here, no matter how much familiarity Xavier treats him with.

“We were talking about extinction,” he prompts Xavier.

“Right, yes. The extinction of the human race – that’s quite a thought, isn’t it?”

“It does seem unlikely.” More’s the pity. “It’s in human nature to fight to the bitter end.”

Xavier taps at his bottom lip. “Must it always come down to a fight? Extinction can happen for all sorts of reasons. You remember when we’ve read about the Neanderthals?”

“That’s a terrible example,” Erik says dryly, “considering violent conflict with Homo sapiens caused their extinction.”

“That’s only one theory – one of a number of factors, in fact.” Xavier’s mouth curves into a generous smile. “I prefer the theory that interbreeding – a result of peaceful cohabitation with Homo sapiens – had contributed to their fade.”

“Make love, not war? All that poetry of yours has filled your head with too many stories, Charles.”

Wait. Xavier is looking at him with bright eyes. You used my name, Erik can almost hear him say.

This wasn’t – This isn’t supposed to happen. What is he doing – playing house with Shaw’s toy, teasing and bantering and debating? The drumbeat of his heart rolls against his chest like thunder. He’s making a mistake. He’s getting too close.

“Erik.” In the space of a blink, Xavier has leaned forward.  His fingers are warm where they curl around Erik’s wrist, grounding him. “It doesn’t have to be a fight all the time.”

He breaths out harshly, no longer sure what they’re talking about. “Yes. It does.”

“No.” The firelight catches Xavier’s eyes, scattering gold along the lines of intensity on his face. “We – both of us, and all humans, for that matter – we can choose the better path. We all have the potential to make the right choices.”

Xaviers’ fingers are a firebrand against his skin. Erik swallows, pulling his wrist away. “If you’re going to pin your hopes on other people’s potential, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“But I must,” Xavier murmurs. “If I can’t have hope, then what else is left?”

God. Shaw is going to destroy him. Erik is going to hand him to Shaw on a silver platter and Shaw will suck him dry and toss his broken body aside. Desperately, Erik reminds himself that Xavier is only a human, a spoiled entitled human too lazy and complacent to look past the high walls of his opulent cage.

The words ring hollow.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls softly. “The world isn’t as kind as you think it is.”

“Maybe not, but you are kinder than you think you are.”

Erik huffs out a sardonic laugh. “No. I’m really not.”

Suddenly, he can’t bear to be in the room for another second longer. “May I be excused?”

It’s a crisp and clear night outside. Erik breathes in deep, the cool breeze settling into his lungs, his heart, his head. An exhale, and he pictures the choked mess of his thoughts flowing out of him, leaving his mind clear once more, his convictions once more solidifying, crystallising.

Gravel crunches under his boots as he makes his way through the grounds, and then he’s leaving the path behind, treading through grassy fields. It’s peaceful here, his only company the wind and the soft background hum of wildlife.

Before him, the yew tree looms, its diameter impossibly thick, the complex tangle of its branches sweeping wide. Yew trees are among the longest-lived, Erik recalls. This tree was here long before he was born, and it will still be here long after he dies. He looks up at the gnarled branches, thinking about Charles, thinking about the night they first met, thinking about a noose and a pale, dangling body.

A low stone wall stands just behind the yew tree, demarcating the edges of the property. He could just leave right now, Shaw be damned. Erik can see it so clearly: vaulting over the stone wall, following the road until he reaches a village, stealing a ride on an automobile, on and on until he returns to where he’s supposed to be. The safehouse. The Brotherhood. He can return to the fight right now, and Shaw can’t stop him. His fingers clench as he pictures the facilities, the scream of steel and the screams of the humans all twisting and collapsing together in a spray of iron.

Erik turns and walks back to the mansion.

(next part)

[bestbooksintheworld-blog]

Book Stroy

The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A F*ck can away with the positive subject field craze to instead give you a Stoic, no bullshit approach to living a life which can not regularly be happy, but significant and targeted entirely around what’s important to you.

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Only hold values you management.

Mark might be a very Stoic guy and it shines through his writing and recommendation. a customary arrange in Stoicism is to focus entirely on the things you may management. this is {often|this can be} often simple enough to understand and implement once it involves your actions, but it'll be applied to a lot of intangible aspects of your life to boot.

Take your values, as AN example. i do apprehend it’s exhausting to position them into words, but if you're making an attempt to elucidate yourself in, say, three adjectives, you've got already got an honest arrange of that values most dictate your life. Let’s say you chose the words honest, prompt and trendy. Here’s where Mark makes a remarkable remark: entirely price a lot of extremely to own values you may management.Most folks render variety of our ideals as we've got an inclination to develop, try to have a career and make money. whereas that’s merely a section of reality, it’s important you don’t hand off the handwheel altogether. Values you don’t management square measure dangerous, as a results of they’ll be a relentless offer of redundant suffering in your life.

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The second kind is further implicit data concerning the relationships between varied entities. Let’s take your home at intervals the social hierarchy in school, as AN example. If you’re convinced you’re ugly, you’ll be sad heaps. but if you notice simply} just get several compliments in school, people call you charming and a number of have a crush on you, that’s proof your brain is collaborating in you with false certainty.If you allow yourself to have slightly doubt, you may then negate this limiting belief you hold concerning yourself.

3. Don’t obsess concerning exploit a reward.

Here’s AN uncomfortable, but important reminder: You’re visiting die at some purpose. We all are. whether or not or not we've got an inclination to admit it or not, once the time comes nearer, we’re all frightened. That’s why many people want to depart a reward, myself penned. However, Mark says which can ruin our short amount of precious time here on earth.

The additional we’re driven to create a superb body of labor, the extra begin chasing fame, operational AN excessive quantity of which specialise in the long run. What if instead, we've got an inclination to easily tried to be useful at intervals the present? we've got an inclination to should facilitate many people, fancy our days and completely be here, whereas we’re here.

Get the Book

[thescholarlystrumpet]

To Kiss the Fingers of the Rain Rated Explicit

(6.5K words - Complete)

The March smut prompt for @a-monthly-rumbelling Storm, Adultery, Warmth, Loneliness, Rough

On AO3 HERE

Mr. Gold poked sulkily at the dying fire. He needed to put on another log but he barely felt like leaving the chair, his limbs heavy with the bottle of red wine he'd almost polished off entirely.

He eyed the blanket on the back of the nearby sofa, noting with vague disinterest as lightning flashed through the half open blinds behind it. He exhaled loudly and glanced down at the book that lay open in his lap. He'd probably read the same page three times by now but he couldn't seem to recall what it said. Rain began to patter against the window. Earlier, he'd had half a mind to watch the sun set by the lake but the sky had turned so gray, it hadn't been worth the effort of getting up.

It was nearly night but he wasn't sleepy enough to retire to the lonely little bed in the next room. Maybe he'd sleep in front of the fire, if the sofa wouldn't be hell on his bad leg. Maybe the rain would help, a little soothing ambient noise to drown out the roiling storm in his mind.

He drained the glass beside him and refilled it, noting another flash of lightning and counting the seconds until the roll of thunder to gauge the distance. The raindrops were heavier now, pelting hard. They almost sounded like tapping. Or was that knocking?

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” A familiar voice was calling on the other side of the door. A female voice. With an accent he wouldn't soon forget.

He launched himself to both feet, leaning awkwardly on his cane and nearly knocking over the antique table beside his chair.

“I'll… I'll be right there…” he called, his pulse rocketing and head spinning from standing up so fast. He narrowly skirted the sofa arm by pivoting, sending a shooting pain up his bad leg. Grimacing and biting back a few choice words, he made it to the door and flung it open.

Outside stood exactly the person he had hoped- feared? - might be there. Miss Belle French, librarian by trade, bookworm by choice, and the unwitting object of his most cherished fantasies. She was drenched from head to toe.

“Mr. Gold!” She exclaimed in a tone he liked to think was pleasant surprise. “I'm so glad you're here!”

“Miss French,” he greeted her in return, trying hard (well maybe not that hard) not to notice that the floral print shirt she wore was plastered to her like a second skin. Even in the dying firelight, he could see the line of her polka dotted bra.

She shifted from one foot to the other, placing one hand on the doorframe. “Um, would it be… that is, can I come in?”

He realized he'd be gaping at her like a pished fish and felt his cheeks go hot as he stepped back to let her in. “Oh! Of course.”

“Thank you!”

She scurried past and he blinked at her back wondering if perhaps he'd already fallen asleep and this was an alcohol induced dream. If so, he very much hoped he wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Slinging a small backpack to the ground, Belle knelt immediately before the fire and lifted her hands toward it. “Do you mind if I add another log?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He reminded himself that she wasn't here to be ogled, she'd simply sought the shelter of his cabin in the rising storm. “Not at all. I was just about to do the same.”

She gave a sigh of relief and pulled a log from the pile, prodding it with the poker until it caught and the flames danced higher. Sitting back on her heels, she lifted her sopping hair up off her neck and bent toward the hearth. “I'm so sorry to just drop in on you like this, Mr. Gold.”

Her back arched and his eyes were drawn to the delicious curve of her backside, accentuated by the way her denim shorts clung. He caught the movement of her half-turning to face him just in time to avert his gaze and shuffle toward the hall cabinet in search of towels.

“No matter, Miss French. Here, I'm afraid I've only got a few towels but there are some extra blankets…” he held the towel toward her and she jumped to her feet to take it.

“You are a lifesaver. I mean it. I feel like such an idiot getting caught out there so unprepared.” Her face had regained some color from the heat of the fire but the rest of her was still soaked through. He forced himself to look only at her face. Her eyes. Such beautiful eyes… blue as the ocean and just as capable of drowning a man… Fuck, he needed to slap himself sober before he started spouting poetry at her.

He cleared his throat. “Does seem like an… ill advised time for a casual stroll.”

“It wasn't supposed to rain today according to the morning forecast. And it's my day off so I thought a hike would be nice.” She made a broad hand gesture. “So here I was just traipsing through the woods, not paying the least bit of attention. Next thing I know, it's pouring and I had forgotten to even pack my emergency poncho! I was never a Girl Scout but you'd think I would know better...” An exaggerated sigh. “I'm really quite embarrassed. I hope you won't hold this against me, Mr. Gold…” She looked up at him from under her lashes.

There were a great many things Gold wanted to hold against Belle French, this was not one of them.

He shrugged and muttered something noncommittal. If he couldn't seem think in anything but innuendo or prose, it was best he spoke as little as possible.

Belle frowned and looked at the floor briefly before glancing around. “Where is the bathroom?”

He pointed and Belle ducked her head in silent thanks as she clutched the towel to her chest and head the direction he indicated.

He made his way back to his chair and scrubbed at his unshaven face with both hands. Oh fuck, he was so fucking fucked. How on earth was he going to get through however long this storm would be without saying something truly regrettable? He needed to sober up, and fast. But the only things he had on hand to eat were cans of soup, beans, and a container of some kind of fancy trail mix that Cora had eaten in the brief period of time she deigned to visit the cabin with him. Before her latest boy toy and the trip to Las Vegas she didn't think he knew about.

Fucking Cora.

He glared down at the wedding ring on his left hand. He twisted it with the opposite hand, giving it a sharp tug, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He’d have to try again with some soap or olive oil. No need to leave the horrible reminder of his most recent mistake on any longer than was necessary.

Earlier that day, with the aid of his driver, he'd packed all Cora’s things into boxes and left half of them in the hall with a note telling her to vacate the premises and call his lawyer if she ever wanted to see the other half. Staying at the cabin overnight had been an added precaution. He fully expected to come home to at least a few broken antiques. They were worth the price of getting her out of his life for good.

He was tired of feeling like a damn fool. Tired of looking for warmth in a heart made of ice. Tired and maudlin and drunk as hell. No fit company at all for the lively librarian currently drying off in his bathroom.

He'd had several conversations with Belle in the years since she moved to Storybrooke and they'd never gone quite as smoothly as he would have hoped. Often enough he found himself on the wrong side of tongue tied but she never seemed to mind. She laughed at the ridiculous jokes he made and could be persuaded to chat for quite some time just by being asked what she was currently reading.

To most the citizens of their little town, he was a silver tongued serpent, robbing them blind through the clever use of legal jargon they didn't understand or bother to question when they were desperate to make a deal. The willful ignorance of others had made him a rich man, if not a popular one. Since he'd never suffered fools well, it hadn't seemed to matter. Until little Miss Belle showed up, campaigning to reopen the library and forcing Gold to remember he once valued some things more than money or power.

“I suppose it's probably too much to ask if you have a dryer in here, yeah?” Belle's question preceded her into the room.

“Low tech out here, I'm afraid.”

Gold was shaking his head when he caught sight of her. In a towel. His towel. With - presumably - nothing beneath it.

His mouth went dry and he reached for his wine glass before remembering that getting more intoxicated would probably only make things even more awkward.

He silently watched her lay out her damp clothes in front of the hearth and fancied a life where she had been his invited guest rather than an accidental one. They might have walked to the lake together, hurrying back as fast as his leg would allow once the rain began. They'd have laughed as they peeled away one another's soaked clothes, maybe taken a hot shower together before starting the fire. They'd have fallen asleep curled beneath a pile of blankets.

A lump rose suddenly in his throat. He choked it back and pulled himself to his feet. “I was going to make some soup. Would you like some?”

She looked up, a smile spreading across her face. “Oh! Yes please. What kind?”

He blinked. “The canned kind.”

Belle laughed, one hand coming to her mouth. “I meant what flavor. But honestly it doesn't matter. Anything hot would be delightful. Can I help?”

“No, no. You're the guest. Just… enjoy the fire.” The last thing he needed was a half naked Belle in the kitchenette. He might burn the whole place down.

“You're very generous, Mr. Gold.”

He scoffed. “Careful who you say that to in this town. They'll have you committed.” He poured two cans of chicken noodle soup into a pot, added water, and turned on the stove.

“I'm serious. You were such a help with the library and my reading initiative for the school. And...” Her voice was closer now. “I know about the shelter, you know...”

He turned, this time, sincerely surprised. “What shelter?”

“The one you pretend not to know Leroy and Astrid are running.” She had indeed moved closer, leaning her hip against the one unoccupied counter in the kitchen nook. “In the old Fogarty manor that you somehow never manage to sell despite some very valuable offers.”

Gold swallowed hard, absentmindedly stirring the soup. He'd been tempted to sell that house at the edge of town dozens of times, seeing as how he was stuck for property taxes on it, year after year. But he could never find it in himself to kick out the makeshift shelter/soup kitchen Leroy and his former nun fiancée were running. He'd never mentioned to anyone that he knew, just looked the other way and occasionally arranged for anonymous donations to show up at their door.

He wanted to lie to Belle, deny that he had any knowledge of the place. But her eyes caught him and pierced him through to the heart. He looked away and shrugged. “They do good work.”

“And you help them do it,” Belle supplied matter of factly.

“Not selling a building is hardly helping,” he countered.

She moved closer, laying a hand in his arm. “Then why do you let them keep using it?”

His lips pressed tight together as he stared down at the simmering soup. Why hadn't he sold that house? Because he still remembered nights of trying to sleep with a growling belly because papa drank or gambled away the grocery budget. He remembered having to choose between rent and food and the times when there wasn't enough for either.

“Because no one deserves to go hungry,” he admitted at last, his voice rougher than he'd expected. When he ventured another look at Belle, her eyes were bright and her smile soft. No woman had ever looked at him like that, not even his wives.

When she spoke, her voice was low, as well, barely above a whisper. “I always knew you were a good man.”

The urge to disagree pulled at his tongue but with her eyes were keeping him captive, he couldn't seem to say a word. Entranced, he leaned toward her. She was so close, he could capture her lips easily. Time seemed to slow, his blood pumping hard in his ears. Belle's lips parted just slightly, her pupils widening, as her gaze fell to his mouth. And then to his left hand.

As though she'd been burned, she stepped away, releasing his arm. “I… uh, I think the soup is done.”

He settled reluctantly back into reality and nodded, turning off the stove. His heart still thundering in his chest, louder than the storm, he served up the soup. Belle curled into a blanket on the sofa and Gold returned to his chair. They ate in uneasy silence.

The fog of the wine began to ebb away, at last, as Gold snuck glances toward the sofa. It was only a few feet, but Belle seemed miles away from where she'd been only moments ago. He'd very nearly kissed her. And she'd very nearly let him. He was still chewing on this revelation when he realized she had spoken.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“I was just wondering… thinking aloud really… what had brought you up here tonight? I hike past here all the time, but I think this is the first time I've seen you since…” her voice trailed off and she gazed into the fire listlessly.

Curiosity got the better of him. “Since when?”

“Since that day I ran into Cora and she… um, asked me not to hike onto your property ever again.” She finished, fiddling with her spoon.

Gold winced. “Did she threaten you?”

Belle shrugged. “Only with calling Sheriff Graham. I know he'd have laughed it off but it didn't seem worth it to… risk her wrath.”

A snort of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. Then another. Then his shoulders were shaking and the laughter was coming from deep within his gut, part humor and part pain. His eyes pricked with tears as he half doubled in the chair.

Belle looked on in what might have been horrified amusement if he could read her expression through his blurry sight. “Mr. Gold?”

When he could breathe enough to manage words, he chortled out, “I always knew you were smarter than I… Oh christ!” He ran one hand through his hair, swiping at his eyes with the other. A few more low chuckles and he was finally able to meet her eyes. “I’m... I’m sorry Belle, you must think me quite mad.”

She gave a half grin, “that’s never stopped me from talking to you before.”

He returned her grin, feeling oddly lighter than he had in days. “Touche.”

“Can I get in on the joke?”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’ve left my wife.” Saying the words aloud felt better than he could have imagined.

Belle’s eyes were wide and round as saucers. “When was this?”

���Today, actually. So, speaking of her wrath. I expect to bear quite a lot of it in the coming weeks.”

Belle blinked rapidly. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold.”

He smirked. “I’m not. This has been a long time coming, I promise you.”

“All the same, it can’t be easy.” She set down the soup bowl, shifting in the blankets until she was partially reclined. “I’ve never broken up with anyone.” She laughed softly, “then again, I’ve never really had the chance. I’ve” she looked down at where her hands were twisting in the blanket, “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend - if you can call him that.”

Gold’s eyebrows raised of their own volition. “I admit, I'm surprised to hear it.”

“Why?” Her brow furrowed.

He shrugged. “I can't imagine a girl as beautiful and kind as you wouldn't have to beat men off with a stick.”

Belle flushed prettily, then covered her cheeks with both hands. “Oh! No. I mean, I do get asked out but I retired my beating stick ages ago. Now I just politely decline.”

“Ah that's a pity,” he brandished his cane. “I was going to offer to help.”

Belle giggled. “Maybe if my ex ever comes to town…”

“That bad?”

Belle's mouth twisted. “I thought he was sweet, at first, but that turned out to be just what he wanted me to see.” She sat back up, voice picking up in volume. “Do you know what he told me? He actually had the gall to say that I should feel special because out of all his girlfriends, I was the only brunette.”

“Fucking hell,” his grip on the arm of his chair tightened, feeling a flash of vicious anger at this unknown moron who could possibly treat Belle like something disposable. She deserved to be cherished. “If he could treat you like that, I'd be happy to deliver the beating he deserves. What's his address?”

Belle eyed him for a moment as though she wasn't sure he was entirely joking but then she relaxed, shaking her head. “It's alright, really. I learned a valuable lesson from that mess.”

“Men are scum?” he suggested.

“Never judge a book by its cover. People aren't always who they seem to be and you can't really know what's in a person's heart until you get to know them.”

He couldn't help but smile at her. There was something so pure in this girl. Not naive, as he'd initially suspected, but a genuine kindness. She saw the best in others. Even him. “Is that why you said what you did, earlier? About me being a good man?”

She nodded.

“I'm not, you know,” he reminded her gently. Disillusioning the one person who saw something worthwhile in him would hurt. But this was Belle and he found he just couldn't lie to her.

“I disagree. You let me in from the rain and fed me. You allow the needy be sheltered and fed every day on property that is costing you to maintain - and don't argue with me about that, I know all about property taxes for abandoned buildings from dealing with my dad's old shop.” She rose from the couch and shuffled toward him, the blanket draped over her towel like an overly long toga. “Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Gold.”

He stood as well, his temper beginning to prick him. “Shall I list off all the horrible things I've done in my life? The houses I've foreclosed? The deals I've worded ever so carefully in my favor? The hands I've greased and pockets I've picked?”

Belle threw the hand not holding up the blanket out to one side, palm up. “Do you think I’m a saint? That I’ve never told a lie or two? Made mistakes I regret? That’s being human. I refuse to see anyone as just the sum of their flaws. There is good in you and I see it. I’ve always seen it.”

Gold was practically trembling, the hand not holding his cane clenching and unclenching at his side. This girl didn’t know him at all. How dare she paint this rosy picture based on some deluded fantasy of his merit? How dare she make him want to believe in a fairy tale where he could be anything but the villain. He advanced on her, allowing himself to be as menacing as he knew how to be. “What you see, Miss French, is what you want to see. What you should see is before you right now - this is me.” He gestured to himself. “This is all there is. Just a crippled man with a past full of secrets and regrets. Just the town monster with a gold tooth and a silver tongue, a man who has forgotten what goodness is.”

Belle closed the distance between them, her eyes flashing. “No. You’re wrong.”

Gold made a sound of disbelief at the back of his throat. “And what exactly makes you the expert?” He couldn’t help but notice she was breathtakingly stunning when her temper was up. He clenched his hand tighter.

“Because I can feel it. I see what you can’t even see in yourself!”

Belle’s voice was steadily escalating in tone and volume and he found himself matching it, stepping even closer until they were toe to toe.

“Oh, really? And how is that?” His lips pressed together thinly.

“Because I wouldn’t feel the way I do if you were just a monster!” she shouted, almost directly into his face and it took him nearly a full minute to register what she’d just confessed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief warring with desire and the remaining dregs of indignation. “The way you…”

“Fuck.” She squeezed both eyes shut, scrubbing her free hand over her face. “I told you I’m no saint, Mr. Gold. I’ve spent months - months - lusting after a married man. Practically stalking you, if you must know. Even knowing I shouldn’t… knowing how wrong it was. I couldn’t seem to stop.” She met his eyes again, her face grim.

He shook his head, “Belle, I never thought you were…”

She blinked at him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know. That you hadn’t even noticed?”

He shook his head more vehemently.

“All those times I kept you at the library desk yammering on about books? The days I’d casually stop in the shop just to browse? God, am I that terrible at flirting?” The last question was asked more of her own feet.

Gold laughed a little giddily, his previous anger fading away, reaching cautiously toward her and tipping her face back up with a finger under her chin. “Belle… did I ever tell you that I have a rather vast personal library?”

She gave him an odd look. “Um, no. I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”

“There’s a reason for that. It’s chock full of classic literature, plays, even a few modern classics. But I’ve checked out dozens - possibly hundreds - of books I already own. Just for the chance to spend a few minutes with you.”

Belle’s throat worked soundlessly, her breath catching as she looked at him in a state of what almost felt like wonder. “All this time… I thought you only barely liked me. Tolerated me."

“Oh aye,” his voice was low, his natural burr thick as he leaned toward her, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. “I tolerated you. I’d have tolerated a lifetime of just standing there with a desk between us, fishing for anything useful to say. Just for the chance to be near you, enjoy the scent of that strawberry perfume you wear.”

Belle bit her lip, the corners of her mouth curling upward. “It’s shampoo but I don’t think anyone else has ever noticed that it smells like strawberries.” She smoothed a hand up his chest and over his shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck, toying with the ends of his hair in a way that sent sparks down his spine and straight to his groin. “I used to fantasize that you would lean across the desk and kiss me.”

“I had the same fantasy.”

“Did it include more than kissing?” she shot him a coy look, “because mine did.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he crooned, threading his fingers into her hair and cradling the back of her head as she tilted it up, “you have no idea.”

With a push onto her toes, she bridged the gap, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss.

Against his lips she murmured “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” She pulled back with a sigh. “But you are still married. Technically.”

“Technically,” his lip curled as he forced himself to release the woman of his dreams. “I suppose it would be most appropriate to wait until I’ve at least finished filing the paperwork.”

With a baleful look, Belle ran her fingers through his forelock. “I’m awfully tired of waiting though, aren’t you?”

He nodded, taking her hand in his and kissing the fingertips. “And frankly, I've never been much for propriety.” One of Belle's fingers dipped between his lips and he nipped at it.

She gave a semi startled little giggle. “Are we terrible people if we do this?”

He nodded solemnly. “Horrible.” He ducked his head to plant tiny kisses down the side of her jaw. “The worst,” he muttered while nosing along her neck. She made a low sound of encouragement, tilting her head to allow him better access. He nipped at her earlobe, whispering, “the worst of the worst”, before lowering his head to plant an open mouthed kiss just at her pulse point. When he sunk in his teeth, she whimpered, bunching the silk of his button-down shirt in her hand.

“You know what?” she panted.

“Hmm?”

“I think I can live with that.” She let the blanket fall to grasp his face between both hands, pulling his mouth to hers for a searing kiss.

Thanking all his lucky stars and any deity that might be listening, Gold kissed her back with every ounce of longing he'd been holding back since the first time they met. Her hands fell to his buttons as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She practically yanked his shirt down his arms and he was grateful he'd removed the impediment of his cufflinks earlier that evening. She had already turned her attention to his belt buckle, treating it to the same wild abandon.

Not to be outdone, he gave a sharp tug to one side of her towel and it joined the blanket on the floor. Belle reached toward him but he staid her hands.

“I'd like to look at you, Sweetheart. May I?”

Her face, already pink from excitement, flushed a deeper red but she stepped back, nearly stumbling over the heap of towel and blanket. He steadied her then allowed his eyes to roam. Pert, rosy tipped breasts that looked as though they'd been made to fit in his palms, the slope of her waist led to rounded hips, a trimmed thatch of dark curls at their apex. She was, in a word,

“Exquisite,” he breathed.

Her eyes lit up and she wrapped both arms around his neck. “My turn to see you…”

He frowned, thinking of his narrow chest and wiry limbs, his ruined leg and sprinkling of silver in his sparse chest hair. “It won't be nearly as lovely to look upon.”

She pursed her lips. “Mm, I'll be the judge of that.”

He helped her remove his undershirt so he could keep hold of his cane with one hand at all times. Then she unzipped his trousers, kneeling as she pushed them down. His erection bobbed toward her, contained only by the final scrap of his dignity - his silk boxers. She smiled and planted a kiss directly on the head, through the fabric. He swore under his breath, silently vowing to keep that mental image until the end of time.

Her hot breath ghosted over his shaft once more and he felt his cock pulse in response. With another quick kiss, Belle hooked both thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down. Gold swallowed hard, willing himself to be still as her half-lidded eyes devoured him inch by inch. He was just beginning to feel a bit twitchy under her scrutiny when Belle leaned in and kissed each of his hipbones. Then each of his thighs. She bent lower and lightly trailed kisses over his good calf before turning to the mass of scar tissue that made up his other calf.

She looked up at him. “Is this alright?”

He nodded, a lump in his throat prohibiting speech. His first wife had blamed the accident when she ran off. Cora had never deigned to touch his damaged leg at all. And the few lovers in between had mostly seemed to pretend it wasn't there.

But Belle, bright beautiful Belle, slowly traced the most prominent scarring with a fingertip before planting little kisses on each one. She kissed her way back up his leg, coming nose to nose once more with his jutting cock. Lightly wrapping one hand around the rigid flesh, she smiled up at him with a half-lidded kind of delight.

“You're perfect.”

Something in Gold’s chest felt as though it was swelling up, fit to burst. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry but he knew that he'd never desired a woman more in his entire life. Mind, body, and soul. If she never touched him ever again after, he could live on the memories of a single night until they put him in the ground.

Without warning, Belle took him into her mouth. Gold’s knees nearly gave out and he clutched his cane so hard it felt like the handle might crack. He groaned at the sudden hot, wet sensation. Belle’s cheeks hollowed slightly and Gold swore aloud. She took him a little deeper then slid back out almost to the tip before swallowing him once more, as best she could. His heart nearly stopped altogether at the image of his cock, glistening with her saliva, disappearing between those greedy pink lips. Her head bobbed again a few more times, lips moving up and down his shaft. Gold, unable to do anything but moan and enjoy, watched her in wonder. At last, she pulled back, her tongue swirling over the head as she released him with an audible pop.

She looked up with an impish grin. “I’ve wanted to do that too.”

“Fuck me,” Gold pulled her to her feet and kissed her hard.

She gave a throaty little giggle before kissing him again. “I intend to.”

Gold attacked her throat and breasts with kisses, using his cane to support himself as he moved down her body. His mouth found one taut nipple and then the other, suckling and grazing with his teeth as Belle murmured her hearty approval. He swiped his tongue along the sensitive underside of each breast and Belle clutched at his hair, her fingers tugging at the strands. Her back arched toward him and he grinned against the soft flesh of her stomach, flicking the tip of his tongue playfully against her bellybutton.

Belle squirmed and giggled. “Tickles!”

He paused. “Hm?”

She ran a finger down the side of his jaw. “Your stubble.”

Gold ran a hand over his chin. “Mm, perhaps I should have shaved… before we….”

Belle shrugged. “Not worth stopping now. Besides, I don’t mind it a little rough.”

Gold quirked one eyebrow at her. “I’ll keep that in mind…”

She flushed prettily, biting her lower lip.

Gold nipped at the skin of her belly and Belle gave a little squeak of surprise that turned to a gasp of pleasure as he trailed his mouth lower, over her neatly trimmed pubic curls.

Lowering himself to his knees was not easy but he had managed to kick the blankets into a makeshift cushion. He released his cane and gripped her hips, running his thumbs over the crease of each thigh until she parted her legs. Her nether lips were already soaked and the smell of her arousal was making his mouth water. He lapped as far as his tongue could reach, tracing the length of her slit to gather her taste. She was ripe and musky, heady on his tongue. His eyes slid shut as he savored her but a twinge in his bad leg made him flinch.

“Oh!” Belle stepped away, coming back to her knees so they were eye to eye. “That felt amazing but… this can’t be a comfortable position for you…”

Shame heating his face, Gold nodded. Just this once, he’d wanted to forget his infirmity and do something dashing. He ought to have known such privileges were not to be his.

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Hey! I have an idea. Just, um, get comfortable on the blanket, okay?”

He obeyed silently, trying not to let his disappointment in himself ruin the moment. With some maneuvering, he was sitting on the blanket, bad leg stretched before him. Belle bounded across the room and despite his melancholy, sway of her pert little bottom didn’t fail to capture his attention. She threw open the cabinet from whence he had produced her now-abandoned towel and gathered all the blankets into her arms. He began to rise and help her as he caught on to her intention but she tutted at him to stay seated. He couldn’t help but be cheered by the way she bounced, totally unabashed in her nudity, creating a cozy little nest for the two of them.

Once she had finished, she lowered herself to the ground and beckoned him with the crook of a finger. He crawled over, mindful of the aching calf. They stretched out, side by side, and she ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“Better?” she murmured.

“I don’t deserve you,” he replied, earnestly.

Belle rolled her eyes. “People don’t deserve other people. It doesn’t work that way. I like you. I want to be here with you. Frankly, I’ve never been so glad to be caught in a storm in my life.”

“Likewise,” he whispered, capturing her mouth, his hand snaking down between them to continue what he’d started with his tongue.

Belle gasped against his lips as he slid a finger inside her, the pad of his thumb brushing over her hooded clit. She flung her upper leg over his hips to give him better access. He stroked her gently at first, exploring her molten heat, relishing her soft little sighs and whimpers. She shunted her hips, urging him to go faster, harder. He obeyed eagerly, adding a second finger and crooking both digits in a way that made her thighs start to shake. Belle moaned her release, wetness dripping down his hand and sinking into the blankets between them.  She panted against his neck, her body quivering as her inner muscles fluttered with the aftershocks.

Gold could only hold her in awe, petting her softly until she made a kittenish noise and batted his hand away.

Drawing her head back to meet his eyes, Belle grinned widely. “You are very, very good at that.”

He flushed with pleasure, almost forgetting his own nearly painful need, throbbing against her thigh.

Belle reached between them to take him in hand, aligning him with her entrance. As the head brushed her slickness, Gold fought not to let his eyes roll back in his head. Then a singular rational thought made a terrible appearance. He frowned.

“Belle… I haven't got any, ah, protection…”

She looked at him, upper teeth sinking into her lower lip. Then her face lifted once more. “Oh! Wait!”

Jumping up on slightly wobbly legs, she ran to the small backpack she'd been carrying and pulled out a rose gold wallet. From that she plucked a condom and held it aloft between two fingers.

Gold blinked incredulously. “You forgot an umbrella but remembered that?”

Belle giggled, crossing back to him. “Look, I may never have been a Girl Scout but I do have a best friend whose motto is ‘be prepared.’”

Nestling back into the blankets, Belle tore open the wrapper and rolled the rubber onto his erection before pausing. He pulsed with anticipation in her loose grip.

“How do you want me?” she asked

All day, every day for the rest of my life, he thought giddily.

“Sorry?” he said aloud.

“What’s the best, um, position? For you?” she added, cheeks turning pink.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had asked him that question. “Could we… would you mind… being on top?” His voice lifted embarrassingly high, as he pictured Belle’s magnificent breasts bouncing above him as she rode his cock to another gorgeous orgasm.

Belle nodded emphatically, her eyes aglow. “Absolutely.” She straddled his hips the moment he had rolled onto his back, lining them up and sinking down. His mouth fell open as he watched his cock disappear inside her, engulfed by her heat. Placing her hands on his chest, Belle rolled her hips and Gold groaned. He wouldn’t last long but he wanted to see her come again. One hand went to her clit as she settled into a rhythm she seemed to like. His other hand went to breast but she brought the fingers to her mouth, suckling them one by one. He swore loudly as both the image and the sensation sent sparks of electricity straight to his groin. He rocked up into her, meeting her shallow thrusts, still rubbing at her sensitive little nub. She was utterly amazing. She was a fucking goddess, getting herself off on his cock, and he was helpless with want, gritting his teeth to stave off his own building climax. He wanted this perfect, agonizing moment to last forever.

It could not, of course, and he could not regret the blinding wave of bliss that washed over him as he felt her inner muscles clamping down. Belle cried out, her head thrown back with abandon. She collapsed onto his chest, breathing heavily, and they lay in silence as both their hearts raced. He felt himself soften and reached beneath her to make sure the condom didn’t spill. Once it was tied off and tossed away, Belle curled into his side. They were both a sweaty mess and he thought that perhaps this moment was even more perfect than the last.

After a time, Belle broke the quiet. “It’s stopped raining.”

He had almost forgotten about the storm altogether. His chest suddenly felt tight, the muzzy warmth beginning to evaporate. “So it has. I... suppose that means you’ll be wanting to head home soon…”

Belle shrugged against him. “It may start up again. Besides… it’s awfully late… Don’t you think?” She ran a hand through his sparse chest hair, sending a pleasant shiver through him. “It’s probably not all that safe to be wandering around the forest at night.” She turned wide eyes to him, batting her lashes playfully.

The corners of his mouth twitched back upward as he caught onto her ploy. “Mmm, dangerous, in fact.”

Belle leaned in, brushing her lips along his jaw and down his neck. She nipped lightly at his collarbone. “Treacherous, even.”

His arm wrapped snugly around her. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing else for it. You’ll have to stay here for the night.”

“If you think you can bear my company a few more hours?” Her lips closed over his puckered nipple and his fingers involuntarily dug into the flesh of her hip.

“Oh, I’ll manage, somehow…” he breathed, pulling her back up to him for another kiss.