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milliesfishes · 4 months ago

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꣑ৎ౨ৎFairytales (Part Two)꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fluff, angst, suggestion of age gap marriage pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: desperately in love with billy, you encounter a roadblock that may force you apart author’s note: as with many of my series, there will be one more part! enjoy <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say. Heavier still is the head of the women beside it.

You surveyed the row of glittering tiaras on the pink shelf of your closet, twining a strand of hair around your finger. Right now, you were supposed to be picking one out to wear for your required day in the throne room, but you could hardly concentrate.

The only thing on your mind was Billy, and his parting kiss the night before. He'd been so sweet, brushing his thumb under your chin and telling you he'd see you soon.

Turning back to the shelf, you played with the strand, tossing it over your shoulder. Drearily you picked one of the simpler pieces, smaller and studded with diamonds. It matched your pink dress well enough.

Your maid nodded approvingly, giving you a smile. "You look beautiful, my lady."

"Thank you," you nodded, and she curtsied before she left.

As you studied your reflection in the mirror, you wished Billy could see you. His was the only approval you cared about. Tracing a hand over the pastel embossed spines of your storybooks, you wished for the days when you were allowed to stay upstairs and read about your knights and princesses.

When your father had left to fight gallantly alongside his men in the crusade, it had been decided for you that your childhood was over. You were his only child, and a woman, nonetheless. There was nobody to step up save for his second-in-command.

Nicholas was a dark man in appearance and demeanor. He wore the crown proudly, with an air of superiority and cunning leadership. It was your job to stand by him, to support him in his actions. But you didn't enjoy being near him. He was always eyeing you in a way that made your skin crawl.

As a child he had always scared you. Your father's leg had been your hiding spot when you were near him. But now your one refuge was far away from here, leaving you to fend for yourself against someone you wouldn't want to be in a room alone with. You had tried to remain positive in your thinking when your father departed, trying desperately not to worry about your future. Surely if he had trusted Nicholas, you could as well.

It would have been one thing if the man was as fair and just as your father had once been. But in all reality, it couldn't have been further from the truth. Nicholas wielded the power of the crown like a sword, taxing the people of the kingdom mercilessly. He viewed commoners as beneath him, and anybody who opposed him a traitor. Members of your father's council were banished and worse, causing all members of the palace to move in silence and fear or their lives.

Not only did he exercise such regulation over staff, but he did also so over you. Since he was acting for the king, you were technically his responsibility. Mixing up that and control, the king insisted on approving nearly everything about your life. Your expenses, your lessons, even the food you ate. It was suffocating.

Billy and all memories associated with him became your escape. You hid from your fear in the hallowed halls of your time with him. Every touch, every kiss was your home away from the cozy space of your bedroom where you could dream of him in private.

All day Nicholas heard out advisors, civilians, staff...everybody it felt like. There were short breaks for barely-enough meals between. You hated that you were forced to be present for it all, making it seem like you supported what he did. Since you weren't allowed to speak during this time, you daydreamt, toying with the heart charm of the necklace Billy had gifted you, smiling as you remembered his soft kisses and assurances of love. With Billy you didn't feel like one of the kingdom's monarchs, you felt like his princess.

There was no pressure in his presence. With anybody else you were forced to adapt the persona assigned to you at birth. With him you felt nothing weighing over your head, just love, with no strings attached.

When the advisor Nicholas had been listening to retreated into the main hallway, you breathed in relief. Finally, some respite from the long hours of merely being present.

The king turned to you; his dark eyes fixed upon your face. "Tired?"

"No," you lied, straightening up. Smoothing your hands over your skirt, you gave him a hesitant smile.

"I would think you would be," he commented, still staring at you. "After your excursion last night."

Furrowing your brow, you lifted your eyes to meet his. "Excuse me?"

"One of the guards saw you leave your bedroom last night," he started, voice icy. "He didn't catch sight of where you went, but I can only assume there was a reason you waited until dark to leave."

Your heart pounded against your chest, and you kept your face neutral. "I went to the kitchens. For a pastry."

Nicholas' face was unchanging. He turned his head to look forward. You could practically hear the gears working in his head. "There have been discussions regarding you. The advisors all believe it time you took a husband."

Eyes widening, the words hit you hard, sinking like a stone to the bottom of your stomach. Where had this come from? "A husband, sire?"

"Far too long have you been left to run around like a loose peasant girl with no morals." His words stung, but you lifted your chin as he said his next part. "Women younger than you have been married for years now. It is embarrassing for the kingdom to have a charge who cannot even do that."

"You cannot force me to marry," you shook your head, gripping your rosy skirts with intensity.

"I assure you I can," Nicholas said in an arctic tone. "In the coming days, expect a list of suitors to be brought forth. You will be allowed a choice. If not, I will choose for you."

The orange of the sunset breathed through the windows as he stood and exited, casting a glow over him that didn't feel fitting. You watched him leave, trying to hold your tears back.

The only person you'd dream of entering marriage with was on the run, wanted by the king's lawmen. If it wouldn't put him in danger, you would have shouted from the castle roof how much you wanted him in that way.

Getting to your feet, you folded your arms over yourself, dismissing your ladies-in-waiting. They threw concerned glances at you as they parted ways. You nearly bumped into every kitchen maid and guard you encountered on the way up the grand staircase and through the hallways because crystal tears were blurring your vision.

Reaching your bedroom, you leaned against the shut door once you were inside, water freeing itself from your eyes and streaming down your cheeks. You didn't want to marry anybody...you wanted Billy. In the back of your mind, you had somehow known that you wouldn't be allowed to stay husband-less forever, but love had blinded you to the closeness of that day.

You cleared tears from your cheeks, mind racing as you tried to come up with a solution. Thoughts ranged from running away to marrying someone and still seeing Billy. But in your frenzied state, none of them were viable, which only made your panic worse.

The open window's usual delivered scent of roses calmed you down slightly, and you took in a deep breath, quelling your thoughts. There was an answer somewhere. You just had to sit with it for a while.

A knock on the side of the window startled you, and you jumped, eyes wide as your head snapped up. There, sitting on the sill, you saw a grinning Billy, hoisting one leg over to rest on the seat cushion. "Hey, princess."

Rushing over, you pulled the glass shut behind him in a hurried fashion, whipping to face him. "What are you doing here? You didn't send word."

He half-smiled. "Thought I'd surprise ya. Made good time gettin' over here." Looking around, he said, "This is your room, huh? 'S cute."

As he studied the vastly pink space, you fidgeted with your hands. "This is dangerous- you could have been caught. You could still be caught."

"Don't get too worked up, darlin'," he smiled, brushing his hand over your cheek. "I can handle myself. They ain't caught me yet."

He reached up, adjusting the tiara in your hair, a loving look in his eyes. "So pretty... ain't seen ya all dolled up in a long while."

"Since the night we met, I don't think," you murmured, forgetting your worries for a moment.

Billy grinned, holding out his hand and twirling you once you took it. "I'll never forget it...you, dressed as an angel."'

"And you, definitely not supposed to be there," you leaned into him, and he sat on the bed, bringing you to sit on his lap. Your pink skirt fluffed up between you and he didn't bother to push it down.

"Was a masquerade, sweetheart," he kissed your nose. "Ain't nobody gonna recognize me there."

Giggling, you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against his. "You swept me off my feet. The only dance partner I wanted."

"Couldn't let my mama's lessons go to waste," he murmured against your cheek. "They musta been mighty fine...got me in the princess's good graces."

You kissed him softly, just resting against him before remembering where you were. Standing up off his lap, you smoothed your skirts. "Billy, you really shouldn't be here-"

A knock sounded at the door. "Princess?"

It was one of your ladies-in-waiting. Your eyes were round like the crown jewels, and you quickly pulled Billy up, shoving him into your closet and closing the door. Holding yourself against it, you called. "Come in!"

She entered, a worried expression on her face. "Oh there you are. We were all so worried about you."

"What for?" you asked, giving her a toothy smile to disguise your anxiety.

"For what His Majesty said, of course," she reminded you, grasping your hands. "About you acquiring a husband?"

"Oh..." The thought had surprisingly exited your mind for the last little bit. Billy had that effect on you. "Yes... it will pass. This is hardly the first time they have spoken of marrying me off."

"I wouldn't be so sure, my lady," she said seriously. "They've been discussing it at length."

"Oh." It was all you could manage as worries clouded your mind again. "Yes. All will be well though. The prince of a nearby kingdom wishing to court me is no feat I cannot handle."

"My lady..." she squeezed your hand. "If you do not choose a husband they speak of your potential marriage to the king."

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. The thought of marrying Nicholas of all people made your toes curl in your pink silk shoes. He was decades older, and the stark opposite of warm, comforting Billy. You shuddered slightly before shaking your head. "I will not marry the king. It will not come to that." Stretching your arms, you feigned exhaustion. "Excuse me, I must prepare for bed."

"Shall I send in your maid?" your lady-in-waiting inquired, looking concerned.

"No, no," you shook your head, fidgeting with your hands behind your back. "No, tonight I require solitude. Thank you."

After she left you opened the door of the closet, finding Billy sitting casually atop your flowered rug. He tipped his hat. "M'lady."

You smiled, shaking your head and crawling to sit between his spread legs. He secured an arm around you, a look of contemplation on his face. "They're wantin' ya to get married?"

"They have always wanted me to get married," you rolled your eyes. "Ever since I was a child it is all they spoke to me about. Every lesson was taught to me with that purpose."

"Hmm," he hummed, absentmindedly stroking your arm. "What if they're serious this time?"

"They are not," you assured him, leaning up to peck his lips. "I will not get married. Not to anybody of the court's choosing, anyways."

Billy didn't look convinced, but he seemed to let it slide. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he removed himself from around you and stood, offering you a hand. "C'mon. We're gonna go out."

"Out?" You used his hand to stand up. "Out where?"

"'s a surprise," he grinned, looking around the closet. Then he eyed your dress. "Might wanna change, honey."

"Something simple?" you questioned, looking up at him.

He nodded, reaching up to pluck the tiara from your head. "Might not wanna wear this either."

You giggled, pulling a simple white cotton dress with forget-me-nots embroidered on the collar. "Is this okay?"

Billy gave you a fond smile. "Perfect, sweetheart." He kissed your hair, setting the tiara back on the shelf.

The next few minutes found you standing beside your bed while Billy's nimble fingers swiftly undoing the delicate buttons on the back of your dress. He kissed your shoulder, sliding the sleeves over your arms and assisting you in stepping out.

There was a moment when you were just still, standing there in your half stay and looking over your shoulder at him softly. He had an awestruck look in his eyes as he simply took you in. "You're beautiful darlin'. Don't need me t' tell ya that."

"I like hearing it anyways," you murmured, reaching back for his hand and squeezing it.

He lifted your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them. "Let's getcha dressed."

Quickly you donned the white shift, pulling the pins out of your hair and removing all jewelry save for his necklace. Sliding your feet into a pair of plain black flats, Billy pronounced you, "Perfect as always, darlin'."

You managed to sneak out the way he'd come, climbing carefully down the stone and trellis. He quietly instructed you where to put your feet, where to grasp, and you were thankful for the darkness cloaking you from the view of anybody below.

Billy hauled you over the garden wall and got all the way over himself before lifting you down and pulling you by the hand to his horse. You were able to get on by yourself thanks to your many years of riding experience, and he climbed on behind you, grasping the reins with one hand and your waist with the other.

He kissed your temple, his fingers holding your waist tight. "Hold on darlin', it won't be too long a ride."

And with a nudge of his foot, the white stallion was spurred into a run, carrying you and your lover into the dark of what was unknown to you. Your trust in him cradled your insecurities, eyes peeled on the horizon for what was to come.

If music was the speech of angels, you must have been the very soul of the art.

Holding you right now, nestled in his arms through the bumpy horseback ride, Billy could hardly believe his luck. You were contently watching the scenery as he steered the horse in the right direction. He couldn't ever possibly forget that you were the princess, but right now you looked like a village girl (a pretty one) who wasn't mismatched with him.

Long accustomed to the unfairness of life, Billy was wholly unsure how he'd managed to charm you. He must have done something wonderful sometime to even get a chance. It was a funny thought, because Billy didn't think he did much at all.

He loathed the unfairness of the king's taxes, and so he took matters into his own hands. Robbing the wealthy was a childish way to get back, but it was his only way to fight back. He'd snuck into the palace on the night of a ball with a few of his men, sure the guards would be preoccupied with the festivities and not notice if they took a few trinkets.

Deemed the distraction, Billy had entered the ball masked like everyone else, enjoying the drinks. It had felt good not to be 'the outlaw' for awhile and just be him. He'd charmed several of the attendees easily, surprised to find himself enjoying their company.

And then he'd seen you. In a gown of white, you'd completely stunned him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He hadn't known you were the princess at first, speaking to you normally and making you laugh. You'd shared several dances, and you eventually pulled him off into a corner where the two of you could speak more privately.

When midnight struck, and it was announced that everyone should remove their masks, he'd been stunned to find the lovely face of a monarch beneath yours. You had been so different than he'd thought, so much warmer and kinder.

Before he could rush away, you removed his mask for him, recognition dawning in your eyes. You weren't stupid. You'd seen the wanted posters which, although crudely drawn, somewhat accurately depicted him. Billy had been expecting you to scream, or call for the guards, and he braced himself.

But instead, you leaned up, pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to his lips. He'd returned it without thinking, losing himself in the moment. When you pulled back, you refastened his mask over his eyes, giving him a final peck and slipping a folded piece of paper into his hand. "Hurry. Before they see you."

Stunned, Billy rushed from the room, only looking back once to see you still standing there, an absolute vision. When he was out of the castle gates he unfolded the scrap, squinting in the darkness to read what you'd written.

Two words. Write me.

He put his heart and soul into the letters, using a dove a man in his camp had trained to send them straight to your bedroom window. Your messages back were just as heartfelt, and your meetings even more so.

At night when he laid on his back attempting to sleep and staring at the stars, he'd feel an involuntary smile overcome him as he thought of you. His girl. His princess.

It was akin to how he felt now. Helping you off the horse and escorting you through the trees to where the annual village moonlit festival was being held. It was something of a secret amongst commoners, meaning there were no king's men present. Watching your eyes fill with wonder, he grinned, patting your hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. "Ya like it, darlin'?"

"It's so beautiful!" you exclaimed, bouncing adorably on the heels of your feet as you took in the lanterns, the music, the food. Just as he'd suspected, you'd never been to anything like this, not when you weren't playing the face of royalty. Here, you could be free.

And you were. Dragging him from place to place, your excitement was the best thing he'd ever beheld. Because he was so friendly with the villagers, they refused payment for everything, insisting everything he did for them was enough. Billy was slightly uncomfortable with that- he didn't consider himself a hero. But he knew they were trying to be kind, and so he humbled himself.

You barely let go of him the entire night, still retaining the refined manners of the way you had been raised, but excited none the less. You ate delicately, covering your mouth between bites as you spoke around your food about anything new you'd spotted. After eating, you dragged him up to the little area where couples were dancing.

He was reminded heavily of the night you'd met as he twirled you, keeping in time to the music. You were beautiful always, but especially so like this- unencumbered and delighted by everything surrounding you. Here you weren't looking over your shoulder every few minutes or forced to whisper. You were radiant, finally allowed to shine.

The villagers told him how lovely you were, squinting and trying to figure out why you looked so familiar. You didn't give any allusions to your title, chattering and smiling at everyone you met. Maybe it was the princess in you, but you seemed to charm everybody you came across. Billy was proud to have you on his arm and show you off.

When things began to wind down, Billy took you to a nearby, more private sector of the forest, resting on his side and holding your hand with your head sideways on his chest. You twirled a flower one of the children had given you between your fingers, a soft, lazy smile on your face.

Billy pressed a kiss to your head, holding his lips there. You turned to look at him, sweetly saying, "Thank you. For tonight."

"Was my pleasure, sweetheart. Truly," he promised, kissing your knuckles. "I love seein' ya like this. 'S like there's a weight off your shoulders."

You nodded, shifting to cuddle better against him. "It felt like there was."

Billy had a moment in quiet thought as he remembered what specifically had been weighing on you earlier. The conversation he'd overheard from your closet was still on his mind, one particular part constant.

Your lady-in-waiting had mentioned the possibility of you marrying the king if you didn't choose a suitor. The notion made Billy sick. Not only was the king decades older than you- he was a horrible man unfit to look at you. Tightening his arms around you, he tried to dissuade the thought.

You'd said nothing would come of it. And he trusted you. You were crafty in your own sweet way, and he knew a solution would come about.

Looking down at you all cozy in his arms, he let himself be distracted. You were his girl- his love. For some reason you returned his feelings in full. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to you.

Reluctantly, when the time came, he scooped you up and walked your sleepy form back to his horse, the ride back to the palace too short. You were roused enough to climb back over the wall and up to your bedroom window.

From his spot on the hill, Billy saw you wave at him, blowing a kiss. Your heart-shaped necklace glinted in the darkness.

As he rode back to camp, all he could think of was the thought of you being forced to marry somebody else- somebody who wasn't him. He knew he wasn't fit for you, but the princes who'd show up to court you couldn't be better. He'd observed them from afar- slimy, stuck-up men with more gold than thoughts. It was no wonder you'd turned them all away. And these were supposed to be the good ones. Now that the palace was on its last legs of getting you betrothed, who knew what low lives they'd pull from the dredges of nearby royalty?

Billy had the idea to show up and ask to court you himself, but it was dismissed as soon as it arrived. He hardly had anything to offer, let alone in appearance. Looking down at his worn clothes and muddied boots, he knew he'd be turned away. Not to mention the fact that he was an outlaw.

But the thought wouldn't stop prodding him, modifying itself to the point where Billy was convinced. He spurred his horse on, riding fast on the last stretch. There was a new determination in his movements.

With the idea brewing in his head, you’d never have to entertain the thought of another prince again.

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sesamestreep · 9 months ago

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30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 9

Write about a heated debate (from this list) ➸ set in the Bakeoff AU AGAIN, because after my last fic, I wanted to write more Milly content and also it’s been a rough few days and I need to be silly and self-indulgent or I shall perish!! Based on an Instagram Reel I sent to @firstelevens the other day and that we’ve been spinning into a kid fic concept ever since. It grew out of control and I don’t know if it technically fits the prompt, but it’s what I got for you nonetheless. Bon appetit I guess???

“Euuuugghhh! Daaaaad!”

“What? What’s the matter?” Foggy asks from his spot in the kitchen. That tone of voice from his daughter is never a good sign, but he’s mostly used to hearing it when he and Matt are being particularly disgusting about how much they love each other. As Matt is still in the shower currently, he knows that can’t be the reason.

“What did you put on this?” Milly asks, holding up a piece of toast accusatorially. If she ends up following in their career footsteps someday, her cross-examinations are going to be brutal.

“Cinnamon and sugar, as requested,” Foggy answers, coming to stand across the counter from her. It’s a long way from the elaborate recipes he used to make with his spare time—which he no longer has—and when he was on Bake-Off, but it’s one of his daughter’s favorite breakfasts despite its simplicity. Well, it normally is. She’s currently staring daggers at him, so it must not be her favorite right now.

Milly shakes her head at him, like he’s a moron or maybe, more accurately, like they’re going to have to send him to a home soon if he keeps this up. “Not cinnamon,” she says, holding the offensive piece of toast out to him.

Before he can take a bite (his original plan, to illustrate that she’s being silly and unnecessarily picky), the smell reaches his nose and it doesn’t take an extremely experienced baker to know that’s not cinnamon. He brings it closer to sniff it again and makes himself cough. To confirm his suspicion, he returns to the cabinet where they store their spices and looks at the jar he used to make Milly’s toast a few minutes ago and, yep, there it is.

“Paprika,” he says. “I made you paprika toast.”

“Paprika and sugar,” Milly says, in that same enjoy your time in the retirement home, old man tone of voice.

“They look similar in the bottle,” Foggy says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Same color, I mean.”

“Do they smell the same?” she asks, innocently.

“Listen, you—”

“And are they spelled the same way?” she asks, thoughtfully. “You know, when you read the bottle before pouring it over my toast? You did read the bottle first, right?”

“Mills, I’m not kidding, if you can spell ‘paprika’ or ‘cinnamon’ for me right now, I will give you twenty dollars out of my wallet,” he says. “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it!”

“I don’t know—”

“Exactly!”

“I’m eight! What’s your excuse?”

“For one thing, my eight year old daughter won’t stop tricking her babysitter into letting her watch scary movies and then crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night because she can’t sleep,” Foggy says, grabbing the plate from her. “How’s that?”

“Don’t throw it away!” Milly calls.

Foggy pauses. “Baby, you don’t have to eat it. I’ll make you more with actual cinnamon.”

Milly looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “I know,” she says, slowly. “I just wanted to show Dada what you did.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes and returning the plate. “Just for that, maybe I won’t make you more toast.”

“Sure, starve me for telling the truth. That’ll go over great with the other trusted adults in my life when I snitch on you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court,” Foggy replies, already putting two more slices of bread into the toaster.

“Besides,” she says, ignoring him and popping a sliced strawberry into her mouth. “I don’t crawl into your bed, I crawl into Dada’s.”

“It’s the same bed,” he explains. “Just because you cuddle with Dada and kick me all night doesn’t make it any less my bed. And what’s up with that, anyway? I have it on good authority that I’m the more cuddly of the two of us. Why don’t you ever snuggle me?”

“You want it too bad,” she says, taking a two-handed drink of her orange juice.

“Devil child,” he mutters. His mother once told him, when he and Matt were first looking into adoption, that your children will act as cosmic comeuppance for all the things you put your poor parents through as a child yourself and he hadn’t believed her. Maybe he just thought that, because Milly didn’t share any DNA with them, that his and Matt’s most exhausting qualities wouldn’t rear their ugly heads in her at all. And, boy, love her as he does, he was wrong on that count.

“Dada would never do this to me,” Milly continues, happily. “And he can’t even see! Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“About looking into boarding schools?” Foggy asks. “Definitely.”

“Mean!”

“You’re saying you’d miss me?”

“No,” Milly says, crossing her arms. “But I’d miss Dada and my friends and my teachers and Aunt Daisy and—ooh, can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?”

“I want to text Aunt Daisy a picture of the paprika toast.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come onnnnn,” she whines. “She’ll think it’s funny!”

“That’s exactly why I’m not giving you my phone.”

“You’re no fun,” Milly grumbles, sinking down to rest her chin on the counter dejectedly. Her head immediately pops up again when Matt appears behind her. “Dada! Wait til you see what your husband did!”

Matt stops to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Please don’t say your hair because it feels…uh, chaotic?”

“I haven’t even gone near it this morning,” Foggy says, as he fetches the toast that’s just popped out of the toaster. “That’s all natural.”

“Well, that’s something,” Matt replies, coming into the kitchen. “So, what did you do?”

“He made me cinnamon toast,” Milly interrupts, enthusiastically. “Here, try it!”

As with Foggy, the toast doesn’t even make it to Matt’s mouth before he’s frowning. “That’s…not cinnamon, honey.”

Milly cackles while Foggy glares at her. “I made a small mistake,” Foggy says, over the chorus of his daughter’s laughter.

“What is that? Chili powder?” Matt asks, sniffing delicately.

“Paprika.”

“Oh.”

“And I have been soundly roasted for my error,” Foggy says, mostly in Milly’s direction. “So, I don’t want to hear it from you, okay?”

Matt shrugs. “Okay.”

“Apparently, you would never make such a mistake in your life, because you’re a good dad and I’m some sort of rodeo clown who ended up here by mistake.”

Matt looks at him, very clearly stifling a laugh. “She only thinks that because she’s led a charmed life where I almost never make her breakfast,” he says. “Give it a week, she’ll be begging for you back.”

“You’d just let me eat fruit snacks for breakfast,” Milly says, as Foggy puts her new breakfast down in front of her.

“Yes, and then you wouldn’t have all the nutrients you need to learn new things at school and get smart enough to become the first female president of the United States,” Foggy says. “And then where would we be?”

“There better be a female president before I’m old enough,” Milly says, darkly and with a mouth full of toast.

“Better eat a balanced breakfast just to be safe,” Matt says, pushing off the counter to go find some coffee. “And be nice to your dad.”

“How will that help me become President?”

“People skills,” Matt says.

“Surviving into adulthood,” Foggy says, at the same time.

Milly blows a raspberry at him, but eats the new toast without complaint. Matt’s scouting around for the sugar bowl now and Foggy stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“I already put sugar in it for you,” he says.

Matt smiles. “I don’t care what Milly says. You’re the best rodeo clown a kid could hope for, and a very good husband too.”

“Thanks,” Foggy replies, and allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. He gets to enjoy that for about ten seconds before Milly makes another disgusted noise behind him. He sighs and pulls back. “What’s wrong with the toast now?”

“Nothing,” Milly exclaims. “It’s you two that are grossing me out!”

“Sorry your dads are in love with each other,” Matt says, with a smile and a faint blush. “You live a tough life.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Milly says, as she shoves an improbably large bite of her toast into her mouth without issue. She’s not even finished chewing when she asks, “Will you walk me to school today, Dada?”

“Why? Are you worried I’ll do that wrong too?” Foggy asks, putting an arm around Matt’s shoulders.

“I’d be happy to, baby,” Matt interjects before Milly can say something smart-alecky back to him. “Go get dressed, okay?”

Mill hops down from her chair happily and practically skips to her room. Matt nudges Foggy’s shoulder with his nose.

“What’s up with you two?” he asks.

“I don’t know. She’s just pushing my buttons.”

“Successfully,” Matt replies.

“Yeah, well,” Foggy shrugs. “I slept half the night with her foot in my face while she cuddled with you. I’m a little cranky, I guess.”

“Feeling left out?” Matt asks, smiling, as he turns to wrap his arms around Foggy’s middle.

“I’m definitely the cuddliest person in this household and I want it acknowledged.”

“I agree,” Matt says, kissing him on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to Milly. She’s a maniac.”

“She takes after you.”

“Not true. I love to cuddle with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, leaning in to kiss him again.

“We could make that happen, you know,” Foggy says against his lips. “Drop the kid off at school, cancel our appointments for today, play hooky from our responsibilities, stay in bed all day…”

Matt seems to be thinking it over, tempted. “We couldn’t,” he says, not quite convincingly.

“We could. I know our bosses and, trust me, they’d want us to get laid.”

“I’ve said it before but those guys are weird,” Matt jokes. “They’re honestly too involved in our sex lives.”

“Yeah, it’s an HR nightmare,” Foggy replies, kissing him again.

“You two better not still be kissing when I come back,” Milly hollers from the bathroom, where she’s brushing her teeth (or so Foggy guesses from the sound of running water).

“We definitely will be,” Foggy shouts back, as Matt collapses into his shoulder laughing.

“I’m going to go attempt to get our daughter’s hair fit for public appearance,” Matt says, giving Foggy another quick kiss on the lips.

“And I’m going to text Kate that we’ll be in late this morning.”

Matt pauses. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Foggy consults his watch. “Our first appointment is at 11. I can do plenty to you in that amount of time.”

Matt looks a little startled by that, but not in a bad way. “Kate’s going to know what that text means, you know.”

“That just means there will be someone to share in Milly’s pain over us being disgustingly in love after all these years. Unless that’s your way of saying no?”

“Definitely not. Just warning you that we’ll get a lot of grief for it later.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You always do,” Matt replies, and Foggy’s definitely not being conceited when he says Matt’s tone sounds downright dreamy.

He heads off to help Milly finish getting ready and Foggy tackles the few dishes in the sink while he waits for another pot of coffee to finish brewing. A few minutes later, Milly appears in the kitchen, dressed and with her hair pulled into a neat bun. Neither of them can do anything particularly fancy with her hair, not least because she won’t sit still long enough for all that, but Matt does a good job for someone who’s never had long hair or siblings. A now presentable Milly pulls her backpack and coat off the hook on the wall and stops by Foggy’s side expectantly.

“What do you need, kiddo?” he asks, as he dries his hands on the towel hanging by the stove.

“Hug goodbye,” she says, lifting her arms towards him and he kneels to capture her in a big hug.

When she finally pulls back, she still looks hesitant, like there’s something she needs to ask him. It once again strikes him as crazy how much she reminds him of Matt sometimes.

“What’s the matter?” Foggy asks, tucking a picturesque loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You feel alright? Is all that paprika I fed you bothering your stomach?”

Milly shakes her head, looking away. “I just wanted to—Dada said that his dad would have made him eat that gross toast because they never wasted food when he was little.”

“Did he?” Foggy asks, already making a mental note to kick Matt’s ass when they’re alone together. “Listen, baby, your Grandpa Jack, he…didn’t have a lot of help when your Dada was young. They had to be really careful with their money and Dada was in the hospital for a while…”

“I know,” Milly says, nodding. “I’m just—thank you for making me new toast, instead.”

Foggy feels a lump in his throat that he struggles to swallow past. “Hey, you don’t have to thank me for that, okay? It’s my job to make your life as good as it possibly can be. Even if I have to make you a hundred pieces of toast every morning.”

“That would be expensive.”

“Still,” Foggy says, firmly. “I’m sorry if what Dada said made you upset.”

Milly scrunches up her face like she’s eating the paprika toast all over again. “He said it like it was funny,” she says, mildly horrified.

“God, okay,” Foggy replies, running a hand over his face. Matt would consider that a charming anecdote about his father. Speaking of people who are going to need a hug from him… “Don’t worry about that. Just have a good day at school, okay?”

“Okay,” Milly says, all concern gone as she hops in place excitedly.

Matt appears around the corner then, pulling on his coat. “Ready?”

“Just gotta get my shoes,” Milly shouts as she zooms off in the direction of the door.

“Alright,” Matt says, as he comes into the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, as he leans in to kiss him goodbye. “Oh, and maybe no more stories about your dad before school, yeah?”

Matt blinks at him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve talked about how sometimes the anecdotes from your childhood that you think are charming and scrappy are actually alarming to the people who love you now,” Foggy says, gently.

“Yeah…” Matt says, uncertainly, before his expression clears. “Oh. Shit.”

“It’s fine,” Foggy replies, rubbing his back. “I already explained that she can ask for as much food as she wants. Just maybe reinforce that with her on your way to school?”

Matt looks pale and queasy even as he nods. “Right. God, I didn’t—I’m sorry—”

“I know. I’m not mad.”

“And you still want to play hooky from work with me, even though I’m the world’s biggest idiot?”

Foggy kisses him on the forehead. “Of course. You’re still a very cute idiot.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Listen, I told Milly it’s my job to make her life as good as possible, and that’s true, but it’s also my job to do that for you. And right now, the best way to make your life better is to take you back to bed and—”

“Ready!” Milly shouts as she skids around the corner. “Are you guys still kissing?! What about my education?”

“She’s right, you know,” Matt says, pulling back and looking a bit better, though still tremulous. “We’re terrible parents.”

“Maybe I should look into boarding schools, after all,” Foggy jokes, crossing his eyes goofily at Milly over Matt’s shoulder.

“I’m never going to be President at this rate,” Milly laments.

“Alright, let’s get you to school,” Matt says, holding out his hand for her.

Foggy leans down to give Milly a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t let your dad walk into traffic, okay?”

“I won’t,” Milly says, swinging their joined hands between them. “I promise.”

“That’s my girl. Have a good day, baby cakes.”

“You too, daddy cakes.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” Matt says, smiling at the two of them.

“I’ll be here,” Foggy replies, as suggestively as he can manage. It must work because Milly snarls in disgust.

“If you two start kissing again, I’m taking myself to school,” she says, leveraging her full weight against Matt to drag him towards the door. “Or running off to join the circus. You won’t know which until it’s too late.”

“She gets that from you,” Matt says, tiredly.

“I was going to say I think she gets it from you.”

“Maybe she has a point about us being gross.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” Foggy says, with a wink at Milly, who’s glaring at both of them now. “There was never any debate about that.”