#if she had her way the wedding theme would be ‘married at city hall with no ceremony and nobody observing us’

[thebluestbluewords]

Tags from mousewithapencil have passed peer review, made me snort so hard I got powdered sugar up my nose

chatting pleasantly

[webslinger-holland]

The Royal Family | Chapter Six

The Royal Family | Chapter Six

Summary: When two royal family’s decide to conjoin their countries, they arrange a marriage between their eldest children. Once the two future royals meet, it takes a lot of convincing before they are ready to begin their reign together…

Warning: mentions of death, slight depressing themes

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Type: The Royal Family Series

MASTERLIST

The air was silent. Darkened gray smudges of cloud threateningly surrounded the sky; like a predator would stalk its prey. A startling low rumble rang loud in the cool fall air, the sky roaring with satisfaction. A sense of cleanliness caresses the atmosphere, washing away all impurities. A dense earthly sweet smell rises from the ground, enveloping everything within its soft embrace. The skies suddenly settle, as if it were comforted, coaxed even. The fluffy smudges don’t part completely - although the sun peeks out timidly- and rather look like its preparing for an even more vicious round.

Earlier in the day, the casket of the eastern king had been paraded through the streets of his former kingdom. It had been accompanied by an army of soldiers wearing their uniforms. The flag of the kingdom was gracefully placed over the casket and a grand bouquet of marvelous flowers rested on top. 

The people flooded the streets to watch. Many brought bouquets of flowers and placed them at the gates of the palace as a form of respect. As the casket passed through the streets, there were some crying in the audience. Others wiped away their tears silently with their handkerchiefs. It was a day of mourning. 

The bell tower was scheduled to ring every hour of the day for the next week to commemorate the long life of the king. The casket was now making its way towards the abbey which was located in the capital city of the country. It was hundreds of miles away from any of the four kingdoms, situated right in the center of the country. 

This was where he would finally be laid to rest forever. His only offspring stood at the door of the abbey, watching the six men carry the casket through the doors. 

The princess was dressed in a heavy black dress. She also wore a black veil to conceal her face and to make sure nobody saw her tear stained cheeks. The eastern kingdom now belonged to her as a form of her inheritance. When she weds, her kingdom was to merge with the northern kingdom based on the contract that was signed months prior. 

In the abbey, the casket was formally placed into the ground. The hall was filled with the bodies of previous kings from all four kingdoms. The princess turned to read some of the headstones lining the walls. She made note of her grandfather’s headstone, reading his name quietly in her head. She almost wondered how many of Thomas’s relatives laid to rest here. 

Once the casket was fully hurried, the stone seal was placed over top of it. The priest said one final prayer. Once the priest said “amen”, the princess moved to step forward in her place. She knelt on the ground and placed her hand on the stone to say her final goodbye. A single tear fell from her face. 

After a minute or so, the princess stood to her feet and swiftly moved to leave the abbey. Her future husband quickly went to catch up with her, but his father caught his shoulder and stopped him from casing after her.

“Give her some space. She desperately needs it,” King Dominic responded. His son gave a single nod of the head. 

“How soon are we to depart to the northern kingdom?” Prince Thomas wondered. He looked at his father with a slightly worried look on his face. He didn’t want to force his fiancée to leave her homeland, but they were getting married soon and they needed to stay on schedule.

“We leave at dawn,” the King of the North said swiftly. He went to leave the presence of his eldest son, heading towards the entrance of the abbey. 

In the carriage ride back to the eastern kingdom, the princess was looking solemnly out the window. She hadn't any need to speak up and she allowed no more tears to fall from her eyes. Yet, her heart felt so heavy with grief. 

“How are you feeling, my love?”Thomas wondered. He went to lace his arm around her shoulders, pulling her more into his side. 

The princess sniffled up her tears and reached up, whipping her eyes with her hand. She shrugged her shoulders and looked away, avoiding eye contact with her lover. He rubber her arm reassuringly, gazing down at her with kind eyes.

“Come here,” Thomas said. The princess sat up and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his strong figure. His arms enveloped around her small body, holding her closely to his chest. He reached up and brushed her hair down, soothing her into a form of contentment. 

The princess gripped onto his shirt tightly, sobbing into his chest. Her salty tears stained his shirt, soaking through the material. He held her in his embrace, soothing her with his encouraging words.

“There, there. It’s going to be alright,” Thomas said softly.

“H...He was all I had left. H-He was the only family I e-ever had. I’m an orphan now. I’m all alone,” she said. Her voice was shaky and unstable, coming out in short spurts due to her hiccups.

The prince tilted his head to the side and ran his hand down her back, rubbing reassuringly. She stifled up her tears, pushing them away.

“In a way, we should be celebrating. We should not be grief-stricken. There is sorrow and distress in our hearts. We need to replace it with happiness and joy. Your father is in a better place now. He is happy, he is safe. There is no need to worry about him. He has reunited with your mother now,” Thomas said while looking down at her.

“Do you think he suffered?” The princess asked in a low whisper. The prince turned his head and looked down at her with concerned eyes. He shook his head in denial.

“No, darling. I have reason to believe that he passed away in his sleep. He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t feel any suffering. He went away peacefully,” the prince continued. He was not entirely sure if his accusation was correct.

The princess stared off into the distance, pondering on his words. She turned her head and looked out the window, seeing the darkened sky raising high above the mountains. The bright silver moon was high in the sky, shining a light down on earth. It was late.

“Tomorrow,” Thomas said, moving slightly. “We will be leaving for the northern kingdom in the morning.”

The prince tilted his head to the side and looked down at her. He reached down and pressed his fingers against her chin, raising it so that he could gaze into her eyes. They looked at each other with such sadness in their expressions. He shook his head slightly, denying her words.

“You are not alone,” he whispered. “You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be there for you. No matter what,” Thomas confirmed. She swallowed thickly, but nodded her head in confirmation. He pulled her closer to his chest, resting his chin on her head as she sobbed quietly into his chest.

The prince was humming to himself, hoping to ease the princess into contentment. His soothing voice was calming and relaxing. Her crying dialed down as she listened to the sound of his thumping heartbeat. The tears staining her cheeks were no longer flowing. They had come to a halt.

“My love,” Thomas said. “Just think, in a few short months, we shall be married. How exciting is that? Are you not looking forward to that?” 

The princess listened to his soft words, pressing her ear against his chest to listen to the sound of his heartbeat. She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes. She cracked a small smile, nodding her head in agreement.

“I suppose I am quite excited to be getting married,” the princess stated. “But there is still so much to do,” she sighed.

“Well, I am quite certain my mother will be more than willing to help you out with that.” Thomas chuckled softly.

“I can’t wait to meet your mother. Your father speaks so highly of her,” the princess recalled. 

“I can’t wait to see her as well. It’s been so long,” Thomas said. The carriage began to pull up to the entrance of the palace. The two young royals stepped out of the carriage and began climbing the grand steps to the entrance. 

The two of them made their way through the hallways of the palace, heading back to the princess’s quarters. She waltzed inside in her room, throwing her veil and gloves onto a nearby chair. She flopped down on her large bed and breathed a heavy sigh.

The young prince moved to the side of her bed, lowering himself to sit down at her side. He smiled down at her and moved to brush some hair out of her face.

“Now, I believe that your servant has packed all of your belongings safely. In the morning, I will come and wake you up when it is time to start getting ready,” Thomas said.

The prince stood to his feet and looked down at the young woman. He reached down and cupped her face with his hand, holding it gently in his grasp. His lips curved into a soft smile as he gazed down into her beautiful eyes.

“Get some rest, my love. We have al long journey tomorrow,” Thomas said. He turned to leave and walk away, but the princess stopped him. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving her room. He looked back at her. 

“Please stay with me,” the princess begged. Her voice was just below a whisper. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. The prince shook his head in denial, knowing it would be considered inappropriate to stay in an unmarried woman’s quarters for the night.

“You know I can’t,” Thomas said while shaking his head.

“Please,” she spoke softly. He couldn’t resist her big beautiful eyes begging him to stay with her. He dropped his head back and breathed a small sigh of defeat. She simply hoped he would stay for a little while.

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep,” Thomas concluded. The princess nodded her head and laid down in bed, bringing the covers over her shoulders. She snuggled in the warmth of the bed, closing her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep. The prince sat back down on the bed, playing with her hair to sooth her into a peaceful sleep.

As the prince was running his fingers through her long hair, the princess drifted into a calming sleep. Her pink lips parted softly as she breathed steadily. The prince smiled down at her. She was finally asleep.

The prince stood to his feet and looked down at her. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her head, kissing her goodnight. He walked towards the door of her quarters, opening the door to let himself out. The servant was waiting in the hallway. She needed to go back inside to help finish with the packing.

The prince raised his finger to his lip, mentally telling the servant to be extra quiet since the princess had just fallen asleep. The woman nodded her head understandingly. She tipped her head in acknowledgment before entering the quarters, closing the door behind her quietly.

The prince laced his arms behind his back before walking down the corridors of the palace. He walked back to his room, hoping he would get a good night’s rest before the long journey in the morning.

The bright morning sunlight streamed through the nearly empty palace, brightening even the darkest corner. The servants were rushing around the palace, packing away some last minute things before the royals were to leave the palace for a good long time. Some hall boys carried the heavy trunks down the stairs, bringing them outside to be tied to the back of the carriages.

The furniture in the palace was to stay there. The palace would be forgotten, abandoned in more specific cases. The king of the north believed it could be auctioned off to the highest bidder whether it be from a distant king or a king who lived in their midst. Nobody was to live in the palace at the time though.

Some of the servants were to move to the northern kingdom to be of service in the new palace. However, certain servants had to be let go due to the fact that the other palace already had someone to fill in their place. It was a saddening thought. Nevertheless, the princess gave each of them a good report so that they should have no trouble in finding some suitable work. They were grateful to say the least.

The two younger princes walked around the carriages. Technically, the engaged couple were not allowed to be in the same closed carriage, but they were allowed to if they had a chaperon with them. The eldest prince invited his two younger brothers to accompany them on the journey, essentially becoming their chaperons. 

The other single carriage had been designated for the king. The other four carriages were for hauling the servants and their own personal belongings. More trunks would make the journey later in the week. They were not essential to make the first journey though.

“That’s the last of it,” one of the servants said, patting the side of the last trunk with his hand. The two young princes turned their heads and looked towards their older brother, wondering if he was about ready to leave.

“Thomas? Are we ready to depart?” Sam wondered.

“In a moment,” Thomas said with a small nod of the head. “I’ll be right back,” Thomas promised.

He turned around and walked towards the palace, entering through the grand doors. He tilted his head to the side as he caught side of his betrothed standing at the bottom of the staircase. 

The princess was dressed in her traveling attire. Her long silver dress fitted her body nicely. The dark blue coat was wrapped tightly around her was it with a single black button holding it together near the neckline. The coat was long, the hem of the coat resting less than a foot higher than the dress itself. The princess wore a matching hard bonnet, secured underneath her chin with a big black bow. The black traveling gloves went no higher than her wrist, keeping her hands from getting dirty.

The princess had lifted her head and gazed at the tall ceilings of the palace. She reached forward and ran her hands over the polished railing to the stairs, thinking of all the memories she shared in the palace. This was her home. This was were she was raised. 

“I was born here,” the princess said. She was admiring the beauty of the palace. The prince made sure to glance at some of his surroundings. “I thought that since I was born here, I would die here eventually,” the princess admitted.

“Times are changing,” Thomas said solemnly.

“Indeed, they are.” The princess turned around and looked up at the prince standing in front of her. His lips lifted into a weak smile, knowing that leaving the palace was not going to be easy for her. “But I am going someplace better,” the princess said with a short nod of the head.

The princess went to take a single step forward. Once they were close enough, the princess did not hesitate to grab his hand in her own. She brought it closer to herself, gripping it tightly. He looked down into her eyes.

“I am going to my new home where I will marry the man I love and where we will be able to raise a family together,” the princess said with a small smile on her face. The prince seemed to furrow his eyebrows together in slight confusion.

“You are not upset that you are leaving?” Thomas wondered.

“Why should I be? I have no future here, but I do have one with you. I don’t care where I am, just so long as I am with you,” the princess stated. Her lips curved into the most soft and sweet smile. 

The prince couldn’t hid the smile on his face, mirroring her reaction. He dipped his head down so that their lips could brush together. He kissed her so softly and so lovingly.

“If you two are done sucking each others’ faces off,” a familiar voice said. The couple was quick to pull away from each other. The two of them almost glared at the young prince standing in the doorway. “The carriages are ready. We should get going if we are to reach the northern kingdom by nightfall,” Prince Harry suggested.

“We will be right there,” Thomas replied. The prince went to wrap his arm around the princess, pulling her into his side. He quickly glanced down at her. “Shall we go?” Thomas suggested.

“We shall,” the princess said with a broad smile on her face. The couple walked out of the palace, looking over their shoulder to make sure they remembered everything. They boarded the carriages, sitting right beside each other on the plush leather seats. The two chaperons went to sit across from them.

The two horses began pulling each carriage slowly, moving away from the grand entrance of the palace and trotting down the long gravel road. The princess leaned forward and looked around her lover beside her. She stole one last glance at the place she called home. Her fiancé gave her hand a small squeeze, mentally reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. She watched the palace become smaller and smaller until it disappeared from the distance. 

“Goodbye,” whispered the princess.

The palace located in the northern kingdom was currently bustling with absolute chaos. There were servants hurrying around the place, carrying centerpieces and brand new folded linens. They were trying to get the palace prepared for the arrival of the new royal and future queen of that kingdom. 

The current queen was the head of operations at the palace. Her three eldest sons had now been gone for nearly a year. The king had come back occasionally for business matters. However, it was essential that the eldest prince and the single princess be bound to the promise of matrimony before they were to return home. Now that it was settled and there was a ring on her finger, the princes were free to return back home and the princess would be coming with them. 

Now Queen Nicola was ordering her servants around the palace, wanting everything to look absolutely perfect for the return of her boys. The maids were ordered to get the bedrooms ready, changing the sheets and opening the curtains. The hall boys were carrying and organizing the trunks that arrived earlier that day. The footmen were getting the dinning hall ready for lunch by setting out the finest china. The cooks were working diligently in order to get all the food ready.

The queen approached a tall wooden table near the entrance of the castle. She fussed with the bouquet of flowers sitting on top of the table, rearranging the bouquet to the best of her ability. She didn’t seem too happy with how it was looking. 

“Everything seems to be in order, your Majesty.” The housekeeper announced. “Is there anything else you require?” She wondered.

“Do check the bedrooms. Make sure the maids got everything done,” Queen Nicola suggested.

“Of course,” the housekeeper quickly curtsied and dismissed herself from the queen’s company.

“Mama!” A small voice echoed through the large foyer of the palace. The queen immediately turned her head towards the grand staircase, spotting her youngest son standing at the top of the stairs.

“Yes, Paddy?” Queen Nicola called.

“When are they coming?” Paddy wondered. He began to run down the grand staircase, jumping to miss the last three steps. He landed so firmly on the ground that it made such a sound.

“My dear, how many times have I told you not to run down the stairs?” Queen Nicola wondered. She leaned down to be more at his height. She reached out to grab his arms in attempts to hold him still.

“Too many,” Paddy mumbled to himself.

“Exactly,” Queen Nicola pointed out. “They should be here any minute.”

As if on command, the sound of horses trotting along the gravel pathway and the sound of the carriage being pulling streamed in the distance. The carriages had finally arrived at the castle after spending hours on the road. 

“They’re here! They’re here!” Paddy called loudly. He pulled himself out of his mother’s grasp, hurrying towards the front door to meet his three elder brothers and his father. 

The queen quickly ordered all of the servants back into the main foyer of the palace. She had them line up and stand at attention to greet the royals from their journey. The butler and housekeeper stood near the entrance since they were basically in charge of all the servants. 

By the time the first carriage pulled up, Paddy was already reaching to pull open the door. He was basically bouncing on the heels of his feet, watching Sam and Harry get out of the carriage. He was immediately taken into his two elder brother’s arms. They put him in a headlock and rubbed his hair violently.

Behind them, Thomas stepped out of the carriage. He lifted his head to glance at the place he called home. He smiled to himself for he felt so relieved to finally be home after so many long months. He was quick to turn back towards the carriage, offering his hand to his now fiancée.

The princess gladly took his hand so she could step out of the carriage. She took her time to admire the beauty of the palace, feeling a broad smile stretching across her face. 

The king made his way to the grand open doors of the palace. He went to greet his wife by giving her a solid kiss on the lips. His twin boys came up behind him. They both went to kiss their mother on the cheek to greet her. She cooed at both of them for she was thrilled that her boys were home. She fussed over them and insisted that they had gotten taller, which they reassured her that they hadn’t.

After the little family reunion, Queen Nicola finally turned to look at her eldest son and his soon to be wife. She was quick to step forward and grabbed the young princess’s hands. She took her time to admire her. 

“You must be Y/N,” Queen Nicola concluded with a broad smile on her face.

“Your majesty,” the princess said. She did not hesitate to curtsey while bowing her head in respect. 

“I’ve heard so many great things about you from Thomas’s letters,” Queen Nicola said. “And I am so pleased to finally have another woman in the palace. I find that I am always outnumbered,” Queen Nicola chuckled.

The princess also seemed to laugh at her comment. It was quite understandable since the queen had four sons of her own and not one single daughter. She would soon have her very own daughter-in-law and the queen was quite elated.

“Now, let me introduce you to the servants.” Queen Nicola shifted to stand beside the princess, lacing her arm together with hers. “These are all the servants. They will be of service to you. Anything you need, you just ask them,” Queen Nicola gestured to all the servants.

The women who were servants curtsied and the men who were servants bowed their heads in respect to the princess. The princess acknowledged them with a small nod of the head. She sent them all a warm smile.

“Well, we should get you settled in. You must be exhausted from your journey,” Queen Nicola added. At this point, the conversation didn’t seem to be anywhere near close to an end. The queen was simply delighted. 

“I am a little tired,” the princess confessed.

“Very well. You shall rest before we are summoned for dinner,” Queen Nicola said with a firm nod of the head. “Once you are all settled in, then we can talk about wedding planning,” Queen Nicola sent her a small wink.

The queen began to lead their new guest towards the grand staircase with the desire to bring her to her new room. The eldest prince was left to stand in the middle of the foyer. He turned to glance at some of his familiar surroundings. He took a deep breath. It felt so good to be home.

[mystic-writings]

REMEMBER THE NIGHTS | wedding distractions

SUMMARY: Maggie takes Y/n out for a trip around town to finalize the wedding plans.

WORD COUNT: 1,240

WARNINGS: None, for once

NOTE: This whole chapter was fueled by Mountain Dew and Space Is Cool by Markiplier playing on repeat for three hours

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

IT’S BEEN ALMOST THREE WEEKS since you last tried to talk to Newt. New Years had come and gone, and like every other year, you had no one to kiss. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. You gave Chuck an embarrassing kiss on the cheek when the countdown ended, and laughed when his already rosy cheeks darkened as he pushed you away.

School had started back up again, and now you had to worry about finals. The end of January signaled the beginning of a new semester, and though you would now be taking English and Psychology, you were dreading having to take Algebra. 

Though you were only just about a week into the year, things were picking up at home. Maggie and your dad were getting married at the end of the month, so the rest of the planning and preparation needed to be done as fast as possible. Which led you here, sitting in a car with Maggie on a disturbingly cold Saturday morning to help her with the rest of the errands.

“Okay, so we’ve gotta go pick up the bridesmaids’ dresses, drop them off at the girls houses, bring the decorations to the hall, and get some people to help us get the tables there ready.” Maggie listed off today’s to-do list as she turned onto the main street. “Your father’s taking care of delivery confirmation of pretty much everything, since most of it’s coming from the city.”

“Got it,” you nodded, turning to look out the window. It had snowed the day before, but rained overnight, leaving the roads coated with mucky slush, and the ditches in the gutters filled with small piles of hardened, dirty snow. 

Picking up the dresses was easy enough, since the boutique was on the main road, just a few stores down from Mickey’s. They were a beautiful sage green, not quite matching in style but themed perfectly nonetheless. Each dress had a sticky note on the clear garment bags, one of which being yours. Though you hadn’t quite worked your way up to calling her ‘mom’ just yet, Maggie had decided that you would be the Maid of Honor, simply because she had been thinking of you as her daughter from the moment you had met. At least, that’s what she told you. Besides, you weren’t the only one of the kids in the wedding party. Both Chuck and Thomas were the best man, so you wouldn’t be walking down the aisle with some guy from your childhood that you likely wouldn’t remember. 

While dropping them off to the other bridesmaids, you were finally able to put proper faces to the names. It felt weird, being in a bridal party that was full of older women, and not knowing who a single one of them was. But you couldn’t complain, since they all seemed to be great people and took a liking to you. 

Next up came the decorations at the hall, one of the first buildings that people passed on their way into town. The decorations had been inhabiting Maggie’s trunk for the past week and a half, and now they would be inhabiting the empty event hall until the day before the wedding. 

It didn’t take long to reach the large building, covered in fading gray siding. A set of four stairs led up to a deck with no railing, then a pair of black painted metal doors. The parking lot was riddled with holes in the asphalt, some of which you almost tripped over while bringing the boxes into the hall. 

The inside of the hall was nice, even if it wasn’t exactly your style. Though, to be fair, it was the only event hall in town, so it wasn’t as if Maggie and your dad had much else to choose. It was big, with wooden paneling spanning the first seven or eight feet of the walls. Whatever was left was painted a blue-gray color, and banners from previous events and competitions lined the very top of the wall to the left. You didn’t bother reading them. At the very back of the room were two servers’ windows. The one to the left had a big sign over it that said ‘DRINKS’ and the one on the right said ‘FOOD’. 

On your way through the first hallway you saw bathroom doors on the left, so you had a place to escape if the party got too loud and it was too cold outside. There were two doors on the right side of the room, each on one end of the wall, both metal push doors that led to the outside. 

Tables lined the edges of the room, and stacks upon stacks of chairs occupied the corners. The faded white of the linoleum tile was to be expected, and after spending just a few minutes in the space, you quickly got used to the cozy feel of the room. It almost felt like it was telling you a story of all the fun people have had here over the years. 

You and Maggie made quick work of the decorations, putting all the boxes inside the surprisingly large kitchen in the very back. At one point, she called a few people to help her put the chairs that lined the walls into the storage, since she and your dad were getting different ones delivered in a couple of days. 

The sounds of the chairs scraping across the linoleum, a loud, grumbling, reverberating sound, echoed throughout the large, high-ceilinged hall, shaking your bones when you stood still. One by one, the boxes were brought to the kitchen, and one by one, the stacks of chairs were evacuated. A day’s work, completed in less than three hours. 

When you got home, your father was just hanging up with someone as he paced the living room. Looking up from his screen, he said, “Everything go okay?”

“Yeah, I had Malcolm and Jack come by the hall to help move the chairs into storage, and everyone got their dresses.” Maggie reported, nodding to your hand, where the hanger that held your dress and garment bag was clutched. 

“Good, good,” he nodded, “everything should get here on time. I called the florists, the cake and cupcake guy, the chair guy, the dress lady, and the suit tailor. Cake, cupcakes, chairs, and clothes are all getting here at some point the day before, flowers are arriving the morning of.” 

Maggie smiled, pressing a kiss to your dad’s stubbled cheek and thanking him profusely before heading into the kitchen. His eyes followed her for a moment before falling back to you. 

“Are you excited, dad?”

He sighed. “You have no idea, kiddo. I haven’t been this excited since you were born.” Shaking his head, he put a hand on your shoulder. “How are you feeling about all this? I know I haven’t really gotten a chance to ask-”

“Dad, I’m 110% okay with it, don’t worry.” You told him. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. She’s a great woman, you know.”

“I know.” 

You smiled and your dad smiled back, kissing the crown of your head before heading into the kitchen after Maggie. Gripping the hanger a little tighter, you headed up to your room to put it away. Even if things weren’t the greatest with you and Thomas, you weren’t going to let it ruin your father’s wedding. Not if you could help it.

TAGLIST: @sunny-reys @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @xhenix @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito (open!)

[qyllenhaal]

God’s Face in the Fire || Part 2

Dark!Lee Bodecker x Dark!Reader

Summary: A wife who would do anything to give her husband the world, even if it means getting herself involved with his trouble.

Word Count: 10.3k

Chapter warnings: dark themes!!! contains mentions of murder, non-graphic death scenes, smut (loss of virginity in a flashback scene), manipulation, brief mention of sexual assaults, misogyny, uncomfortable situations. Please heed the warnings!!! 18+ only

A/N: It's been forever since I posted. The last two weeks have left me discombobulated that it was hard to find time to sit down to write and edit this, but I'm glad I got to it! The next part is going to be the last part but I have plans to do one-shots for this universe. I'm going to be posting a Senator!Chris fic tomorrow so stay tuned for that.

Enjoy!

"You remember when I took you out for milkshakes and you spilled yours all over me? You were wearing that exact same color," Lee said pointing at the dress she was pressing.

"All those years ago, and you still remember that?" Y/n wanted to drown in this tender moment she's having with her husband. Hearing him laugh, his stomach shifting, and his eyes wrinkling.

"How could I? Watching you get all flustered and cute really got me goin’. It's when I knew I was gonna marry ya."

The days have been incredibly warm and beautiful since Y/n had done what she did. It was cruel irony that she was enjoying another day while someone’s body was rotting. The softer moments of life were few and far between these days, but right now she’s offered her a wonderful distraction.

She had taken on more tasks than usual to distract herself from the intrusive thoughts she had. She even accepted a last minute invite to help put on an event at the local rental hall with some of the other mothers in town. It gave her an excuse to look nice and show herself off to anyone who had some doubts about Lee. Things were looking good for him, but there was always something to do to further rehabilitate his image. She always looked her best as the sheriff's wife. Keeping up the appearances exhausted her since they have become more frequent for her. However if she wanted the people to fawn over her lovely family, she had to show up. An arts and crafts event for the kids is also a good chance to get their daughter out of the house.

Teenage Y/n did not see herself becoming a housewife so young. It was unsavory to think about being a homemaker for one of the boys’ at school. She surmised that she would’ve stuck by her original plan if she had not been so lonely. All of Y/n's friends left within a year of graduating high school. She didn't have that many friends to begin with, but she thought that at least one would always be there for her. Rose went to college, and Barbara found a man to marry and moved to upstate New York. Only one stayed for some time, Judith, but she eventually left after having a shotgun wedding. It was selfish of her to think that someone would stay just because she got rejected from the only college she had applied to. Other people had lives and Y/n was just not at the center of them.

The absence of her friends made her pregnancy more lonely. Her baby shower consisted of her family, Lee’s sister, and his co-workers and their wives. None of the women seemed to be fond of Y/n. It always plagued her mind to know if they thought she was too young and stupid or if it was just something else

She found solace in some of the other mother's in town. When she began showing up around to volunteer at bake sales and food drives she expected them to look at her face and then down at her belly and reject her. She is younger than them and feared they'd find her naïve. She had kept to herself for so long that she thought they'd write her off as the sheriff's meek wife.

Y/n didn't get a chance to mingle with anyone prior to her marriage and Lee made it harder by insisting in little ways that she stay in the house. No one was at fault that Lee wanted to keep her to himself. It was possible he did it out of insecurity, but Y/n now speculates that it was because he didn’t want to hear or even see what he may have been doing.

One of the ladies who Y/n only knew by her dark hair and distinct, pointy nose joked that Lee had, "finally let Rapunzel out of the castle." When the other mothers joined into laughter, she felt small. It was only a harmless joke that was steeped in the truth. It took her persistence to no longer wanting to feel alone while being pregnant to get the women to warm up to her, and the did.

"I remember spilling the milkshake, but I was too embarrassed to remember anything else about that night," she admitted.

Lee remembers that night very well. He wishes that she didn't end the night so quickly because she ruined a pair of trousers that could easily be replaced. He had only bought them to impress her, but it didn't take much to get her to swoon over him. No other man was giving her the time of day.

"We should go out to that diner Friday night. Now that we have someone to watch the little one, we don't have to stop by your parents to drop her off anymore. I can just scoop you up and we can have a night together," Lee pressed himself into Y/n's backside. She giggled when his hands lightly danced against her ticklish sides.

Lee had also been aware of the slim moments of intimacy with his wife. He was serious about this race but he truly underestimated how much time and effort he'd have to put into this. But people really did love the old mayor. The only slight Lee had against him was his old age and how some believed that if he kept going then he might run into some health problems. The rumors about him becoming more and more forgetful were minute compared to the dark gossip swirling about Lee though. Some of the people in town would probably vote for a paper bag before Lee.

His biggest fear is that he loses the election and drives his wife away. He could lose the race, but if his wife somehow slipped away, taking their baby with her, he’d drink himself into a stupor. Lee tried his very best to hide his insecurities from her. When he worried, she worried too and it made it much harder for him to plan his way out of whatever hole he is in when he has a hysterical wife to deal with. That's why he'd rather not tell her anything.

Lee also wasn't the young man in his prime anymore, he believed that his good looks were fading, and he has gained a considerable amount of weight. The fear of Y/n just up and leaving him for someone younger than him and riding off to the city always plagued him. The birth of their daughter should've assuaged him, but his self-doubt always lingered like a cloud that made him stick to his vices.

"I've really missed ya honey...missed this body of yours."

Y/n flinched when his hands ran down the front of her body, over her stomach and then circling up back to her breast. Her body has changed considerably since giving birth and the hormonal imbalance left her feeling tired, sad, and alone. Her mother told her that all she had to do was look at her child and she'd feel better, but every time she looked at her little girl all she did was worry. Was she a good mom? Why was her daughter crying so much without much working? Was Lee staying at work for long hours to avoid the crying and her? Did he still find her attractive?

They’re both too busy thinking Lee's mayoral bid to realize they felt the exact same way as each other. If there was any other time that proved they were an extension of each other, it was now, but they were too blind to see it.

"Lee y-you're going to be late for work," her voice was weakened by his lips now nipping at her neck.

"Don't give a damn," he whispered against her skin, inhaling her familiar scent, "just wanna feel my wife."

Today, Y/n felt herself slipping back into her normal self and normal life. She melted into Lee, hoping that maybe they could have a moment to themselves, but they were interrupted by the phone ringing downstairs. Every early morning and late night phone call had her on edge. They never seemed to be about anything important but it hasn't failed yet to make her stomach churn.

Lee groaned and pulled away from her. She watched him disappear to go answer the phone.

It has been nearly two days and the only thing on her mind is what happened after she left that brothel. The anxiety made her feel sick. Hours later after it happened, around 2 a.m., she woke up and darted to the toilet. Lee kept asking her if she was pregnant as he held her hair back while her face was in the toilet. She dismissed his claims, knowing full and well that she was just sickened by her actions.

Lee had not mentioned a death or anything related to that brothel, so had he even been found? Was his death even reported? The girls who worked for him were probably too worried about their own arrest than the death of their abusive boss.

She wiped the look of worry off of her face when she heard his heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.

"Who was it?"

"Your brother," his tone held disgust, "invited us to dinner on Sunday. He asked to speak to you but I told him you were still sleep."

"Lee!"

"I don't want to hear it," his voice boomed, much more dominant and rough than hers, "I ain't having dinner with him and I don't want to hear your mouth about it."

Y/n stayed silent and watched him grab the police hat resting on the dresser. She hated for him to leave on such a sour note, but she wouldn't dare say anything in fear she might make things worse.

He started towards the door of their bedroom before turning back to his wife, "Sandy supposed to stop by Saturday. I don't know why, so don't ask, but she claims she's comin'. Who knows if she'll stick to her word."

It’s like Lee did that on purpose, as some sort of sick payback for her brother calling. Y/n was not fond of Sandy and did not like to be around her for more than ten minutes. Sandy was a nice girl, a bit unsavory at times, but her husband Carl was a stain on her life. There was something about him that reminded her of the men her mother had warned her about when she was a young teenager; a man with a slick tongue and a creepy air around him. However, she found Carl much more sinister than that. The look in Carl's eyes when he looked at her and flashed her that unsettling smile was imprinted into her brain. They did not come around much, but when they did it was always a traumatic experience for Y/n.

Lee left the room before Y/n could respond. He knows how Y/n feels, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. She’s not going to protest against it because she knows better than that. He focused on the sound of soft babbling from his daughter as he walked into her room.

"Hey you," she looked up at him with her big eyes and her widening smile that made his heart swell, "you gonna be good for your mama? You've been on a mean streak lately and I'd hate to make good on my threat and put you in baby jail."

His daughter reached up and tried to grab at his face. Lee was clean-shaven now, but for the first few months of his daughter's life he had enough hair on his face for her to grab a hold of. It was funny to see how she still tried to grab at his non-existent hair, pinching his skin in the process.

"Miss the beard little lady? You're just like your mama," he kissed her forehead and felt a deep sense of guilt that he had to leave her to go to work. But everything he did was for her and if he believes that the long hours are going to pay off. All of his work is going to pay off when he wins that race.

-

The dress her daughter wore was blush to complement her mother's golden one. She looked around at every single building and person they passed as if it was her first time seeing it again. Her sense of wonder always made Y/n adore her even more. Y/n wondered what was going on in the little mind of her and what sense she made of the world.

She was never fussy when they were out, which was good for Y/n, but also good for the rehabilitation of Lee's image. He has such a good daughter and pretty wife, he must be doing something right. Every single person who stopped to say hi or coo at how cute her baby was, Y/n wondered if they have ever said something negative about Lee. Y/n never received weird stares or grimaces that would make her paranoid, but she still felt on edge. She always wanted to be on her best behavior, especially when Lee was not with her.

Y/n was forced to be her normal self; cheerful even though her mind was reeling over two nights ago, her sister-in-law, and what the conversation between Lee and her brother this morning may have sounded like. When one of the toddlers thrusted their drawing her face she feigned an excited smile. She hoped the mother's didn't notice her lackluster attitude.

"Y/n , can I speak with you?"

It was Sally's voice that called to her. She looked at the blonde woman with a bit of panic on her face. She thought that she was going to get chewed out by her, especially since she pulled her far away from the other children, and her daughter who was being held by one of the recently graduated girls.

"Is everything alright Sally?"

"I should be asking you that. Why am I hear things about Mrs. Blackwater sayin' she seen your Lee dumpin' bodies in the river behind her house?" At that moment Y/n could not hear her despite her lips still moving. Her blood ran cold at that last name being mentioned. It's been years, close to a decade, since she thought about that old woman, but the mere mention of her name brought Y/n back to a place she didn't want to be.

"I-I...I don't know what she's talking about-"

"My husband and I made a sizable donation to your husband's campaign, and it would be a shame to see him lose," the sugary voice and fake smile on Sally's face made Y/n's stomach ache. She didn't like how some of these women could be so fake because it always made her question if they really liked her or not. But Sally didn't care what Y/n would respond with, all she cared about was her and her husband's reputation, "you're not that much younger than me so you remember them days when that old bitch would be on her porch spewin’ whatever nonsense she could think if at any girl who walked on her sidewalk. No one likes Mrs. Blackwater, but don't think for a second they won't consider what she has to say about that husband of yours. I've heard too many whispers about him and I don't like it. I'll pull my endorsements if you don't fix this shit."

Was murdering one person not enough to save her husband from losing this race? The brothel owner was one person, someone who would not be missed by many people, but could she do something about Mrs. Blackwater?

'That's not right, that's not right.'

No matter how much she tried to shake that evil idea off, it kept creeping into her mind. Murder was the unlikely tool she had in her arsenal all along. It was morally wrong to kill someone, but her victim and the potential one had not been nice people. Mrs. Blackwater's stain on this Earth paled in comparison to Reed's, but that woman made her blood run much colder than the brothel owner.

It was so ironic that Mr. Blackwater was a beloved man in town because no one could stand his wife. They knew not to cross her path and that pies and home cooked meals would not abate her disdain for people. A man who was so kind and friendly was married to the most antisocial person Y/n has ever come across. But he never wasted a moment to sing her her praises. Y/n remembers one of her sons and he was mean just like his mother; a school yard bully that would beat up on anyone he saw as weak and alone. Y/n was lucky that he knew she had an older brother to protect because the Blackwater’s youngest boy never tried anything with her. However, she was not lucky enough to escape the wrath of Mrs. Blackwater. The irony was that she probably would've been better off being a victim of her son. That woman was nasty and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Don't you two get tired of dressing like whores?"

They had to pass the Blackwater house to get to Rose's house. Her house used to be at the end of the street before it got burned down, leaving the Blackwater house the last one on the street. It was nice, and had a big, big porch that Mrs. Blackwater always sat on for most of the day. She didn't stop at calling them just "whores'' and "wenches" either. Y/n never could understand why they always took the brunt of that woman's anger. Rose went home in tears every time she walked by that house. Maybe Y/n's anger is displaced, but she blames Mrs. Blackwater for why Rose was so eager to leave. There wasn't much here, but Rose always promised she'd stay. But ever since they encountered Mrs. Blackwater's misery, Rose had changed.

She could imagine that same venomous voice saying awful things about her husband, "Lee Bodecker put that body in the water. I saw it with my own two eyes!"

The thought of her husband killing someone shouldn't sound so crazy, especially after being able to do it herself. But her Lee can't be a cold-hearted man who slept with whores, murdered people, and ruined people lives. He was so sweet to her, he wasn't always was, but his touch was so soft against her skin, how could he hurt anyone?

Y/n had just turned 19 when she met Lee. He was a deputy, closer to being the sheriff than either of them knew at the time. Their age difference scared her somewhat; she only gave him a chance so she could distract herself from reminding herself that she should be finishing up the last year of being a college freshman. She had the grades and thought her test scores were satisfactory but she got rejected from Indiana University. Her father told her that there is always next year, but her mother told her she should just figure out a new plan.

It was the uncertainty and loneliness that made her get closer to Lee. He was close to his late 20s, unmarried, and he didn't exactly make his loneliness unknown.

He left a sour taste in her mouth in their very first encounter; pulling her over as an excuse to get her number. She gripped the steering wheel to stop them from shaking so much. She only had her license for a few weeks and made sure to be careful in fear of this exact situation happening. His slick talk didn't make her feel that much better either. She was too shaken up to even look at him in the eye or take in any of his features. She just remembered seeing his badge the words DEPUTY SHERIFF etched into it.

Lee let her off, saying she had a "pretty face" and that he hoped to see her around. She didn't think much about their interaction the days after he pulled her over, but she began to see him more than before. Y/n couldn't remember a time she had seen him prior to that one night and found it odd that his face kept reappearing. (He later told her that it was fate, but it was not. Lee purposefully put himself in her orbit. It was not hard to learn what her routine was and when she went out.)

She was weary about his advances, unsure how to react to them because the most experience she's had was with two boys, only one of whom she kissed. Their first date was not by choice either, he just decided to stick by her side while she was at the local dinner by herself.

And he has always stuck by since then, always hovering around her until she realized he was not going to go away and it’d be futile to ignore him. Lee never gave her the chance to make the decision for herself, but his girl was so sweet and she just needed a few cushy words for her to understand that this was where she belonged.

"Do your parents know you're out here meeting me?" It had only been a matter of time before she learned to be very obedient to him; always accepting his plans, even if it meant sneaking out of the house in the midnight hour. The smirk he wore on his face every time he watched her walk up to him left her feeling enchanted.

"Don't talk too loud. If my brother hears you he'll kill you and have my head."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her front to him. Lee groaned at the feel of her breast against his chest. She was so nervous to do anything with him that she only let him kiss her. It was fine for a while, but he had grown tired of waiting. Tired of being teased by her in those soft, pink dresses that would ride up whenever she had to bend over even just a little bit. He couldn't believe how naive she was to believe he was always dropping things like a pencil or his wallet on accident; he just wanted to see her bend over for him just for a chance to peak at what pretty panties she wore that day.

Getting her to come out with him at night was surprising, but the idea of riding in his patrol car was so alluring. The sparkle in her eyes gave him an overwhelming sense of machismo; enough for him to realize he just needs to take what she wants.

The full moon hung in the clear sky and they had a vast, open field in front of them. He took her just to the edge of the county that was secluded and was his favorite spot to go for some quiet (or getting his dick sucked). The moonlight and a few street lights that were actually working were the only light they had.

"You look so pretty today baby," his hand rested on her thigh the whole entire drive but only now did he actually move it to stroke her skin, "you always look so pretty for me. I'm the luckiest man in town."

Y/n giggled and her face felt like it was burning up. No one had taken the time to compliment her sweetly, and that was obvious to Lee. He cradled her face in the palm of his hand and watched her turn into putty. His hand inches closer to her heat causing her to jump like his hand was made of actual fire.

"Relax baby...just relax for me," Lee planted his face in her neck and nipped at it. His lips tickled the skin on her neck and she did her best to suppress her giggles but they spilled from her lips. Lee smirked against her skin, "there she is. There's my girl."

She let a laugh slip through, but she suppressed the moan that was stuck in her throat. It was so odd to feel him on her neck but it was an unfamiliar feeling that she liked. His hand never left her thigh, in fact he had sneakily moved it closer to her sex. She felt ashamed about the growing wetness that she could feel sticking to her.

Lee grabbed her hand and placed it right over the bulge straining in his pants. She let out a heavy sigh when she realized what it was. "That's how hard you make me. You making me so fucking hard girl," he growled in her ears. This was something only the senior girls from her high school could dream about when they talked about hooking up with their boyfriends. None of them were even half the man Lee was, and here he was: hard and ready just for her.

"L-Lee," her voice broke into bits, her body overheating from Lee taking control, "wait, can we slow down?"

"You taste so sweet baby," he continued kissing her, ignoring her until she was pulling away from his grasp. "What's wrong girl?" The furrowing of his brow made her worry that she pissed him off. Lee was all she had, he convinced her to put away her dream of going to college and stay here for him, if she ran him off then she'd have nothing else.

"I'm just nervous. I’ve never done this before Lee," she hoped her honesty went a long way and would make him take her home instead. But all it did was make him readjust himself in his seat and pull away from her rather coldly.

Lee was irritated with her, she got him all hard, but he did his best to temper his anger. She's lucky that he was on the job all day and didn't have a chance to drink yet or else she'd see the side of him that he purposely hid from her.

"Don't be nervous baby. You know I love you right?" She nodded her head with her wide eyes holding a sad look in them, "good girl. Let me show you something."

Lee patted his lap and Y/n looked at him with apprehension.

"C'mon now," he patted his lap once again, this time with a bit of impatience in his voice.

Y/n awkwardly shifted over the center console of his patrol car and found herself in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder. She tried to ignore how his bulge poked at her slit through her cotton panties.

"You ever been in a car this nice before?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, somewhat distracted by the beautiful interior and his cock poking at her. The only car she's ever drove was the shitty one that was passed down to her. Lee's patrol car doesn't look like it's more than five years old.

Seeing her look in wonder at the dash made him even harder. He began to rut against her, trying to feel as much friction as he could, but it wasn't enough to satiate a man who has been waiting a few months for this.

He sat back and started fumbling with his pants. Y/n heard the sound of the metal on his belt and unzipping of his pants but she froze on top of him instead of moving. She grabbed the steering wheel and held onto it as tight as she did the night he first laid eyes on her. Her alarm rose when Lee lifted her up a little to push her panties to the side.

"Lee what are you doing-"

"Shhh baby don't worry, I got you."

The sensation of his head poking at her slit and her sliding down him was unspeakable. She was uncomfortable with his splitting size, but he didn't move her at all, trying to give her some time to adjust but it was just so hard for him to restrain himself. She was so tight and warm, and definitely untouched by any man. "Fuck," he mumbled warmly in her ear. She felt him wrap his arm tighter around her, almost as if he was afraid she was going to somehow run away from him. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't know her way back home and she'd be stuck out here. She was safe with Lee even though she found herself feeling more confusion than pleasure.

Those girls from her high school days had to been lying to her, sex didn’t feel all that magical; his patrol car was not a romantic place to lose her virginity. Lee rocked her on his cock slowly as she tried to find the same pleasure that he was experiencing. His heavy breath was on her ear as she stared straight up into the night sky.

"You feel so good. You feel so fucking good baby."

His pleasure is what made her want to stay on top of him like this. She cared for him so much and she just wanted Lee to be proud of her. The "good girl" that continuously spilled from his lips sounded like a hymn she wanted to memorize.

Y/n let Lee have his way with her body. He groped her breast through her dress and then let his hands graze her sides. She wondered what he was doing when his hand slipped into her panties, but the warmth that shot through her made her mind go blank. Lee rubbed at her sensitive bud and she constricted around him. Instead of whimpering, she was now fully moaning; the way it felt so good had put her discomfort into the back of her mind.

"Oh fuck -- move your hips girl. You feel so good."

He rubbed her harder as a reward for swirling her hips against him. She began to bounce on top of him and he no longer had to do the hard work, just lean back and feel her engulfing him in her warmth.

"Lee," she whimpered, unsure of herself, but then she called his name again, "Lee," as if to let him know that he was the one giving her pleasure.

Lee knew he wasn't going to last, not when she was as tight and wet as she was. He can't remember the last time he took someone's virginity, nor when he was this hard. It was clear to him that she had no idea what she was doing by the way she bounced on him without a rhythm. Sometimes she'd stall herself before moving fast again. It didn't irk him, he found it endearing that she was so inexperienced. He was going to have to show her a lot of things and get her to fuck him to his liking.

Y/n gasped when Lee pulled out of her and jerked himself until white liquid was splashing on the back of her panties. She'd have to wash them before her mother saw the stain.

"You did so good baby, taking my cock like a big girl," he placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, still trying to catch his breath while she shifted on top of him. He put himself away and nudged her towards the empty passenger seat. She was silent the entire time he drove her home. A sense of pride filled her because she had made Lee feel good. The sex itself was too weird to describe as being good, but she liked how she felt inside when he told her she felt good and that she made him cum. That's all she wanted to do was please Lee.

-

Saturday morning proved to be another beautiful day. It seems as if Summer didn't want to leave just yet even though October was near. There wouldn't be many more opportunities for Lee to make his impressions and sway the last few voters not on his side.

The event had been boring at most, but Sally's words really shook her up. No one in town would deny that Mrs. Blackwater has always been a bitter women, but they also wouldn't necessarily turn the other cheek if she starts going around saying that Lee Bodecker is a murder. Y/n's new problem made her forget about the decaying brothel owner. She doesn't care how mean the whole town thought the old woman was, she wanted her gone.

"You slept in. Did I tire you out last night?" Lee had the same smug smirk on his face that has been imprinted on her brains since their early years together.

Y/n nodded even though it wasn't completely truthful. She slept so hard because she's mentally spent and it was finally catching up with her body. Lee had been too distracted to notice how distant she was last night and how she is still distant now. In his eyes, as long as she was eager to lay under him then everything was fine.

Most mornings started like this: Y/n waking up next to her still tired husband and waiting to hear her daughter crying for her. He trudged out of bed and she heard him beat a path down the hall to the bathroom. There was still no sound of her daughter needing her, giving her some time alone. It was nearly silent except for the faint sound of the shower going. She breathed deeply and found herself feeling serene. Just five minutes without the memory of Sally threatening to pull her and her husband's support taunting her.

"Y/n! Do you not hear her crying?" Lee held a stern look on face, he must have been standing there for a few minutes. His towel was wrapped around his waist, stomach hanging over the soft white cotton, "what's wrong with you girl?"

She shook her head, "nothing Lee. I'm just still a lil' tired."

His face softened at her explanation but he nodded his head towards the door so she could take care of their daughter. Y/n hurried not to upset him for the rest of the day.

Their baby was just fussy and hungry. Her little eyes weren’t that red so she hadn’t been crying for long. “You hungry?” Her daughter somewhat understood what her mother was saying because her eyes went wide. The nightgowns Lee had bought Y/n made it much easier for her to pull herself out of them to feed their girl. She could see her daughter calming down, eyes closing once again. Y/n thought about keeping her daughter with her but she needed to rest in her crib. She placed her down gently as not to disturb and wake her again. At least one person in this family deserves peace.

"Back to sleep?" Lee's voice startled her, but the hand on her hip soothed her. Y/n nodded, never taking her eyes away from her girl. "Precious isn't she? So sweet when she's not fussin' about."

"She only fusses because she's teething, and she misses her father."

"Honey, you know why I'm at work longer than usual. It's for her. It's for you. It's for us. Do you know how much better her life, your life, is going to be better after I win that race?"

"But what if you don't win?"

Y/n rarely questions Lee, not even over small things, so he was confused as to why she was questioning him now. Did his wife not believe in him? She worried a lot, but when he first ran for sheriff, she was not this doubtful.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Lee, I didn't say that. It's just that people been talkin' and -"

"And you believe them? So my own wife doesn't think I'm going to win because a few people can’t got some things wrong?”

Y/n flinched as his voice got louder. The brashness of his voice woke their girl up from her attempt to fall into a deep sleep. Instead of waking up and silently looking around, the first thing that came from her was a cry. It served as a way for Y/n to escape Lee's wrath. She pulled her crying daughter into her arms and held her close to her chest. One glance at Lee's face and she knew he was going to deal with her later. But for now he just sighed and walked out of the nursery.

"Aww don't cry honey. It was just your daddy, okay? He's not mad at you sweetheart. Don't cry...don't cry," Y/n's voice cracked and tears slipped down her face. Her pleas were more for herself than they were her daughter.

Lee's hesitance to address the obvious problems he faces in regards to the election made Y/n feel uneasy. All she wanted was for her husband to just outright say he never did those things, but he never did. And if Y/n has resulted to murder, then she knows deep down that he did some of those things that people allege. There were just things that were too loud to drown out. The business when it came to solving a string of murders that happened a few years ago and people talking about him didn't affect him when he was going for re-election. There was no one else that had a strong enough presence to go against him and the folks in town figured that Lee gets enough done as far as crime goes, even though he could do more.

Y/n should be tired of trying to clean up his mess when he was so short with her. However it is not entirely his fault; he does not know. Maybe one day he'll learn and be grateful for what she has done for him.

-

Lee just couldn't stop reminding her that Sandy and Carl were coming over. It's almost as if he knew it got under Y/n's skin and used it against her after she hurt his feelings this morning. He's a sensitive one, even though he hides it well from most people, but her moment of vulnerability wasn't meant to hurt him. Though if their conversation had progressed any further, she might have spilled what she did to the brothel owner. She may want to believe Lee would be proud of her, but she cannot be so sure. It's sickening to assume that someone would be proud of a murder. She quickly began to feel dirty after a few minutes with her own thoughts ever since Lee snapped at her.

"Can you clean up? We're going to be having guests soon."

There were just a few baby toys on the floor but it was best not to make things worse with Lee (even though those toys were going to end up in the same place anyway).

Lee stepped outside as Y/n put their daughter in her high chair. Ever since her birth Lee was mindful not to smoke in the house; it was one of the house rules Y/n proposed that he was surprisingly very accepting of. She had taken away most of the things that he used to destress: alcohol, cigarettes, and candies.

She heard the motor of a car and Lee's muffled voice. She knew it was them, but hoped they were just making a short trip over. It's not like Lee likes Carl, and he's constantly complaining about his trouble making sister. Y/n hates that Sandy uses their daughter as an excuse to come over. She wouldn't mind if Sandy came alone, but she hated Carl around her little girl and she's sure Lee feels the same way.

Y/n's mother had gotten their daughter such a stupid gift when she was born. A baby that's not even half a year old yet didn't need a toy that had a million little pieces they could easily choke on, but of course it was her favorite thing to place with. Lee never cleaned up the mess, it was always Y/n who was doing it. She tried her best to pick everything up before they stepped inside but she heard the front door open. She tensed up, but she only heard the heavy footsteps of one person, and god did she hope it was Lee.

"What you doin' down there?"

Her eyes trailed up and Carl was gazing down at her. Words got caught in her throat and she clutched her hand around one of the toy pieces, the edges of it painfully digging into her palm.

"Did I scare you?"

The smirk on her face made her want to shriek. She noted that he didn't call her "darlin'" like he used to. She can only guess what Lee did to him when he "took him out back" after calling her that for a few years.

"Where's my niece?"

Y/n shot up, not caring about the toys still on the floor. She'll be damned if Carl is alone with her daughter for even a second.

Sandy came in with Lee following behind her. He gave Y/n a look of understanding, he too hoped this was going to be a short visit. The sound of Sandy fawning over her niece overtook the room. Their daughter giggled and babbled at her aunt as if she could understand her.

"Y/n go make us some ice tea."

Usually Lee doesn't command her to do things, unless he was stressed or horny. She knew her was the former by the look on his face. He was aggravated and this visit wasn't going to make him feel any better. As Y/n left the room, Sandy sat down on their couch with their daughter in her arms. Carl sat next to them, making the alarm in Lee rise.

"I got you something honey," she pulled out a little doll from her purse. It looked tattered and Lee wondered where she got it from.

"You know she already has enough dollies," Lee joked. It didn't matter to his girl, it was a new toy, "got anything for your brother?"

Sandy eyes him before pulling out a small bag of candy. She tossed it to him and he caught it, "I knew you'd ask for somethin'"

He opened it and instantly popped a sweet cherry candy into his mouth.

"Y/n's not letting me drink since the girl is so young. This is the only thing I got, even though she's on my ass about that too," Lee knew that Sandy wasn't too interested in the ins-and-outs of his everyday life but he gets tired of complaining to his deputies.

"Yea, I bet," she kept a snide comment about her sister-in-law to herself. The box of cigarettes she had calling her name we're going to have to wait. "How's that mayor race going?"

"It's going."

"Heard that whore house owner croaked," Carl's voice carried to the kitchen and Y/n paused, "found in unusual circumstances...chairs pushed up against the door...poisoned. Reckon one of those girls got tired of him holdin' them down-"

"No smoking in the house," Lee interrupted when he noticed Carl reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Carl laughed as if he wanted to challenge Lee, but his hand went back to resting on the back of the couch.

"Wouldn't want this little darlin' smellin' like a bar."

Anytime Carl spoke at or about her daughter, Y/n wanted to vomit. Carl is not nice. She wonders how twisted Sandy might be to marry someone who is awful to women and has no filter.

There was a cloud of fear over her head when Carl was around. She wishes Lee was more apprehensive but Sandy's his little sister, and he cares for her no matter how much those two causes. Things would be different if Y/n had told Lee about that time Carl pressed himself against and put his hand up the skirt of her dress. His threat would forever bounce off her skull and it only got louder when he was near. "Shut you're fucking mouth or else your husbands gonna see his slut wife bending over for another man." She was five months pregnant and had no way to defend herself. He only groped her, but she always wondered if he would've gone further if Sandy hadn't come in looking for the cooking tongs Lee told her to fetch. Sandy knew something had happened, but she said nothing. Y/n's disdain for her only grew from that day on.

Lee redirected the conversation from what Carl had started to something a bit more asinine. He didn't want to talk about something work-related because he didn't need to be stressed out any further. Reed’s death wasn't another blow to his reputation like Lee thought it would. It was going to be another unsolved murder from the way it was looking though. The people assumed one of the girls did it. The place had been emptied out; it surely looked different from when Lee was last in there. Lee was lucky that Reed was extremely disliked, unlike that preacher Roy who died some years ago. More people said "he had it coming" instead of "why isn't the sheriff doing anything?"

He laughed about it though. When he was alone in the car after leaving the crime scene, he laughed. There was no more worrying about the rumor that Sheriff Lee Bodecker beat one of his girls. When Lee did go to that place, he was never forceful. Lee could be mean towards women at times, but he was never violent.

-

If Lee was called in on a Sunday morning, then it was very important. He woke Y/n up at 5 am and kissed her out of her confused state to say goodbye. She only slept for another hour after laying her head down back on the pillow.

This morning felt so different.

The morning she woke up knowing her task was to deal with Reed, she was distracted and jumpy. But she had grown so accustomed to her guilt that it's become a comfortable feeling. Mrs. Blackwater was a more personal score to settle. That woman was throwing dirt on Lee's name, but the turmoil she caused her teenage friend would never leave her mind. Y/n had learned how cruel someone could be without physically hurting you. The boys on school grounds were annoying brats, but that woman had a truly awful mouth.

The Petersons’ daughter was over right after church. She had a wide smile on her face, happy that Mrs. Bodecker was giving her another opportunity to make some money.

"She's been a fairly good mood lately," Y/n handed her daughter off to the shorter teenage girl, "she slept through the night for once, but she's still gonna need a nap. Once she starts fussin' put her in her crib. I should be back before Lee."

Y/n wished her well and the Petersons girl wished Y/n a good time running her errands. It was comical to think of this as an errand, even though today she was going to treat it like one.

She was in Lee's nice car again meaning she was going to have to temporarily get rid of it. Y/n put much more effort into this, her haphazard plan to take out Reed could've gone horribly wrong. She spent her time snooping around town when she was out with one of her mom friends. The plan had been simple: park the car at the crowded grocery just two blocks away from the Blackwater house. The house sat at the end of the street, a bit separated from the other row of houses because of the larger amount of land they owned. It wouldn't be a problem to walk to the house seeing as others in this neighborhood do the same thing.

When her mother had made that dress for her to wear to the Spring Formal, Y/n cried, saying she was going to look like a nurse instead of "the prettiest girl in town" like Jim, the guy who asked her to the dance said. A teenage grievance had somehow come in handy almost a decade later. It was under a long coat that was a bit abnormal for this warm day.

Y/n felt sickly confident. That only thing she worried about was Lee cruising through and seeing his car in the parking lot. But the grocery store offered a great cover. The sun was covered by a thick cloud as she walked away from the grocery store and to the old Blackwater house.

That porch still looked the same. It was old and rickety, squeaking as she stepped on it, she's surprised it didn't give it away some years ago. The rocking chair Mrs. Blackwater sat on while terrorizing people was no longer there. At least her days of scaring off the newer generation of kids were over.

Y/n knocked on the door and waited. She had to knock again, and by the third time she wondered if the old lady did the job for her!

"Who is it?" The voice was much more frail, but it was that voice.

"I'm here to help!" The upturn of her voice at the end made her statement sound more like a question.

The locks on the door began to click and Mrs. Blackwater peered at her.

"You're not the one they always send."

"Oh, she's sick today! I'm just filling in for her today!" After two weeks of watching, Y/n learned what days Mrs. Blackwater's nurse came and went. She came everyday but she was absent on Sundays. It's somewhat astounding that Mrs. Blackwater didn't ask about Y/n turning up on a Sunday.

"Ahh whatever," she dismissed, unlocking the screen door, and wheeling backwards in the wheelchair that she had been relegated to a few years ago.

Y/n didn't know what to expect when she stepped inside, but it wasn't too far off from how her parent's house looked; black and white photos littering the walls and stacks of paper that probably could've been thrown away a decade ago. What is different from her parent's home is that this place is an utter mess. The nurse that usually comes to take care of her could at least tidy it up a bit. With how much she hated everything, Y/n would've assumed she hated mess too, but her home says otherwise. This lady was an absolute hoarder.

"Don't bother me," Mrs. Blackwater sniped at her. She wheeled herself next to the couch and glued her eyes to the black and white television screen.

Y/n doesn't know how many hours Mrs. Blackwater spent sitting there and watching The Andy Griffin Show. She didn't laugh when something funny happened, she just sat there still, sometimes grumbling to herself in reaction to what was happening on screen.

The least Y/n could do was tidy up a bit. It would be a kind gesture to leave her to die in a presentable place.

Mrs. Blackwater is not going to die a violent death. She was awful, but she did not deserve the brutality like someone who has done physical harm did. (If she was just a little bit braver, she would've hacked him to death, but the sight of blood makes her ill). Mrs. Blackwater was up in age, nearing her 90s, and it would be time for her to go soon anyway. Y/n dusted around the TV, one of the last things this old woman may see. All the photos of people on the walls were staring at her as she moved about cleaning the dust from the frames. So many people, many dead but most probably alive. Mrs. Blackwater had children and probably grandchildren but no one came to visit her. Her tongue was sharp, but how could no one come and visit their aging mother?

"Stop moving so damn much. Sit down girl."

The venom was still in her voice. It would never go away, at least not until she dies. This woman didn't appreciate anything and enjoyed being miserable. Y/n listened to her like that scared little teenager she used to be. She sat on the couch, a few feet away from Mrs. Blackwater who had not taken her eyes off the TV or moved at all. Y/n was spending time with a woman who was going to die at her hands today. If she's going to die then at least she's going to die doing what she loves; watching her shows and bitching out the closest person in reach.

She had only moved to grab the newspaper from the table on the other side of her. It was Friday's addition, Y/n could tell from the photo on the cover. She couldn't help but eye the old woman as she read the paper. It has been probably three hours and she hasn't even asked for anything to eat.

"People droppin' like flies in this shit hole."

Y/n's ears perked up, but she didn't say anything, she just let the lady talk.

"Leroy should know better not to do that shit here...especially with that corrupt sheriff around...would've had an easier time gettin' away with it in the city. Everyone in the city already does all that illegal shit so it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Now he’s dead."

Y/n had heard that name before. She remembers vividly Lee chewing someone out on the phone and saying their name with contempt. Leroy, Leroy, Leroy. The name "Bobo" also came up in the conversation a few times. Y/n wanted to be mad at Mrs. Blackwater for referring to her husband as "corrupt" but something nagged at her to keep the conversation going for her sake.

"W-what do you mean?" Her voice cracked but it was ignored by the old woman.

"You must not be from here. Everyone knows that if you get caught up with that fat bastard sheriff you must be doin’ some awful shit. The only reason why he keeps gettin' re-elected is because everyone is scared of him. It doesn't matter how many babies that man has, he's a killer...dragging that man's body and fucking up carnations..."

No one had ever talked to Mrs. Bodecker about her husband like this. Town gossipers had the decency to wait until she left the room to say something about him. But she's not Mrs. Bodecker right now. It does not matter anyway because the old lady doesn't know what she's talking about. She hasn't spent the hours with Lee, with him being sweet and so soft with his daughter. Y/n firmly believes that if Lee did indeed kill someone then it was for a good reason. She knows her husband involves himself in dirty things, but it had to be for a good reason. Lee did not show brutality for no reason; he didn't get his rocks off on hurting innocent people.

"People can change. I'm sure he's a different man now."

"Why!? Because he got a bitch and a bastard? You are too naïve...at least the other girl they send has some more sense in her head. No man is going to want to marry a dumb girl."

An awkward silence surrounded them but it was mostly felt by Y/n. She found herself frozen with a ball of rage and anxiety in her stomach. But she had no time to dwell for much longer though.

"I'm thirsty...go make me something."

Y/n noticed Mrs. Blackwater flinching when she grabbed the remote to turn the volume higher. She either had arthritis or just pain in her hands.

"Okay...do you need to take any pills at this time?"

"My husbands gone and my children don't visit me. You think I care about taking my pills?"

Maybe Mrs. Blackwater would be kind to her if she knew Y/n was going to take her out of her misery. Breaking open the capsules and dumping it in the tea she made for her is going to do the job. She might succumb to a heart attack, or pass peacefully. The only person Y/n felt bad for was the poor nurse who was going to find her dead tomorrow morning.

-

Lee was able to leave his shift earlier than expected. Sundays are very quiet, the only thing he got up to was paperwork at the station. He could go home early to his wife, play with the girl while Y/n makes dinner, and get a nice ride from his wife while their daughter sleeps. Y/n said something about needing him to pick up some chicken stock from the grocery store.

People filled in and out of the grocery store as the sun began to set. A few people spoke to him, never for too long knowing that he's not fond of small talk. But more people being friendly with him was a good sign. Even without his sweet wife next to him, no one shied away from saying hello to the man running for Mayor.

Two boxes of chicken stock should be enough even though his wife sent him for three. The brand she likes isn’t exactly cheap. Lee promptly made his way to the cashier who greeted him with a smile.

"Good evening sheriff!" her voice was sweet and she batted her eyes a few times. Lee offered her a smile, but a small laugh escaped. This girl couldn't be younger than 20 but she fawned over him like a young school girl. Her behavior reminded him of Y/n when she was that age. "Darlene said she saw your car in the parking lot but didn't get a chance to catch Mrs. Bodecker herself."

Lee stopped caring about the items (a few snuck in there for him) being rung up. His brows furrowed and the girl realized that she had said something maybe she shouldn't have.

"My wife was here?"

"That's what Darlene said. Her shift ended right as I was coming in so I wasn't there when it happened...do you still want the chicken stock?"

"Yea yea just ring it up."

Lee's mind was too preoccupied with the weird behavior his wife has been exhibiting for the last several weeks. She often hovered over him when he was on the phone like she was interested in what he was talking about. All the swearing and terms she didn't understand kept her from asking what his loud, and often abrasive, phone conversations were about. But now she was listening a little too hard for his liking.

The only time Y/n was supposed to drive their car is if Lee told her she could or if there was an emergency. A trip to the grocery store did not fall under either of those categories. But it was particularly weird to him that she would go to the store when she told him to go himself. If she had forgotten something, she would have not hesitated to call the station. Something was up with her.

Everything felt normal as he stepped into the house. The smell of what she was cooking hit his nose and the familiar noises of his daughter babbling louder than the Y/n moving around the kitchen. If he had no questions for his wife, then he'd feel all warm inside walking into his home in this current state.

Y/n was talking to their daughter as if she was holding a real conversation with her. Their daughter started squealing when she saw Lee appear in the doorway. He put his index finger to his lips to tell her to quiet herself, but she was only louder.

"I couldn't believe it either! They said the hairdresser purposefully dyed Marie's hair darker," she spoke, thinking her daughter was just squealing because she was talking to her and not because her husband was creeping up behind her.

Hands snaked around her waist and she nearly jumped. "Oh yea? Is that what the town is gossipin' about today?" Lee's familiar voice soothed her and she turned around in his arms. She deftly kissed him and looked up at him.

"Wanna know what else I heard?" He whispered to her. Y/n nodded, a smile spreading on her face as she rested her forehead against his, "heard the sheriff's wife been out and about and driving his nice car."

Y/n's smile fell from her face, but it only made Lee smile wider.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing out?"

"I needed something from the store."

"So my task to pick up the chicken stock after work was for nothing?"

"No...I went to my parents house...didn't want to go empty-handed. You know how my mother gets."

What a sweet little liar.

But she still had the smell of an old house lingering around her so maybe it wasn’t completely a lie. Still, he knew something was up with her.

“How was work?” She quickly tried to change the subject. Lee was not really in the mood to interrogate her, it was Sunday after all. He sat down in the chair next to his daughter's high chair. She started reaching for his hat but he was too far away, so Lee rested his head on the tray and let her have her fun. Y/n was probably going to be mad at him for putting his head where she eats and getting all of his “outside germs” all over it, but he didn’t care.

“I’m tired,” he confessed, a heavy sigh escaping him, “I’m really fucking tired.”

Y/n wishes she could lift more of her husband’s burdens. Killing people who were talking about him did not get rid of the core problem. Sometimes she wishes he never decided to run for mayor. Life was so much more comfortable when he would run unopposed for county sheriff. Instead her husband had a bigger dream. From the very beginning she felt like it was a long shot that this would be successful, but they had gotten so far in changing how most of the people viewed Lee. And even though they felt a way about him, they still respected the sheriff.

“It’s going to be over soon. I promise.”

He truly wanted to believe her, but the sinking feeling that the past was going to catch up with him was not going away.

[westallenfun]

Two's Company (1/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas). 

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma, and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend, Barry Allen, but grapples with revealing her true feelings, for fear of completely ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, with romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may in fact force both Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths. 

Rated: T (Warnings: Mild language)

Perhaps the most notable visual extravagance at wedding receptions is the abundance of balloons, flowers, and the chiffon backdrops, draped like curtains, framing the table whereon sat the wedding cake. 

Iris is already trying to determine how she might steal away a few balloons, because really, nobody would miss them, and she had, after all, been the one sitting with the wedding planner for days on end, painstakingly selecting a theme for the reception and agonizing over every detail. Surely, after all her efforts, a few balloons going missing at the end of the party would be forgiven, if not unnoticeable. And she would be surreptitious about it too, seeing as how she would wait until the final guests, likely pleasantly drunk on champagne, rosé, and Prosecco, stumbled their way out of the Central City Gold Hotel. 

            “Nice work, West.” Iris looks up to see her heavily pregnant sister-in-law take a seat next to her, while cradling a rather magnificent sundae in her hands, spoon hanging precariously atop the hazelnut fudge.

            “Thanks, but don’t you call my brother ‘West?’ Could get confusing,” Iris says, raising one eyebrow. 

            “Yeah, but I’m married to Wally. Have been for three years. And so, it doesn’t have the same effect with him anymore. That’s the troublesome thing about marriage.” 

            “Classic Linda Park logic,” Iris murmurs, before once again focusing on the balloons. They are all the same shade of ivory, which made them particularly functional. For gift-giving purposes, that is. Gift-giving, Iris knows, is all about the presentation.

            “No, but seriously, Iris. I’m impressed. Joe and Cecile deserve the best, and this is, honestly, the best.”

            “Thanks, Linda. Dad deserves a perfect wedding day. As does Cecile. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to come together as beautifully as it did, but I’m still praying we see this thing to the end without any hiccups. We’ve got…” Iris taps the screen of her phone to check the time, “About three hours, at least, left.”

            “And it’s probably especially important to you. You know, because you played matchmaker for Joe and Cecile,” Linda says, while spooning a generous amount of ice cream, topped with fudge and sprinkles and coconut flakes, into her mouth. Iris’s brow furrows,

            “I did not ‘match-make’ my dad and Cecile. We’ve been over this Linda…” Linda begins to interrupt, but Iris shakes her head, “I know you seem to think that because I introduced my dad to Cecile that somehow this is my doing, but that’s untrue. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, let alone date and get married within a year of my introducing them.” Cecile owns an interior design shop, which Iris had visited when she was helping Barry decorate his new apartment— a memory which immediately brings a smile to Iris’s face, for she fondly recalls Barry frantically searching eBay for a bed and a couch, and the way she had persuaded him that that was a terrible idea and instead found her way to Cecile’s trendy furniture boutique, which was also quite affordable. Cecile was so friendly and sweet, and Iris remembered her father struggling to date again, as it had been nearly a decade and a half since her mother had passed away, and so when she had thrown Barry a housewarming party, Iris figured that there was no harm in inviting Cecile, who had become friends with both Barry and Iris after hours spent together at the boutique, and introducing her to her dad. That had been a year ago. Now, they are at Joe West and Cecile Horton’s wedding reception.

            “Well, we can debate semantics, but you definitely match-maked Wally and me. You can’t deny that,” Linda says, matter-of-factly, before eating another scoop of her sundae.

            “I wouldn’t call it match-making. More like I have a sense for people that I know well and then introduce them, thinking that they may potentially like each other.”

            “You set Wally and I up on a blind date six years ago, and now we’re married and have twins on the way. I would say there’s a diabolical matchmaking side to you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel accomplished every time you successfully match-make a couple.”

            “Linda, I’ve only successfully match-maked— to use your word, which I still find objectionable, by the way— two couples. One was my brother and you. And you’re my best friend. The other was my dad and Cecile. That’s hardly a track record of successful matchmaking.”

            “But it could be. Think about it. This could be a lucrative side hustle.”

            “As if I would have time for a match-making side hustle, even if that was something I was interested in doing. I finally got my news site up and running, and The Citizen needs all hands on deck and then some. Besides, a matchmaking business is an exploitative way to make money.”

            “Mmm, maybe,” Linda seems to ponder this, momentarily, before changing topics, abruptly, “Speaking of which, I’m your best friend now? Thought that was a privilege exclusively afforded to Barry,” Iris has heard this before and rolls her eyes, exasperated,

            “My friendship with Barry is different. You know that.”

            “Actually I don’t know that. But I would love to be enlightened about that.” Linda’s response is far too smug for Iris’s liking, but before she can retort, she hears a familiar voice behind her, a voice that unquestionably wraps Iris in a cocoon of warmth, so that she feels instantly home,

            “I heard my name.” And although she cannot see him yet, she knows he’s smiling. 

            “Was wondering where you were, Allen. It’s a rare sight that you and Iris would be separated at any point, when in the same vicinity.” Barry chuckles at Linda’s quip, settling into the chair on Iris’s right and brushing away a few plastic flowers that had come undone from the upholstery. Iris glances up at him, smiling widely, which he’s reciprocating in equal measure. He sets a plate, containing a chocolate fudge brownie topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream, in front of her. Iris’s eyes widen, as she glances from the plate to Barry; her face alight with unadulterated joy. 

            “My hero,” she gasps, squeezing his hand and then truly taking in the scrumptious display of gooey chocolate and ice cream goodness.

            “Always,” he whispers, gazing at her, affectionately, before continuing, “I was wrangling the last brownie from old Mrs. Rogers, who apparently wanted to share it between herself and her cat. Although I don’t know,” Barry pauses for a moment, glancing around the reception hall, “if her cat is even here. Doubtful. Regardless, it took a great deal of speed, stealth, and possibly defying Newton’s first law of physics, because I could have sworn that I willed the brownie in my direction without even touching it, to retrieve this dessert.”

            “Don’t lie, Bear,” Iris says, her eyes sparkling with laughter, as she eagerly grabs her dessert fork, “Mrs. Rogers would never argue with you, if you wanted that brownie. She loves you.” 

            “Yeah, it was just my regular, old charm. And by charm, I mean, because I tutor her grandson, Matt, in chemistry.” (Linda snorts at that.) “Still, I think defying Newton’s first law makes for a better story. But nobody was getting this brownie except for you, Iris. You know, we wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you. I mean, just look at this place. It looks fantastic,” he raves, gesturing towards the décor, “The work you put into this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

            “Thank you, Barry.” She’s touched, not just because Barry managed to negotiate the last brownie from poor, old Mrs. Rogers with his rather endearing, tripping-over-his-feet-type charm, but also because he is being, as usual, so disarmingly complimentary of her. Barry never expects her to be amazing; he just thinks she’s amazing always, even when she’s at her lowest or when she is mistaken, and when Iris reflects deeply on that, it overwhelms her. It forces her to dwell on feelings untold; on how, whenever she sees him, she can’t help but smile, almost as if by instinct. 

But she can’t think about it. She won’t think about it.

            “Before you got here, Barry. I was telling Iris how she should really get into a matchmaking side hustle,” Linda says, forcing Iris to focus on the conversation taking place and not on… well, a place where she refuses to go. A place which she cannot explore. 

            “Matchmaking?” Barry leans back, resting his arm on the back of Iris’s chair. “I don’t think that’s even remotely close to anything Iris-like.” Iris is acutely aware of how close his arm is to the bare skin of her upper back, but she ignores this. Or tries to.

            “Exactly. And so I was telling Linda how that’s an awful idea, and how I am pretty sure a matchmaking business, where I have zero actual knowledge about strangers’ interpersonal relationships, could be fraudulent. I can’t possibly claim to be an expert. I mean, no guarantees, right? Seems like a colossal waste of people’s money,” Iris remarks, still trying not to think about Barry’s arm on her chair, right near her back. And how (she thinks she had just imagined it but, no, it was real) he had seemingly shifted his arm, so his fingers are now grazing her skin; his touch is feather-light, equally comforting as it is emboldening. 

            “That could be the genius of it, though. Enough people want to pay money for a matchmaker, even if it’s probably not going to be any more successful than a dating app. Throw in some good, old Cosmopolitan level astrology knowledge for marketing purposes. And there you have it. A potentially incredibly lucrative endeavor. Maybe I should start it myself,” Linda says, while still enjoying her sundae.

            “Why waste money on a matchmaker? Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that,” Barry sounds wistful when he says this, and Iris turns to him, abruptly, studying his expression. He’s looking straight ahead, but his gaze is demonstrable of clear desire, and upon hearing such longing in his voice, her stomach drops. Because that’s the face of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone who’s found their someone. But who could her Barry have found? When did he find someone? 

Iris is contemplating this, her stomach churning with her every thought, when the conversation shifts to pregnancy, as Linda comments how she’s always hungry and moody thanks to,

            “…These two whom Wally impregnated me with.” To which Barry laughs, his fingers still softly grazing Iris’s back, while Iris forces herself to smile along and even joke that Linda had talked her ear off about how much she wanted babies and how maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so ahead of herself. But Iris’s mind is still on Barry potentially having found someone. She knows she should be happy, monumentally happy, because Barry is happy, so she cannot fathom why she feels like she’s about to vomit. Suddenly, she has no appetite for her brownie and ice cream, but she eats to evade suspicion, because Barry would surely know something is wrong if she fails to eat her dessert. But from the way he’s carefully watching her, maybe he does know something is wrong already, and Iris wishes, not for the first time, that they did not know each other’s every fidget and expression, signaling a mood shift, so well.

When the wedding reception is over and after Iris has said goodbye to every guest and promised her father and Cecile that she would be at their house the next day for their family dinner, she manages to take three ivory balloons with her to her car, without a single guest noticing. The decorator who had stayed to help her wrap up tells her that she can take any number of balloons that she would like. Or, perhaps more practically, however many would fit in her car. 

*

More accurately, perhaps, Iris thinks she had not been noticed by anyone, when she’d successfully managed to fit all three balloons in her car two nights ago. She’s standing on line at CC Jitters, the local hub for Central City citizens to get their morning coffee and pastry fix, and holding a basket, which contains baked goods, a carefully wrapped red scarf, and a small, navy blue bag. Tied onto the handle of the basket are the three balloons, still inflated. 

            “For the boyfriend?” 

Iris turns to meet the friendly disposition of a blonde woman she’s never met before. Startled for a moment, Iris realizes, that the stranger is referring to her basket, and she smiles, shaking her head,

            “No, for a friend.” Although, given her thoughts lately, friend seems far too simple a word. She feels like she’s perjuring herself by saying friend, but best friend who I’ve known since childhood and with whom I think I might have feelings for, but who is possibly in love with someone else seems far too complicated, especially when Iris is not ready to admit this to herself, let alone to a stranger whom she meets for the first time on the queue for coffee. 

            “Well, they’re lucky. You clearly put so much work into that. No friend has ever given me a gift like that. Actually nobody’s given me a gift that thoughtful before,” the stranger continues, before visibly cringing, “I’m sorry, I’m oversharing. I’m Patty, by the way.” 

            “I’m…”

            “Iris!” There it is again, that feeling of home settling upon her shoulders, like a velvet cloak, shielding her, protecting her. Barry is walking towards her, holding two mugs of coffee, and when he stops before her, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly, a typical form of greeting between the both of them. But if he could hear the way her heart hammers against her chest whenever she feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin, then surely the ruse would be up. He would know how she feels, and so Iris is grateful, not for the first time, that her heartbeat is inaudible to anyone but her. 

            “Hey Bear, that for me?” she asks, nodding at one of the two mugs.

            “Yep. One Americano with an extra shot. Got here earlier and figured we could beat the line,” Barry grins, and he’s looking at her as if she’s the sun, and it’s almost too intense, perhaps because of all of those pesky feelings that she’s been feeling lately, so Iris breaks their gaze, remembering herself as well and turning back towards Patty.

            “Patty, this is my friend, Barry. Barry… Patty. We just met on the line.” Barry nods politely, as Patty says,

            “Nice to meet you.”

            “Likewise,” Barry responds. “New around here?”

            “Is it that obvious? I’m just about to start at CCU as a grad student. And so I’m trying to get used to the city. I’m originally from Midway.”

            “Yeah, understandable,” Iris smiles. “Takes awhile to get used to a new place, but CC Jitters is the best, so you’ll never be wanting for good coffee, that’s for sure.” Patty laughs, then,

            “Well, I’m glad for that. Anyways, I won’t keep you two. Thank you, Iris, for just chatting with me.”

            “Of course.” The three exchange polite goodbyes, and Barry and Iris make a beeline for their favorite booth in the farthest corner from the entrance to the coffee shop; a rather secluded, cozy spot that Iris had first started occupying, when she was a journalism student at Central City University. Barry had been a chemistry major, and they met up every morning for breakfast and would come to study nearly every weekend, armed with cookies, coffee, and blankets. Iris remembers long afternoons spent in this booth, her feet propped up on Barry’s lap, his hands massaging her calves, as they studied in companionable silence. 

            It was in this booth that Iris had written article after article for The Central Brief, CCU’s university-wide newspaper, including her famed paper on the state of land rights of women, globally, that had won her the Scholastic Student of Journalism Prize and had given her the chance to speak in The Hague at an international conference on human rights. As Iris agonized over her field research, including research accumulated from summers of backpacking, Barry, while studying for his Protein Crystallography final, had been effusive in his support for her. He was constantly breaking from his studies to be her sounding board, should she need one, despite her reminding him time and again that he ought to concentrate on his own finals and not on her. He never listened, though, not that it in any way affected his marks. And so sure was he that her work would be honored that he’d planned a party, months in advance, before she had heard back from the National Committee for Excellence in Student Journalism and before she had been invited to The Hague. 

            Indeed, it was Barry who had remarked then that Iris ought to consider starting her own news media site after university, stating that she already had the credentials to draw in a large audience and investors. 

            “How are you feeling? About the exposé, I mean. Today’s the big day and all,” Barry says, as they settle into the booth, referring to what Iris considers to potentially be the most groundbreaking piece of journalism of her career thus far, namely an article exposing the rot of the biotechnology company, McCulloch Technologies. Its CEO, Joseph Carver, has been using the corporation as a front for a highly dangerous and illegal weapons trafficking scheme. The exposé, which is due to be published later today, will be a highly contentious article, no doubt, but Iris had long since decided that she will not rest until she sees justice through and the thousands of innocent people, caught in the crosshairs of Carver’s inhumane crimes, are safe.

            “Okay. I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Iris replies, and Barry takes her hand for a moment,

            “Hey, I get it. It’s hard not to be anxious, especially given the magnitude of the article and the far-reaching consequences it’s going to have. But I am so proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself as well,” he says, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly, before releasing her hand. Iris smiles softly, deeply touched by Barry’s faith in her,

            “Thanks, Bear.”

“Of course,” he says, before gesturing towards the gift basket, “So, are you going to tell me who the basket is for?” Iris adopts a playful expression, then.

            “Hmmm, it’s for this friend of mine who just submitted his dissertation for his DSc.”

            “How did you know I submitted today? I told you my deadline was next week, which it is,” Barry states, apparently incredulous that Iris could have known that he had submitted his paper this morning. 

            “I have my ways. And by that I mean you drooling on my couch last week and mumbling, half-asleep, that you are definitely submitting your dissertation on Tuesday. Well, today’s Tuesday, Bear,” Iris teases, chuckling at the memory of Barry entering her apartment last week in need of caffeine, which culminated with him staying the night, when he fell asleep on her sofa. 

            “I really can’t keep anything from you,” Barry sighs in mock frustration. “Although I really wouldn’t want to, anyways.” 

            “Good. And think about it, now you have this nice surprise.” Barry takes the basket from Iris’s hands, admiring her handiwork, before giving her a sly smile,

            “Well, I guess I know why you took those balloons from the reception on Saturday.”

Okay, so apparently she had not gone completely unnoticed. One guest had noticed her attempt to fit three inflated balloons into her car. Unsurprising, she now reflected, given who that guest happened to be.

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Iris. I may not be able to keep anything from you, but you definitely cannot keep anything from me either.” Are you sure about, Iris thinks momentarily, before banishing the thought immediately. For she will not dwell on those feelings again, not when she stands to lose too much if they start consuming her. When Iris looks up again, Barry is looking through the basket, marveling at the baked cake lollipops and banana bread and brownies (Iris can only bake sweets, and she would never subject Barry to her cooking, although he claims it’s not as bad as she seems to think it is), before he takes the red scarf from the basket. “Iris…” he whispers, her name like a prayer on his lips, and there goes her heartbeat again, pounding against her chest. “You knitted this.” And she knows that he already knows that she did, but it’s the way he’s looking at her now, like there are not any words currently discovered to express to her how much this means to him. She gives him a comforting smile, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity of the emotions that are radiating off of Barry. 

“Open the rest,” she encourages, and he’s now holding the small, navy blue bag, and removing a velvet box from it. Encased in the box is a watch, which she’d been saving up for, because all of his watches are for some reason broken, and she can hear his gasp, nearly inaudible, and then he’s looking at her, solemnly, gravely.

“Iris… I don’t know what to say. I don’t… thank you,” he says, his tone soft and tender.

“Of course, Bear. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think this simple gift basket really can quantify how proud I am of you.”

“It’s not… it’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he says, and there it is again. How definitive it is to him that she’s amazing. And perhaps she forgives herself a little for her feelings then, for how can she not feel as she does when he says things like this to her every single day. He’s already wrapping the scarf on his neck and remarking how comfortable and warm it is. “I couldn’t get better knitted scarves at the store. I’m pretty sure you’re a superhero. You can literally do anything.” She listens to him wax on about her many, unbelievable talents, which she’s sure only he seems to think she possesses, before shaking her head, affectionately,

“The scarf looks good on you. Red is your color.”

“Always has been,” he jokes, although the emotion is still evident in his voice. “Come here,” he says then, reaching his arm towards her. She leaves her side of the booth to come over to his, and the moment she’s at his side, he wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. She has one arm around his back, the other clutching his sweater, and her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and Iris is sure that now he must be able to feel how rapidly her heart is beating. She’s cloaked in warmth and in comfort, and all she can think of is home. And all she can feel is love. The kind of tumbling, head over heels into a field of daisies type of love that Iris’s college friend, Cynthia Reynolds (now a hotshot litigator who works in BigLaw and who also is the Citizen’s unofficial legal counsel), claims is simply mushy, fairy-tale nonsense that couldn’t possibly exist outside of movies. Iris had laughed then, telling Cynthia that maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynthia had been unmoved, steadfast instead in her sentiment that people can fall in love, but that kind of ‘I want to go gallivanting in a forest somewhere and run towards you in a field, as if this is some damn terrible romantic drama’ love does not and cannot actually exist in real life. 

Well, Iris is feeling that mushy, fairy-tale type of love now (a fact which shocks her, despite the fact that she’s very aware of her growing pesky feelings), while wrapped up in Barry’s arms, so clearly, Cynthia had gotten it wrong. Oh fuck.

*

There are approximately fifteen different photos, capturing different angles of the McCulloch Technologies building, sitting on Iris’s desk when she walks into The Citizen that morning, after saying goodbye to Barry at Jitters, and all Iris can think about is the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. And as if her life could not be more complicated in that very moment, Barry is potentially in love with someone else.  

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She cannot think about her feelings nor Barry being in love with some mystery human being right now, though, for she’s on the verge of publishing the explosive piece on Joseph Carver, who has been using his internationally successful technology company to peddle a highly intricate and complex hub-and-spoke conspiracy involving arms trafficking. He had managed to slither under the radar of inquiring agencies by acquiring different sorts of obscure technology, including ballistic software and parts that are often used to construct robots for laser guidance, under the guise of developing cutting-edge bio-technology. When Iris’s source had informed her that Carver’s labs were combining methane and ammonia, she knew that there was an underbelly of weapons-related criminality within the globally recognizable technology company, and armed with her pen, pepper spray, and sheer gumption, she and her photojournalist, Kamilla Hwang, had obtained press passes to Carver’s unveiling of robotic limbs. While there, Iris had asked janitors, low-level software engineers, and other personnel about why Carver’s labs were having methane and ammonia react with oxygen and how this in any way ameliorates existing biomedical technology. Iris and Kamilla eventually obtained access to a private press tour of Carver’s labs, where they noticed how jittery the staff had been, and after Iris had slipped her card to some of the employees, she had found herself, three days later, with nearly fifteen whistleblowers willing to come forward about nefarious activities in the labs.

As it turned out, Carver’s labs had been trying to create and had indeed succeeded in creating a gun that releases hydrocyanic acid, which they are currently selling on the black market. This is the latest of extraordinarily dangerous weapons that Carver sells both domestically and internationally. Indeed, several politicians are in cahoots with Carver; Carver having made them rich men, in exchange for avoiding Congressional inquiries into McCulloch Tech. 

Now, Iris stands poised to publish the most explosive exposé of her career thus far, and the thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. 

She studies Kamilla’s photos of the McCulloch Tech building, now having to decide which one would accompany the headline that is due to go up right before noon. One photo stood apart among the rest: a shot of McCulloch Tech at night, illuminated by the lights of the city, but with only one floor of the building, the top floor, indicating any activity: the lights of the top floor were on, and the rest of the building was largely camouflaged by the night sky. That top floor contained the only working laboratory at headquarters and is where hydrocyanic acid is processed. This is the photo, Iris thinks, just as she hears a commotion at the door and sees her newest hire, Allegra Garcia, forcefully wrangle open the door, rather dramatically, before slamming it shut.

“Hey, boss,” Allegra says. “We have got to get that door fixed. I’m telling you; it’s trying to kill me every time I arrive.” Iris chuckles fondly at Allegra’s dramatics,

“You’re the only one who seems to be constantly battling the door, Allegra. There are four other people who work here who seem to have no trouble getting in and out of the office.”

“Well, I don’t know, but this door has had it out for me since I began working here. And so… oh! Are those the photos? How much time have we got until noon…?” Allegra pauses momentarily, as she taps her phone, which she was holding in one hand, “Forty minutes. Fantastic.” Iris smiles, watching Allegra race up to her desk, excitedly. Two of the reasons that she had hired Allegra was for her enthusiasm about reporting and for her passion for ethical journalistic integrity, both of which she demonstrated every day on the job.  

“This is the one I want to use to accompany the article,” Iris explains, while pushing the photograph towards Allegra, whose eyes widen when she sees the photo. 

“Yeah, this is incredible. I know Kamilla must have camped out awhile to get this shot,” she exclaims, before looking up at Iris, “We’re really gonna do this, boss. We’re gonna expose Carver and who knows? You might win a Pulitzer from this.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have to publish the exposé first, and our legal team has been sending me messages since this morning about how she is obligated to warn us about frivolous defamation suits that Carver might file in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is more important. Let Carver sue us; if he does, he’s going to lose anyways.” Although, to be completely accurate, the Citizen’s unofficial legal team, comprising of one Cynthia Reynolds, whose texts to Iris consisted of, “Carver is definitely going to sue you for defamation, so I’ve got to warn you of that, but screw that guy. Publish and destroy him once and for all,” were certainly more emboldening than averting. Iris is also quite certain that that is technically not sound legal advice, in the least.

The door opens again, and in walks Kamilla, joined by the two other reporters at The Central City Citizen, Kara Danvers and James Olsen. They’re all chatting animatedly about the exposé and the explosive ripple effects its publication might have. 

“He’s an absolute monster,” Kara tells James, no doubt referring to Carver. “I mean, hydrocyanic acid? The sheer inhumaneness of his crimes just to fill his coffers…” 

“Evil folks will do absolutely anything to satisfy their greed, including murdering people,” James observes, and Iris knows this is perhaps a fundamental truth of which every investigative journalist must be aware. Kamilla walks up to Iris’s desk and grins when she sees Iris scanning the chosen photo onto her computer,

“That’s the one, isn’t it? When I captured it, I knew I had gotten it. It took me, I think, nearly five hours of camping out, and it was 2:45 AM yesterday when I finally had managed to take that photo.” 

“It’s incredible, Kamilla,” Iris praises. “All your photos are great, but this one is fantastic. It captures exactly what we need to accompany the article.” When Iris had taken this on by herself, she had been wary about putting any of her reporters in danger, but Kamilla had insisted that she accompany Iris in order to take photographs. In hindsight, Iris is incredibly grateful to have had Kamilla by her side through it all, for her calm, steady demeanor was vital amidst the insanity of taking on Joseph Carver. Kara and James, who have caught up to the others, both make approving noises, congratulating Kamilla on her photography, as Iris continues to work to format the article. 

When she is satisfied with the formatting, she taps her phone, seeing that there is roughly twenty minutes remaining until the deadline, and while her reporters are chattering excitedly, the door opens once more, and Iris is greeted by the sight of Wally carrying two champagne bottles in one hand and precariously balancing a few glasses in his other hand. On his heels is Barry, who is carrying a large white box with the words ‘Zulma’s Pastries’ emblazoned on the top, and Iris is flooded with that fairy-tale, gallivanting in a field of daisies feeling again, to which she now finds she is already getting accustomed, which is a somewhat terrifying thought. 

While Iris has some idea as to why both of them are in her office, she is also aware that Dr. Wally West is supposed to be at work at Central City Hospital, and Barry is supposed to be meeting the Dean of Graduate Studies at CCU about a potential professorship. 

“What are you two doing here?” Iris asks, smiling nonetheless, for she is touched that they likely took time out of their busy days to celebrate the publication of the exposé. She had not mentioned the details of the publication to them, in an effort to protect her sources, but Linda had let it slip to Wally that Iris is publishing the article on Tuesday at the wedding on Saturday, and Barry… well, Barry knows everything about Iris, just the way she knows everything about him, so his appearance in her office twenty minutes before she is meant to publish the most important exposé of her professional career is even less surprising than Wally’s.

“I can’t believe you thought we weren’t going to come and crash this… pathetic party, quite frankly,” Wally says, frowning as he takes in the Citizen office, which while buzzing with the excitement of determined reporters, is not exactly set up for any sort of impending celebration. “You have nothing here to celebrate, Iris. No food, no drinks, nothing.” 

“We haven’t even published, and we have no idea of the repercussions of a piece like this, Wally. I think our sheer grit as reporters is celebratory enough.” 

“We knew you were going to say that,” Barry chuckles, placing the box on a desk adjacent to Iris’s, and then helping Wally with the champagne glasses. “But Linda and I wanted this to be a surprise. We managed to get Wally to help, which is good…”

“Linda’s not feeling well,” Wally cuts in. “She was having awful morning sickness, and I told her I didn’t want to go and that Barry could do the heavy-lifting, but she threatened me and sent me away with two of our best champagne bottles.” Iris begins to protest, but Wally continues on, “And honestly, Iris, before you say anything, I’d rather get an earful from you about leaving Linda at home for this— and by the way, she’s feeling much better, thanks to the fact that I’ve finally perfected the art of making a ginger and mint smoothie— than defy her orders.” 

“Glad to see your theatrics are still in top form,” Iris deadpans, before turning to Barry, pointedly, “Thank you, Barry. You and Linda really didn’t have to do all of this. I haven’t even published it yet.” 

“Excuse me, I helped!” Wally interjects, and Barry is laughing now as Iris reaches up to give him a quick hug, which he returns immediately. As they break apart, Barry’s hand lingers on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I wanted this to be a surprise and that’s why I didn’t mention earlier coming by later on. And I knew you could have used a distraction this morning from thinking about the exposé.”

“I did need a distraction,” Iris smiles, still keenly aware of his fingers slowly brushing against her arm, gently, tenderly. 

“I imagine you did. But to reiterate what I said earlier this morning, I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you.” He cups her face with one hand, gently caressing his thumb against her cheek, and he’s gazing at her with so much emotion in his eyes, and she knows that the same intensity that had radiated off of him when she’d gifted him the basket earlier this day is emanating from him now, and she cannot help but wonder if he feels what she feels, because in these moments, she’s sure he must be. 

Wally clears his throat loudly, while pouring out the champagne, and both Barry and Iris break away from each other quickly. When Iris looks up at Wally, he’s giving her that same look Linda had given her at the wedding reception on Saturday, when she had clarified that her friendship with Barry was different. Unwilling to entertain the idea that Wally and Linda have discussed her feelings for Barry, she turns to her reporters, who were already opening Barry’s box of sweets.

“Brownies!” Kara yelps, eyeing the chocolate chip, fudge brownies and quickly grabbing paper plates from the Citizen’s supply cupboard. 

“Thank you, Barry! We really needed this,” James agrees, while Kamilla and Allegra join their colleagues in helping themselves to the scrumptious sweets and expressing their gratitude. 

“We’re not going to get any work done today, but it’s fine. Thanks, Bear,” Iris laughs, as Barry hands her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together, before sipping their respective drinks.

“The Citizen can use a break. Especially you,” Barry says after a few moments, giving Iris a pointed look. “You’ve had countless sleepless nights over the research for this, and now it’s ready for the public to read. You deserve a whole week long break, at least.”

“The news doesn’t stop for me to catch up on sleep, unfortunately. I have three upcoming potential stories, including the ways in which exam software companies have violated the privacy of examinees.”

“Sounds like you’re about to become the hero of every university student everywhere. I can’t believe the vagueness of some of those disclaimers that exam software companies put out, as if students have any choice but to use them, when they have examinations online.”

“Yeah, exactly. And if nobody holds their feet to the fire, they think that they can get away with anything. That’s why I’ve got to do it.”

“Iris West saves the world yet again. That should be a headline. Maybe I should pitch it to Central City Picture News. Think Scott Evans would run a headline on his biggest rival?”

“Scott would definitely do it, if it brings CCPN good business. Besides, our rivalry is more friendly than anything else. That said, ‘Iris West Saves the World Yet Again’ sounds more like I’m saving the world with superpowers, not the power of a pen and a public audience. I think you might be overselling me just a little bit.”

“Absolutely not,” Barry says, affronted. “Iris West is my hero, and she always has been, so I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a total superhero.” 

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a superhero, Iris. You’re definitely not going to win this argument.”

“Fine, I’ll level with you. Because you know what they say, right? Every superhero has her own hero? Well, if I am a superhero, then I have a confession to make: my hero happens to be this guy I know… superheroes need strength to be invincible, right? So yeah, this guy is my constant strength. Maybe you know him? Name’s Barry Allen?” Barry blushes furiously at that, ducking his head bashfully, and Iris thinks, Success! She knows she’s rendered him flustered, and he’s so adorably handsome, as he fidgets with his hands, as if searching for something to hold. But even despite his flustered state, he remembers the ongoing debate, and he manages a,

“Alright, alright. You win, Iris.” Iris smiles at him, radiantly and triumphantly, just as Wally makes his way over to them, holding a champagne glass of his own, and he’s got a rather sheepish look on his face, which immediately makes Iris suspicious.

“I know that face, Wall. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. Not every expression of mine means something,” Wally says, immediately defensive. “Although, I do have to ask you a small favor. But really, it’s not a favor, because it’s actually going to be great for you. So it’s technically a favor, but a favor that you’ll enjoy.” 

“Of course you think so. What is it?” Iris asks, tiredly, knowing immediately that she probably was not going to enjoy this favor as much as Wally seems to think. 

“Okay, so you know Cecile’s godson, Eddie Thawne? He couldn’t come to the wedding, because he was away on an emergency business trip?”

“Yeah, I know Eddie,” Iris responds, confused as to what he had to do with whatever Wally was asking of her. Eddie Thawne was the son of Cecile’s best friend, a wealthy hotelier, and he’d been friendly enough in the few interactions that Iris had had with him, but she could not claim to know him all that well.

“Right, so he’s hosting this gala in Metropolis for dad and Cecile this Saturday. It’s very last minute, found out last night, actually… and well, I’d told dad I was going to go, because you know, one of us should go, right? Technically, both of us should, but dad didn’t want to trouble you, because you’ve been so busy with work, and it’s not a big deal. In fact, I think dad didn’t want you to know, because he thought you might get the wrong idea and think that this gala was going to upstage all the work you put in for the actual wedding and reception, which I kept insisting to him you wouldn’t think at all. And I don’t want to leave Linda, even for the weekend. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, and I know she’s not due for another two months, but I’m not comfortable going.”

“So, you want me to go,” Iris says, knowing exactly what her brother was asking of her. On the one hand, traveling to Metropolis for the weekend for a gala made Iris nervous, because she did not want to leave Central City for at least a week after the McCulloch Tech article was published, but on the other hand, Wally could not be expected to attend, and it would be wrong if both of them missed a gala that was being held for their dad and Cecile. 

Wally is apparently under the impression that Iris might need some more coaxing, so he puts his champagne glass down and reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing four plane tickets.

“Here, the flight tickets are on me. Eddie is putting people up in rooms at his family’s hotel, and he apparently booked four rooms between the two of us, so we could each bring some guests. With Linda and I not going, you’ll have at least three rooms to fill.”

“It’s fine, Wally. I’ll go. You’re right; we should go for dad and Cecile, and you honestly cannot and should not go. I just have to find people who can take a trip with me, last minute…” Iris knows whom she would want to invite, and so she turns to Barry, immediately. “Look, Bear, I know it’s short notice, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Barry agrees quickly, before she can even finish posing the question, and Iris notices that he has a slightly agitated expression, which worries her. His hand clenches the edge of her desk, rather forcefully, and so she places her own hand over his, reassuringly, and this seems to relax him, at least momentarily, as she can feel some of the tension in his muscles evaporate slowly. He smiles, then, perhaps trying to mask his sudden agitation, “My weekend’s free, and we were just talking about how you could use a break, Iris. This’ll be good, as it’s a vacation of sorts.” 

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll also ask Cynthia; she could always use a break, and Bear, why don’t you invite someone?”

“I’ll ask Cisco.” Iris glances up at Barry, and they both share a knowing look: they had been trying to get Cynthia and Barry’s old college roommate and engineering genius extraordinaire, Cisco Ramon, to meet for ages (So much for swearing off match-making, Iris thinks then), but they had not had the chance to introduce the two of them yet. This trip might just provide the long-awaited golden opportunity.

“Perfect,” Wally says, considerably relieved, but before Iris can respond, she finds herself surrounded by her fellow reporters who are telling her that it’s just before noon. She nods, waiting until everyone is gathered around her, and Barry’s arm comes around her shoulders, providing her with both comfort and strength. And while a sudden, rather dignified silence, perhaps to mark the solemnity of this publication, descends upon the Citizen, Iris can feel the soundless excitement of Kamilla and of Allegra and of Kara and of James, as she publishes the exposé on the Citizen’s website. 

*

Thus, late that Friday afternoon, Iris finds herself boarding a plane with Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco, in tow, and she’s only half paying attention to Cisco’s exuberance in describing his latest inventive feat at S.T.A.R. Labs, the product technology company he works for, because Barry is acting… odd. He has been acting odd since he had accepted her invitation to come along to Metropolis, and she cannot fathom what it is about this trip that has him so on edge. He is fidgeting so much, and every time he notices that she notices, he gives her a forced smile, as if to divert her suspicions away from his agitation, but that only serves to increase her worries. Whatever is bothering him so much is something that he apparently is unwilling to share with her. 

“…It’s insane. I mean, if we get this right, we will be revolutionizing tablet computers and robotic interpreters,” Cisco is saying, and Iris is sure that if Cisco is put to the task, he and his team certainly would get it done, for she had witnessed his genius first hand before, when, during a birthday party for his best friend, Caitlin Snow, a few years back, the power had blown and there had been no backup generator, and Cisco had managed to create a temporary power source seemingly out of thin air. Iris is sure that there were numerous devices at Cisco’s disposal, and he’d had the aid of Caitlin’s then boyfriend now husband, Ronnie, also an engineer, but it was the sheer ingenuity of Cisco’s engineering ability and the sheer determination to get this done and to ensure Caitlin had the party that she deserved that was so impressive. 

“If anyone can get it done, though, it’s Cisco Ramon,” Iris voices her thoughts, and Cisco smiles proudly,

“Thanks, Iris. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work, but I definitely think we’re headed in the right direction. Hopefully.”

“Hmmm, it all sounds impressive, but what are the patenting ramifications that come with such a unique project. Surely, you’re worried about somebody trying to build upon your product once it’s out in the market. How stringent is your patent going to be?” Cynthia, ever the cynic, adds, eyeing Cisco.

“I don’t want to hog all the spotlight, honestly. We want other people and companies to be able to build on our findings and develop even better tech. There’ll be a patent, but it’s not going to be exclusive.” 

“You’re way too nice.”

“I’m just here to improve tech. Being nice isn’t a crime, I hope,” Cisco laughs, and Cynthia shakes her head fondly, clearly believing Cisco to be naive, but apparently endeared to his naiveté nonetheless. Cisco and Cynthia, still playfully arguing about the stringency of a future patent, take their seats in the middle row, and Iris and Barry, the latter who is still distracted, sit by the window across the aisle. 

“Bear, what’s going on?” Iris sighs, finally, turning to him, once they’ve taken their seats. Barry looks up at her, startled and guilty, and immediately starts deflecting,

“Nothing. I’m fine, Iris, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it. Just… I don’t know, I’m fine.” Iris can tell that he’s not going to be forthcoming with her, no matter how persistent she is, but she is not ready to drop the issue entirely.

“I’m not going to press you, but you know that if something is bothering you, I’m always here, if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Of course I do,” Barry says, his voice tender. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world for it. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of it the last couple of days, I just… I don’t want you to worry about me. That’s the last thing I want.” Iris can tell he’s struggling between telling her and being evasive, so she takes his hand in her own, their fingers interlocking almost instinctively. She squeezes his hand, as his thumb brushes against her knuckles. 

“I’m going to worry, because it’s you, and so I can’t not worry, but I don’t want you to tell me anything when you’re not ready to.” Barry’s free hand comes to cup her chin, as he brings her closer to him, and she basks in the warmth of his hand against her skin. When his lips meet her forehead, she closes her eyes and relishes in his lingering kiss, and she knows… she knows that she’s unequivocally in love with him, and she’s sure that she has been for quite some time, and all she wants to do is lift her face and coax his lips to hers, but she can’t. She knows that she can’t. She can’t ruin their equilibrium, because if she were to admit her feelings and lose Barry’s friendship completely… that is a possibility that she cannot risk. 

“I know how deeply you care. And I love you for it,” he whispers against her forehead. And I love you for it. 

He’s told her he loves her so many times over the two decades that they’ve known one another, and she knows that he means it platonically, as he always has, but that doesn’t stop her from imagining that he loves her in the same way that she loves him. 

And when Barry falls asleep, after the plane takes off, and drops his head, so it rests comfortably on her shoulder, his face turned into the crook of her neck, so that she can feel his steady breaths fanning against her skin, Iris leans her head against his, and she thinks that this is what true tranquility feels like. 

And I love you for it.

[nadineeb]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS -  MOVIE REVIEW

Hi dears! It’s me again. After my tech review, I’m navigated to this 2016 movie -  Crazy Rich Asians which came from the first book of its trilogy novel. This is always at the top of my list and my favourite movie. Hope you’ll enjoy this movie review as it feels like you’re watching it when you’re really just reading. All credits goes to the owner of the photos and GIFs. Thank you so much!! Enjoy it as much as I do. 

- XOXO, Nads <3

New York City - Rachel Chu, a young, lovely, part-timer economic professor who dates for over a year now, a hunk, eye-turner, history professor, Nick Young, at New York University. Rachel already introduced Nick at their family dinners but since Nick's family are from Singapore, he hasn't presented Rachel formally to them.

Nick's closest female cousin, a double - heiress in her family, an icon in the fashion industry, had already chatted with Rachel. She's the only one that has known her cousin's girlfriend. Astrid was always busy with the Paris' fashion week, shopping spree every week, buying ancient jewelries that costs a fortune and building her own family with her only son and her husband who's also busy gaining investors in his technology business. 

(Astrid down below)

Being that it's Araminta and Colin's wedding, Colin, who happens to be Nick's bestfriend and cousin since their diaper days. Colin wants him to come home for he is his bestman in his wedding. He wants to take this chance for Rachel to meet his gigantic family and have her experience his childhood in the country where he grew up. It's also a great opportunity for her to visit her college bestfriend, Peik Lin , who always asks her to come to Singapore where she lives.

Excitedly, Rachel asks his mom for help with what dress will she be wearing when she meets his boyfriend's Ah-ma (grandmother in Chinese) during the family dinner to welcome the guests of the wedding. She forcibly agrees when her mom tries to get her wear the red dress. Her mom says that red is a color of good luck in Chinese traditions and also a little bit more of a plus point from Nick's Ah-ma though she also got a pure Chinese blood but grew up in America which promotes an entirely different culture.

Amazed by their First Class seats and soft silk pair of pj's given by the airlines, Rachel couldn't contain her happiness while sipping on their glass of champagnes on their flight to Singapore. Astonished as she seemed, she nags Nick on why he can afford the First Class tickets to a country miles away from them while Nick uses her Netflix password. He admits that they are living "comfortably" which what exactly a member of a crazy rich family says.

As soon as they land in Singapore, Araminta and Colin, the soon-to-be wedded couple was there at the airport with balloons in their hands and joy in their auras. After introducing them to Rachel, they plan to eat Newton Food Centre, a place where they serve delicious street foods especially laksa curry and satay bowls from street food vendors which gained Michelin stars.

Right before the Nick's family welcome dinner, Rachel visits Peik Lin in her house which everything is brilliantly gold-plated and was inspired by the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. While catching up over their food for lunch, Peik Lin's mom interrogates her about her coming to Singapore. When she said that it's for the wedding of his boyfriend's bestfriend Colin, Peik Lin's family were shocked, they said that it is the wedding of the year and even them having that rich, they aren't invited to the wedding. It seems like Rachel didn't do a research at his boyfriend's family!

Peik Lin also warned Rachel that the Youngs are kind of snobbish that would belittle a commoner. She would not let Rachel wear that little red dress to the dinner so she gathered all of her fancy clothes and choose the best for Rachel to wear.

The Youngs - migrated in the 1800's to the small island of Singapore from their main land, China  with a vast amount of fortune. They started real-estates business until this family became most probably the landlords of Singapore.

Nick escorted Rachel and Peik Lin to his Ah-ma's house which is the largest, most beautiful house that Rachel didn't expect to see. A house that Nick and Astrid grew up in. A house that has lots of wings that you'll probably get lost once you enter the wrong one.

Finally, Nick introduces Rachel to all of his cousins. Nick's mom, Eleanor, is busy in the kitchen scrutinizing every detail of the food to serve to their guests. When the couple went down to the kitchen, Rachel thrillingly hugs Eleanor which made Eleanor uncomfortable around Rachel. That is why Rachel immediately concluded that Eleanor doesn't want her for his son.

In the middle of the garden, sits a fragrant Tan Hua flower which usually blooms fully once a year, a great opportunity for the guests to see this once in a year. While waiting for it to fully bloom, Nick introduced Rachel to his Ah-ma, surprisingly, she likes Rachel the moment they talked in Chinese. She said that Rachel should come back to the mansion when there are no more craining necks so that she can teach Rachel how to make their family's traditional dumpling recipe which was passed to generations.

The Bachelor and Bachelorette's  Party where Nick and Rachel's love was tested. The Bachelor's party is located literally in the middle of the ocean, filled the cargo-like ship with sexy girls and men that is enjoying the scenery. As they are talking about anything under the sun and with the influence of alcohol, some men questions Nick on Rachel's details. Though the men want to know more about Rachel, Nick went hot-headed as the men start to sexualize his girlfriend. He decides to leave the ship that day with Colin, the bachelor, to an island with a small wooden floating house and a raft.

On the other hand, Rachel met Nick's ex-girlfriend, Amanda, in Araminta's Bachelorette party at a private island. She did not know that Amanda wants to be friends with her so that she and her mean friends can pull off their plans and that Rachel would want to leave. Their plans succeeded, while crying Rachel went to her villa to get her things and leave, she bumped into Astrid. They two found that Rachel's bed was covered in tuna's blood with a tuna head at her headboard.

That incident led to them to the seashore talking about why Amanda is like that. Astrid also opened up to Rachel how she found out that her husband is not really busy going to business trips but rather he is busy having an affair with a woman she doesn't know. It seems like the two found comfort in each other.

Dumpling day comes and also another day to test their relationship. While making dumplings, Rachel found out that Ah-ma doesn't want Eleanor for Nick's father way back then and she doesn't have the heirloom engangement ring of the Youngs since Ah-ma didn't approve of her. Ah-ma arrived at the dining table exactly after Rachel knew the backstory of Eleanor and Nick's father. Ah-ma was pleased after seeing Rachel again. She adoringly expressed her interest in Rachel's face features which made Eleanor jealous of Rachel.

On her way to the toilet, Rachel's lost in the mansion and was shocked that Eleanor found her. Eleanor talked to Rachel and frankly told her that she will never be enough for her son.

(Rachel and Eleanor Scene)

The wedding of the year came, famous business elites and the royalties attended. Rachel wore a pretty blue elegant dress paid respects to Eleanor and Nick's aunties though Eleanor doesn't want her to sit with her.

Princess Inta, who demanded a whole row of the front seats to herself so she would not be bothered by anyone, approached by Rachel who doesn't have seats, she talked about the princess' book about economics and that they have the same stand. They immediately been comfortable with each other. Escorted by Astrid, Ah-ma came and everyone was shocked at her presence. They said that Ah-ma never came to such events.

Not long after Ah-ma arrived, the grand wedding started which left everyone in awe on how beautiful the oriental, Gothic-themed was.

After the ceremony, the program continued at the Gardens by the Bay, a reception for the wedding. It was filled with laughters, everyone is having a great time dancing and enjoying the beat. In contrast with this, stands Rachel and Nick called by Ah-ma and Eleanor for the truth behind Rachel's identity. They said that they cannot let Rachel join their family for the fact that she lied to them about his father after they hired a peivate investigator. Little did they know that Rachel only found out then that her mom's husband, which all throughout her life she believed wa sher father, isnt really her biological father. Rachel walked out for she is deeply hurt by their actions. Ah-ma later then gave Nick an ultimatum. Once he leave, he can't come back. Who will he choose? His family or Rachel?

After a few days of crying, Rachel's mom found her in Peik-Lin's house and not eating. Her mom admitted that she left her husband because she was impregnated by Rachel's father and that her husband was not kind after all. She flew all the way to America to start a new life with her baby, Rachel.

Before leaving Singapore, Rachel wanted to talk to two people; Nick and Eleanor. She ended her relationship with Nick and declined Nick's offer to marry her and start a new life in New York as he will cut his ties with his family.

Rachel meets Eleanor at a Mahjong Parlour where they had a mahjong game along with two deaf players. She told Eleanor everything that had happened before she met with her and that she knew that Nick loves his family so much that even though Nick decided to leave his family for her, she couldn't stand to see Nick away from them. He is the only son that would inherit their wealth. She decides to let him go.

Also broken-hearted with her cousin Nick, Astrid decides to leave his husband for she cannot be blinded by her husband's affair. She decides to take their son with her.

Rachel and her mom are boarding the aircraft when Nick chased her to fly to New York with her.   She don't want to listen to Nick at first but when she realized what Nick's doing, she decided to  clisten to him and is completely speechless when Nick get down on one knee. Her face brightened when she saw the small box with the emerald stone ring embedded in diamonds that Eleanor wore on their engagement with Nick's father is vividly shining right infront of her eyes. She said Yes!

Them three left the aircraft to celebrate their engagement with their friends at the top of Singapore's most popular hotel - Marina Bay Sands. Ended as Eleanor genuinely smiles at Rachel as Rachel shows her engagement ring.

This movie taught me that you can’t choose who you’ll love. If you're looking for someone with the same wealth level as yours or even the same race as yours, you may never find your true love. Given the circumstances of Rachel and Nick, they don’t want their wealth status to be a hindrance in their relationship.

Though family always comes first, if it's a matter of going through what your family wants for you or going through what you want for your future family, always choose the latter. I only get one chance to live and I don’t want any regrets, so for as long as possible, if my decisions don't violate a person's right, i’ll do everything and whatever it takes.

This part below, where Rachel met Eleanor at the Mahjong Place where they talked about why Eleanor didn’t want Rachel for Nick the second she arrived in Singapore. Eleanor said that there is a Hokkien phrase “Ka ki lang” which means “Our own kind of people.” This is why the Chinese people tend to want to marry the same ethnicity as them because they want to preserve their traditions and would want to keep it going for as long as possible, which Rachel is not. Not because she is not wealthy, but because she is a foreigner, an American, although the Chinese blood runs through her, she grew up in America and Eleanor doesn’t want that.

One of the Chinese’s cultures is that they are taught to build things that last and not to feed in what they want, but in what they need. I understand Eleanor in this part because as an Asian, we are taught by these things - to prioritize our needs and build connections that will benefit us in the future. But for me, we should give respect to other cultures and not close our circle entirely. We all have different perspectives regardless of our race, that is why we should not judge one’s personality based on their race.

Rachel said that Nick proposed to him the day before and she turned him down, though Nick stated that he will stay away from his family for good. She said that if Nick would choose Rachel, he would lose his family, and if Nick would choose his family, he might spend the rest of his life resenting Eleanor.

Eleanor shows her Mahjong tiles which she thought she won, but Rachel looks at her, sighs, and says,

“ I’m not leaving because I’m scared, or because I think I’m not enough, because maybe for the first time in my life, I know I am. I just love Nick so much. I don’t want him to lose his mom again, so I just wanted you to know that one day, when he marries another lucky girl, who is enough for you, and you’re playing with your grandkids, while the Tan Hua’s are blooming, and the birds are chirping, that is was because of me. A poor, low-class immigrant nobody.”

Then she showed her Mahjong tiles and she won to Eleanor. She left the table and fetched her mother with a smile at the other table to leave the place. What a queen! Powerful. That is the best scene ever. The feels, the script, the emotions, they are just so perfect.

Astrid, my favorite character, not just she is stunningly beautiful but among all the cousins, she has the purest heart. She doesn’t want the people around her to feel that they are left out when they are with her. She wanted everything to be perfect when it comes to her family. Though her shopping spree every time she’s going to Paris fashion week is a bit overwhelming to commoners, she deserves all of it.

Astrid and I have similarities in our personalities. I’m also calm when there are problems that are coming my way. I can remain composed and I buy my time until I can find solutions to it. I remember the time when the man I loved cheated on me just like when Michael (Astrid’s husband) cheated on Astrid.

I can relate to her when she said that she’s wrong when she’s turning down jobs because Michael might feel lesser than her. I used to lower myself when I’m with him because I worry that he might feel that I’m the superior one between the two of us. But when he cheated, I realized that it shouldn’t be like that. It will be his fault for being insecure in me. Just like what Astrid said,

“It’s not my job to make you feel like a man. I can’t make you something you’re not.”

[soranihimawari]

Choosing You

Bokuto Koutaro is about to make a mistake by marrying someone who made him choose between a childhood friend and her. Luckily for him, he realizes who he wants to be with days before the ceremony.

Rating: pg-13 for themes taken from a rom-com viewpoint.

Word Count: tba

Anything to note?: this was a fun prompt I saw on a generator.

“I choose her.”

These three words were the ones that changed your life the night of a dress rehearsal for a wedding you were trying to avoid attending. You weren’t sure if the bride had even wanted you present since you and the groom were close since childhood. The argument about whether or not you should be there to witness this momentous occasion had been going on since the last couple of months leading up to the wedding. Envelopes were sent, catering packages were ordered, and even the reception hall had been booked.

The rehearsal dinner was to take place three days before the big day. You, at the request of the best man, had been added as a surprise plus one a few weeks prior. No one else in the bridal party knew you were going to attend and although the groom truly wanted you to be there, he realized you had pushed away any and all invitations dealing with the nuptials. Nonetheless, here you were in a modest three-quarter sleeved dress standing at the open bar, listening to speech after speech congratulating the picture-perfect couple.

What you didn’t know though was the behind the scenes bickering between the fiancés when it came to seeing you at the place. You swished your alcohol in the glass before taking a few more sips. The dinner was about to be served and you were sure you’d be able to get through it. After all, it’s been several years since you’ve seen your childhood friend from Tokyo be this happy. You reminisce about the day your phone rang with the name ‘Bokkun’ lighting up your screen; you listen to him rant and go on about this young lady he saw at the park where he jogs right before the MSBY morning practice. You were at home on your day off when you offered some advice although you find the resolve within yourself to tell him to pursue dating her. That morning was almost six years ago and it was the beginning of the distance you two would soon create.

Honestly, you didn’t think you’d get an invitation, but when you did, you knew you had lost. You don’t send the RSVP card back to the original senders. Thankfully,several nights ago, if the best man hadn’t called you, you were sure you’d have sent a congratulatory message to the groom in your own time. Also, huge brownie points to the same best man who added you his plus one the second he found out you threw away the invite.

“You did what?!” Akaashi practically yells into the receiver of his landline. He ran his hand exasperatedly through his hair.

“I had to throw it away. I couldn’t be reminded every day that Kou chose that demon for a bride,” you spat back. You and the bride were as opposite as night and day; you were always there in the past to cheer up the boisterous fellow and even on their worst fights, you made him go back to her and apologize. She confides in your dear friend she feels threatened by you because of the closeness you shared, so when Bokuto starts to avoid hanging out with you deliberately, you let it happen.

“Listen, the ceremony’s in a few months, I’ll talk to Bokuto-San and tell him I’m bringing a plus one: you. So you better be ready,” Akaashi says before hanging up without giving you time to reply.

Currently, you were just about to get another refill on your drink when you heard the groom gather the attention of the conjoined family and friends group. You knew the young man was either about to make a fool of himself or at the very least, make a heart-warming speech about how he couldn’t wait to spend literal eternity on earth with his fiancée. What you didn’t expect was a declaration of love aimed toward you.

The ringing chime of glassware calls everyone to draw their conversations to a close while one brave man decided to declare something a majority of the groomsmen knew about. The scowl on the bride’s face should have been a great hint, however you were on the third gin and tonic that night, so this was going to hit you differently.

“There is going to be no wedding. At least not between my new ex and I,” your friend begins. You nearly choke on your drink while there are audible gasps coming from the crowd. The groomsmen on his side seemed somewhat relieved their friend had finally seen the light. The bartender asked if you were ok, you agree. You place the glass back on the small bar table behind you, your ears listening to the various reasons why your friend is calling off the wedding. All of them were mainly shortcomings of the bride, but the main reason why was a startling one (at least to you when you thought your feelings were one-sided).

“…The main reason why is because she made me choose between her and my favorite first-first love,” he affectionately says. He seemed kind of embarrassed that it took him literal years for him to figure this one out on his own, but nonetheless, he seemed pretty fearless by this confession. Those golden amber eyes of his hyper fixated on you like you were the only being he ever needed.

“I choose her,” he concludes, raising an empty champagne flute toward the sky. “A thousand times over.”

Your cheeks are warm with a mixture of embarrassment and joy; you feel like you’re floating, but before you do, you head out of the side door of the banquet hall. This act of confession was by far the most extra thing you could think Bokuto could have done, so your feet guide you outside to the city streets where you walk aimlessly with a smile on your face. Your heels clack on the concrete until you hear hurried footsteps behind you. Your dress swishes as you command your feet to stop moving. Both of you stop moving, yet you are at arms’ length away before either of you speak.

“You’re insane,” your voice shakes with nerves. “H-how’re you going to explain that stunt you just pulled?”

Bokuto stands in front of you with the brightest reassuring smile he could muster, his cheeks a bit flushed from the short sprint he did to catch up to you.

“Easy,” he begins. “I don’t love her; I love you. ‘M sorry took me forever to figure that out.”

You fold your arms over your chest before you invade his personal space and you let him have a piece of your mind. You recall the many times you have proved you loved him and the several times you tried to push down your emotions including the one time Akaashi found out your once one sided love for his friend.

“You did all that and I was too absorbed in trying to continue to be the best version of myself that I left you alone,” Bokuto says, gently gripping your shoulders. “I promise I won’t do that ever again.”

“You better not, Kou,” you truthfully state. A sigh escapes your lips as you ask him what his plans are now since the wedding was called off.

“Well, first thing’s first,” he leans down to kiss your cheek. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

You giggle and agree right before you make sure his lips don’t miss yours; you cradle his face in your hands and his finds their way on your waist. Your eyes flutter close the moment your lips touch. In that kiss,there was sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. He pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. Bokuto calls you his patient lover and for the first time in a long time both of you bask in the presence of a warm Tokyo night.

[donteattheappleshook]

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows

***

A Captain Swan AU loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing for the @captainswanmoviemarathon​

Rated M

Read on Ao3 because tumblr eats my italics

Summary:

Emma and Killian hate each other. They have since the night they met. Or at least since the morning after. So Emma is dreading having to deal with them being Maid of Honour and Best Man at her brother's wedding. But, as their friends grow more and more annoyed at their constant bickering and a masquerade Stag and Doe turns everything on it's head, the entire bridal party come to a startling realisation: Emma and Killian might just be perfect for each other. With a little scheming and some well-timed chaos, maybe they can stop yelling at each other long enough to realise it too. 

An enormous, huge, giant thank you to @ultraluckycatnd​ for her fantastic beta work and for helping me with this fic right up to the last second despite all my procrastinating. You are lovely and the best <3

Part One

Her head. Oh, god, her head. Why did her head hurt so much? Emma groaned, a pathetic whimper coming out as she tried to roll over on the couch. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll of its own at the movement, protesting against the liquor that was still swirling around inside.

Right. Liquor. Drinking. Drinking last night. Drinking with David. David. She was going to have to kill David. David, who insisted she show up early to this weekend extravaganza disguised as a wedding. The one who claimed that since he’d lost his best man when Mary Margaret stole his little sister to be her maid of honour that he was entitled to a brother-sister pre-bachelor party. It’s only fair, he’d insisted, flashing her those big puppy dog eyes and Emma had caved. She always caved when it came to her brother - or his fiance for that matter. She was weak when it came to those two. And now she had to murder one of them. Murder her only brother two days before his wedding for forcing what must have been an entire bottle of expensive scotch down her throat while they played poker and smoked cigars (and later sang along to the entire Mama Mia soundtrack - not that she’d ever admit that). Pity. She really liked David.

“Emma, Emma, bo-bemma, Banana-fana fo-femma, Fee-fi-mo-memma. Emma!” The loud singing announced her brother practically bouncing into the room and throwing himself on the couch near her feet. Emma groaned again and threw a pillow over her ears to try and block out the off-key hollering from the asshole next to her. She was liking him less and less with every passing second.

David laughed and ripped the pillow out of her grasp. “Rise and shine sister-mine!” he chanted. She was actually going to murder him. She reached out, a pathetic attempt to strike him but her hand just fell limply at her side.

“They will never find your body,” she told him. He laughed again and Emma cursed David and his super liver. She’d been his sister since she was ten; since Ruth found her on the street, burning a book of fairy tales to keep warm, and had taken her home for the night. That night had turned into forever and now, after eighteen years of living with the man, she’d never once seen him suffer a hangover.

“How are you so chipper?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled sandpaper. David smiled, hauling her up by the shoulders until she was sitting like an almost-human.

He threw his arms out. “It’s a beautiful day?” he offered. “I’m one morning closer to marrying the woman of my dreams? Everyone who I love and who loves me is on their way to celebrate the happiest moment of my life?” Emma frowned at him. How dare he be so happy so early. David laughed at her misery again but patted her shoulder sympathetically before rising up and walking across the hall to the kitchen. Then, as if out of nowhere, a giant cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and two extra-strength Tylenol capsules appeared on the table in front of her. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep for a minute there.

Emma reached for the coffee like it was a lifeline - which it really was if she was being honest. She drank deeply and felt the effects almost immediately. She downed the pills and water next. She couldn’t quite manage a smile since this was still technically his fault, but she offered David a thankful look for taking care of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have to murder him. Just some light maiming.

“You might want to jump in the shower,” he told her as she shuffled into the kitchen, he himself already looking and smelling fresh as a daisy. “You look a little rough,” he said with a grimace. Emma scowled at him and threw a nearby banana at his head which he easily dodged. She caught a glimpse of her reflection though, in the metallic gleam of the toaster and, well, he wasn’t wrong. “Just thought you’d want to freshen up and wake up before everyone gets here,” he suggested.

That’s right. It was Thursday. Everyone was arriving today. Oh, God. Emma had not played this right. Getting hammered on the night before the festivities even began. Today everyone would be arriving and settling into their respective rooms in the estate (read: mansion) owned by Mary Margaret’s parents - seriously the place was enormous. Mary Margaret had told her once how many bedrooms it had but the number had been so ridiculous and so superfluous that Emma had struck it from her memory. Nobody with an only child needed a house with rooms in the double digits. And this wasn’t even their home. No, they considered this place their ‘summer cottage’ where they would entertain friends on the private lake. It was convenient for a wedding though, she had to say. The whole bridal party was staying there for the entire weekend.

Tonight was the Stag and Doe. Leave it to David and Mary Margaret to find a way to avoid having to be apart even for their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It wasn’t like they’d ever been apart since they were fourteen years old - why start now? It was themed. Of course it was themed. Mary Margaret loved themes and David loved Mary Margaret so he let her have whatever damn theme she wanted, and since her parents had put their foot down against their daughter getting married on Halloween, they were having a costume stag and doe . She groaned. There were so many people coming. She knew. She’d had to organize it.

Tomorrow was the spa day for Mary Margaret and her bridesmaids and she assumed the boys would be treating David to some sort of manly pre-wedding tradition. All the out of town family would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday. And then finally, the wedding was on Sunday. This weekend was a marathon, she mused, not a sprint.

Dozens of decorators, caterers, florists, and lots of other jobs Emma had never heard of were already running around the grounds - yes, the place had grounds - setting things up for what would certainly be the most lavish and extravagant (knowing Mary Margaret’s parents) yet classy and intimate (knowing Mary Margaret) wedding the world had ever seen. And all of them were under the direct orders of Regina Mills, David and Mary Margaret’s wedding planner and probably the most terrifying woman Emma had ever met.

Emma needed to boot and rally. She was the maid of honour and the groom’s sister. This weekend was not about her. Her job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. That the two most important people in her life had the most amazing few days of their lives and nothing and no-one was going to stand in her way.

Except maybe her speech, Emma thought as she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water felt good and helped wake her up a little. The speech. The speech that she’d had nearly a year to write and still only had a blank page to show for it. How was she supposed to write a speech about love when she didn’t believe in it herself?

Well, that wasn’t completely true. She believed that some love was possible. But only for certain people. People like David and Mary Margaret who had found ‘The One’ when they were in the eighth grade and had never looked back. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Love had only ever left Emma hurt and alone. Love had only ever left her behind. First her birth parents who abandoned her on the side of the road as an infant. Then the string of foster parents that had cast her aside when they decided she wasn’t what they wanted. Then Ruth who had died far too young and left her and David behind. Then Neal, her high school boyfriend who had been her first everything before he disappeared to another city without so much as a ‘see ya’ text. And now David and Mary Margaret were getting married and starting a family of their own - one she wouldn’t be as much of a part of, no matter how much her brother insisted things wouldn’t change.

No, love wasn’t in the cards for Emma. She told people she didn’t have time for it but really she just didn’t have the heart for it. A heart could only take so many blows before it learned to rebuild itself out of something stronger. The taunting lilt of ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ flitted through her head and she shook it away. She was fine like this. She was happy. She had a job she loved, a nice apartment, and good friends. She didn’t need love.

As she finished drying her hair and putting on enough makeup so that she didn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead, Emma heard the commotion of people arriving. She could pick out Mary Margaret, Belle, Elsa and Ruby’s voices easily and she rushed out to greet her friends. They squealed when they saw her and her head only protested a little as they wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs that passed for a group hug.

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “How was the pre-bachelor party?” she asked and Emma only grunted in response.

“You guys got here okay?” David asked, squeezing in to grab his bride-to-be and give her a kiss that would make you think she’d been away for months and not for a night.

“Save it for the honeymoon would you?” Ruby said in mock disgust and David looked at her with a wolfish smile.

“Don’t be jealous, Ruby! I’ve got one for you too!” David rushed to grab a protesting Ruby and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Emma smiled as she watched her friends laugh and joke and tease each other. She loved having them all here together. Soon the boys would get here too and for one, perfect weekend everything would be just the way it should be. All her friends in one place, celebrating together for the first time since her college graduation.

Well, almost perfect. All of them being here also meant he would be here. He and his snark and his ego and his womanizing ways. She supposed it was a small price to pay for the reunion. And she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the look on his face when she put him in his place.

“Oh! It’s Killian,” David said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a message. Speak of the devil , she thought. “He says they should be here in five,” David informed them, tucking his phone away.

“Great,” Emma said sarcastically and David shot her a begrudging look. She saw Ruby and Belle roll their eyes as Elsa and Mary Margaret started putting things away.

“Be nice,” David warned her.

“I’m always nice!” she insisted, offended. “ He’s the one who can’t seem to manage to be a decent human being for more than five minutes.”

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret insisted from the kitchen. “You’re just as guilty. I don’t know why you egg him on.” She shook her head and Emma balked.

“I do not! I just think that the man needs reminding every now and then that he’s not God’s gift to women.” It was David who rolled his eyes this time. “Seriously, David, how you can stand to have him be your best man -” she started.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to complain about that. You chose Mary Margaret over me when we both asked you, so I had to find someone else. Besides, Killian is my best friend.” She balked. David rolled his eyes. “My best male friend,” he corrected. “So, again, be nice .” He gave her a stern look.

“But he’s just so… so…”

“So what?” Ruby asked, looking like she was really enjoying this.

Elsa shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned. “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s like a free show watching those two go at each other.”

“We do not go at each other!” Emma insisted again. “I just find it hard to say nothing like all of you do when he goes around acting so… cocky.”

“Cocky?” Ruby prodded and Belle elbowed her.

“You know what I mean. Every time he comes here, it’s all, oh, I’ve done this and don’t worry, I know how to do that ... Look at me, I’m so handsome and -”

“Handsome?” Mary Margaret interjected with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut it!” she cast her friend a warning glare. “I mean he thinks he’s the hottest thing since the Hemsworths. And it doesn’t help that he always drags along some bimbo whose sole purpose in life seems to be to fluff his ego and his…” she made a vague hand gesture, “you know.”

“Woah, Emma, tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” Ruby laughed.

“He’s really not actually -” David started but she cut him off.

“Look, it’s nothing against the women okay - I’m sure on some level they’re really nice or whatever, or have some great heart or talent, but honestly, any woman who is willing to be Killian Jones’ date must have the IQ and backbone of a slug.”

“He’s not bringing a date,” David told her before she could go on.

Emma reeled back from the news. Killian Jones without a date? Impossible. The man couldn’t stand to be caught dead without something shiny on his arm.

“What? Has he finally slept with every woman in America and abroad?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing his brother. Something about him being on shore leave and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands.

“See?” Belle piped in softly, misunderstanding her distress. “I’ve always said you judged him too quickly-”

“ There’s two of them !?” she demanded, hoping someone would tell her it was a joke. There was a collective groan and a small laugh from her friends. “Is one Jones in this world not enough?” she asked the room.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a smooth, accented voice called from down the hall. “Hello? Is someone getting married here?”

“Robin!” Mary Margaret cheered, perking right up as though there was anywhere left for her to perk. “We’re in the kitchen!” she called.

“How the bloody hell do we find the kitchen?” came another accented voice, this one rougher around the edges. “This place is a maze.” Will! Emma rushed out with Mary Margaret to help their friends navigate the enormous house.

They found them looking confused in the front hall and Emma practically threw herself in Will’s arms as Mary Margaret greeted her guests.

Will had been in the same foster home as her when they were little. He was only a few years older, but he’d made a point to look out for her when most of the older kids had been inclined to pick on the smaller ones. She’d run away when he’d been transferred to another home for fighting and, after Ruth adopted her, she thought she’d never see him again. But with some help she’d managed to track him down in high school and was happy to find out he’d been placed with a distant relative the state had managed to locate in the area - a second cousin, Robin.

Robin was in college and on his own at the time, but took Will under his wing and had brought him up more like a little brother than a son. When David, Mary Margaret, and Emma had all ended up at the same college as Will and Robin, the friendship had been inevitable. Will introduced them to Ruby, and Mary Margaret became quick friends with Belle and Elsa when they all joined and felt like the odd ones out in the same sorority. However, Will had also unfortunately introduced them all to his classmate and drinking buddy, Killian Jones - something Emma would never forgive him for.

“Hey! You’re going to ruin my shirt!” he told her, pretending he wasn’t hugging her back.

“Your shirt’s already wrinkled,” she told him.

“It’s disheveled,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

“Come now, Swan, I know it can be difficult to find men at your age, but there’s no need to throw yourself at poor Will like that.”

And there it was. Ninety seconds. He’d lasted a whole ninety seconds before saying something rude and asshole-ish and just… ugh. She hated him.

She opened her mouth to retort but Robin beat her to it. He turned on Killian, finger extended in warning. “You! No. None of that. We talked about this.”

Killian snapped his mouth shut and held his hands up in innocence but she could see him biting back a smile. Ugh, he even looked smug when he was being chastised. She looked him over, arming herself for the battle that was soon to come, scanning for anything she could throw back in his face when she needed it, something to bring him back down to size.

He was handsome - she had to give him that. He was probably one of the best looking men she’d ever met and she remembered thinking so the first time they were introduced. But when he opened his mouth... god. The sheer level of douche that was contained in one man. It made her shudder at the thought and angry at her past self for judging a book by its cover. Why her friends put up with him, she’d never understand.

The others had joined them in the hall by now and pleasantries were being exchanged. But as she hugged Robin, and Killian exchanged how-have-you-beens with David and Belle, she could feel his eyes on her. That was another thing that drove her crazy about him. He always seemed to be paying too much attention to her - probably sizing her up the way she did him.

But sometimes… sometimes she’d caught him watching her with an expression that wasn’t mirthful or arrogant - a small smile curling the corner of his mouth as if against his will, his brow softened from it’s usual expressiveness. It made her unsteady, made her feel unbalanced because she didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of the fact that she kind of liked it. That scared the shit out of her.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Killian was suddenly saying and she realised she may have been the one staring this time. “Everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is… everyone,” he smiled. Emma raised her brow at them both. Another Jones. This could not end well. “It’s Liam’s first time in the States,” he informed them as Liam shook hands with everyone.

“Well,” Liam interjected, “first time off a ship anyway.”

“Welcome,” David said, patting him on the shoulder.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” Mary Margaret cheered, hugging him.

“Nice to meet you,” Elsa smiled, offering her hand. Liam looked from Mary Margaret to her and for a second his eyes went a little wide - Elsa could have that effect - before he took her hand and held it a fraction too long. Elsa’s smile shifted as she looked at him and Liam finally released her hand.

“Thank you,” Liam smiled, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” he offered. “Only it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to see my brother and…” Holy shit. Was he blushing? Emma thought. How the hell was this guy related to Killian?

“Of course you’re not,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. He must be adopted. That was the only explanation. “This family has always had a soft spot for picking up strays along the way,” she insisted. “Emma,” she told him her name.

“Ah, Emma,” he said, casting a look at Killian. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Emma cast her own look at the other brother, skeptical of what he could have possibly said about her. He maintained his look of innocence. Liam smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “A pleasure,” he said and she smiled back almost instinctively. Maybe her judgement had been off when she’d first met Killian but she liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character. And Liam, well Liam had an air about him. It was the opposite of Killian’s. Where Killian exuded cockiness and pretense, Liam was modest and sincere. Well what do you know, she thought, there is a Jones out there I could like.

Quickly, once all the greetings had been taken care of, Emma informed everyone of the schedule for the weekend. “What will the guys be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking pointedly at the best man.

“We’re going camping,” Killian informed her. It almost pissed her off how perfect a choice that was. David loved camping. “Lots of good old fashioned male bonding,” Killian joked. “I’ve packed enough cigars and whiskey to take down a horse. Let’s see if we can get Dave hungover for the first time in his life shall we?” Emma braced himself for whatever he was going to say next. “Besides, it will give us a chance to give him some tips for the wedding night.” He winked at the groom.

“Well, that’s our cue, I think,” David said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Let’s go find everyone a room and have a drink and maybe some pizza before people get here.”

As the gang headed into the kitchen, Killian went about hanging up his jacket and setting his keys down before picking up his bag, calling after them. “Don’t worry Dave! I can tell you what to do so you don’t bleed your first time!” Emma lingered behind. She couldn’t help herself.

“You know you talk a lot for a guy nobody listens to.”

And there it was, that cocky, amused smile he seemed to save only for her. Emma ignored the little flip her stomach did - convincing herself that it was just leftover hangover symptoms.

“ Swan ,” he said almost affectionately, but there was a mocking there too. “We didn’t have a chance to say hello! You look…” He paused, taking in what she was sure were dark circles and pale skin. “Alive... mostly. How absolutely wonderful for someone, I’m sure.”

She didn’t even let it phase her. If he was already relying on physical insults she’d already won. “I noticed you didn’t bring a date.” He eyed her skeptically. “Did you forget to pay your tab at Escorts ‘R Us this month?”

He smiled. “I don’t see your date, Swan. Or is he already making a hasty escape out the bathroom window? Don’t take it too hard. Not everyone can have as many suitors as some.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha,” she snorted. “Yeah I know all about your many suitors. Tell me something,” she started, inching closer and speaking low like it was a secret. He leaned in almost like a reflex. “Does your right hand know that you sometimes cheat on it with your left?”

He laughed outright at that. “Ah, love, it might shock you to discover that some of us are capable of finding willing partners for the world’s oldest dance. But I can understand how some might be led to believe one’s hand is one’s only option.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I’m gonna bet that partners like you are part of the reason so many dancers prefer their own hand. Might have something to do with why you only ever have a date for one night...”

It was his turn to inch forward. He stepped closer until there was barely any breathing room between them but Emma held her ground, tilting her chin up at him and meeting his gaze. “Oh, believe me. My prowess leaves nothing to be desired,” he promised. His voice had dropped, sounding gravelly and making his accent more pronounced. Emma steeled herself,  ignoring the way the heat of him and the smell of his cologne warmed her skin. He always smelled so damn good, like leather and the sea. It was destabilizing and she nearly stumbled on her next words.

“And yet, you brought your brother as your date. Something tells me he doesn't put out.” He smiled at her and it was that smile she’d seen before - the unsettling one. The one that messed with this thing they had going - this mutual distaste. She needed to wipe it off his face. “Maybe I should find out,” she added with a suggestive brow and watched with pride and a small flicker of disappointment as the smile fell from his face.

“I’ll not have you defiling my brother, Swan!” He said it in jest, but he didn’t seem quite committed to his mock offence. She worried she may have pushed too far.

“Emma! Killian! Let’s go!” Belle shouted from the kitchen. “We’re ordering pizza and Ruby is getting hangry. Killian I swear she’ll put mushrooms on yours if you don’t come tell us what you want!”

They broke apart and it was only a second before Killian’s regular cock-sure bravado was back in place.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating that she should lead the way down the hall.

Only four days. She told herself. She could handle four days.  

-/-

“So tell me, Mary Margaret,” Killian asked later as they were all eating their pizza. Emma had nearly let slide his ‘ really Swan, anchovies?’ comment, but then suggested he try the one with garlic since it was unlikely he would find anyone desperate enough to kiss him tonight. He refused, insisting that experience had taught him to be optimistic. She’d muttered something about women with no standards before Robin had told them to knock it off and eat their bloody pizza. “What exactly does this party tonight entail? All Belle said was that I had to dress up? It’s lucky I still had my Halloween costume from last year.”

“You mean your halloween costume from every year ,” Emma snarked. Killian smirked.

“Why mess with perfection?” he asked. “Besides, Captain Hook is always a killer with the ladies.”

“No!” Mary Margaret covered her ears. “We’re not supposed to know what you’re dressing up as!”

“Way to ruin the surprise,” Emma said harshly and regretted it when she saw genuine surprise and regret cross his face. She ignored it, turning to the groomsmen who weren’t aware of the plans for the night. “We’re having a masquerade ball. Belle and Elsa spent weeks making everyone gorgeous masks to choose from and wear with their costumes. Nobody can know who anyone is, though. We’re doing this the right way. Nobody reveals their identities until midnight. That’s how long Mary Margaret and David have to find each other once we separate them at the beginning of the party.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that these two haven’t told each other exactly what they’re dressing up as? I don’t buy it,” Robin shook his head.

“We took care of that,” Emma laughed. “Well, Belle did. Belle picked out their costumes and has kept them a secret. Thanks again,” she said, turning to the woman in question.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, Elsa helped a lot. Her taste is impeccable.”

“Well, you couldn't have left Swan to do it. They’d both be wearing jeans and leather jackets.”

Emma shot him a look but Elsa was quicker. “How exactly is that different from your everyday look? Worried she might have picked out the wrong shade of black?” she challenged, eyeing up his black jeans, black boots, and black shirt. His black leather jacket still hung in the closet in the front hall. Liam hid his guffaw behind his hand and Elsa smirked proudly.

“Don’t worry,” Emma jumped in. “Killian doesn’t need a costume. He’s always dressed like a giant tool.” It wasn’t her best insult but hey, they couldn’t all be winners.

Killian smirked, stepping closer to her, invading her space a little, His voice was low and suggestive. “I’d be happy to show you my giant tool, Swan,” he offered and Emma pulled a face.

“ Oh my god, just bone already ,” she heard Ruby mutter under her breath.

“What?” they both snapped but Ruby pretended like she hadn’t heard them.

Liam laughed again and Elsa turned to him with wide, almost sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Liam,” she said and he turned to her. Emma wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight redness on his cheeks. It was very like his brother’s. “I’m so sorry. Killian didn’t tell us you were coming,” she glared at her friend. “Do you have a costume? I’m sure we could put something together if you -”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he answered. “Killian forgot to mention a costume when he invited me.” He shot his brother a look. “But thankfully, my brother still had his costume from the time he played Westley in that Princess Bride stage play in college.”

Emma lit up just as Killian grimaced. “I’m sorry, the time he what ?” she asked, beaming. Oh, this was too good. She definitely needed to hear that story. Liam smirked, looking at his brother’s embarrassment and Emma once again marveled at how much she liked the older Jones brother.

“Hey! No more costume talk!” Ruby jumped in. “We can’t have David and Mary Margaret knowing who anyone is! It will spoil the game!”

“Sorry,” Liam said, looking a little abashed. “Mum’s the word,” He cast Emma a glance out of the corner of his eye, leaning in to stage-whisper. “He had the ponytail and everything,” he told her conspiratorially. It took everything she had not to burst out laughing, instead settling for tossing a shit-eating grin and a ‘ just wait ” look at Killian. Killian looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Liam, you might be becoming one of my favorite people.”

He grinned.

“We should start getting ready,” Belle chimed in. “People will be arriving soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait to see the costumes!” Mary Margaret squealed and then turned suddenly. “Emma!” Emma jumped. “Will you let me do your makeup? Please? You never let me and it’s my wedding!”

Emma sighed, giving in to her friend’s decades-long attempt at dolling her up. The last time she'd caved had been prom night. “Fine.”

“Oh thank you! You’re going to look gorgeous!” Mary Margaret squealed before quickly catching herself. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous!”

Emma saw Killian open his mouth but didn’t give him the chance. “Can it, Ponytail.”

He pressed his mouth into a tight line but the corners turned up despite how obviously he was trying to fight it.

“Wait, first let me show you your costume,” Belle said to Mary Margaret. Emma didn’t know which one of them was more excited at the prospect.

“Okay! Emma, meet me in my room okay?” The bride-to-be waited for Emma to nod in agreement (defeat) before rushing off with Belle, Elsa and Ruby following quickly behind. Emma stood shaking her head as they ran away giggling. David corralled all the boys, rushing them off in the other direction to do… whatever guys did to get ready for a party. She watched them all disappearing down the hall, whooping and cheering. She thought she might have heard Will shout something about David finding his True Love and she shook her head.

“This is why I’m never going to fall in love,” she groaned to nobody in particular, shaking her head. “It makes people act like idiots.”

“At least we can agree on one thing,” she heard a voice answer. Her eyes snapped up to see Killian, still hovering in the doorway. He smiled slightly at her. “Not in the cards for me either, I think.” There was something vulnerable about the way he said it, like there was some secret that she was missing. Just for a second, she caught herself wondering what it was, feeling a slight tug in her chest at the defeated way he spoke. A connection? She smothered that feeling right away.

“Lucky for the women of the world,” Emma answered.

He only gave her another one of those small, half smiles before following the others down the hall.

“Emma! Get your ass up here!” Ruby shouted from one of the bedrooms. Emma left the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the way getting the last word with Killian hadn’t left her feeling as smug as it usually did.

-/-

“Ah, there’s my best man,” David said as Killian walked into the room. “Leaving me in my hour of need already?”

“Please, I was gone for less than a minute. Couldn’t you guys keep yourselves entertained for that long without me?” he asked mirthfully.

“What were you doing back there?” Will asked, sounding like he knew the answer already.

“Speaking with the lovely Emma, I’ll wager,” Robin answered with a smirk.

“What else is new?” David asked, rolling his eyes before Killian could defend himself.

“Why is this your hour of need, exactly?” Killian asked, choosing not to contradict them. He had, in fact, been talking to her, so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

“Because Robin has a better costume than me!”

It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is literally Robin. Who else could reasonably dress up as Robin Hood?”

“But that’s just it! She’ll never suspect it!” David insisted. The men all paused, exchanging looks. David held up the costume that had been laid out for him on the bed. “Belle dressed me as Prince Charming. I love her to death, but she’s just as much of a romantic as Mary Margaret. It’s too obvious, she’ll find me in a second.”

“He has a point, you know,” Robin agreed.

“Hey, Belle put a lot of work into picking your costumes,” Will reminded them. He cleared his throat when Robin shot him a wry look. “And the others. They all put in a lot of work…”

Killian grinned. “And wouldn’t it just be great to see their reactions when they realise we’ve switched it on them?” Even David smiled, excited at the harmless though somewhat juvenile prank. Will looked nervous though.

“Listen, I just don’t want to be the reason we ensue Elsa’s wrath,” he defended. Liam glanced at Will, and Killian noticed a slightly downtrodden look on his brother’s face. He frowned.

“It’s my Stag and Doe,” the groom insisted. “I say we do it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s see if true love really does conquer all, shall we?”

Robin considered this for a moment, arms crossed as he stroked his beard. “All right, but if we do this, we should really commit. Everybody confess what your costume is so we can pick the most un-David-like one.”

Will still didn’t look convinced. “What’s with him?” David asked.

Robin smirked. “He’s just worried that Belle will be mad at him. Or is it that you picked your costume with her in mind and don’t want to give it up?”

“Really, Will? You’re still hung up on her?” David joked. “Why don’t you just tell her already?” Liam perked up then, looking back at Will after having been staring at the floor for a moment.

“Oh, I was under the impression that Elsa was your girlfriend,” he said casually. Four pairs of suspicious eyes turned to him. “You just seemed so set on not upsetting her is all…” Killian didn’t buy it.

Will looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody hell, Elsa? No. She just scares the hell out of me and she should scare you too,” he warned. “That is not a woman you want to cross.”

“Indeed,” Robin agreed, coming up behind his friend and wrapping an arm around him. “Will only has eyes for Belle.” Will elbowed him. “Elsa is, as of present, unattached.”

“Huh,” was all Liam said, suddenly far too uninterested in the conversation. It took Killian a moment, frowning at his brother, trying to read what he was hiding before it hit him.

“ Oh, no, ” he groaned and everyone’s eyes snapped up to him.

“What?” Liam demanded, playing innocent.

“No, no.”

“ What?”

“My own brother!” Killian cried. “Abandoned. Betrayed by my own kin!”

Liam rolled his eyes but his tone was way too defensive. “Shut up, Killian.”

Robin snorted but hid it quickly behind his hand as Killian shot him a death glare.

“Am I missing something?” David asked, looking between the brothers.

“What you’re missing, Dave, is that my brother, sworn bachelor, the last of the sworn bachelors, the last of the Jones’ to carry on the good name and reputation of man about town and sea, has fallen in love.” He cast his eyes to Liam again. “Traitor!”

“Oh, come on, Killian. Stop being dramatic. I’m not in love.”

“Not yet!” he cried. “But I’ve seen that look before - it’s in the eyes. I’ve seen it in my fallen comrades. First David, then Will. Robin was lost to me before I even met him, married at nineteen like some lovesick fool.”

“Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Robin warned. Marian and Roland were joining the group the day of the wedding, thinking that subjecting a six year old to three days of wedding festivities seemed unreasonable.

“And now my own brother! Seduced! Stolen away by the Ice Queen. We stood together! Now I stand alone.”

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” Graham said.

“You like Elsa?” David asked Liam and Killian rounded on him.

“ That’s what you got from what I just said?”

“I mostly tune you out if I’m honest,” David said casually before focusing on Liam again. “If you like Elsa you have the perfect costume. The Princess Bride is her favorite movie. She and Emma are obsessed with it - it’s a little annoying actually. If you wear that, you’ll definitely get her attention.”

“Oh, well…” was all Liam said, clearly flustered to Killian’s disgust. He did not like how pleased his brother looked at the idea.

“Killian,” David said then. “Let’s see your costume. Mary Margaret won’t come near me if she thinks I’m you. She’s seen your pirate costume a million times now.”

“I think the hair might give it away, Dave,” Killian laughed, gesturing to his own dark hair that contrasted so drastically with the groom’s fair head. “Besides,” he smirked. “You don’t have the cleavage for it.”

David rolled his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to wear a shirt unbuttoned to your waist.”

“What exactly is your obsession with this Captain Hook costume, Brother?” Liam piped up. “I’ve never seen it but it would seem it’s rather famous. Why the fixation on Peter Pan?”

“It’s because he’s the boy who never grew up,” Will offered, receiving a punch in the arm from the person in question. “At least that’s what Ruby dubbed him for all his womanizing.”

Killian rolled his eyes, familiar with the nickname. He never bothered to mention that he liked the character of Hook, not Pan. Not the devil child but the melancholic man who clung to the last bit of hope left in him.

“I’m hardly a boy,” Killian glared. “And I don’t womanize. Every woman I take out knows exactly my intentions. I’m not some child playing games.”

“Then you won’t mind giving up your costume,” Robin insisted.

“I told you it would be too obvious,” he reminded them again.

“So am I understanding correctly?” Will asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re just all throwing the girl’s rules out the window?” Will asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. If Killian himself weren’t so annoyed at Will’s crush on Belle, he’d have found it funny.

“Yes,” David said simply. “Liam, you keep yours so that you have an ice breaker with Elsa and Killian, well, I guess you can keep yours for your vanity.” Killian rolled his eyes. “The rest of you,” he demanded. “Let me see what you have.”

David, Will and Robin spent far too long debating who should wear which of the three costumes, even going so far as to look through the clothes they had brought to see if they could make a new, fourth costume, before finally making a decision nearly an hour later. As they headed to their respective rooms to change, Killian noticed his brother lingering. He sighed again.

“So, Elsa then?”

“I mean, she seems nice,” Liam answered but Killian could see him trying to fight the little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Nice? Elsa? I mean sure she can be friendly sometimes, but I’ve always found her to be a bit cold, distant.”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you, brother.”

“Nonsense,” he smiled. “All women like me.” But then looked at Liam again. “You really like her?”

“I don’t - she seems interesting. I’d like to get to know her better, yes.”

“Unbelievable. You’re in the country for ten minutes and you’ve fallen for the first blonde you’ve seen.” He shook his head, utterly, totally disappointed by his brother.

“I wouldn’t be the first Jones now would I?” Liam muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Unbelievable,” Killian sighed.

“You keep saying that,” Liam pointed out.

“Well it is! A few years ago we were all free, unattached. We could head to the bar, meet some nice girls, have some fun. But now, I swear David has to ask permission before he goes out with us. And Will won’t go anywhere unless we agree to invite Belle along so he can stare at her like a git and not say a word. When did all of the bachelors die off? When did all my friends drop off the face of the earth. I’ll tell you when. When they decided to fall in love!”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this, Killian?”

“How dare you?” Killian snapped. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly at the age of needing to settle down.”

“Then pray tell what age is appropriate to settle down?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever hit it,” Killian smirked. Liam rolled his eyes.

“So what, you’re going to keep man whoring around? Don’t you want to be with someone? Have something real? Fall in love?”

“Love is overrated. I plan to die a bachelor.”

“You mean alone,” Liam corrected him. “I don’t believe you for a second, brother,” he said, but he shook his head in a way that told Killian he didn’t plan on arguing any further. Let Liam disbelieve him. He didn’t need his brother’s approval. He’d tried love once and it had brought him nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian had learned young that love only ended in pain and heartbreak. He’d seen it with his mother, who’d been unhappy her entire married life only to pass away young and leave behind a father who was so heartbroken of the loss of the woman he mistreated that he abandoned his two sons.

He’d sworn off love at six years old. He’d only faltered once since, despite his best efforts to resist it. And that time had only served to reinforce his belief that he was right. Love was a waste of time. He didn’t need it. And he didn’t want it. Let the Davids and the Robins and the Wills - and apparently the Liams - of the world have love. He would stick to one night. One night was clear. One night left no expectations, set no precedent. One night was safe.

“So then,” Liam started, snapping Killian from his admittedly rather gloomy train of thought. “What about Emma?” he trailed off.

Killian’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck. “What about Emma?” he asked wearily.

“She seems nice, is all. Funny, smart, rather beautiful too…”

Killian felt his heart jump into his throat. Emma? Liam and Emma? Was his brother really suggesting that he was interested in Emma romantically? Or even just physically? The idea of his brother and Emma together stirred a feeling inside of him that he didn’t like. The same feeling that had come over him when Emma had taunted him with the idea of her and Liam earlier. What was it - anger? Disgust? Jealousy ? No. He wasn’t jealous. Emma could sleep with whoever she wanted. So could his brother for that matter. So could he. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll admit that she’s rather pleasant to look at but believe me, the woman is a harpie. She’s got a wicked tongue on her. She’s cold and defensive and she has walls a mile high.”

“She seemed rather pleasant to me. Witty too.”

“Oh, aye, she’s got wit, that’s for sure.” He caught the corner of his mouth ticking up and forced it down. “She’s quick and rather amusing when she’s not yelling at me.”

“You don’t seem to mind her yelling at you.”

He laughed. “She’s quick to anger, that’s all,” Killian shrugged, trying to go for blase but knowing he was failing. “Makes her rather fun to argue with. She has a way of seeing people… she’s quite perspective really.” She was. She could and would call him on any and all of his bullshit. He was always surprised to realise how much he enjoyed that. But she had him pegged wrong. Always had. And he couldn’t forgive her that.

“So you don’t like her then?” Liam continued, frowning. “I suppose I can understand that. I heard you talking in the hall. She does seem like she can be rather…”

“Rather what?” Killian said quickly, shocked by how vehemently his body reacted to the idea of someone speaking poorly of his rival - someone besides him anyway.

Liam’s eyes went wide and then settled into a knowing expression Killian didn’t like. “Nothing,” he said, but the word held weight.

“She’s just… she’s had a hard life,” Killian found himself saying. Shut up, why are you defending her? he demanded of himself, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “She’s been through a lot - like we have. And she’s done some rather impressive things with her life despite it. She’s a detective you know?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’ve told me a lot about her actually…”

“Right,” Killian caught himself. Clearing his throat. He didn’t like what his brother was implying. Killian didn’t want Emma. Of course he didn’t. They fought and they bantered and they teased but that was all their relationship was. It was all it ever had been - well, almost. There was that first night... But regardless, he didn’t want his brother to get tangled up with her either. For his brother’s sake only. Emma pushed everyone away. He wouldn’t want to risk his brother being hurt like... “Well, yes, she is cold and distant and incredibly frustrating and - I don’t know if you want to go there. Not worth the effort I think and -”

“ Killian.”  

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m not interested in Emma,” he explained carefully and Killian was angry at the relief he felt. “But I think maybe…” Killian steeled his jaw, fists clenching and shoulders straightening as his brother eyed him with… pity? sympathy? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Something in his expression must have warned Liam off. “Nevermind,” he finished.

Killian let out a heavy breath, thankful that this conversation was over. “Shall we go get ready?” he asked. “I think people will be arriving soon. I’ve seen Mulan’s car pull up. And if she’s here, the party is bound to get underway quickly.”

“Aye,” Liam said, swinging his arm around Killian’s shoulders. “Let’s.”

-/-

“Emma!” she heard Elsa call for her from the room next door. She banged on the adjoining wall to let her friend know it was fine to come in. A second later Elsa was making her way into the room, awkwardly looking behind herself as she struggled with her costume.

“Could you give me a hand with these laces?” she asked, referring to the corset like back of her Swan Lake ballerina costume. It was pretty, graceful, and understated like her friend.

“Sure,” Emma said, gesturing for her to turn around so that she could help her with the intricate lacing. When she was done, Elsa brushed her hands down the front of her dress, making sure it looked right.

“Thanks.” She looked Emma up and down and frowned. “You’re not ready yet? The party’s already started. I’m running late because of these damn laces. What’s your excuse?” she asked, taking in Emma’s jeans and leather jacket.

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, grabbing a hat and a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

Elsa frowned. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Emma clipped her badge onto her hip. “An undercover cop.”

Elsa stared at her for a long moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest and frowning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emma?”

“What?” she asked defensively. It was either this or a sheet with holes cut in it,” she said. “You know, to be a ghost,” she clarified when Elsa didn’t react.

Elsa let her head fall into her hand, rubbing at her forehead in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Emma. It’s a costume party. You are a cop. You can’t just go as yourself. This is a pathetic excuse for a costume and you know it.”

“You were actually a ballerina!” Emma insisted, gesturing at the dress she knew her friend had worn in a real performance in college. Elsa glared at her. She was annoyed at her friend, but probably more at the fact that she knew she was right. She’d really hoped they’d have let her get away with it. She was never one for dressing up.

“That’s different,” Elsa explained slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t go around wearing this on the street. You haven’t even changed out of what you were wearing when we got here.”

“So you think I should go with the ghost?” she asked, smirking a little. Elsa shook her head in exasperation.

“Emma, this party is for Mary Margaret. You know what she wants it to be. She wants magic and beautiful dresses and men dressed as princes and heroes. This is her fairytale wedding and you cannot wear jeans to a masquerade ball.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, but it’s a little late now. I don’t have another costume and nothing I brought is fancy enough to qualify as a gown.”

Elsa thought for a second, looking her over as she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms. “Hang on a second,” she said finally. “I might have something.” And with that, she disappeared out of the room, trailing crinoline and feathers behind her.

Emma pulled the hat and sunglasses off, groaning as she pulled her hair out of it’s messy ponytail. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her friends wouldn’t stand for her cop out of a costume - they fought her every Halloween and this was her best friend’s wedding. She just… she didn’t have it in her. The whole fairy tales and True Love and princes and princesses - it just all felt so… fake, unrealistic. She didn’t want to get dolled up and attract the attention of some guy who would make her promises and then break them as soon as the lights came on and the masks came off. She remembered the last time she’d let some guy she met at a party convince her she meant something - she’d learned that lesson quickly. Never fall for a pretty face - especially one with an accent and a penchant for seducing blondes.

“Here,” Elsa announced, returning to the room and shaking Emma out of her thoughts. She was holding a dress on a hanger, the skirt of it draped over her arm. It was beautiful. Ice blue and floor length with intricate beading. The neckline was modest but she could see the plunging back. It was Elsa embodied: elegant, sophisticated, and just a little ethereal.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma said, reaching out to tough some of the delicate stitching. “Where did you get it?”

“I wore it to Mary Margaret’s black-tie New Years Eve party last year, remember?” Emma shook her head. “Oh right, you weren’t there - you had that case. Anyway, I forgot it here in the morning and haven’t been back to pick it up since. I feel like it would do nicely for tonight.”

“You’re going to dress me up as a princess aren’t you,” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Elsa beamed.

“You bet your ass I am!” she laughed. “If your brother’s going as Prince Charming, it’s only fair you get a royal makeover too. Come on. If I know Mary Margaret’s mom, I’m sure we can dig up a tiara or something in one of these rooms. Shall we?” Emma bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one. “Hey, you’re doing this for Mary Margaret,” Elsa reminded her and then gestured pointedly to her own costume. “We all are.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. But you better have a damn good mask. If David sees me in this, he’ll never let me live it down.” Nor would Killian, she thought, cringing at the teasing that would surely ensue from him seeing her in something other than jeans. Elsa laughed and dragged Emma along in search of a crown.

-/-

“Liam!” Killian called, poking his head into his brother’s room and looking around for his absentee sibling. “Are you nearly done putting your face on? The party’s in full swing and you’re missing it!”

“There’s a slight problem,” Liam’s voice carried across the room from the bathroom as he walked out and Killian had to put his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing at the sight of his brother. It didn’t work. “Shut up,” Liam warned as Killian burst out in a fit of laughter. Liam stood in front of him, looking not at all impressed in the tightest shirt and pants Killian had ever seen. The sleeves ended several inches above his wrists and the pants several inches above his ankles. Liam threw the mask he was holding at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized, trying to contain himself. “I don’t think it fits,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Clearly it doesn’t fit, little brother ,” Liam said with a glare. Killian returned it.

“Younger brother,” he corrected.

“No, I believe in this case little brother is correct,” he smirked, gesturing to himself again. He turned around to head back to the bathroom and Killian, who had been glaring, burst out laughing again.

“Oh, I do hope Elsa’s an ass woman,” he said. “You’ll certainly win her over with pants that tight.”

“Alright, enough. Give me your costume.”

“My costume,” Killian demanded, stepping back and placing a protective hand out in front of him. “Why?”

“Because this is your fault. You’re the one who gave me your old costume without accounting for the fact that I am the much taller and broader shouldered of the Jones brothers.”

“Or the one who needs to cut back on sweets,” Killian shot back. “Besides,” he challenged, “how will this costume fit you if you’re so big and strong you can’t fit into that one?”

“Give me the jacket and the jewellery,” Liam said. “I’ll find a pair of black pants and a buttoned shirt and it will have to do.” He eyed his brother who was still clinging protectively to his costume. “And the hook,” he demanded.

“What will I wear then, if you’re going to take the very shirt off my back?”

“This,” Liam answered, gesturing to himself. “Should work. You’ve barely filled out since college,” he smirked.

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Liam gave him a leveling look and Killian rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he ceded, shedding the beloved jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to his brother. Liam caught it in one hand and headed to the bathroom to change, pausing at his suitcase to grab a pair of pants and a shirt.

“You know you’re blowing your chances at winning over Elsa though, don’t you? No dashing childhood crush to seduce her with.”

Liam cracked the bathroom door open and poked his head out, tossing the costume at him. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” he frowned. “Besides,” he smirked. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need a bloody costume to do so. Not all of us need glamour and trickery to convince a woman to speak to us.”

“Oi!” Killian shouted, offended. “I don’t need any tricks to get a woman to speak to me!”

“Is that why you pick a fight with Emma everytime you see her?” Liam’s voice was muffled through the door.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Killian snapped. He was getting very tired of his brother speaking cryptically about he and Emma’s relationship. As though they were anything but friendly rivals. So what if he looked forward to seeing her at these get-togethers? So what if he was disappointed when she was kept away by work. He simply looked forward to having someone to spar with, someone who kept up with him and could challenge him. He loved a challenge, and if Emma Swan was anything, she was a challenge.

“Of course not,” Liam patronized as he emerged in Killian’s jacket. He held out his hand and Killian passed him the pirate necklaces and the clip on earring that completed the look. “Better get dressed, party’s started,” Liam told him then looked him over carefully. “Isn’t ‘The Princess Bride’ Emma’s favorite movie as well?”

Killian looked down at the costume he held in his hands, ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, her favorite and that she might, just maybe, forget their rivalry for a second if they had some common ground. It would be interesting to speak to her without their prickly game standing between them for a moment. The last time they’d done that had been… well, a very long time ago indeed. “What of it?” he asked his brother and hoped Liam wouldn’t push the subject.

“Nothing,” Liam said and when Killian met his eye he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. It unsettled him. But then his brother smirked and the moment was broken. “Just too bad you don’t still have the ponytail.”

Killian scowled, whipping the hook off his arm and shoving it a little too forcefully against his brother’s chest, turning to storm out of the room to the sound of Liam’s laughter following along behind him. “It was one semester!” he shouted but Liam only laughed harder.

-/-

Emma poured herself another drink from the bar, readjusting her mask which unfortunately, though beautiful, had the annoying habit of sliding down her nose. One corner was still damp from when it had dipped into her drink. She didn’t know how people did this back in the day. Wearing masks was fun, the mystery of it all and the anonymity was almost thrilling, but it was highly inconvenient. She set the drink down to tighten the silk string that kept it on for the tenth time that night.

The party was in full swing. The house was packed, every room full of people squished together dancing, laughing, drinking, and shouting at each other to be heard over the music. Emma looked around proudly. She had to say, she’d done a pretty good job for someone who hated fairy tales. She loved parties, though, so she chalked it up to that. Well, that and Elsa and Belle’s beautiful masks and Ruby’s awesome taste in music… and David had helped with the decorations. It had definitely been a group effort.

Emma scanned the crowds, trying to spot any of her friends and realized that she couldn’t. She almost laughed. The masquerade thing really did work. She knew what Elsa and Liam - and likely Killian - were dressed as, but she hadn’t seen anyone else from the bridal party’s costumes and there were so many friends and family here to celebrate that she wasn’t even sure she knew all the guests, let alone that she’d be able to identify them with half their faces covered.

She made her way across the kitchen which was being used as a bar and into what could only be described as a great hall where people were dancing, hoping to spot Elsa among the throngs of people. She perked up when she caught sight of white feathers and excellent posture. Squeezing between Cinderella and Gaston who looked about two seconds away from making out - weird - she crossed the room toward her friend, only to stop dead when she caught sight of a silver hook and a generous display of chest hair.

Ugh. Killian. Elsa was talking to Killian. His face was half covered in a silky black mask but she’d seen that stupid pirate costume enough times to know it had to be him. She rolled her eyes as he leaned down to say something in Elsa’s ear and her friend threw her head back laughing, her hand coming up to rest on his bare chest as she leaned in closer.

Gross . Emma thought Elsa had better taste than that. She wondered what Killian could possibly be saying to make her friend blush and giggle like some infatuated school girl. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and the uneasiness in her stomach when Elsa ran her hand up from his chest to his shoulder under the guise of trying to hear better over the music. His hand went to the small of her back and the smile on Killian’s face felt like a punch to the gut. She’d seen that smile, relaxed, excited, soft. She’d only ever seen it so rarely before and only ever…

She turned away, done with watching the disturbing display in front of her. If Killian and Elsa wanted to flirt and whisper little secrets to each other and exchange meaningful little touches, she wasn’t going to stick around to see it. Really, she thought Elsa had better taste. She thought Elsa was a better friend than to… what? What exactly was Elsa guilty of? Cozying up to her hot friend? Getting close to Emma’s… rival didn’t feel like the right word.

She just wasn’t prepared for it, that was all. There had always been some sort of unspoken thing between the women of the group - Killian was no man’s land - or, rather, no woman's land. Despite his constant flirtatiousness and innuendos, nobody ever took it seriously, nobody ever really considered dating him or going to bed with him, at least not since that night. But there was never really a reason, no agreement made. Elsa could do what she liked. Emma didn’t care. Why would she care? Killian, while awful, was undeniably attractive and if Elsa wanted to - well, Emma didn’t care.

“I see my brother’s not wasting any time,” she heard behind her, the voice somewhat dulled by the thrumming of the music. Emma turned, smiling when she was met with bright blue eyes, just noticeable through a black leather mask, and a cheeky smirk. She looked over the costume he wore so well, a little flustered despite herself at seeing someone dressed as her childhood (and adulthood) crush.

“Liam,” she greeted, holding up her glass in a toast. “How are you enjoying the party?” The smile slipped from his face for a moment before he bit his lip against another.

“Well, I must say it’s just gotten infinitely better,” he answered.

“Ah, so I see Killian isn’t the only smooth talker in the Jones family,” she teased.

“Alas, it’s a family trait. Inherited from our father unfortunately,” he answered, his smile faltering for only a second. “What do you suppose he’s saying?” he asked, gesturing at his brother and Elsa.

Emma scoffed. “If I know him, he’s probably showering her with insincere compliments and using that inherited silver tongue to convince a perfectly intelligent woman that she wants to do something incredibly stupid.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sleep with Killian Jones.”

“I feel as though I should defend him.”

“No need,” Emma assured him. “Everyone knows who Killian is.”

He frowned. “And who is he?”

“Take your pick: playboy, womanizer, egomaniac. I swear David and the guys must just keep him around for entertainment. There is not a sincere bone in that man’s body. Well,” she laughed, turning from the scene in front of them back to the better-Jones. “Maybe one.”

“I see.” His jaw was tight and Emma worried she’d gone too far. She’d forgotten for a moment that this was his brother. She thought about how she’d feel if someone talked about David like this. But then again, David would never deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I shouldn’t insult your family.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons. I summarize then that you’re not a fan of him.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Surely he can be a bit of a scoundrel at times but I wonder… What exactly is the nature of your feud with my brother? Killian never told me anything apart from the fact that you seem to despise one another.”

Emma hesitated. She’d never told anyone this story before. Sure, her friends had asked in the past, wondering why she hated him so much, especially given their first meeting. But she’d always skirted the question, not wanting to explain herself, not wanting to admit how stupid she’d been, how blind and how reckless. It was humiliating really. But Liam was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested. And she’d just spent the last few minutes insulting his only brother (as far as she knew) and she felt she at least owed him an explanation for it.

“Did Killian ever tell you about the night we met?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so,” he said, bringing a finger up to scratch a spot behind his ear in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother it threw her for a moment. Between their eyes and their mannerisms and their smiles, for all their differences, the Jones brothers certainly had a lot in common. There was no mistaking their kinship.

“We met at Will’s birthday party about five years ago. He and Killian had a class together so Will brought him along with our usual group. You might not believe it, I don’t think anyone would really, but I didn’t hate your brother the first time I met him.”

“Oh no?” he asked, waiting for her to continue.

“No, we - we actually hit it off really well. He was funny and easy to talk to and actually kind of…” Emma trailed off, finger running over the rim of her glass as she remembered his easy smiles and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. She remembered the way he spoke, loudly and animatedly with the group but also softly and what she’d thought was sincerely when it was just the two of them. “Sweet,” she finished lamely. “He was sweet.”

She cleared her throat. “I liked him. I was stupid and young and he was charming and well, you know how he is, he’s your brother.” She couldn’t look at him now when she told him the story. It was too embarrassing. She felt as vulnerable now as she had that night and while she’d let herself then, it had been a hard lesson on why she should avoid letting herself feel that way again.

“I do,” he said.

“Anyway, we ended up spending most of the night together in a back booth in the bar. Everyone was dancing and drinking and we just sat there talking.” They’d talked for hours. They’d talked about nothing, silly things, movies, books, what they’d wanted to be when they grew up. But also about real things, things Emma had never talked about with anyone apart from David, not even her closest friends; about her childhood before Ruth, about Neal, about what she wanted out of life but was afraid of going for, afraid of failing. She hadn’t even meant to tell him most of it, but he’d listened in that rare way so few people do, the way they do when they actually care about what you have to say and aren’t just waiting for their chance to talk. She felt stupid now for all the things she’d told him.

“We didn’t even realise the others had left until the lights came on and we were being kicked out because the bar was closing,” she continued. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He asked me back to his place but I said no.” She rubbed at her neck, feeling awkward now sharing this with Killian’s brother as she recalled the details of the night and the next morning. She’d said ‘no’ because she liked him, ‘no’ because she didn’t want to go and ruin something good by turning it into a one night stand.

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, fingers brushing over the bare skin there and her breath caught at how warm he felt against her. It was comforting, familiar though, and almost unsettling in that familiarity. She remembered another set of fingers running up her arm outside her apartment building years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me -” he started.

“No it’s okay,” she cut him off. “He was surprisingly okay with it,” she said. Well, not so surprising considering what he got up to later. Liam didn’t need to know about the kiss - or the other one for that matter. She bit her lip, remembering. “It was late so he offered to walk me back to my apartment. I lived in kind of a shady area back then,” she explained. “He did and we went our separate ways,” after a while , she thought, “and we made plans to meet up the next morning.”

“So, what happened?” he asked, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on her arm up to her shoulder.

“What happened,” Emma started, clearing her throat again as the anger set in. Anger was good. Anger helped with the humiliation, with the hurt. “What happened is I went to his place the next morning and some girl in a towel answered the door.” She saw his eyes widen. She couldn’t see his eyebrows but she knew they were likely shooting up to his hairline.

“What?” he asked, mouth gaping open.

“Yeah. Some blonde, obviously a blonde. He’s got a type, you know. She told me Killian was in the shower and it wasn’t hard to figure out that after I turned him down, he went out and found someone else to get his rocks off with. So yeah, that’s when I realised exactly what kind of guy he is.” He’d probably only walked her home as a favor to Will.

“I’m sorry, love, that must have been awful,” he said. Emma shrugged.

“It is what it is. Honestly I’m just annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I’ve met enough guys who are only after one thing and I don’t know why I convinced myself he wasn’t.” She gave him a small, insincere smile.“Must have been the rum,” she shrugged. There hadn’t been any rum though. Neither of them had had a thing to drink since they’d sat down in that back booth, hadn’t felt the need for it. It had been so easy.

“Perhaps,” he started, and Emma turned to look at him. She’d been fixated on her glass for the last few minutes. She couldn’t really make out his expression in the dim lights, his voice soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the music. “Perhaps you should ask my brother about that night,” he suggested. Emma’s eyes snapped to his in surprise and what almost felt like betrayal.

“Why would I do that?” she demanded, feeling defensive. She pulled back a step, wanting to put a little distance between them after this unexpected turn - what was it with her and baring her soul to the Jones brothers? Was she that much of a sucker for blue eyes and an accent? - but he followed her, moving with her and leaning in close to speak so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music.

“Because, Swan, there are two sides to every story and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s always better to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

Emma blinked at him, slightly distracted by him being so close to her. The room was crowded and she felt the stickiness clinging to the back of her neck from the heat of so many people packed into one place. A lot of that heat seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still on her arm, having drifted down to her wrist, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand as he spoke, his mouth next to her ear and his breath warm against it. The smell of him was heady around her, like leather and sea air and - wait, had he just called her Swan?

She looked up then, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out his face under his mask. Something about him… something was familiar, more familiar than brotherly resemblance. His jaw ticked, the muscle clenching in a way that was so… she'd seen it before, it - Oh. Oh, no way . She looked him up and down, taking in the lean frame, the dark, flippy hair that stuck out of his mask rather than the curls she expected, the sharpness of his jawline where Liam’s was softer, the shape of his mouth… Killian. Oh, he was a dead man.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” he said.

She turned her head up to meet his eyes, set her chin like she always did when she was ready for a fight. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she started, ready to call him out on his little ruse and rip him a new one for tricking her.

“You’re right,” he said and some of her fight was lost to her surprise at the way his voice softened. Who the hell was this Killian in front of her now? Where was the fight, the ego? His hand was still stroking hers, his eyes were sincere and unpretentious and even a little self-deprecating. “So, just who are you, Swan?”

She pulled back, drawing her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to wither him with her stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Wouldn’t he indeed. She was sure he’d love to find out all about her so that he could use it as fuel for their arguments, like some game. The nerve of -

He ducked his head, catching her eyes and stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught at the openness and the sincerity she saw there. “Perhaps I would,” he said and Emma felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. He hadn’t looked at her like that since that night. Since the night she felt for the first time in years that she’d found someone who understood her, someone she connected with, another lost soul, someone she could actually care about, maybe even - She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be real. It sounded real. It felt real. And he was so close and the way he looked at her..

Emma didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember putting her drink down, but suddenly her hands were gripping the sides of his face and pulling his lips to hers as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He froze against her for a moment, in shock probably she realised, and she grasped the reality of exactly what she’d just done and how stupid it was. But before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his body flush with hers as his other hand traveled up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She should stop this. This was Killian for god’s sake. Killian, who she hated. Killian, who she swore she’d never let get under her skin again. Killian, who was currently backing them against the wall behind her. She gasped as her back collided with the hard surface and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth over hers, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, making her let out a sound she should have been embarrassed about as heat rushed into her belly. He growled as his hand found her hip, tugging roughly and pressing them even closer together.

She knew she should stop it. This was Killian. Killian, who knew how to push every single one of her buttons, who’d pushed her and challenged her from that first night. Killian, who she looked forward to seeing at every get together if only so they could spend ten minutes insulting each other and she could see his mouth twist into that playful smirk. Killian of the Swans and loves . Of the soft smiles that crinkled his eyes. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d misjudged him? All these years.

Emma slowed, her hands which had at some point ended up in his hair released their grip and she let one settle around his shoulders, the other sliding down over his chest to rest in the v of his shirt. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, matching her own’s frantic beating. Killian froze again, and then something changed. His hand released it’s nearly painful grip on her hip and slid up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. The hand that was fisted in her hair came around to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his lips slowed over hers, his movements no longer desperate and needy but gentle and exploratory.

She let him kiss her, let him open her mouth wider under his own, let him pull at her lips and slide his tongue against hers with a give and take that felt so familiar it sent her heart racing again as a warmth built in her chest and in her stomach and bloomed out through her limbs. She felt his shoulders relax under her own as he melted against her, pressing her against the wall like he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his through their clothes, feel her heart beating against his and drown her in the warmth that was radiating off of him. She was burning up from the inside out.

He pulled back after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes still closed and lips still close enough to touch if she just tilted her head every so slightly. The hand that had been at her cheek slid along her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as his breath puffed hot against her face. His fingers trailed slowly and featherlight along her spine.

“Emma,” he breathed as her hand came to his cheek, tracing the stubble under her fingers. She was only just pulling him back in when the music stopped.

The lights coming on were like a bucket of ice water being thrown over her. Somewhere, someone was announcing that it was midnight, that it was time for everyone to remove their masks and reveal who they really were.

She saw it in his eyes, the regret as he reached for his mask and it hit her like a blow to the chest. She caught his hand, stopping him from ruining the only excuse she had. If he didn’t, then she could claim she didn’t know it was him. She could convince herself it was all just a mistake. “Swan,” he spoke again, searching her eyes for something she couldn’t give him. This wasn’t who they were.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she warned. She watched as his lips pressed together and his head fell before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back just enough that she could squeeze by.

She did. And then she ran.

***

***

tagging @kmomof4​ and @xsajx​ because you asked :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part two!

[sabineelectricheart]

Little, Unexpected Bun

Summary: The farmer has been feeling a bit under the weather, but this is only because of the wedding planning stress. Right?

Rating: K - Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Content should be free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 1400

Notes: Or, why the farmer’s parents never appears on important family moments.

It is hard business getting married in Pelican Town, Estella cannot help but to point out. It was with a heavy heart that she has to conclude that there is no small wedding, they were all expensive and complex affairs, no matter how much she wanted to avoid such a thing.

With a small huff, after working most of the day in party planning with Robin and Maru as her fiancé Sebastian took the car and went to a neighbouring town for some supplies, the usually vivacious farmer fell into a chair in the kitchen, absolutely spent. She swore she had more stamina than that, but lately, she could barely manage to finish all her chores.

These last few weeks had been absolutely crazy for the bride, with the expenses, the planning and the farm that could not be ignored. Not to mention, she had been ill almost every morning, managing to retain little on her stomach. Thankfully, she had her in-laws to help, the woman cannot help but note, as the carpenter still ran around like she had unlimited energy, fixing a kettle of tea for the three women to share.

“Care for anything else to drink, darling?”  Robin asked as she poured Maru a cup. 

“Actually, do you happen to have any chocolate milk?  I swear it’s all I’ve been drinking lately.” Estella laughed quietly, and shook her head at herself. 

Robin froze in her spot, her eyes widening. This made the farmer’s smile fade as she glanced to Maru, who was equally confused.

“Mom, are you alright?” The dark-skinned girl asked curiously as she stood up from her own seat, putting her hand on her mother’s arm. 

Estella felt instantly guilty, coming to her feet quickly as well and taking the kettle from Robin.

“I’m sorry, did I say something?” She asked worriedly, hoping she did not upset her future mother-in-law.

The older redhead looked at the bride, her face growing red and a smile forming on her lips.

“You’re pregnant.” She said, rather than asking.

The farmer’s face grew incredibly red and she stepped back, shaking her head.

“When I was pregnant with Sebastian and Maru, all I could stomach the entire nine months was chocolate milk.” The carpenter explained further, only making the younger woman’s face pale more and more.

Maru gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth.

“No, absolutely not.  There’s no way this could have happened.” Estella began incredibly strong but her face softened as she began thinking.

She had thought she was rather bloated, her stomach was upset constantly in the last month, and, as she counted back the days in her head, it dawned on her that is was quite literally a possibility.

“Oh, oh, oh, Yoba damn it!” Estella felt faint suddenly, gripping the back of the kitchen chair as she struggled to catch her breath. 

Maru grabbed her arms, stabilizing her with wide eyes. “What? What are you thinking?”  

Robin came to her other side, leading she into a chair and pushing her to sit.

“Dear, are you, in any chance, pregnant?” The older woman asked this time, sitting in the chair next to she and holding her hands in her own comfortingly.  

“I think I am.” Estella whispered.  “Good Yoba, I’m going to be a mother!”

The almost devotional whisper was the only sound the three of them emitted that moment, as the expecting mother put her head in her hands, leaning against Robin. 

“It’s okay, dear, we will confirm everything at the clinic before there’s reason for you start panicking. Maru will see to that. Besides, there’s nothing to panic about.  She and Sebastian would be great parents, I’m sure of it.” The carpenter assured in a calm voice and got to her feet, moving about the house.

Maru assumed her seat, holding her sister-in-law’s hand and rubbing her back comfortingly, leaning her head on the woman’s shoulders, as they sat by the table quietly, reassuring each other.

“She’s right, you know? You and Sebastian are responsible adults, you have a stable life and you can do this and come out as the best parents in the world at the end, and I’m not just saying that because I would be an amazing aunt.” The brunette smiled against her sister-in-law’s head as she sniffled gently, feeling like she was going to cry.

Estella was not necessarily unhappy to be pregnant, mind you, it was more akin to disappointment. She had always thought she would plan it out with her husband first, that they would have time to prepare and ample opportunity to enjoy their marriage, rather than it being a surprise before even the vows were exchanged. Yet, this is her reality now, and she will be happy with it. Eventually.

While Robin tried to console her daughter-in-law, Maru ran to the clinic and sneaked out a home pregnancy test. After a quick sample-taking, it was confirmed that Estella was indeed expecting, probably celebrating her fifth week mark.

Tears fell down the farmer’s face as Robin held her, her own tears soaking into her shirt as the carpenter cried happily.

“I’m going to be a grandmother!  For the first time, oh dear!  I never thought Sebastian was going to be the one to make me a grandmother!” She rambled as Maru smiled widely, wrapping her arms around the both of them. 

“Me either.” The nursing student admitted with a nervous laugh and wiped at her eyes, trying to remain calm.

The three women heard a car engine turning down and the front door open, as loud conversation echoed from the hallowed halls of the mountain home.

“Oh, hell, I’ve got to tell Sebastian.” Estella whispered to the women, Robin trying to dry her face with the sleeves of her working shirt and Maru beaming with undue pride. 

Estella followed her mother-in-law’s example, wiping her face with a handkerchief as Sebastian and Sam entered the kitchen, arms heavy with crates full of champagne bottles.

“Hey, people!” Sam announced without noticing the women in the room all looking rather dishevelled. “Well, Mrs. Robin, I'd say we made excellent progress today!”

Sebastian, entering in after his friend, tilted his head to the side at his crying mother, beaming sister, and shaking soon to be wife.

“What happened to you lot?” He questioned, rather blazingly, as Demetrius, who had also returned from his small hike to check on the fruit bats at the cave by the entrance of Stardew Estate, looking even more confused.

“What’s wrong, dear?” The older man asked then, immediately rushing to Robin’s side and wrapping an arm around her as she broke down crying once more and throwing her arms around her husband. 

Sebastian looked at the tears in her eyes as Estella wrung her hands out in front of her.

“You see, the thing is… I’m pregnant.” She announced, making the room fall silent, spare Robin’s happy sobs.  

Sebastian’s face reddened, and his best friend looked between the farmer and him incredulously.

“You mean to tell me she two have been having premarital sex?!”  The man asked ridiculously, in an attempt to ease the mood of the room, but no-one gave him any attention.

Sebastian practically sprinted around the table, picking his fiancée up in his arms and burying his face in her neck.  Maru broke into a cackle as she joined her parents side, wrapping her arms around them excitedly.

“Are you being serious?”  He asked urgently when he finally sets her down, holding her crying face in his hands.  “I’m going to be a father?”

Estella nodded through her tears with a small smile on her lips, unable to say anything of more substance.

“Oh, honey, this is wonderful!” He said excitedly as he hugged her once more, the widest smile on his lips that she had ever seen in the five years of knowing him.

Sebastian kissed the farmer with all he had before releasing her to allow the rest of his family time to love on her.

By the end of the week, Sebastian and Estella were wed on a beautiful ceremony on the beach, under all the villagers’ well-wishes, none of them wise to the bun in the oven. Afterwards, the couple left for a weekend honeymoon in the city.

On Sunday, in the middle of the night, Estella jumps from the bed.

“Yoba merciful, I have to tell my mother!”

*_*_*_*_*

Stardew Valley Masterlist

[butterflies-dragons]

That was a heartbreaking read :( Enlightening tho, TY!! While I was aware of the parallels between Marillion & hound's attacks, I hadn't noticed the recurring themes leading up to the hound's attack. I've seen others speculating about nightmare wrt Jonsa and IA with you that nightmare is Sansa's way of processing her trauma. But I also think it could be part of the "Jon is a foil to Sansa's false beasts" motif. Two men with scarred faces forced Sansa onto her bed & assaulted her, but the 3rd 1/2

Hello Anon,

Many thanks for your words.  Here is the post for anyone interested.

About scarred face men around Sansa, Jon wouldn’t be the third, in any case the forth or even the fifth, but Sansa could meet others before her reunion with Jon, a man from the Mountain Clans of the Vale for example, like the Burned Men.

So far we have:

Ilyn Payne has a scarred face (pockmarked).   

The Hound has a scarred face (burned).

Tyrion Lannister has a scarred face (noseless).    

I also suspect Lothor cut Marillion’s face while saving Sansa.

Illyn Payne didn’t try to rape Sansa but his interactions with Sansa are surrounded by rapey and phallic imagery... I know, it’s disturbing...

Sansa always feel naked next to Ilyn Payne:

“The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,” the queen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her, but Sansa could not take her eyes off the third man. He seemed to feel the weight of her gaze. Slowly he turned his head. Lady growled. A terror as overwhelming as anything Sansa Stark had ever felt filled her suddenly. She stepped backward and bumped into someone.

(...)

There was general laughter, led by Lord Renly himself. The tension of a few moments ago was gone, and Sansa was beginning to feel comfortable … until Ser Ilyn Payne shouldered two men aside, and stood before her, unsmiling. He did not say a word. Lady bared her teeth and began to growl, a low rumble full of menace, but this time Sansa silenced the wolf with a gentle hand to the head. "I am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn," she said. She waited for an answer, but none came. As the headsman looked at her, his pale colorless eyes seemed to strip the clothes away from her, and then the skin, leaving her soul naked before him. Still silent, he turned and walked away.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

This line: “His pale colorless eyes seemed to strip the clothes away from her” sounds very rapey... And the reference to his “pale colorless eyes”  next to this line: “and then [strip] the skin, leaving her soul naked before him”, sounds like Bolton imagery, colorless eyes and flying skin.

Also, Ilyn Payne having Ice has a powerful and disturbing phallic imagery:   

The serving girls tried to talk to her when they brought her meals, but she never answered them. Once Grand Maester Pycelle came with a box of flasks and bottles, to ask if she was ill. He felt her brow, made her undress, and touched her all over while her bedmaid held her down. When he left he gave her a potion of honeywater and herbs and told her to drink a swallow every night. She drank it all right then and went back to sleep.

She dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a man climbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. All she could do was huddle behind her door and listen, trembling, as he came closer and closer. It was Ser Ilyn Payne, she knew, coming for her with Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. There was no place to run, no place to hide, no way to bar the door. Finally the footsteps stopped and she knew he was just outside, standing there silent with his dead eyes and his long pocked face. That was when she realized she was naked. She crouched down, trying to cover herself with her hands, as her door began to swing open, creaking, the point of the greatsword poking through …

She woke murmuring, "Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t,” but there was no one to hear.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

Ned used Sansa to kill Lady, Sansa’s direwolf, a part of her soul.  So, in a way, Ice has cut Sansa already.

Later, Ilyn Payne used Ice to kill Ned, Sansa’s father.  So Ice is painted with Lady’s and Ned’s blood.  And a bloody sword is also a metaphor of a phallus deflowering a maiden:

"Brandon loved his sword. He loved to hone it. 'I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman's cunt,' he used to say. And how he loved to use it. 'A bloody sword is a beautiful thing,' he told me once." 

"You knew him," Theon said.

The lantern light in her eyes made them seem as if they were afire. "Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two. And my lord father was always pleased to play host to the heir to Winterfell. My father had great ambitions for House Ryswell. He would have served up my maidenhead to any Stark who happened by, but there was no need. Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden's blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Turncloak

In contrast to Ned cleaning Ice after using the sword, Ilyn Payne keep it bloody:

Sansa had not even seen Ser Ilyn return to the hall, but suddenly there he was, striding from the shadows behind the dais as silent as a cat. He carried Ice unsheathed. Her father had always cleaned the blade in the godswood after he took a man’s head, Sansa recalled, but Ser Ilyn was not so fastidious. There was blood drying on the rippling steel, the red already fading to brown. “Tell Lady Sansa why I keep you by us,” said Cersei.

Ser Ilyn opened his mouth and emitted a choking rattle. His pox-scarred face had no expression.

“He’s here for us, he says,” the queen said. “Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive.”

“Us?”

“You heard me. So perhaps you had best pray again, Sansa, and for a different outcome. The Starks will have no joy from the fall of House Lannister, I promise you.” She reached out and touched Sansa’s hair, brushing it lightly away from her neck.”

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Sansa even dreams having her wedding night with Illyn Payne: 

“Once she dreamed it was still her marrying Joff, not Margaery, and on their wedding night he turned into the headsman Ilyn Payne. She woke trembling.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

So I think we must count Ilyn Payne in the scarred face men with rapey/non con connotations surrounding Sansa list, next to the Hound, Tyrion and Marilion that later also lost his eyes. 

And in AFFC Sansa meets another scarred face man: 

The gaoler Mord came with him, a monstrous man with small black eyes and a lopsided, scarred face. One ear and part of his cheek had been cleaved off in some battle, but twenty stone of pallid white flesh remained. His clothes fit poorly and had a rank, ripe smell. 

A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

Sound familiar?

Anyway, let’s talk about Jon now.  

Among all these men, Jon’s scar in his left eyes, a gift from Orell’s eagle, is almost nothing.  He is not disfigured like the Hound (half face burned), Tyrion (noseless) and Marilion (lost his eyes).  But there are theories that he could lose an eyes, like Waymar Royce his look-alike, an Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark, his ancestor and almost name-sake.   

Also, among all these men called beast in figurative sense, Jon’s beastly status is about him being a warg, a skinchanger.  Jon is both Beast and Man. That’s why there are theories about Jon’s soul living inside Ghost after his physical death.  

And finally Jon is the only hidden/secret prince that is a very significant parallel with the Beast from the fairy tale “Beauty and the Beast.” 

You can read more about jonsa and “Beauty and the Beast” in the following links:  

In the original fairy tale ‘La Belle et la Bête’ written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, Beauty and Beast/Prince are cousins.

There is a version of Beauty and the Beast where the Beast is a white wolf.

Other ship questioning jonsa and its connections with Beauty and the Beast.

Other ship questioning jonsa and its connections with Beauty and the Beast II.

Other ship questioning jonsa and its connections with Beauty and the Beast III. 

I agree that Jon won’t assault Sansa and that she will probably sing to him spontaneous and willingly.  Also take note that the Beast from “Beauty and the Beast” was very courteous, he needed to court Beauty and make her see him beyond his beastly appearance, in order to break his curse.           

Even in GRRM’s favorite version of the tale, the 1946 French film “La Belle et la Bête” directed by Jean Cocteau, “The Beast invites Belle to dinner, where he tells her that she's in equal command to him and that she will be asked every day to marry him. Days pass as Belle grows more accustomed to and fond of the Beast, but she continues to refuse marriage”.

So, Jon won’t be part of that long list of butchers around Sansa. 

I got your point, you made sense, don’t worry.  But I refuse to associate Jon with traumatic Sansa’s nightmares.  I wish for him to be A Dream of Spring.        

Thanks for your message.

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 9

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~3,300

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Eva sat in the conference room, trying hard not to fidget.  Javier and Steve were to her left, and there was a projector sitting behind the table.  None of them knew why they were sitting there. None of them knew when the meeting would start. All that they were told was that they were supposed to be sitting in that room by nine am that day. No exceptions.

The air kicked on, filling the room with a dull drone. Eva grabbed her pen and held it in her palm, using her thumb to slide the cap up and down along the length of it. She wanted to get up and take a lap around the room to excise some of the nervous energy she felt.

Javier lit a cigarette, sinking down lower into his chair, looking annoyed, “How long’ve we been sitting here?”

Steve looked at his watch, “About twenty minutes.”

“Fuck me,” Javier groaned, rubbing his eye, “I got about a thousand pages of paperwork that need to get done and we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.”

She had to agree. She’d gotten a little behind with reading through case files. Although she was used to redacted information, she wasn’t used to whole sections of them being completely missing.  As she moved through the most recent information, that was occurring more and more often. She thought she’d gotten the mole over two months ago, but now… there had to be more than one.

The door opened and Vanessa walked in. Eva inhaled deeply, her grip on the pen tightening until she heard the plastic crack. Jaw clenched, she sat up and prepared herself for the inevitable. Unable to help it, she glanced at the two agents she’d worked with so closely, already mourning the friendship they’d started to develop. She wondered if Connie would be calling to cancel their work out tonight.

Blinking, she turned her attention to the woman who signed her paychecks.

“Hello, thank you for waiting. I’m Vanessa Arnold.”

A tall, stately woman, dressed in a crisp suit, Vanessa looked at them with a critical gaze. She addressed each of them in turn, welcoming them to the meeting.  Eva’s eyes narrowed as Vanessa sorted the stack of files in front of her. She knew those files—well worn over the years, and slowly growing.

“I am here,” she announced, her expression business placid, “Because I’ve heard some disturbing information and I would like to give you the opportunity to address it.”

Next to her, Javier stubbed out his cigarette, “What kind of information?”

Vanessa smiled, it was not a nice smile, “It has been reported to the States that you are engaging in some inappropriate behavior.”

Javier and Steve looked at each other, a whole conversation passing between them that Eva wasn’t sure she could decipher.  Steve, who was sitting next to her, put his elbows on the table, resting his head on his hands.  Javier stayed where he was, but she could feel the heat of the glare he leveled at Vanessa.

“Now, we deal with some very serious things, and sometimes that wears us down.”  Standing, Vanessa circled the conference table, hand skimming over the chairs. “Sometimes, that leads us to forget our boundaries and the expectations of the DEA for its agents.”

Eva’s gaze followed Vanessa as she sauntered towards them, pace excruciatingly slow.  She knew where this was going, had attended this meeting at least once in every location she’d been sent to, usually at about the six month mark. And yet, it still hurt. Vanessa knew how to make it hurt.

Javier cleared his throat, “With all due respect, Ms. Arnold, can you get to the point?”

There was that ugly smile again, “Absolutely. I’ve received reports that you and Agent Murphy are participating in social events with Mrs. Moore. Going out to bars, eating lunch together—Agent Murphy, your wife has been attending classes at the gym with Mrs. Moore, has she not?”

Steve’s mouth thinned, “She has. There aren’t many Americans in this country, least of all anyone who might be able to commiserate about life in close quarters with the DEA.”

Vanessa cast him a condescending look, “Still, it doesn’t exactly put you in a positive light, does it?”

Eva could feel the wheels of Steve’s mind turning as he processed what she’d said.  He flicked his fingers out in a sharp motion before curling them into his palms, “I don’t understand. Eva is a contract consultant, paid by the DEA to work with us. How is associating with her outside of work a negative?”

Here we go.

Vanessa stepped back and flicked off the lights, then moved to the projector and turned it on, “Mrs. Moore is generally reticent to talk about it, but I feel its important for you to know who you are working with.”

The projector clicked and Eva’s mug shot flashed onto the wall opposite the group. She closed her eyes, working to control her breathing.  She’d been released into police custody right out of the hospital. Her arm was still in a cast, her face heavily swollen and bruised. The picture was not flattering.

“Mrs. Moore was charged and convicted of the murder of her husband a few years prior to coming to work for us.”

Another click. Her husband’s picture, his professional photo, came up. Josh was impeccably groomed, smile wide and white, eyes clear and sparkling. She bit the inside of her cheek, stunned that she could still feel such hatred towards a person no longer living.

“This is Joshua Moore. A prominent doctor and businessman out of Louisiana. His practice was located just outside of New Orleans.  He was most well known for donating large amounts to charities across the state.”

For the tax write off. And, to get the votes of the city councils.

Click. Their wedding picture. Eva felt bile rise in her throat. Fourteen years old, looking like a baby next to a twenty five year old who’d just started working for the local hospital. Her mother had picked out her dress—a frilly, lace encrusted thing that was a touch too long.  She remembered how much her feet hurt from walking in the heels she needed to wear to keep the thing from dragging too much down the aisle.  Standing at the altar had been excruciating enough that she’d stumbled over her vows.

“By all accounts, Mrs. Moore and her husband had a passionate relationship.”

Passionate is one way to put it.

In the beginning, she’d fought him when she thought he was being unfair. He’d scream, punch doors, throw things, eventually things devolved into physical beatings.  It only took about a year for her to stop fighting and just do what he wanted. It was easier that way. Soon enough, he figured out how good she was at hiding things—money, product, herself—and he let her in on the family business.

Click. Their blood covered carpet with his outline marked in tape.

“One night, things got out of hand. Mr. Moore unfortunately lost his life at the hands of his wife.”

God, could she be a little less dramatic? Her voice had lowered down to a soft, sweet sound that grated on every nerve Eva had.  She felt her mouth lift in a sneer before she could check the motion. Sniffing, she relaxed the muscles of her face, looking forward at the picture dispassionately.

Click. The trail of blood leading from the living room out the back door.

“When police arrived on the scene, Mr. Moore was found in the back yard, on fire.  Autopsy reports state that he was set aflame post mortem. His cause of death was confirmed as blunt force trauma to the skull.”

Click. Her husband’s dead body, skin black and burned down to bone, laying atop a cart. Click. A close up of his face, half the skull missing. In bottom right corner, there was a little ‘R’ marked in what looked to be black permanent marker. This was the only new aspect of the photos.  Every location. Every six months. Every photo. She’d seen them over and over and had them memorized. It didn’t seem possible that this little song and dance could still make her angry, but it did.  She was tired of paying for a justifiable action she’d taken to save her own life.

Vanessa left the last photo up, moving to stand before them, one hand slipping into the pocket of her slacks.  Eva kept her gaze steady, ready to take what would come next, the words that she’d heard for many years.

“Gentleman, you’re sitting next to a cold blooded murder, a person who took a life that was privileged and beat it to death with a fire extinguisher. Think about what kind of person could do that to someone they loved. This about who she would have to be to drag a dead body out of her house and set it on fire. Think about how associating with that kind of person reflects on you and your careers.”

The silence that followed was familiar and tense. Both men looking at Vanessa—Javier gently tapping his forefinger on the table, Steve with his head on his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, but she kept smiling, “I’m going to let you keep thinking on that. Thank you for coming in. Have a nice day.”

And then she as striding out, her heels clicking on the tile. Eva watched her go, the door closing gently behind her. Eva just caught the face of that department head she’d nearly forgotten about as he approached Vanessa in the hall. She let the sneer form on her mouth, knowing that the rumor mill would start almost immediately.

The air in the room felt oppressive, the darkness only adding more pressure.  Eva pushed a breath through her nose, scratching at the skin above her eyebrow as she tried to think of something to say.

Javier spoke for her, “What a load of bullshit.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was, indeed, a load of bullshit. She’d never had someone put it so succinctly so quickly following the presentation.

Steve leaned back in his seat, smashing the power button on the projector. It turned off with the groaning hiss of an air fan, leaving the room completely dark. Eva took the opportunity to swallow back the old feelings that had been drudged up in the last ten minutes.  Ten minutes. That’s all it took for her to feel like shit again. She fucking hated Vanessa.

Javier stood up and flicked on the lights, returning to his seat and sitting heavily. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, offering the pack to Steve, who took it. Eva folded her hands over her chest and waited for someone to speak.

Steve tapped off ash into a faceted glass tray, “So that’s why you told us about it early on.”

“That’s why I told you about it early on,” Eva confirmed with a nod.

Javier blew out a lungful of smoke, “She do this often?”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Every time, with every team.”

He nodded, leaning his forearms on the table, “You notice she left your files.”

“Yep,” Eva bit out.

It was a perfect strategy. If she hadn’t been up front about her husband, it would be impossible for anyone to ignore the fact that the whole story, in black and white, was sitting right there.

Steve reached out and placed his hand next to her on the tabletop, “You want us to read through it.”

She shrugged, “You can, if you want. Its a nicely worded story. Not too flattering to me, of course.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, another private conversation passing between them. She kept her expression neutral, not wanting to sway them one way or another.

Steve threw the butt of his cigarette into the tray, “Connie and I are having a pool party next weekend.  You want to come? Carrillo, too.”

Eva felt her jaw drop, didn’t bother to conceal her shock, “You want me to come to a party.”

“Yeah,” he said, his mouth curling into a smile, “Maybe you can convince Javi, here, to put on a swim suit.”

“I wear swim trunks,” Javier cut in with mock anger.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Only because Connie won’t let you come if you’re not wearing appropriate attire.” Then, to Eva, “You got a suit?”

She nodded, “I do.”

“Good, bring a bottle of booze, and you’re set.”

Eva sat there, staring at him, her mouth open. It was one thing for her to tell them what she’d done. It was another thing to come face to face with pictures of her husband’s mutilated body and react with, what? Nonchalance?

Steve leaned towards her, “Connie wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t gotten her out of that restaurant.  I don’t give a shit what you did to that guy.  What you did, here? That’s what counts.”

She looked between them. Javier wasn’t talking, but he nodded as Steve spoke, offering silent support. Eva felt her chest constrict with a soft affection for them both. The relief was a physical thing, exhaling with her next breath.

“Thank you.”

Steve shrugged, “Don’t mention it. Vodka—bring a bottle. Wear your suit.”

As it turned out, Connie did not cancel their work out that night. She met Eva outside the gym at their regular time, looking at her like a friend. Eva had to cough into her hand to hide the surprised little shriek that wanted to burst out of her when the woman came into view.

They spent the hour sweating and huffing through a one challenging set after another, the sound of the instructor’s voice coaching them through the movements. Afterwards, Eva slumped on the bench, tossing back water and toweling off her face.

“That was fun,” Connie commented from her spot next to her.

Eva sent her a sidelong glance, “Fun is not the word I would use.”

Fun was sitting at a bar, drinking and hollering at the band. Fun was watching a ball game or shopping for new clothes. What they had just done was hard work—muscle burning, lung searing, skin sizzling hard work. Still, Eva enjoyed it, needed the release of endorphins.

“You know, one of the things I look forward to when I get back to the states is flaunting my newly hot body when I see those skinny bitches at my high school reunion.”

Eva laughed, “You’ll be the talk of the party—look at those biceps.”

Connie flexed, smiling wide, “Gotta get me one of those strapless, backless dresses, just to show off.”

“Oh, Steve’ll love that.”

“He would,” Connie said with a coy little tilt of her shoulders. “He tell you about the party?”

Eva nodded, “Yeah, I’ve been tasked with bringing a bottle of vodka.”

“And wearing a suit,” Connie asserted, pointing at Eva.

“I have one, don’t worry.”

“I want everyone dressed for the occasion, no office wear allowed.”

“Ah, damn, I’ll have to leave my pencil skirt at home.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “I’m so glad I get to wear scrubs. My feet still hurt at the end of the day, but at least its not from wearing heels.”

Eva took another long swig, “Yeah, but you do have to be one your feet all day. At least I get to sit down.”

“Pros and cons.”

Eva nodded, “Agreed. Pros and cons.”

“So, are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you and Carrillo? Steve says you’ve been seeing him.”

Eva set down the water bottle. She’d been wondering, herself, when Connie was going to bring it up. Despite their weekly gym excursions, she hadn’t pushed. Eva was grateful—she didn’t really know how she’d characterize her relationship with the man. They weren’t...like, boyfriend and girlfriend. At least, not how she’d known the concept back before she’d been married. Companions, maybe. Friends, definitely. Friends who slept together. Friends with benefits? That felt too trivializing.

“We’ve gone out a few times,” Eva edged, standing and motioning for Connie to follow.

They walked towards the bathrooms, the humidity spiking from the showers as they passed through the doors.

“And?”

Eva opened her locker and pulled out her gym back, rustling around for her change of clothes, “And...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Sighing, Eva stood up and looked at Connie, “I don’t. Not really. I’m only on assignment here for another six months or so. I like him. I like spending time with him. I don’t know where I am from there.”

Connie fixed her with a level look, “You don’t want to get into anything serious because you think you’re leaving in six months.”

Eva thought about it,“Yes.”

“But, you like him enough that you’re willing to go out with him even though it might end sooner rather than later.”

Eva thought again, “Yes.”

She gave a little bob of her head, “That’s fair. Steve says he’s pretty intense.”

Eva didn’t have to think about that one, “Yes.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

Eva’s face scrunched, “You want me to say more?”

“Yes, for God’s sake!” Connie burst out, her hands flying in the air, “I want details.”

Eva laughed, “Let me get cleaned up and then we can talk details.”

Connie’s eyes narrowed, “Don’t think I’m going to forget. We’re going to the bar and you’re going to tell me everything.”

They did, indeed, go to the bar, although Eva didn’t really tell Connie everything.  She talked about their dates, how he’d been polite and conscientious, how she felt when they kissed, and that she hadn’t yet spent the night at his place but she wanted to.

“You know, when I met him, I thought he was terrifying,” Connie commented as she sipped a gin and tonic.

Eva lifted a brow, “Why?”

Thinking for a moment, Connie settled on, “He was just so serious. Like, really, really serious.”

Eva could get that. The man could write a book on taking things seriously. Serious was in his blood. But, she’d seen him soft and sweet, too. She’d seen his dimples as he smiled. Seen his laugh. There was more to him than he showed to the world, more than a hard, scary man. It made her warm inside to think that she got to see that side of him.

“Shame that you don’t think it’ll last,” Connie said, a leading tone in her voice.

Eva brought her beer to her lips, “I have to go home sometime.”

“Where is home, exactly?”

The question caught Eva off guard. She realized that she didn’t exactly know. For a long time, Louisiana was home, and then Texas, and then a host of assignments. Now, it was Colombia. She’d been traveling for so long that she couldn’t root herself down anywhere. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. Her contract end date had been so far away for so long that Eva had never taken the time to work out what she would do afterward. Her record would be cleared, she would no longer be a felon. She would have years of work experience and a tidy little savings.

The possibilities were so numerous that Eva found herself unable to really settle on any one thing that she wanted—except, that wasn’t exactly true. Her heart, down deep, wanted what she might actually be able to have. A too serious, dimple-cheeked man who smelled like tobacco and vetiver.

Connie was looking at her, waiting for her answer. Eva just shrugged and ordered another round of drinks.

[yandere-sins]

A Father’s Care

Part 1 [ - Part 2  -  Part 3]

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-«« 

Rating: Explicit Characters: Fem!Reader, Endeavor / Enji Todoroki, The rest of the Todoroki-Family, minus Rei Word-Count: 5015

Warnings: Dub-Con, Actions that could be seen as Cheating, Molesting, Lemon, Violence against the Reader

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-«« 

a/n: Okay, I didn’t think this idea would get so out of hand but it ended up being way to many pages so I had to split it in two. Here’s part one and I just... ah, what did I do... Please, read with caution. (Especially part two, this one is still quite harmless...) However! It’s my Christmas present for you guys, so I hope you still can enjoy... it... to some degree, let me know what you think!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

The holiday season was a joy for you. You could not remember a time you didn't like it, even with the hassle and bustle that came with the years that you grew up. Still, you always looked fondly upon the days, planning gifts and presents for your loved ones, wrapping them up nicely, and eventually giving them to your family and friends. Seeing their faces light up and maybe a tear or two when they remembered how much they wanted this or that - what else was there to make your heart swell and generate a little bit of peacefulness in your life?

You loved all the lights and twinkles around your home and the city. To decorate and make everything festive, only to sit back relax with hot cocoa and some Christmas movies, what better way to spend your free time could there be? Some people might be miffed about all the jingles and colors, but for you, the streets never looked better, never shone brighter, and were never more heartfelt than in these few Christmas days.

There had been so many Christmas parties in your life, before Christmas, and the days afterwards. Days, where everyone had been merry and joyful, laughing and singing together. It had never mattered to you what you did on these days. Karaoke, hot pot, going to a fair - everything had always been a joy. And once it was over? You looked forward to the next year. Each year the same, and yet you never got tired of it, no matter how repetitive it was.

But this year, this year would certainly not be repetitive.

This was the first year with Shoto. Gripping his hand a little tighter, you felt him squeeze back through the mittens, your head turning towards him, a bright smile on your lips. "I can't wait to celebrate with your family," you revealed, the excitement vibrating in your voice. And it was true, even with all the tension in your husband's family, you could NOT wait for your first Christmas together. It was a family celebration after all, and it would be the first you two had as husband and wife.

The wedding had only been recent, winter-themed, which was very fitting for you and him as you thought. He was partly your ice-prince after all, even if you did not just marry him for his quirk, and certainly, he did not marry you for yours either. It was way to minor anyway, probably not transferring into a child should you two ever have one. And yes, you were planning on one, maybe even… as a little Christmas wonder.

"Don't get your expectations up, I suppose it will be very mediocre," he stated nonchalantly, pulling the scarf around him a little tighter. "You know my family."

His last words were spoken in a half-amused, half-apologetic smile, and you immediately cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb over the cold skin of his. "Shoto, it will be amazing. Simply because you will be there and your siblings. We will have tons of fun and eat tons of gingerbread, it will be good."

Nodding hesitantly, he took your hand from his face, kissing your knuckles. "I hope so. I want you to have a good Christmas, [Name]."

"It'll be the BEST Christmas," you chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him. Him and hopefully his worries away.

Everything was splendid. You two were greeted warmly by Fuyumi, and even Natsuo showed up briefly for a welcome, before disappearing again. Shrugging, all of you decided to have tea, you, and Fuyumi instantly falling into chatter about how you wanted to decorate the rooms for your Christmas party and what you should cook. Shoto kept mostly quiet while you two brainstormed ideas as if there was no morning, though you always felt his reassuring touch on your back while you noticed him look around quite a few times.

"Is something wrong?" you whispered to him as Fuyumi went to get more tea water, and he sighed shortly before shaking his head, his attention shifting from you to Fuyumi, calling out to her. "Is father not here yet?" Shoto asked, and you felt the heavy tension that immediately fell over the room as the topic of the head of the family was brought up.

"Oh, well, no, he is. But he went out to find a photographer…" Shoto's sister explained, refilling the teacups thoughtfully. "A photographer?" Shoto asked, brows furrowing as the questions arose in his mind. Setting down the cups on the table again, you thanked her for the effort before she tried to explain what she knew, still somewhat vague on the topic herself.

"Yes… I think he saw it on TV that families take pictures of themselves on Christmas for postcards or something. He thought it would be a nice idea now that you and [Name]-" she made a short break to smile at you warmly, making you feel very welcome "-are married and over for Christmas. A memory, so to say."

Smiling back at her, you welcomed the idea as you found it to be quite cute. You knew not everything was okay and dandy, but you appreciated the effort Enji Todoroki tried to put into this. Shoto must have told him on some point that Christmas was your favorite holiday, and you could imagine it was because you were in the family now, that he was trying to make an effort. "That sounds like fun!" you chimed, and Fuyumi had a moment of hesitation before she grinned and nodded, agreeing with you.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the frown on Shoto's face, but you only brushed over his arm, holding his hand, silently trying to calm him at least a little. It was still tough for him to have a good opinion on his old man, but when he sighed quietly, you knew he was trying - for you.

Admittedly, you had never lived in such a big, fancy house before. Part of you had worried it would look weird to decorate a traditional, japanese home like this, but all the more positively surprised were you that it looked quite so splendid. "[Name]-chan, should we go inside again?" Fuyumi asked, rubbing her hands together. Both of you had been outside decorating for a while now, and your breaths were visible as much as the shivers in your bones.

"Yeah, I think we're done! Sorry, I went a little overboard," you laughed it off, quickly making your way back inside into the warmth. Discarding of your outdoor clothes and shoes, you slipped into your own slippers before marching deeper inside the building with Fuyumi, you two giggling as you passed all the cheesy decoration you had put up. It had taken you the whole day, but even the inside of the house was now decorated in candles and lights, colorful bulbs, and even reindeer statues in the hallways. Everything seemed splendidly like Christmas, and you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

You found your husband in the living room, together with his brother, under the kotatsu, watching some news program on the television. They both looked up when you entered, Shoto lifting the blanket on his lap to let you crawl into the heated table with him, your body quickly sticking up to his warm side and driving your fingers over his soft pullover. "Done already?" he asked, pulling you closer to him, and you shivered as the warmth enveloped you.

"Yes!" Fuyumi chirped, having brought some new tea for all of you and handing it out to everyone. "How do you like the decorations, Natsuo?" she asked, giving her brother a poke with her foot until he sat up to participate in the conversation. "They're flashy," he grumbled, having a sip from his tea, appreciating the aroma of it for a second before adding, "But otherwise it's quite different from usual."

"That's not bad, right?" you asked carefully, gripping into Shoto's pullover a little tighter. It was a dangerous question, really, something that could turn the mood sour in a matter of a thought. But surprisingly, Natuso smiled, shaking his head. "No, it's actually quite ni-"

"HOME!" it echoed through the halls, a booming, irritating sound. Followed by loud footsteps, you noticed how all the siblings tensed up, especially Shoto, who you leaned against. Out of respect, you sat up, hoping to not look too casually next to him as you felt his fingers this time grip into your side, almost painfully so. Natsuo's relaxed, happy expression faded from his face, a big, serious scowl coming up instead, while Fuyumi tried to keep calm, a wry smile on her lips as she let out nervous giggles.

You could hear some grumbling from outside as the footsteps approached, but it was hard to make out the actual words to the voice. All you could do was hope that it wasn't complains about the decorations when one moment to the other, the sliding door flew open, Enji's bulky figure appearing in the frame. "There you are," he grunted, letting his eyes sway from person to person. Eventually, his view got stuck on you as he noted, "Oh, Shoto, [Name]. You're already here, way earlier than expected."

No one at the table dared to say a word, while Enji's where more of a fact than really a question. So as the uncomfortableness spread, you decided you would be the one to speak up, putting on your best smile before facing him. "Oh, yeah. We actually wanted to come early and help with the preparations… and decorations," you laughed, and he nodded in understanding.

Honestly, you two had never talked much before, you had barely met him before your wedding too, so it was awkward enough talking to him, if not for the three sullen children with you at the table. "Oh… yeah, the decoration. They are…" he took a moment to look back over his shoulder into the hallway, giving it a proper inspection once more. "... quite delightful."

At that, you could barely hold your pride, giving Fuyumi a short, triumphant glance. You two had made it, you actually had decorated the house in a way the great Endeavor would approve of. She looked at you with the same happiness, and you two grinning idiots turned your attention back to Enji as he finally entered the room. Natsuo looked like he was about to jump up and run, but all of you kept your composure as Enji sat down at the table, receiving a cup of tea from Fuyumi too.

"How was it at the photographer, Dad?" she asked, and he grunted instead of a thanks as she gave him the tea, sipping on it. "He's booked for tomorrow morning, everyone should be ready by then."

A wave of agreement went through everyone in the room. However, Natsuo was the first one to break out of the family gathering after receiving the information he needed. "I got to finish up some work on my laptop. I'll go ahead first." For a second, Fuyumi tried to hold him back before releasing him, a wave of good night's falling from everyone's mouth. "We are quite tired too," Shoto noted, brushing off the warming blanket from his legs in an attempt to leave too. "[Name] did a lot of decorating, and we need to settle in."

Giving Fuyumi an apologizing look, she waved you two off, even though you felt bad for leaving her with her dad. Then again, from everyone, she had the probably best relationship with him. "You two do that," Enji mumbled, continuing sipping on his tea. "See you tomorrow then," you chuckled, trying to sound rather joyful still as Shoto led you out of the room by hand, closing the door behind you.

"Are you sure, Fuyumi will be okay?"

"She'll manage," he sighed, feeling the same kind of burden you had felt over leaving her behind.

But what you two did not notice anymore, was the look Enji sent after you two while Fuyumi told him about the decorating process and peeled some tangerines. The way he looked at you was like he seemed to know something you had yet to think about, his glare hotter than anything Shoto could produce. You were to find out soon just how different families were, even when they were celebrating something so lovely as Christmas.

"NATSUO!" it boomed through the hallways as Endeavor called for his son, who was the last one to come down from his room. The photographer, you, and Fuyumi shared empathetic glances over the loudness that shook even through bones, your sister-in-law returning your meek smile apologetic.

"It's fine! I am here!" Natsuo complained as he sprinted down the stairs, binding his tie as he walked. All of you looked formidable. Together with you, Fuyumi had rearranged some decorations to the background of your photograph, and every one of you had suited up to fit the celebration, no matter how heavy the air laid over all of you. The photographer was a sweet, older man who seemed to not be too bothered with your father-in-law's sternness, smiling at him whenever they talked even.

To you, all of this seemed reasonably normal and like a sweet family-thing to do.

But what you had gathered from Shoto last night, he seemed to view it differently, even upset his father would do something like that. Natsuo, too, didn't look too happy, deep bags under his eyes, and his jaw clenched. Fuyumi did her best to hide it, but even on her shoulders, you could see the tension, and beside you, only Enji seemed to be in a fairly good mood.

Adjusting the chair he was supposed to sit on carefully, he looked over his assembled children. Natsuo clicked with his tongue, and Shoto simply looking away as you tried to smile back at him. The photographer took his place behind the set up camera while Enji sat down. He was simply too tall to be in the photograph with all of you otherwise, and all of you squeezed together beside him, two on each side. You were sure, it would look like a great photo nonetheless.

"Ah," the old man exclaimed calmly, though you could see him pucker his mouth behind the camera in thought. "Young Lady…" he mumbled, looking up to make some eye connection with you. "Oh- Yes?" you quickly replied, feeling how the people beside you went from tense to impatient in a matter of seconds.

"You are out of the frame I am afraid… Now where to put you…" he explained, and you gulped, feeling like a burden, especially to Natsuo, who sighed heavily as the photographer thought.

"[Name]," a deep voice said calmly, and you turned to Enji, feeling Shoto's hand that he had on your back, push more into your body reassuringly. "Come sit here," he instructed, patting his leg.

If you had not known it better, you would have described it as hell freezing over. You didn't see any ice crystals coming from Shoto, but you felt the temperature drop quite a few degrees around you as the offer went through to you. "O-Oh, Dad! Maybe I should-" Fuyumi tried to save the situation, but she was quickly interrupted by her father.

"No. This way Shoto can be by her side still, and we will have the numbers even on the photo. Come on."

He patted his leg again - strictly and without a chance of refusal - and all of you siblings shared a surprised and shocked moment of quietly looking to each other. Even Natsuo seemed to have very mixed feelings clearly written in his face. But you gave yourself a push, deciding you would not be the one to ruin the family's Christmas by any means. He was sort of your father, after all, there was nothing weird about sitting on his lap - right?

Pushing the skirt of your dress down, you stepped inside his spread legs, seating yourself very far out on his knee and holding yourself as best as you could so you wouldn't weigh down on him. It was a surprisingly comfortable seat his leg spacious to sit on, even when the situation still seemed strange in your mind. Shoto's hand wandered from your back to your hand farthest from Endeavor, holding it tightly in his. His skin was ice cold, which was nothing new, but you seemed to notice it more now that there was quite such an awkwardness in the air.

When you thought you had settled quite nicely, you looked up again, nodding to the photographer who proceeded to get back to his camera. However, before even the first shot could be made, a large hand came around your hip, roughly yanking you towards your father-in-law. You took it in the best way you could, holding back a squeal. But reflexively, you had reached up your hand to support you, feeling a warm body under the tight dress shirt Enji was wearing. His muscles had never been so prominent to you than in that moment, but you snapped out of it immediately as you felt Shoto's hand restricting around yours tightly.

"Father-" he started, sounding like he was spitting poison rather than talking.

"No reason to be shy. We are family, right?"

With an open mouth, you started to nod, using your hand to pat Shoto's calmingly, shrugging it off to keep the situation calm. "It's fine, it's fine. Was just a surprise!"

He looked at you for a few, meaningful seconds before you could see him relax a little, stepping back and nodding. The photographer went back to his preparations as everyone settled in their position again. Even though you too put on your best smile, your thoughts were rampaging in your mind as you felt Enji's hand not budging from your hips.

While you had always admired Shoto's delicateness, this was so different that you could not help yourself but notice. Even with just one hand, you felt secured in his grip, even ignoring the lingering feeling of his palm against your buttcheek, sometimes massaging a little into your flesh. And though only your shoulder was leaned against him, there was an energetic drumming of a heartbeat running through you. A heartbeat so differently, so wild and overwhelming, it was nothing you had every synched yours too before. It was almost threatening to you and yet, thrilling. Like watching a very good movie, it was hard to focus on anything else.

"Everyone say 'Cheese'!" the photographer instructed, and you momentarily snapped out of your entrancement, blinking and grinning like the Christmas-enthusiastic-idiot you were. The camera shut once, everyone blinking a sigh of relieve. "Halt!" it boomed from the head of the family as you started to sway while Enji adjusted, sitting even more towards you and pressed up to you now. "I would like a few pictures so I can choose properly," he explained calmly, and the photographer smiled at him while you heard Natsuo sigh deeply.

Getting yourself ready again, you very faintly noticed Endeavor's free hand coming down to your knee, the other one still around your body to keep you in place. You fretted not having worn tights that day, but his hand rested calmly over your leg while you wondered if he could feel any stubble from shaving the day before. In fact, it laid warm and heavy on your limb, restricting your movements further and making you slightly turn away from your husband for the sake of accommodating the hand.

That one… was big too. It felt scruff against your skin, but its fingers wrapped nicely around your leg. Only now, you also realized you sat so close, Enji's head was right above yours. You were totally and fully enveloped by him, and you instinctively shifted a little more in his hold until a sudden, small groan caught your intentions. Apologetic, you looked up, ready to apologize for fidgeting so much when you met his sharp blue eyes, which looked down at you in a way you could not quite understand, other than it made you freeze.

Smiling weakly, you turned your attention forward again as best as you could, clearing your throat quietly as to not pull any attention and sat up straight. The pressure on your leg grew as the camera shutter did a few more takes, your legs slowly but surely and unwillingly spreading apart until there was no more room to go. Enji's hand was overtaking most of your lap as he slid it up further. Like you were sitting on his, so he was touching yours.

Until you felt it clearly against your leg.

A resistance.

In between the takes, you took one second to look down, seeing your knee was as far up as his crotch, pushing into it already and held there in position by your father-in-law. There was a creeping feeling on the lower side of your inner thigh as Enji noticed your concern for the position, fingers crawling upwards, soon covered by your skirt.

Nervously, you started to stir in his hold, but what you had previously admired, was now what kept you from going anywhere. 'Oh god,' you thought, biting your lips as the need to just jump up and back into Shoto's arms arose. This was your own family, but surely… to anyone, your position would seem wrong. Latest when you suddenly felt something throb against your leg was when you were ready to bail.

You spared one more glance into the direction of the throbbing. It was like the worst nightmare come true as you could see - even through the black dress pants - a bulge grow beneath the fabric. Every time Enji so much but took a deep breath, it pressed up to you, rubbed against your skin. You were no child, and neither was Endeavor, so you knew what that was, but when you looked up, his eyes were straight ahead, in all seriousness.

Taking a deep, quiet breath, you looked ahead again, too, trying to smile once more. If… he didn't notice, maybe it was all a misunderstanding? Perhaps you were just overreacting and daring to destroy a perfectly lovely family gathering because you were overthinking? So you got a grip on yourself, telling yourself to stop being an idiot and tried to ignore it.

The camera seemed to never stop as you kept your thoughts on positive things. Shoto, the decorations, Christmas! Right, you would not be the one to ruin everyone's holidays because of that little bit of inconvenience from you. Even when his hand crawled a little further up under your skirt, you still ignored it, gulped, and continued to smile. You even ignored the tip of his pointer finger against your sex, poking at it carefully while you tensed. His hand on your hip tensed too, pulling you closer and keeping you immobilized as if he was afraid of you jumping up and go.

The only thing you heard after a while was a grumbling in his throat next to you, resembling a chuckle before he pulled at your leg, pushing it even deeper in his own crotch region. By now, the bulge wasn't just big, it was enormous, fabric spreading all around your leg while you felt the hard inside rub against it. At the same time, he used his finger to swipe over your panties, hitting places he wasn't supposed to, causing you to let out a high-pitched squeal with your closed mouth, clutching Shoto's hand tightly out of reflex.

And then it was all over.

As if nothing had ever happened.

The pulling and squeezing up to his body vanished, and you were let go from his hold. No fingers or fabric against your leg and the camera slowly stopping taking more pictures while the siblings breathed a sigh of relieve. "Alright, folks. I think that's it!" the photographer laughed heartily, and you almost desperately jumped up from Enji's lap, stumbling back to Shoto's side, who gave you a questioning look. Surely, he had noticed the squeeze of your hand before, and your cheeks were colored oddly for a photo shoot after all.

Releasing your lip from your bite, you smiled at him reassuringly, hugging his arm and giving his cheek a kiss. As if you needed to reassure him when in reality, you were reassuring yourself. Even now, you still didn't want to believe what had happened, but it burned into your mind. Though you tried finding reasons such as age and just coincidence, you were still not convinced about Endeavor's real intentions, and you smiled sheepishly at him as he stood up and gave you a spare sideglance. One that, much to your own dismay, made your blood boil.

"I think I need a nap," you conveyed to Shoto, and you gained a confused look form him as he asked if you were okay. It was still early, after all. "Yeah, just… a little weird."

Looking back at your father-in-law, you saw him discuss the further production of the pictures with the old man, Fuyumi eagerly at his side, hoping to see some of them. "Well, that was strange," Natsuo mumbled as he passed you two, sneaking out of the room before any other 'stupid' ideas he would have to be involved in could rise. Nodding to yourself, you agreed with him, ready to leave too. With how complicated you were feeling, you wanted nothing more than go and rest for a while, sorting this mess out.

"Well, if you will excuse me…" the old man mumbled, grabbing his suitcases with the camera and bowing lightly to you. Fuyumi led him outside, and you and Shoto followed to see him off. Behind you, you were terribly aware of Endeavor's presence, and you let go of Shoto so you two could hold up with his chipper sister.

However, the moment Shoto was out of the door, you felt a yank at your shoulder, a familiar, big hand holding you back. "I have some decorations stored in my room. You should come and get them," Enji grumbled from behind you, sounding more like an instruction than a piece of helpful information. "O-Oh, I will do that later, Sir," you mumbled, smiling awkwardly back over your shoulder and meeting his sharp gaze.

"Don't take too much time," he grunted and passed you by. "Y-Yes…" you whispered, feeling incredible meek all of a sudden. His hand left your shoulder, and all of a sudden, you felt freezing without his body heat close to you. As if someone had just robbed you of your own warmth, and also clear thinking, you found yourself seeking the warmth.

Hugging yourself, you took a few deep breaths, feeling the pressure of having to go after Shoto or else he'd be worried, but barely able to walk. And then, you realized something that gave you a slap of shame over your head. You couldn't be surprised, but you felt the wet fabric between your legs, your head giving you short memories of the feeling of Enji's big fingers rubbing and poking right there. His heartbeat was like a metronome in your head, pounding and pounding in your ears, and you wondered if your heart ever could feel like that. You could imagine it clearly still, and it worried you immensely that you could not help but think about that huge, immense bulge against your knee. Even wonder about what was beneath these black dress pants.

Feeling your own body heat return to you, especially in your cheeks and ears, you quickly banished the thoughts, reminding yourself of exactly what you were thinking about. Of course, sometimes, these kinds of thoughts would come up when faced with something very different you were used to. It calmed you as you reminded yourself that you had surely wondered before what other celebrities were packing, it was… instinctual. Yes, instinctual.

"[Name]? Are you okay?" your lover's voice rang out to you, Shoto's frame appearing in the doorway. Immediately, your heart jumped in joy of seeing him, and you were relieved of the change of mind it gave you. You loved him so much. And you loved Christmas! To be together with him was all you wanted, and no little incident - no matter how weird and awkward it was - could stop that. "I'm fine!" you assured, jumping to his side and kissing him.

"I love you so much," you muttered to him, and his forehead wrinkled for a second over the spontaneous confession before his lips quirked upwards into a smile.

"I love you too."

You shared another, long, passionate kiss with him, sinking in his arms that he wrapped around you, knowing this was right where you belonged. This was what made you happy and thankful, and you were eager to show just how amazing Shoto could make you feel. A chuckle was enough to signal him just what you wanted, his body pressing up to yours quickly before he took you by the hand.

No one said anything when you two excused yourselves for a few hours to take a nap. However, you felt Enji's eyes drill into you while you, Shoto, and Fuyumi were conversating about the times you would be eating and needed to be up again to help. With a wave, you two said your farewells, for the time being, shutting the door behind you as you left the living room. It was a freeing feeling of the two orbs that seemed to not have let go of you as you were still in Endeavor's sight, uncomfortable and nerve-wracking for you. But you forced yourself to think about nicer things, like your husband at your side. And as he wrapped an arm around you, you leaned against his shoulder, you sighed blissfully.

Only for a moment, you couldn't help but notice the feeling of something missing. But how could you have ignored it?

Shoto's hand was just so much smaller than his.

[barnesandco]

Nikah: July

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Very mild angst.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​​ ‘s writing challenge. I don’t know how much you’ll like this one, but bear with me, people. I promise tomorrow’s is going to be worth it.

The aftermath of tragedy is difficult to navigate. Lost in treacherous seas and the thunderstorm of her trauma, Bucky finds himself drifting away. Distance comes in many shapes and forms, and his manifests itself in the millimeters between his thigh and hers, occasionally brushing together as the subway car moves. The tunnels of the New York Underground zoom past in a blur of black and the reflections of the carriage’s pasty interior, and Bucky wonders how much longer this journey will last.

She hasn’t told him where they’re going, and now sits next to him with one earbud in, humming to a song he doesn’t understand but at this point is very familiar with. The melody to Mere Rashke Qamar rumbles lowly from her throat, only enough for his enhanced ears to enjoy. As if she hasn’t vehemently but secretively insisted that they go out. After the kidnapping, he has been careful. Protective, he would say if he didn’t feel that cowardly was more appropriate. She has been everything but.

Shy smiles replaced by bluntness, those tears he witnessed the night they found her the only ones he has seen since, his wife is now red-hot, flaming, furious. Contradictions and pre-emptive strikes wrapped in silk and fed to her surroundings like cotton candy, sweet and dangerous. The burning anger juxtaposed by cool unforgiveness for the world, she has responded to his efforts at distance by moving closer. Any silence between them is now tender and cautious, a lover’s spring, in spite of the mountains he is trying to put between them.

Such silences are now plentiful, part and parcel of his attempts to salvage their hearts. Let what is left of them after this bushfire regrow, and hopefully, one day, someone else can reside in the forests of their souls, because they evidently cannot reside in each other’s. Yet she is trying.

He dares a brief glance at her to see that she has, again, fallen silent, again. Eyes closed, dark lashes resting on her cheeks. She is trying. The further away he moves, the closer she magnetically gets. It’s a dangerous game, the one they are playing. Her reflection in the window opens its eyes as they arrive at another stop and the next moment is a flurry of motions as Bucky gets yanked out of his seat and onto the platform. A meek apology as she starts walking, still holding his hand. Her unabashed hold on him contrasts strongly with her demeanor on their wedding night.

She stumbles briefly on the front step of the apartment building, action aided by ruthless black ice, and Bucky instinctively reaches forward to grab her arm. Receives a nod in thanks before she once again evades his gaze, but Bucky has seen enough.

The fleeting lightning flash of a moment was enough to unveil the collection of tears pooling in her eyes. Tears that she now fights to bury, exposed from all angles by the mirrors in the elevator. His keys are the only sound in the carpeted hallway, his home deadly silent. 

She brushes past him to grab the bag containing priority items - toiletries and a change of clothes - from amongst the other luggage in his - their - apartment, and Bucky shows her around in the numbing silence of the snow storm outside. Goes to sit on his bed in wait, as the shower starts, the silence weighing heavier on his heart than the wedding ring.

The July sunlight is brutal, but she takes it in her stride like she is the moon, somehow glowing brighter even in the golden summer day. Her hand squeezes his tighter while they weave through the weekend crowds, New York City pulsating with life and smell and sound around them. 

“Where are we going?” “Patience is a virtue,” She answers smugly, and Bucky wants to tell her he knows. By God, he knows. Sometimes, he thinks he knows patience a little to well to appreciate its value. A man who has spent his whole life waiting takes it for granted.

“How much further?” He tries.

“What are you, two?”

“Try a hundred-and-two, sweetheart.” The endearment - his first in weeks - slips off his tongue unbidden, tastes new and familiar at the same time. The tension is heavier than the humidity, but lightens when she recovers from his change of pace.

“Try acting like it,” She quips back, continuing on her way. Mere minutes of gruelling patience pass before they arrive at their apparent destination.

The New York Hall of Science greets them with a gleaming facade and cheery posters announcing the featured exhibits. Bucky is at a loss, confused, bewildered.

“A science museum?” He says, mostly to himself, but she - closely observing his reaction - responds nonetheless.

“Sam told me that Steve told him about your love for science before… well. Everything, I guess,” She explains. “About the Stark exhibit and the fair you went to the last night before shipping out. I thought this would be fun. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, or you aren’t into this anymore, you aren’t the same person. I just thought-”

“Doll, doll, this is perfect,” He reassures, quelling her sudden nerves. Part of him hates that he can’t read her as well as he thought he could. The other part is still pushing to get away from her. He knows this isn’t sustainable, and yet he insists, when she asks: “You sure?”

“Yeah. I bet it’ll be fun. Come on.”

The first place she takes him to is the planetarium. Constellations have been projected onto the spherical night sky around them, and Bucky’s neck aches after only minutes, trying to count them all. Her hand is the anchor holding him to earth, but for the time that they are inside, he knows nothing else of the world. Her thumb rubbing warmly against the back of his hand is all the worldly feeling he has, his other senses fully consumed by the glimmering stars displayed around them. He’s barely aware of her gaze on him, is sure he must look a fool, but does not care.

“That’s Sirius, right?” He says eventually, pointing at Canis Major. 

“Yeah. Do you have a favorite constellation?” She asks, and Bucky weighs the question.

“I’ve never thought about it,” He answers, looking around again. The planetarium is half-empty, quiet and distant, a spaceship on earth, everyone relishing in the universe around them.

“I like Carina,” She says, directing him towards the constellation she’s referring to. “The ship.” He hums in answer, starting to wander, and after several more minutes of observation, they leave for the next exhibit.

The next one is a continuation of the space theme, this one about the moon landing, a model of the lunar module in the centre of it all. They read the plaques, the screens detailing the journey, the race to the moon, blue glow of the room a calming draught. Until they get to the image of Kennedy delivering his speech on the landing, his comments on the space race, his contributions to pushing space exploration, and Bucky’s breath shortens. She seems to remember, pulling him aside and holding his free hand in hers so they’re nose to nose.

“Hey, hey.” She murmurs softly. “You going to be okay?” Her breath smells like the summer strawberries they had with their pancakes that morning, draws him back in and he sits on a nearby bench, hands slipping out of hers. Clenches them around his knees instead, pushing to breath like he’s trying to resurface, like he’s lifting his head from the snow he’s buried in. She watches anxiously, even when he gets up again, grabs her hand and moves forward. Moves on. The past is in the past.

The end up in an exhibit called the Sultans of Science, showcasing the fundamental contributions of Muslim scientists that created the foundation for modern science. Muslim scientists, their portraits, their acheivements, written proudly all around them. 

“Abū Rayḥān Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad Al-Bīrūnī, the Persian man considered to have founded geology,” Bucky reads, marvelling at all the information now accessible that never was before. Wonders if he could have done something like this, without the war in the picture. Without Hydra.

“Ibn Sīnā, father of modern medicine,” She reads from next to him. The man in question stares straight ahead, his portrait not doing justice to the man he must have been. “We read about him in 9th grade bio class in Pakistan,” She tells him, laughing at the school memory, the fleeting glimpse of knowledge made useful like this. Bucky knows she’s a woman of literature, of writing and reading, and this isn’t her element, but to see someone embrace difference in this manner is so gratifying. But then, it’s impossible not to when difference is all you know. Where others see uniqueness as paths diverging, she will see commonality. The one thing we all have in common is that we are different. 

“He was a philosopher too, you know,” She snaps him out of his reverie, still looking at the portrait. “We owe him a lot of scientific development, but he was one of the great thinkers of the Islamic Golden Age. Pioneered neuropsychiatry, considered thought experiments, theology, everything. A true multi-tasker.” Her ring glints in the soft lighting of the museum as she lifts her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Bucky thinks: the only thought experiment he needs is the one where they succeed.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @samingtonwilson​ @alyxkbrl​ @marvelrose​

[madsdefencesquad]

@madisonsbabiesdaddy asked: How do you think they will explore Madison and her relationship with the other characters? Like, her individual storyline(s) and relationship with Kevin, Kate, Toby etc?

Her main storyline with Kevin will definitely be front and centre 100%. Since we know that they’ll end up engaged after six months and the writers have pretty much hinted that we’ll begin s5 during that flash-forward, I reckon we’ll see their relationship unfold through flashbacks, jumping from past and present, kind of like how they do the Jack and Rebecca storyline from past to back past.

This is the first love story for TIU that’s doing it backwards (pregnancy first before falling in love and getting married) so I’m glad there’s an entire season (and another!) to tell this story kind of like with Kate and Toby taking two seasons before they finally got married. In saying that, Madison’s arc will definitely involve the whole strangers to friends to lovers relationship with Kevin, her family history, her bulimia, the rough pregnancy, her body dysmorphia issues, the birth of the twins, parenting, the wedding, and being married with a family.

In s5, I see them starting it with them turning from strangers to friends while navigating the pregnancy. Dr. Mason, Madison’s OBGYN will be prominent in both their lives and particularly Kevin, apparently, so I’m thinking flashbacks to Dr. K with Jack or maybe even with Rebecca post-Jack as a parallel with theirs.

During this friends stage is when they’ll really delve into Madison’s past a bit more since we, like Kevin, are also getting to know her. I don’t think we’ll get a full episode to her backstory like with Beth (but I’m all for it!) because it’ll be interspersed with how her and Kevin get to know each other. So, I see it more as flashbacks perhaps when they’re on a drive to the doctor’s office, or maybe at her house just chatting, or doing some co-parenting planning, or even when they’re trying to look for baby names! So many possibilities but it’ll definitely be revolving around the domesticity of their life as they adjust to each other being so there.

This is also where Kate and Toby will feature more since Kate’s most definitely going to give Kevin an earful and will be a little shell-shocked for Madison, but I hope without hope that she steps up for Madison just as Madison did for her with Jack. Toby’s going to mostly be comedy relief. Especially when things start to heat up between the two and Kate’s feeling weirded out by it mostly because she’s super protective of both of them.

I hope we see more of Kate and Madison’s friendship shine through here but I’m not holding out too much hope since she has a pretty big storyline with Toby next season with the whole adoption, so it’ll mostly be Kevison-centric. Randall, Beth and the kids and even Nicky will all eventually play their part afterwards but that’s for a bit later. I can’t tell yet the dynamic between them and Madison but I reckon Nicky will find Madison charming kind of like how he eventually saw Kevin, and Beth will view her a little differently. I see her playing the part of Madison’s go-to when it comes to raising the kids.

Once Kevin and Madison have settled in comfortably in the friends stage is when things will start to heat up. The most exciting avenue the writers can really address here is Kevin finding Madison physically/sexually attractive despite the change in her body that is making her feel even worse than when she had body dysmorphia. Like, that is what’s going to differentiate this love story from any others that Kevin and Madison’s have had.

By now, Kevin (and us too!) will have known about Madison’s health history and the reasons why, so for him to find Madison attractive and to subtly (or not subtly) show this in the episodes, is going to be sooooooooo good. And also slightly angsty given that Madison’s most definitely going to question everything, especially Kevin’s intentions and the things he’s making her feel. It is going to be so dang J.U.I.C.Y.

Apart from the 90% chance of Caitlin being bumped into a series regular, Kevin’s definitely still going to be prominent in the Kevison episodes because well, he is the main character after all. So, we’ll definitely be seeing Madison more through his eyes, especially when he’s beginning to fall in love with her or in the midst of being in love with her. It’ll probably show her being the perfect person for him in the way that she doesn’t judge him for his past and doesn’t hold it against him and will probably be a strong advocate for everything that he wants to do i.e. there’s probably going to be a scene of Kevin getting a call to do a great acting job and Madison will urge him to go and not to worry about her, but he will, and it’ll be yet another catalyst for him to realise that she’s become more important to him than he’s realised/thought possible.

Everything leading up to Kevin proposing will be real ANGST CITY though like you just know that they’re going to make it heart-wrenching for us viewers TIU-stylez. I can almost see the scenes of Kevin telling Madison that he’s fallen in love with her only for her to tell him that what he’s feeling isn’t real or whatever and him doing everything he can to assure that he really has fallen for her and not just for their kids and ughhh I’m already crying just thinking about it! I’d like to see Kate in the middle of this, actually, as both Kevin and Madison’s confidante when it comes to each other.

In terms of other characters, I’m thinking Rebecca will be more prominent after the twins are born mainly because I’m not sure when exactly she leaves the clinical trial for her to be at the 40th birthday or when the proposal even happens (my guess is closer to the birthday). Perhaps Madison being pregnant plays a big part in Rebecca leaving the trial given that she wants to be there for her and for Kevin - she does have the experience of a multiple pregnancy, but can’t tell yet. They can definitely bond over the pregnancy, but I see it more as a chance for Kevin and Rebecca to bond even more too in terms of flashbacks to the early days of her pregnancy with the big three and how her and Jack are navigating it together and post-pregnancy too with screaming newborns.

And I honestly don’t see Miguel anywhere in this situation apart from being happy for Madison and maybe joking around with her about her finally being part of the family and not just having to put up with them.

After the twins are born and leading up to the wedding day will be very interesting too because they’re obviously juggling a stage of complete responsibility for newborns whilst navigating their feelings for each other. I mean sure, they’re engaged, but they’re also newly in love so having to juggle that with such immense responsibilities of caring for their newborns whilst trying to have alone time together is going to be hectic. Their dynamic is going to shift a lot and there may be some clashes there as they try to work things out and this is where the real testing happens in their relationship where it can go both ways: Kevin finds solace in the chaos of his new family as he juggles his work and his issues with Randall and his mother’s deteriorating health or Kevin will feel overwhelmed and find other ways to find relief. I doubt the latter will happen though because Madison will play a huge role in Kevin’s life.

She’ll be the Rebecca to Kevin’s Jack and she will be his anchor. That’s why the wedding will be the greatest parallel of all. Jack and Rebecca got married at city hall, but they won’t. We didn’t get to hear Jack and Rebecca say their vows to each other but we will definitely hear Kevin and Madison say it to each other and it’ll reinforce the “great love” and “love of my life” theme of the Pearsons, but with them two being the most unconventional and unexpected of them all. 

It’ll be the most beautiful conclusion to Madison’s story specifically. Her whole story revolved around her never finding anyone to love her enough to commit to her or see a future together with her even though she gives them her everything to make it work but now, finally, and unconventionally, she finally found him, and she gets to have him as the father of the children she thought she’ll never have. Woo!

Also, I’m super excited for them to explore the comedy aspect of Madison too now that she’s paired up with Kevin, who is the funniest Pearson/character in the show. Madison’s pretty on par with Kevin in terms of wit and unlike all the other ladies who’s fallen for ol’ Kevo, Madison will definitely challenge Kevin like no other by calling him out (“Why would you even say that to me right now?”) and ordering him around and be super unapologetic about it but doing it all with so much love and affection for him and it’s going to be great! I AM SO READY TO SEE MADISON SHINE ✨

[wackpainterkid]

i think i do (1/1)

a/n: Let me start with saying: no, I’m going to make them marry in this fic, they’re like 20, i just love cliché titles lol. This fic is about a conversation about the future every couple has at some point and because noliv has their "getting married” inside joke, I really wanted them to have a conversation about it for real. Hope you like it.

rating: G

1600 words

also on ao3

She doesn’t just randomly ask him one day.

Or maybe she does but there’s a reason for it.

It’s a culmination of different things happening.

Her parents celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary; Bennie and Ralph getting engaged; being asked to perform at a wedding.

Things that all share a common theme, a similar red thread.

And it makes her start thinking.

About things she shouldn’t be thinking about yet. She hasn’t even turned twenty-one. 

And yet, she does.

If Liv has to be honest, she doesn’t know why the urge to bring up the topic is so present, why it suddenly becomes a necessity to have this conversation. But it feels like something important and she’s simultaneously curious about his answer so she decides to ask the question.

Well, not the question. A question.

They’re in her room. She is reading, her book hovering above her in her hands, her legs dangling over the edge of the chair she is sitting in. He is working for school, has a laptop propped on his lap as he’s lounging in her bed, her sheets ruffled and creased around him. James Blake is playing from her stereo, the volume somewhere between one meant for active listening and one ideal as background music.

 Liv stretches her neck and turns her head towards him before closing her book. She sits a bit straighter.

 “Noah?”

 He hums in response, eyes still concentrated on the light of his computer screen, fingers still typing away.

 She takes a moment to think about how to formulate her question. Noah looks up when the room remains silent, when no additional words leave her lips.

 It’s almost an incentive to make her ask what she wants to ask, the look in his eyes, a guarantee that he won’t start laughing at her or question her sanity or anything similar. Liv doesn’t even think it is deliberate on his part, the openness in the blue of his irises, but it’s there and that’s all she needs.

 “Do you really want to get married one day?”

 She can see the questions appear in his gaze, but he stays silent.

 “Not to me,” Liv specifies. She winces right after, instantly regretting the way she says it, the way it sounds. Because it sounds like she doesn’t see a future with him.

 “You got any plans I should be aware of?” And even though it’s meant to be humorous, a sliver of apprehension still manages to slip into his voice.

 “No, no,” she hurries to reassure him. “I just mean in general. Is marriage something you want?”

 Noah shuts his computer screen and sets his computer aside. His hand taps next to him on the mattress; it is subtle, but she notices, recognizes the invitation it is meant to be. She swings her legs off of the couch, throws her book where she was once seated and goes to sit in front of him with her legs crossed.

 There’s a silence but it doesn’t worry Liv, doesn’t make her waver. Because the tiny crease between his eyebrows tells her she’ll get an answer, tells her he’s only looking for the right words. He combs through his dark hair.

 “I haven’t had the best example of a marriage growing up.”

 He doesn’t need to explicitly say who he is talking about, she knows. The many conversations they’ve had over the years help her piece it together.

 “They were in love, they got married but they were so dysfunctional with each other; all they did was fight and argue. Even as a small child, I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be that way.” 

 With closed eyes, he softly shakes his head. Her hand finds his and it makes him open his eyes again. Where Liv thinks she will see hurt and suffering, there is none. Instead, Noah smiles at her and intertwines their fingers. It’s meant as a reassurance, as a sign she doesn’t have to worry about him. Maybe she was wrong in thinking it still bothered him.

 “All my friends had parents that weren’t married but had been together for years– and still are– and my parents couldn’t even make it past five years. So, to me, marriage was never really an option. It was difficult to see the use of it, you know?” His shoulders move in a shrug. “Except for some advantages when filing your taxes but that definitely takes the romance out of the whole ordeal,” he chuckles, and a dimple appears in his cheeks.

 She smiles as well. Unfolding her legs, Liv places the soles of her socked feet flat on the mattress and lets her chin rest on her knees. She lets his words enter her thoughts, lets them settle there; she hums as the process takes place, as she understands his point of view more and more.

 And Liv knows that the first time he asked her to marry him was to test her, to challenge her own resolution. Okay, she doesn’t actually know but she strongly suspects it and what he just told her does nothing to deny that inclination. She can’t help but wonder, however, whether there’s any truth to it now, whether, all inside jokes aside, he could perhaps imagine that future with her.

 She could.

 She can.

 It’s not like she’s imagined how it all would go. Like she’s thought about everything from the proposal—Noah knows her, it wouldn’t be too big—to their actual wedding. It’s not like she knows exactly what dress she’d wear—she wouldn’t wear a dress, she’d go for a jumpsuit— or where they would go with their small group of guests after the city hall, although the church where they had their first date would probably clean up real nice.

 She just likes to think marrying Noah wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

 Far from it.

 But she doesn’t need to. If that’s not what he wants. She’d be perfectly happy spending the rest of her foreseeable future with him. She is now.

 “However,” Noah says, pulling her out of her thoughts. Liv glances back up. “When I asked you to marry me, it wasn’t a joke or a way to just sleep with you. You simply made me forget all of my arguments against marriage,” he pauses and looks at her with a half-smile “You still do.”

 “I said: ‘not to me’,” she corrects him, but she can’t fight the content expression on her face.

 He mirrors her with a playful grin. His eyebrows rise.

 “Let’s be real, Liv. If I’m ever getting married, it’ll be to you.”

 And even though they confirm his desire for a future together even more, confirm that they’re truly on the same page, his words make her frown.

 Because, all romance aside, Liv has to be realistic. She wouldn’t be Liv if she isn’t.

 “You don’t know that, though. What if we break up next week and afterward, you meet someone who also makes you forget all of your arguments against marriage?”

 By now, Noah knows about her realism.

 “It is true that I can’t look into the future, but I do know how I feel about you now and no one has ever made me feel like you do.”

 She knows about his romantic side too.

 They’re a good match, the two of them.

 Liv gets up, places her hand on his cheek and kisses him. 

 “Where is this coming from?” he asks once she sits across him again and it’s a fair question; it surprises her that he didn’t ask it earlier.

 “It isn’t out of the blue,” she promises him. “Something made me start to think about it.”

 “Ralph and Bennie?” He wraps one of her curls around his index, but his eyes never leave hers.

 “Among other things.”

 “Do you want to get married?” he asks and when Liv looks at him, he rushes to add: “Not to me, of course.” His words are accompanied by a wink.

 After rolling her eyes, she tries to playfully kick him but before she can reach him, he grabs ahold of her leg and pulls her closer. Liv bursts out in laughter as she tries to escape his grasp. She sits up and places a peck on his lips. And another one. He kisses her back.

 They break apart and she begins to think about his question. She bites on her lower lip as she considers her opinion, her answer.

 “I don’t really know if I want to get married,” she answers truthfully. “I think I always just assumed I would. When I was younger I wanted the fairytale wedding, but the older I get, the less I like the fuss and the grandeur. Because it should be about love and not the party. It’s also very expensive.”

 “Ridiculously expensive,” he echoes.

 “So, I think it’s ‘yes’ to getting married, but ‘no’ to a big wedding.” Liv purses her lips and nods to confirm her statement.

 Thinking the conversation has ended, she leaves her bed and walks towards the stereo to pick a new CD to play, James Blake’s voice has faded out a while ago. 

 “Hey, Liv?” 

 “Yes?” She looks over her shoulder, at him still sitting on the bed.

 “Just say when, I know an abandoned church we can use.” Noah’s voice is all confidence.

 Liv doesn’t say anything about how she was thinking the exact same thing, simply to avoid making him think she’s planned their whole wedding. Which she hasn’t, for the record.

 “Just a fair warning,” she says, turning back to her stereo and putting on a new record. “You’re going to have to wait a long time.” 

 “Won’t be a problem,” he reassures her. “I can wait as long as needed.”

 “Wow,” she exclaims and jumps next to him with a smile. “You must really like me.”

 He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer.

 “I think I do.”

  a/n: thanks to @whatadaze for cheerleading and for coming up with the term marriage!noliv hahaha, saving the tag one AU at a time. See you next Monday!