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arcticfox007 · 3 years ago

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Nostalgia, Pizza Delivery, Blue Skies, and Apple Pies

Yes, I combined three prompts. I’m not sure if that makes me awesome or lazy! Most likely, it just means I suck at getting these in on time.

Check it out on AO3 here!

It had taken another week, but Dean had managed to reschedule his and Cas’ baking date. Not that he was in any way opposed to the very pleasurable make out session that had interfered with their last attempt, but Dean wanted more when it came to Cas. So many of Dean’s positive memories of his childhood were associated with baking, and Dean found himself intensely curious about Cas’ love of a very specific peach pie for this very reason.

Nostalgia is an odd thing. On one hand, Dean could literally take himself back to the feelings of warmth and home he hadn’t experienced for too many years just by getting a whiff of a newly baked pie. It was one of the biggest motivators behind Dean’s initial decision to start his own bakery. On the other hand, there was a built-in lie when it came to nostalgia, looking into the past with rose-colored glasses.

Dean knew that his memories of baking pies with his mother had a darker undertone that he preferred to ignore. That, even as Dean was enjoying time in the kitchen with his mom, his father was succumbing to alcoholism, something that eventually led to the end of his life in a car crash. Dean’s mom had done the best she could for her boys afterwards, but in most ways, Dean had stopped being a child the day his father died. For all the times spent happily baking in the kitchen and experimenting with new recipes, there were even more moments when Dean was the only thing keeping his family together. When his mother passed away a little over two years ago, Dean could only be grateful that Sam was so close to graduation that it hadn’t taken too much work to get him across the finish line.

Once Sam left, all Dean had was the memories of his family to keep him together. He applied for a small business loan and used nostalgia to keep moving forward through the ache of loneliness. He kept telling himself that his family hadn’t abandoned him. Death took his parents, and his brother was an adult now and needed to live his own life. Sam had even tried to get Dean to move with him, and possibly that was another downside of nostalgia – Dean wanted to stay in the place where he grew up. The place where his mother had lived and Dean had, for the briefest of times, felt happy and safe.

Dean also knew that Sam worried about his health. Dean had been diagnosed with RA shortly before his brother’s graduation when pain that had been manageable in the past began to interfere with Dean’s ability to complete simple tasks. Early on Dean had written off the joint pain as a result of working too hard at the garage, or overexerting himself keeping their older house maintained. Dean tried the usual remedies of exercise and eating (somewhat) healthier at Sam’s insistence, but Dean continued to have unexplained pain. He finally went to see his doctor when he had to keep his arm in a sling because of unbearable shoulder pain. Dean knew he hadn’t injured his shoulder; he’d been paying close attention to anything that may have been a factor in the constant stream of inexplicable injuries, and there was absolutely no reason why it should feel as if he’d hurt his rotator cuff.

After his blood work and x-ray came back, Dean was diagnosed with Rheumatoid arthritis. Dean had always thought of arthritis as something that happened to much older people but he quickly found out that he was far from alone in developing the autoimmune disorder at a younger age. He also learned that the arthritis he’d known about was actually osteoarthritis – not the same condition at all, although Dean was less than pleased to find out having RA made it more likely for him to develop osteoarthritis down the line.

While Dean had been grateful that Sam was there for him as Dean worked his way through preliminary treatments before getting on the biologic that restored him almost back to normal, Dean didn’t want Sam to make his decisions based off of Dean’s condition. Hell, Dean didn’t want any of their choices made because of Dean’s chronic disease. So, Dean put on a happy face and practically shoved his brother out the door to take advantage of his full ride to Stanford. Quitting his job as a mechanic to open up his own bakery had been what really convinced Sam that Dean would be alright without him.

The bakery became a sanctuary. Dean could bask in the good memories of his family and ignore the bad. He could push through the fog of ever-present pain as he cut back on how frequently he took his medication when his insurance wouldn’t cover enough of the cost. He could drown himself in nostalgia and to hell with the long-term consequences of that choice.

But then came Cas with his sky-blue eyes and messy brown hair, barreling into Dean’s life as an unexpected breath of good things here in the present. Suddenly Dean’s attachment to his past seemed less important. Dean wanted to live in the here and now, he wanted to build something more for himself with Cas by his side.

So, tonight Dean would get his new boyfriend to teach him about where he came from with the very thing that Dean used to remember his origins. After that, Dean would share his mother’s apple pie recipe when he came over for Thanksgiving. He’d probably bring more than one pie; it was always good to have extra. He’d meet Cas’ brother and just maybe, if he was lucky, Cas would stick around long enough to meet Sammy for Christmas.

Dean was roused from his thoughts with the sound of the doorbell. Sparing only a moment to check his appearance in the mirror, Dean rushed to greet his date. He was a bit nervous for Cas to see his house, but if Dean wanted this thing between them to really work it was important that his boyfriend see what he was getting himself into. Dean threw open the door enthusiastically.

“Hello Dean.” Dean grinned stupidly at the bright smile on Cas’ face as he balanced a bag of groceries in one hand and boxes with the local pizzeria’s logo in the other.

“Ah, the perfect boyfriend – free pizza delivery!” Cas raised one eyebrow at Dean’s antics, clearly waiting to be let inside.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to eat said pizza at any point tonight?”

Good point, angel, let me help you out there.” Dean snagged the precariously balanced pizza and wing boxes and kicked the door closed behind Cas. Leading him over to the kitchen, Dean placed the containers on the counter of the small island. Cas set the grocery bag down and before Dean could say a word, soft and slightly chapped lips were pressed to his own. Opening up eagerly to his boyfriend, Dean couldn’t help but think that kissing Castiel was the only thing that really mattered.

Dean eagerly buried his fingers in Cas’ thick dark hair, deepening the kiss. Barely coming up for air, Dean idly wondered if they’d be skipping out on peach pie tonight as well – not that he was complaining. Cas pulled away all too soon, but the look into his darkened eyes was enough to convince Dean that this wasn’t the last he’d taste of Cas that night.

“I’ve missed you, it’s so hard to find any time right now. I swear all of my professors conspired to schedule tests and papers right before Fall break.” Dean chuckled, having heard the exact same complaint from Sam the other day.

“We shouldn’t waste any time then, at this rate I won’t see you again until Thanksgiving.” Cas leaned forward and kissed the edge of Dean’s jaw.

“Even if I can’t get a break before school lets out, we get the entire week off for Thanksgiving. As long as you want me around, and as long as you don’t mind me studying, I’m happy to spend my time off with you.” Cas’ face went a little red and it took Dean a second to realize that Cas was blushing.

“Of course, I want you around! Honestly, sweetheart, even if I’m working, you’re more than welcome to come study at the bakery. I know it’s been pretty crowded as the holidays get closer, but in the spring the table by the window would make a great homework spot.”

“Really? You think you’ll still want me around by the spring?” Cas seemed more nervous than Dean thought he should be. Did Cas not see how awesome he was? Heck, Dean was the lucky one in this arrangement – a baker with a GED dating a future doctor.

“Yeah, man. I know we haven’t been together long, but you’re already my best friend. I can’t see a time when I don’t want you in my life.” Cas’ face lit up with a joyful smile.

“I feel the same way, I just didn’t want to scare you off by coming on too strong.” Dean choked out as surprised laugh.

“I get that, but I guess I just couldn’t let you stand there thinking that this was in any way temporary on my end. I really want to see where this relationship can go, Cas.” Still smiling, Cas gathered up Dean in his arms and Dean melted into the embrace. “That being said, I really do want to get to know you better. I’d like to start with you teaching me about your grandmother’s peach pie.”

“I can do that. I brought all the ingredients; I didn’t know what’d you’d have at your house.” Dean reluctantly pulled away from Cas to peek in the grocery bag.

“Did you bring pre-made dough from the grocery store? Really?” Cas chuckled.

“Honestly, that’s how my grandmother made it once I was old enough to pay attention to the recipe. She made he own crust before that, but none of my aunts or uncles have the recipe and all I remember is the homemade crust tasted more of butter. Oh, and it was flakier.”

“I can work with that, maybe we can make something similar. What we aren’t doing is using store bought crust.” Cas shook his head at Dean fondly.

“In fairness to my grandmother I believe that she was more physically fragile by the time she switched. She couldn’t spend as long in the kitchen.”

“Ah, I’m sorry man, I don’t mean to trash talk your grandma.” Scoffing at Dean’s words, Cas started to pull the peaches out of the bag.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t take it that way. Did you want to eat or bake first?”

“I think we can get the pie started and then eat while it bakes, if that’s okay with you.” Cas hummed in agreement and the two of them got to work. Dean shared some of his crust making secrets explaining to Cas that he was lucky Dean was a baker as he always has some of his own dough ready to use. Cas shared stories about his grandmother, along with some fairly outrageous stories about his brother, Gabriel. Dean was surprised by the simplicity of the peach pie recipe, but he was more surprised that Cas didn’t seem to know what actually counted as a pie.

“Cas… this is, at best, a very large peach tart. It’s not a pie!” Cas rolled his eyes and continued to add large amounts of butter on top of the sliced peaches.

“My grandmother called it a pie, so it’s a pie. Think of it as a sheet pie if it makes you feel better.” Dean still knew it wasn’t a pie, but out loud he conceded that sheet pie was an acceptable compromise.

If nostalgia for Cas meant calling not-pies, pies – then who was Dean to argue? As long as it meant having Cas smiling and laughing here with Dean, he was happy to make all the not-pie Cas could ever want.

@nguyenxtrang

#suptober21 #three prompts combined #destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #nostalgia #pizza delivery #blue skies and apple pies #au #spn au #spn fic #supernatural fic #arcticfox007writes

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epochofbelief · 5 years ago

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Breath Control, Chapter Five

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.

Warnings: mature content, cancer, cursing, alcohol use, etc, etc.

Let me know if you want to be tagged:)

Please Enjoy, this one’s kind of long!!

FIVE

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Everyone besides Rhys, me, and the few others who weren’t traveling was so busy preparing for the travel meet that I kind of shut myself down and ignored their excitement. I was treated to (or forced into, depending on the point of view) a few dinners with my ‘new group.’ Amren was a little intense but Cassian and Azriel were fun to be around. Mor was always there with something snarky to say to the boys and positive to me. And then there was Rhys.

He appeared to embrace he whole broken-foot thing pretty quickly. He hadn’t hit that frighteningly somber mood since I’d picked him up early Monday afternoon. I hadn’t spent any time alone with him since then, either. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that his positivity was feigned for the sake of all his friends. Everyone was so excited to race the distant (quite good) team that it made it easy for him to take a backseat in the group discussions over dinner, or during weights, or after practice. He let them have their excitement, which showed the good in him. He never did a thing to take away from it.

It was. . . easy to find my niche in the group. Something I’d never really had before. Tamlin and Ianthe had a tendency to bulldoze over those whom they spent time with. But despite the enormous personalities of my fledgling friends, I never felt forced to take the backseat and acquiesce to their whims. And I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself, but I was having fun spending time with them. It was nice to feel like I belonged somewhere.

They had taken me in.

It was the only explanation for how quickly they started inviting me to their every gathering, every meal together. And a part of me was ashamed at needing the help, anxious over the fact that I hadn’t bounced into their group with the confidence of Mor and charmed them with my easygoing attitude. They’d taken the first few steps. But wasn’t that what teammates were supposed to do? Welcome anyone who needed a place to go?

That’s what they had done for me.

The second the travel bus departed, though, I found myself alone with Rhys. It was up to me to escort him back to his place. And despite our week without any alone time, I couldn’t dispel the growing suspicion that Rhysand Night had a ‘crush’ on me. And it seemed as though he had been for a while.

It made no sense, seeing as I’d joined the team and jumped into a relationship with Tamlin. I’d barely spoken to Rhys for the past year. And yet all his behavior over the past three weeks, the subtle hints I’d gleaned from Cassian and Azriel, Mor’s occasional pushes for us to spend time together, pointed to that being the truth.

It had only been three weeks since Tamlin. I wasn’t ready for a new relationship. But it was flattering that someone else had feelings for me. Even if it made me twice as nervous to be spending virtually the entire weekend alone with Rhys. He’d need me to drive him everywhere, seeing as all of his other friends were gone until late Saturday night.

I followed him to my car a few minutes after the bus pulled out of the parking lot. He threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. We rode in silence. I was too nervous to start a conversation and the tension he was exuding didn’t help my nerves. Finally, as I pulled into his driveway at Astrid Oaks, he spoke.

“Is this it for me?”

“What?” I asked, startled, putting the car in park and opening the driver’s side door.

He followed suit and I walked around the front of the car to meet him. I could have just dropped him off but the urge to see him into his house in one piece was too strong. “Has my broken foot just royally fucked up my career? I’m a junior, Feyre. The rest of this year’s season is ruined, most likely. I’ve only got a year left after this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be back in the water before Christmas training. People have recovered from worse injuries than this.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Well I guess that’s your choice then. Whether you want to have a positive attitude or a negative one.”

He crutched past me up the short sidewalk to his front door. “Oh, just like you chose to give up these past few weeks and months and happily accept the fact that you didn’t make the travel team this weekend?”

He was mad and I knew it was because he had been deprived of something he was passionate about, passionate in the way most athletes should be about their sport. Going months without training could threaten a career, if not ruin it. And the drive for most athletes to keep training, keep pushing themselves to be the best they can be… It was strong. If something prevented an athlete from working toward their goals, it was felt like something akin to torture for that person. I knew. I’d torn my rotator cuff my freshman year of high school and I’d been like a caged tiger for the months it had taken to heal. But my understanding didn’t change the fact that he’d just lashed out at me for no reason.

What? “Whoa. Don’t make this about me.”

“Then don’t tell me that it’s ‘my choice’ then.”

“Hey, asshole, I’m just trying to help here. Sorry you have to deal with a setback for once.” I crossed my arms.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re always so damn confident!” I was shouting now, my hands thrown into the air at my sides. “I bet it sucks to have to deal with something that rattles your perfect, confident, sexy world!”

He smirked. I hated that smirk. “Sexy?”

Oh fuck.

“Nevermind that. You know what I mean! Welcome to my world. Shit happens. It sucks. You should have to deal with it for once in your life.”

“Let me tell you something, Feyre. I’ve been through some extremely difficult times so don’t act as though my life has been all rainbows and unicorns for the past twenty-one years. You don’t know me. And that’s a bullshit attitude to have and you know it. You just don’t want to have to deal with the fact that you wasted a year of your life on Tamlin Spring.” Even as the words left his mouth I could see that he regretted them. Nevertheless--

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you, Rhys.”

He cringed. “Feyre, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--”

I held up my hands. “I’m leaving. I’ll pick you up tomorrow before practice. Don’t be late.”

“Feyre--”

I slammed the car door behind me. How had I just messed this up? Not twenty minutes ago I’d been bidding Mor, Cassian, Az, and Amren farewell, overjoyed at the fact that they had welcomed me into their group. Now here I was shouting a bunch of bullshit that was really about myself at the person who had made joining that group possible in the first place.

I pulled my car up in front of my house and made a beeline for the door. Why’d I always have to go and mess things up? Everything Rhys had said was true, and everything I’d accused him of was true-- but not about him. About me.

I’d be lucky if he forgave me. We’d only been friends for three weeks--probably not long enough to save our friendship.

Alone again. Couldn’t say I was surprised.

-----------------------------

Rhys and I managed to go all day Friday without speaking. I picked him up, dropped him off, didn’t see him throughout practice since he was just there for moral support, then dropped him at his place at the end of the day. A few times, it looked like he was going to say something, anything, to me.

But he always seemed to think better of it. By Saturday afternoon, though, after a particularly nasty three hour morning practice, made worse by the fact that only about ten people were left behind from the travel meet, I was sick of not talking to anyone. I’d spent several weeks moping about Tamlin and my life and the few days I’d spent with Rhy’s friends had made me realize how much better life was with friends who weren’t masquerading as assholes. I was willing to forgive him for what he’d said to me. He’d been in a bad place mentally, had lashed out. Shouldn’t I, of all people, understand what being in a bad mental state can do to your social life? I was the poster child for internalizing everything. Shutting people out.

So I grabbed the only alcohol I had left in my place--a bottle of wine--and traipsed over to Rhys’s. I rang the doorbell. Why was I so damn nervous?

The door swung open and I was met with the surprising sight of the most disheveled Rhys I’d ever seen. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, a grey undershirt stretched across his extremely muscular chest. How did he make pajamas look so hot?

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He looked wary.

“I’m sick of having a. . . what did you call it? ‘Bullshit attitude’? Can we make up and drink already?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “If I could get on my knees right now, I would, Feyre. I am so, so sorry for everything I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset and took it out on you and that was wrong--I don’t have a valid excuse.”

“Everything you said was accurate. How can I be mad about that? You’re the first person to ever call me out on something I need to recognize about myself and work to change. So let’s forget about it. We’re both off the travel team this weekend--let’s commiserate.”

He grinned, and it might have been the cutest/hottest grin I’d ever see a male human being make. I followed him through the townhouse to his living room, where he provided me with a mug and we slumped down onto the couch together.

“So. . . how are you doing, considering the broken foot and all?”

---

We finished the bottle in an hour and I was feeling relaxed, to say the least.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving Break?” I asked him. He was sitting on one side of the couch, legs on the floor. My own legs were thrown over the arm of the couch, my head on the couch cushion, almost close enough to touch his thigh.

“No plans. Mor got an internship (she’s crazy, I know) for the week and is flying halfway across the country to be there. Cas and Az and I usually just get really drunk Thanksgiving Day. None of us really have. . . parents.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t say that for you to pity me.”

I swatted his thigh. “I wasn’t pitying you.

He sighed.

“You could...

“You could come home for Thanksgiving with me. Elain’s already left for home. Nesta’s flying in directly from her last job. I’ll have to take the road trip by myself once they release us from training on Tuesday morning. . .”

What was I saying? I’d been friends with this guy for three weeks. And yet even though a voice of reason was telling me I shouldn’t be inviting him to my family Thanksgiving, after our short-lived friendship, I couldn’t, wouldn’t stop myself. No matter that my relationship with my dad was poor and Nesta didn’t deal well with strangers. I wanted him there. The past day and a half we’d spent apart after seeing him every day for a week had been unbearable. Not only had my guilt eaten me up about the things I’d said to him. No. I’d missed him. His comforting, playful presence. His ability to tease me or call me out when I was being too dramatic about my situation. I wanted that around me.

Admitting those thoughts scared the shit out of me. And yet apparently the wine dulled that terror enough that I felt brave enough to ask him to come to my childhood home and dine with my mess of a family.

“Are you serious? You want me to come home with you for Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t make me rethink my offer.” I did my best to sound playful, sarcastic.

He laughed for my benefit. “Um, okay.”

“Cool.”

I ended up sleeping in Mor’s bed that night. And when I woke up the next morning I didn’t feel any regret at spending time with someone who had treated me more kindly than I thought I’d ever deserve. Rhys didn’t expect or demand anything from me other than friendship. He’d gotten me out of danger several times now and had never made himself unavailable if I needed to talk. He’d forgiven me when I’d said some unwarranted, mean things to him instead of holding it over my head for weeks to make me feel guilty. He’d let me sleep over at his place when I’d been so tired from the wine and the day’s training that I didn’t want to walk home.

So this was what a genuinely nice guy was like.

And in that moment I decided to stop comparing him, or any other male I came across, to Tamlin.

----------------

The next few days passed without event. Everyone returned from the dual meet after an enormous victory, so spirits were high throughout the three days of Thanksgiving Break training we had. I actually enjoyed the brutal practices while swimming in a lane with Cassian and Mor. No matter how much pain we were in, Mor was always one of the girls shouting encouragement across the pool and Cassian never failed to have some sort of joke prepared for the worst moment of the main set. Tuesday morning after practice I said farewell to my new friends (Mor threatened to kill me if I didn’t text her over the break) and was left alone with Rhys, in my driveway.

It was a four hour drive to my hometown. Shouldn't be too awful, right?

Rhys took his spot in the passenger side, I took the driver’s seat, and we were off.

Almost immediately, we got into an argument about the music selection.

“I want classic rock,” he insisted.

“I’m the driver and I want to listen to my November playlist, thank you very much.” I batted his hand away from my phone, which he was trying to steal from my lap while I was driving.

“Well I’m the one with the crippled leg so I should be the one picking the music. You get to drive.”

“First of all, you are not crippled. Your foot is broken because you and Cassian were too busy being idiots to lift weights properly. Second of all, that is so not how it works and you know--hey!”

He’d stolen my phone from my lap, his fingers brushing my thighs ever so slightly. His touch surprised me so much that I stopped arguing. That and the fact that he’d chosen to take it right as I merged onto a four lane highway, full of Thanksgiving travelers. I couldn’t steal it back.

“You don’t know my password,” I said through gritted teeth. Whether they were gritted because of how his touch made me feel or anger at my stolen phone, I didn’t want to puzzle out.

“Please. It’s probably your birthday.”

“Well you don’t know my birthday.”

“Please,” he said again.

A moment later and Metallica music issued from my speakers. “Dammit, Rhys! How do you know my birthday?”

“How do you not like Metallica.”

“I don’t listen to Metallica and I prefer other things. Don’t judge my taste in music. Everyone has a weird taste in music.”

He shrugged and reclined his chair.

“Can I have my phone back, please?” I changed my tone. Flirty usually got me somewhere, with Rhys.

He took the bait. Boys. So predictable. “What will you give me for it?”

I glanced at him, traffic too busy for me to take my eyes off the road for long. He looked at me, his gaze unwavering.

I couldn’t hear the music anymore. “What is it you want, Rhys?” I asked quietly.

He sat up at that. “I’m the one asking the questions here. I have all the power, Feyre Archeron. I control the MUSIC.”

The sounds of his rock music came flooding back in. “You’re a drama queen.” Yes, easy flirting was much easier than discovering what his answer to my question might be.

“If I’m the queen, you’re the king. I bet you’re milking that broken foot for all it’s worth: time off practice, personal chauffeurs to drive you everywhere, a free invite to Elain’s amazing Thanksgiving dinner.” I clicked my tongue. “I should leave you on the side of the road right now.”

He changed his tone pretty quickly at that. “No, no, please.” He whined. It was kind of adorable. “I’m sick of Thanksgiving with Cass and Az. We get takeout and drink beer. It’s not the same.”

“Alright. You may now alternate the genre of music we listen to.”

“Thank you, O Queen of Drama.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re welcome, prick.”

His returning grin was one to rival every grin of every decent looking male in the history of all males. And I was pretty sure I was grinning right back.

Approximately three and a half hours later, a mere thirty minutes from my childhood home, my car started sputtering.

The drive had been fun, had gone by faster than any of my previous trips home ever had. Rhys had kept up a constant stream of entertainment. We’d discussed politics, books, art, team drama (of which there was plenty), our families. I’d tentatively asked Rhys about his parents and sister after I’d found myself explaining all of my family drama--Elain’s nasty breakup with Greyson, Nesta’s ice-cold exterior, and my father’s initial business success, followed by a period of failure, which had lasted most of my childhood, and his newfound riches. It had taken me months to explain everything to Tamlin. With Rhys, though, it all came spilling out.

“My mom died when I was a kid. Car accident. Drunk driver. My dad lives halfway across the world, in Hybern. I haven’t seen him in years.”

I knew he’d had a sister. I waited, unwilling to press.

“My sister… was diagnosed with cancer when I was sixteen. She was only twelve.”

I’d had no idea.

His voice quieted. “It went pretty quick, actually. She was diagnosed, went straight into treatments, and. . .” He shook his head. “That was the worst thing to watch her go through. I couldn’t do anything except be there for her as she got sicker and sicker. It only took about six months before she. . . she passed away. Only about three months before I left for college. That’s when my dad moved away. There wasn’t anything holding us together after she died.”

Only the music of my playlist issued softly from the speakers.

“Tell me about her,” I had said softly.

He blew out a breath. And he had. He’d told me about her love for volleyball and how she was so impossibly kind to everyone she’d ever met, including the doctors and nurses who’d cared for her during the worst of her sickness. He’d told me about how he’d been the one to teach her to ride a bike, and taken her for Friday night ice cream runs ever since he’d gotten his license.

He was actually smiling at her memory when my car started making noises akin to the sound a drowning cat might make.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“I’m no mechanic, but I feel like you should pull over. How old is this hunk of junk, anyways?”

“Shut up, we can’t all drive a Mercedes.” He held up his hands and followed me out of the car, despite my insistence that he should stay off his foot. In the end, I gave up on protesting because I didn’t know the first thing about cars, either.

We stood next to each other in front of the open hood a moment later.

“Do you think it’s bad?” I asked a bit stupidly.

“Typically, Feyre darling, when smoke is billowing out of your car, it’s bad.”

I whacked his arm. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

He tugged on my ponytail. “You’re welcome, O Queen of the Stupid Question.”

“I guess I’ll call Elain. Are you ready to meet my family?”

“I’m sure they’re less crazy than you. Can’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Elain told me she’d be there in thirty minutes and I ventured into the gas station to buy pretzels for the thirty minute wait. I found Rhys sitting on a bench in the shadows around a corner of the building.

“Sorry this is happening,” I said, offering him the bag of pretzels.

He took a few. “No need to apologize. This is already probably one of the best Thanksgiving breaks of my life.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’re spending it with me, hmm?”

I’d expected an equally flirtatious answer.

Instead, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

I blinked. And blinked again.

“Can I have some more pretzels?” He asked as though he hadn’t just made the word “yes” sound more romantic than any declaration of love in any romantic comedy ever had.

A bit stunned, I brandished the bag of pretzels in his general direction.

“Don’t go getting a big head, Feyre darling. Your company could become insufferable at any moment.”

I kept staring at him. That one word has surprised me so much, considering it didn’t mean much. Didn’t it?

He reached up and brushed a strand of my hair out of my eyes. “I am serious, you know.”

Okay so he definitely liked me. That was the conclusion my brain had drawn. It had only been a month since Tamlin. . . But Rhys was. . . Amazingly kind. And funny. And fun to be around. And he’d been there for me. I wasn’t ready for anything. I couldn’t be. A month? I could hear the team whispering “slut” and “whore” and “cheater” if word got out that I’d jumped from Tamlin to Rhys in such a short period of time. Not to mention the added drama when Rhys and Tamlin’s rivalry factored into it.

And despite the drama it could create, the fact remained that I did not want to shut Rhys down.

So I nodded. And decided to be vague. Friends first, right? “Well I don’t know if I can say that to you. . . yet.” I hoped he’d understand my meaning. “But stick with me and I promise my presence won’t become insufferable any time soon.”

His face was solemn even as he mustered up a weakly flirtatious tone. “If you say so,” he breathed.

I nodded, unable to remove my gaze from his violet eyes.

“I do,” I whispered.

The sudden honk of a very high-pitched horn made me jump.

“That’ll be Elain,” I said, still looking at him.

“Okay.” He didn’t move. Only reached up to run a finger down my cheek.

“We should go,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Okay.”

Finally, Elain’s shout forced us to get up, throw the bag of pretzels away, and pile into the car.

I was screwed. Immensely, impossibly, royally, screwed.

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ispyawildmars · 4 years ago

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ok im mad and need to scream about some stuff but i also don’t want to make ppl scroll past some longass post soooo. tw for body image stuff, food, emotional abuse, injuries, just shit ass environments in general.

I never see anyone talking about athletes and body image and how horrible team environments can be so i’m talking about it, as a student athlete who is dealing with the mental, physical, and emotional repercussions that sports have had on me.

okay. so. I have been a competitive swimmer since I was 7 years old. From the age of 7 up until 2 years ago, I swam with the same club team. I’ll call them the Sharks.

some background before I start talking about the body image thing: One thing i don’t think many people realize is how fucking abusive of an environment club swimming teams can be. and I really don’t say that lightly. Swimming is a sport where you train together but compete separately and most club teams are just groups of people who train together, not teams. You are constantly compared to the people you practice with. You are belittled if you can’t keep up and its personal attacks on your worth as a human. I was trained to believe that my worth as a human being depended on my performance in the pool. I am still dealing with unlearning and the repercussions of this mindset. Coaches can basically say anything to you. It’s normalized for coaches to be absolutely horrible to their swimmers. I had coaches who called us lazy, stupid, worthless- who would yell and swear at us. With that in mind, lets slide over to the body image thing.

First off, as an athlete in general, nothing specific to swimming- I was conditioned to associate my body with my athletic performance. The only use that it served was to allow me to compete. I was also constantly encouraged to push through major injuries. From what I’ve heard from other athletes and from being on my school’s cross-country team, this is normal for athletes, especially those who have been competing since a young age. I have permanent damage to my shoulder because a coach decided that a rotator cuff injury that put me in a sling for months and was inches away from surgical wasn’t a good enough reason for me to have a modified workout.This same coach insisted that I (and multiple other swimmers) swim through asthma and panic attacks. I nearly passed out during his practice multiple times and even blacked out on the pool deck once, just to be told that I “needed to suck it up”. I genuinely didn’t know what it felt like to not be in some level of pain from my sport.

Now for swimming. Obviously as a swimmer, you are half naked around random people all of the time. If you’re trans, it’s dysphoria central, but in my case i just became completely desensitized to it. (that led to a whole ton of other issues but that can wait.) The other thing that this means is that you are comparing yourself to others constantly. And if you aren’t comparing yourself, then someone else is. Other swimmers, parents, coaches, everyone. Coaches will encourage you to be unhealthy. They will encourage you to lose weight, to push yourself harder than your body can physically handle. When I finally quit my club team, I effectively had a second puberty. I was working out to such an extent that my body shut down necessary functions. I didn’t have a regular period. When I quit, within 2 months I started having regular periods, my hips got wider, and I gained weight- something that should have happened when I was going through the rest of puberty. Immediately, my self esteem dropped and people started commenting on it. My mother told me that I was getting soft. I was getting healthy but told that I was “letting myself go”. My relationship with food was fucked up. I had been telling myself since 5th grade that it didn’t matter what I ate because I would burn it off in practice. So once there wasn’t a practice to burn the food off in, I started feeling guilty about eating what I wanted. I was so used to treating my body as a machine to compete with, that I was completely alienated from it. I quietly hated myself for so long. As a swimmer I thought that I needed to be taller, be slimmer, to not have big thighs. After I quit my club team, I started hating things that I genuinely cannot change. I can’t change the width of my hips. I can’t change the way that my body fat distributes itself.

So where am I now? I still am a competitive swimmer. I am still registered with my former club team, because that is the only way that I can compete in swim meets. But I do not go to their practices. When I go to meets, I do not participate in meet warmups with them. I will only speak to 3 coaches that work with that team. I swim with my school team and with a summer team- these teams are based on having fun and being teams. My school coach works incredibly hard to make us a team because she is a former club and college swimmer who knows how bad teams can be. I took an entire year to stop hating swimming and another year to realize that I genuinely enjoy the sport. I am still unlearning the idea that my self worth is tied to my success in school and sports. (no, swimming is not the factor that contributes to this). I am still learning that my body is fine the way that it is. But mostly, now I’m pissed off. I have healed enough to fight.

So why am I bothering to write about something that happened years ago- well first off, in order to process this trauma. And yes, it is trauma. And second off, because I want other athletes to know that they aren’t the only ones dealing with this and that it IS NOT OKAY. It has been normalized in so many sports. But that doesn’t mean what happened is okay. You are worthy of kindness and deserve to not hate yourself. Your body is fine, I promise. You are enough, as you are. You do not have to change a single thing about yourself in order to be enough. you always have been and you always will be.

I love you. And I know that right now it doesn’t feel like it but you are a human and worthy of love. You will fuck up and you will learn to move on from it. You are human. and that is ENOUGH.

#my rambles #an essay by me #im fucking pissed #tw body image #body image tw #emotional abuse tw

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mlovesstories · 5 years ago

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Doctor Sexy Debated

Words: 838

Warnings: injuries, pain, hospitals

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Dean?” YN ran over to her older brother. The youngest one followed. “Sam!”

They skidded to a stop in the forest where they found Dean with a gash on his head and his body bent in all directions.

“Dean! Wake up!” Sam shook his oldest sibling. “Come on!”

They heard sirens in the background.

“Over here!” YN flagged the EMTs down. “My brother- he didn’t come home from his jog and we found him here! He’s not breathing!” YN spit her words out. She felt someone pulling her away from Dean. “No!” YN felt herself hit someone’s chest.

Sam.

“It’s okay. Let them work,” Sam said as he cried. YN returned with tears of her own.

————

“You have a concussion. A big one. No crazy activity for the next month. What do you do for work?”

“Bounty hunting,” Dean answered the doctor.

YN and Sam giggled quietly.

“You’re not doing that this month. Especially with your shoulder the way it is. Rotator cuff is nothing to mess with either.”

“I can’t NOT work, doc,” Dean whined.

“Do desk work or something. You can’t risk hurting yourself. Recovery will take longer.”

“It’s a family business. We’ll work something out,” YN chimed in.

“Perfect,” the doctor smiled.

——————-

“Dean, stop moving your shoulder.”

“It hurts!”

And moving it won’t help!” YN gritted her teeth.

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“No, doctor said you have to stay up for a bit.” The younger sister blocked his path.

“Stop bossing me around!”

YN twisted the uninjured arm.

“Ow!”

“Stop being an ass! You can’t do stuff right now. Go sit at the table, and I’ll get you something to eat.” YN let go of him.

He shrugged her off.

“Fine,” he growled.

——————-

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sam walked in to see Dean grab his car keys.

“Going to get food…?”

“Nice try, sunshine,” YN walked by Dean and swiped them out of his hand. “No driving.”

“Dammit, you two!” The oldest brother growled.

“Concussion. No driving.”

“Will you just stop? Stop telling me what to do! I’m the one in charge!”

“The doctor said YN’s in charge,” Sam laughed.

“You are hurt, Dean. I’ll get food. Go watch Mister Sexy or whatever-“

“DOCTOR Sexy,” Dean clarified.

“Whatever. Go! Before I bring out coloring pages and hide the remote,” she grinned.

“Ugh! Insufferable!” Dean stomped toward his man cave.

—————

“Let’s go, Dean!”

“I’m not going!”

“What? You have physical therapy! You want to get better or not?”

Dean slowly walked into the room and accidentally ran into the corner of the table nearby.

“DAMMIT!”

YN wrapped her fingers around the opposite bicep while she had the opportunity and dragged him to the stairs.

“Move.”

“YN!” Dean yelled. He shook her off and away from him. “I can’t! It’s too hard!”

“You’ve been twice! Don’t be a baby!”

“I’m not! It hurts! The exercises-“

“They’re supposed to hurt! That means it’s working! Now get your ass outside, and I’ll be right there!” YN walked into her room, grabbed the extra set of keys to Baby. As she entered the garage, she couldn’t find Dean. YN retraced her steps to find her older brother. She snuck up behind him and put him in a hold using his other arm.

“You will not be able to hunt if you don’t get you’re arm fixed. Now get in the damn car,” she let him go, and he grunted. Dean cowered behind YN as she led him to the garage.

“Fine. But you owe me pie after this.”

———-

“I can tell you haven’t been doing your exercises,” the physical therapist said.

Dean’s eyes went wide.

“I-“

“It’s boring. I know. Watch TV while you do them. You need to do them, Mr. Winchester.”

“Yes, sir.” He huffed.

————

“It’s time to do your exercises,” YN walked up behind Dean the next day.

“No.”

“I didn’t want to do this, but I had to.” She waited for him to turn around. “I hid your Mr. Sexy series DVDs.”

“YOU WHAT?” He stood with his chest puffed out.

“If you threaten me with finding them, I will tell Sam you like those kale smoothies he makes,” YN grinned.

“What is WRONG with you? And it’s Doctor Sexy!”

“Every day that you do your exercises, I’ll give you one DVD. That’s four episodes. And no, you won’t find them,” YN smiled.

“You can’t- Ugh!” The older brother made fists.

“I can. Now, man up and do them.”

“You suck!”

“Don’t care!” She yelled behind her as she exited the room.

Fifteen minutes later, YN heard sniffles.

“Dean?” She turned the corner to find him holding his arm while sitting on the ground against the wall. “What happened?”

“It hurts. So bad,” he wiped a tear away from his face with his good hand.

“I’m sorry, Deanie. That means it’s working, though.”

“I know. I’m done for today though.”

“The doc would be proud. Here,” she handed him a DVD. You earned it,” his sister smiled.

Forever Friends (Everything):

@katymacsupernatural @unicornblood4ever @ellie-andthemachine @supernatural-crazed-girl

@fangirl-moment-x @empirialwolf @winchesters-favorite-girl @super100012

@waywardnewcomer @percywinchester27 @waywardsuns @supernatural-jackles

@mcallmestiles @sdavid09 @kingandrear @bellero

@rosiewinchester @seality @blogsnowflakeme @jaycc7983 @luci-in-trenchcoats

@cherryblossom1997 @because-you-never-know-when

@sleepylunarwolf @choosemyname *

@internationalmusicteacher @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @find-sammys-shoe

@encounterthepast *@spn-tw-37 @torn-and-frayed @skylarraker

@giggles1026 @xiumin-girl99 @encounterthepast

@strangedeerconnoisseur @sbcamp08 @mangueweaschester

@idksupernatural @silverstripe101a

@thevelvetseries @jennawinchester152a * @samsgirl93 * @supernatural3002 *

@tmiships4life * @breereadsthings * @mersuperwholocked-lowlife *

@a-magey @vicmc624

#mlovesstories #SISTER WINCHESTER #dean x sister!reader

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thorniest-rose · 5 years ago

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there’s a post on pjs old tumblr where he talks about how he can’t be the big spoon because he’s got rotator cuff injuries from being too thin and lifting weights while only weighing about 100 lbs which really sucks but also little spoon eddie?

omg WHAT. Okay there are a few things I need to break down here. FIRST that PJ only weighed 100 pounds?! I just put in my fic that he weighed 120, thinking maybe that was too small, and now it turns out he weighed less! And SECOND that he talked about not being able to be the big spoon in bed haha. Eddie’s the little spoon for life, it’s canon now because in my head Eddie has tiny, weak wrists. And also he wants to feel his bear of a man holding him from behind.

#asks

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aditisingh123 · 4 years ago

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COMMON WORKOUT INJURIES AND HOW TO HEAL THEM

Don't ignore injuries, heal them. Your guide to dealing with common injuries so you can get back to the gym ASAP. “In general, while some injuries may require a period of complete rest or avoidance of the inciting activity, many injuries can be actively managed with appropriate modifications to the program, allowing athletes to continue to train, albeit differently than they may have been prior to injury,” says Mendler. “Common themes leading to injury include high training volumes, intensity, and frequency, but also subtle changes in form or technique that occur in a given set due to fatigue or a rushed super set. Injuries suck, but don’t let them keep you from training for too long. Some athletes find that injuries completely dull their motivation to compete in their sport altogether, especially if they’re required to be out of action. A few of the risk factors for back injuries include position of the back during a weightlifting exercise, the amount the lifter can (or can’t) engage the entire core to support the back, pre-existing back issues, and daily habits unrelated to the gym. The inflammation phase (injury is stabilized) of all musculoskeletal injuries is 5-7 days, and during this time Potach suggests avoiding Romanian deadlifts (RDL), overhead squats, weighted squats, and all twisting motions. The repair (tissue formation begins) phase starts up to seven after the injury and can last up to two months. RDLs with light weight are OK during this phase, but avoid good mornings and Olympic lifts such as the hang/power clean. The remodeling phase (type 1 collagen production) can last anywhere from 2-4 months to a year, and Potach recommends adding the good morning exercise and slowly increasing weight with squats and integrating Olympic movements. If the rotator cuff is weak, fatigued, or simply not properly engaged, the upward pull of the deltoid will often pinch the supraspinatus (top portion of the cuff) up against the underside of the acromion (top part of the shoulder blade that meets up with the collar bone. Inflammation phase: no pressing motions, upright row, or lateral raises. Lat pulldowns (to front of head) are usually OK. Repair phase: begin pressing motions, but use underhand (supinated) grip and low weight. Avoid fly-type exercises.

#injuries #athletes #running injuries #weightlifting #program #training

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breanime · 6 years ago

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Heartworm (Part Nine)

This chapter is a tad bit short, a lot bit steamy, but there’s also a teeny tiny bit of plot in there! I hope you enjoy, please leave comments!

*gif not mine*

Billy grabbed your face with both hands, deepening the kiss. He pushed you down onto the mattress with his body, pinning you down without breaking the kiss. You could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs against your cheek, and your split lip was still raw, but you didn’t mind.

All you could think about was Billy.

He pulled away suddenly, and you gasped at the sudden loss of his lips against yours.

“I—” he sounded out of breath “—Shit. Y/N, I… I want this. I want this so, so bad,” he licked his lips, the lips that had just been on yours, “But this…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Baby, the path I’m on… It’s gonna get bloody. I can’t drag you into that.”

“Billy,” you sat up, putting your free hand on Billy’s scarred cheek, “I’m with you. No matter what, no matter how bad or bloody it gets, I’m with you Billy. I can’t be without you again.”

He smiled, and you could see the tension drain out of him. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” Slowly, he lifted his cuffed hand. “We through with this?”

You stared at your conjoined hands. You wanted to trust him, to trust that you could undo the cuffs without him immediately running off, but…

“Hey,” he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, “I’m here. I’m right here with you, I ain’t going anywhere, okay?” His dark eyes bore into yours. “I promise.”

You felt the tears in your eyes, and you tried in vain to blink them back. “But what if you leave me again?” You asked.

Billy took a breath, disappointed in himself for making you feel insecure, making you think he left you for any other reason besides the fact that he loved you more than anything. “I know what it is that I lost. I had everything I ever wanted… Money, power, purpose, my own company…You. But of those things, the ones I remember and the ones I don’t, the only one that really, actually matters, that I truly give a shit about: is you. The last few days I’ve been running around with my guys, trying to scrounge up some money for you, some cash because… I want—I need to take care of you.” He shrugged. “And if I never get back any of those things, that’s fine. I mean, I want it back, I do, but… I want you more than anything.” He watched the tears finally spill from your eyes and reached up to brush them away. “And I can look into your eyes and see that you want me too, that you mean it when you… When you say that you love me, even after everything I’ve done. So please, Y/N, believe me when I say that I won’t ever leave you again, okay? Because you mean everything to me.”

You leaned forward and kissed Billy, and he hugged you to him. “I love you,” you whispered into his shoulder, “…even though you’re an asshole who lives in a crack den and you’ve been shacking up with another woman.”

Billy laughed—and he sounded so much like himself that the sound only made your heart skip a beat. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d see that there’s nothin’ special about her.” His smile softened as he gazed over at you. “She’s no you.”

“So…What now?” You asked, moving to dig into your purse for the key. “Do… Do you want me to go home?”

Billy watched as you slid the key into the cuffs, twisting his wrist to make it easier for you. “Only if I can come with you.” He smirked as the handcuffs slid off. “There’s still some things we need to talk about.”

You nodded. “Yeah, okay.” Rummaging in your bag once more, you pulled out a black flip phone. “This is for you,” you said, handing it to him, “It’s untraceable.” Billy raised an eyebrow at you. “I got it from a pawn shop. I put my number in it…”

Billy reached out and pulled your head forward by the back of your neck. He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Thank you.” He stood up, holding a hand out for you, and pulled you close to him. His fingers caressed your face softly, stopping at your swollen cheek. “Let’s go.”

A little over an hour later, you sat on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea in your hands, as Billy took a shower. He brought his black duffel bag with him and had put it on the table for you to look through. There were guns, packs of bullets, knives, and piles of cash in there, along with clothes, a police radio, and some kind of signal jammer. He’d taken a few minutes to check you for injuries when you’d gotten home, making sure to equip you with an ice pack and tea before heading to the shower. You heard the water stop, and you put your cup of tea down on the side table, waiting for him to come back into the living room.

“You heard from Frank?” He asked you as he sat down beside you.

You took in a breath; Billy smelt like pine, and you could feel the heat coming off of him. “No,” you said back, “But I’ve been listening to the police radio and they don’t seem to think he’s even in town…yet.”

“Mm…” Billy leaned back, his arm casually propped up on the back of the couch, fingers slightly brushing against your shoulder. He turned slightly, dark eyes staring into yours. The scars on his face were still slightly jarring for you, but his eyes… His eyes were the same as they were when you were first together, when you were happy and in love—before the money and cars and fancy suits. You could see right to the core of him, the vulnerability and fear and lingering confidence. He licked his lips and smirked when he noticed how intently you were watching him. “You were really trying to find me, huh?” He asked. “The cuffs, the radio,” he raised an eyebrow, “the completely asinine attempt to get my attention…”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” You smirked back, leaning just a tiny bit closer to him.

Billy licked his lips again, and you wanted to bite them. “Y/N,” he said slowly, carefully, “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you could just eat me up.”

You tried to keep the smile off of your face. He had no idea how right he was. “Or what?” You challenged.

He smirked, all teeth, and you recognized that special glint in his eyes as he looked you over. “Or I’m gonna let you.” He turned, knees touching yours, and you inhaled his scent. “Because, if I’m being honest…sitting here with you, being here with you… It’s all I can do to keep my hands off of you.” Billy’s eyes bore into yours, simultaneously lustful and dangerous—a mix you could never resist. “You don’t know how bad I want you right now.”

You took a breath. “Billy,” you said, voice low in the empty space of your apartment, “You can have me.”

That was all you needed to say. Billy grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, holding you in his lap. He kissed you, harsh and hard, and you felt it all the way down to your toes. He fisted one hand in your hair, pulling at the strands as he moved his lips against yours, and you moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into yours. His other hand was on your ass, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. You grinded on top of him, rotating your hips the way he used to like. If the hardness beneath you was any indication; he still liked it…a lot. Billy groaned when your hands found the way to his short hair. You ran your nails down his scalp and felt him shiver underneath you. You grinned, pulling back suddenly, and stripped your shirt off. Billy ripped it off and had it flying across the room in less than five seconds, and you gasped when he buried his head against your chest.

“Shit…” You moaned, closing your eyes and leaning your head back as you felt his warm tongue circle your nipple. His beard brushed against your skin, and you bit your lip as you wiggled on top of him, rubbing yourself against his hard cock.

Billy groaned again, running a hand down your bare back. You heard him mumble something against your chest, but the sensation was too good—you couldn’t focus on anything except for his hot mouth closing around one nipple before moving to the next. The next thing you knew, he was lifting you off of the couch and carrying you, mouth now sucking a hickey onto your neck, to your bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, and you pushed his shirt up, grinning as he pulled it off. You ran your hands over the scars and grooves of his chest before moving down to his abs. Billy watched you intently as you pushed at his pants. You made a whining sound when they didn’t come off right away, and Billy chuckled.

“You first,” he commanded gently.

You laid down on your back and closed your eyes as Billy’s hands went to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down painfully slowly. You groaned, shifting on the bed when you felt two fingers softly graze against your panties. “Billy,” you ground out, hands fisting the sheets at your sides. He only chuckled, continuing to gently run two fingers between your folds, pressing your already wet panties against you. “Billy…” You repeated. You lifted your hips a bit, hoping he’d get the message, but he pushed you back down.

“Look at me.” His voice was steady, but when you opened your eyes to look at him, you could practically see the desire coming off of him. His black eyes were wide and unblinking, and his naked chest was heaving with the effort of controlling himself. Without breaking eye contact, he slid your panties off. His eyes washed over your bare form, and you felt like the most beautiful, important person in the world—and in his eyes, you were. He stared down at you, and you both knew, in that moment, that there was nothing else that mattered in the world except the two of you. “I love you,” he said, locking eyes with you.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. You watched, entranced, as Billy lowered his head and sank between your thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows and slung your leg over his shoulder. You bit your lip when you felt his finger push inside of you, long and slender, and hummed happily when he curled it, putting a little pressure behind the action.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and you could feel the heat of his breath on you, “Baby, you look so good.” He pushed another finger inside you, and your leg started shaking. He rubbed his cheek against it in a soothing gesture. “Want more?” He asked.

“Yes,” you moaned out, “yes, Billy, please.”

“Anything for you, baby,” he said, chuckling lowly. He obliged you happily, and you could hear the sounds of your own wetness as he fingered you faster.

You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling as he pushed another finger in. You were both breathing heavily now, and you grabbed your breast, squeezing it as you rode his fingers. It felt so good to be with him, to have him touching you again—already you couldn’t imagine how it could get any better.

Then he put his mouth on you, and it got better.

You screamed when Billy’s tongue flicked against your clit; he knew exactly how to eat you out, knew exactly what you liked and how to bring your right to the edge without actually pushing you over it. The combination of his fingers and his tongue was fantastically overwhelming, and you sat up on your elbows to watch him, adding that image to the physical pleasure he was giving you. Billy’s broad shoulders moved in time with his tongue, and you could see the way he was gripping your hip, keeping you in place. You reached down and put a hand on his head, your other hand still gripping your breast—still wet from his mouth—as he went down on you. It was too much, too good, too stimulating. You couldn’t take the incredible pleasure anymore. “There!” You screamed. “There, right there, Billy! Please!” Your eyes squeezed shut, and Billy took you right over the edge, right where you wanted to be. You came on his tongue, legs shaking as you called his name over and over.

He was staring at you when you came back down; a look of complete adoration on his face. He licked his lips, slower than before, chasing the taste of you. Your eyes went to the tent in his pants, and he smiled when he saw you looking.

“Pants,” you panted, making grabby-hands at him.

Billy chuckled and moved to follow your brief demand. “Condoms?” He asked, voice husky and deep.

“Drawer,” you answered, watching him slid his pants off, the sight of his cock literally making you weak, “But lemme suck you off first.”

Billy shook his head, stroking his cock. You clenched your thighs as you watched him. “Can’t,” he huffed out, breathing heavily as he opened up the bedside drawer, “I want to make this good for you, sweetheart, and I know if you put those perfect lips on my dick, I’ll cum quick.” He watched you watch him slide the condom on. “Open your legs, baby.”

You spread your legs happily, and Billy crawled on top of you. He kissed you, and you leaned into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love you,” you said, mouth still on his, “I love you so much, Billy.”

He kissed you, saying the words back without saying them. He stared into your eyes, and you got lost in the flurry of emotions in them. Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance, and you felt your heart flutter in excitement. He slid into you, and your mouth fell open in a silent shout of ecstasy. It had been a long, long time since you’d last been with anyone, and even longer since you’d been with Billy. You almost forgot how big he was, how naturally he was able to please you—but you were reminded of it now. Billy rocked against you, cock hitting you in all the right places, while his hands roamed up and down your body, appreciating and giving attention to every last curve. You never felt more valuable, more precious, than when you were locked in Billy’s embrace. You were reduced to a mess of moans and sighs as he made love to you, and he met every one of your utterances with a groan of his own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and Billy picked up the pace, going from slow and careful to hard and fast.

“Yes,” you whispered, biting into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes!”

“Shit,” he groaned, hips slamming into yours, “Goddamn—I’m gonna cum!” He slipped a hand between you, and you cried out when you felt his fingers ghost against your clit. “Cum for me, baby,” he hissed, teeth clenched as he pounded into you, “I wanna feel that pussy cum.”

Your body responded immediately, and your climax hit you hard. Billy came with you, and you gasped as you felt him twitch inside of you. You scratched at his back, calling his name, as wave after wave of pleasure hit you, and you shuddered in his embrace.

“Fuck,” he whispered, smiling against your mouth, “I missed this.”

“Mm hmm,” you agreed, drowsy and happy, “me too.”

Billy chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling out. “Hold on, sweetheart.” You closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of Billy’s footsteps. He moved around the house—checking the locks, you were sure—before returning to bed. He picked you up and laid you under the covers, climbing in next to you. Carefully, as if you were made of glass, Billy pulled you to him, nuzzling against you as he held you in his arms. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. His eyes were soft and unguarded as he gazed down at you. “I have to ask you something.”

You blinked back the drowsiness and nodded. “Okay…?”

“I… Are you sure about this? About us?” He asked, nervousness clear in his voice. “…About me? Because,” he went on before you could answer, “if you want me to go, I will, but…” His eyes turned hard, and you saw a flash of his old self in them. “If you let me stay, this is it. It’s us against the world, fuck everyone else. If you let me stay here, with you, tonight, Y/N, there ain’t no going back. You’re mine.”

You sat up a bit, so he could see the same intensity embedded in his words mirrored in your eyes. “This is it,” you agreed, “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

He nodded, and laid down again, bringing you with him. You laid your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. You were exactly where you needed to be, and so was he. You both lay there silently, happy just to be with one another, for a long stretch of time. Your eyes were getting heavy, but you didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a second of being with him.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Billy said, voice clear in the dark, “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.” He kissed your forehead. “I ain’t never gonna leave you again.”

You nodded, cuddling in closer to Billy, and let yourself fall asleep. There was still a lot that you two needed to discuss, still a lot of questions and doubts swirling around in your head, but none of that mattered to you. All that mattered, all that would ever matter to you, was Billy Russo. And he was right: there was no turning back now, you were in it. You weren’t going anywhere, and neither was he. If Billy was going to prison, you were going to prison. If Billy was going to commit crimes, kill, betray—then so were you. If he was going to die…you hoped you would die first. You were in it. There was nothing left to say about that. The only question now was where would you go from here? Frank was a huge threat, but the cops and Feds were a problem as well. You felt Billy press another kiss to your forehead, and you smiled against his chest. Those were all tomorrow’s problems, tonight, you would enjoy being in the arms of the man you loved…

…because tomorrow wasn’t promised.

*******************************************************************************************

So what do you think? How do you feel the story is going? We’re almost to the part that I’ve been REALLY excited to write, so please comment if you liked this part. Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower@dylanobrusso@ladyblablabla@banditthewriter @something-tofightfor@starsfragments@blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme@hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka@ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake@littlemermaidprobz@teacuplotus @king4thesirens@mrsjaxtellerfan@thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers @charlylama @iaintnofurry@k-buggz2001@whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq@holamor @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset@songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy @luminex3@sithskywalkers

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #heartworm #the punisher

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kelyon · 6 years ago

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Golden Cuffs 26: The Guests

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

The party gets started and Belle meets some of Rumpelstiltskin’s friends

Hope you guys like new characters!

Read on AO3

On the night of the party, Belle sat at Rumpelstiltskin’s feet by the fireplace and tried to breathe. She always hated this interminable period before an event began--when all was in readiness and there was nothing to do. In the hours before her betrothal feast, Belle had spent a quarter of an hour moving every spoon in the great hall a hair’s breadth closer to the knives set out on the tables. Big events like this always led to that sort of fidgeting.

There was nothing for her to fidget with now. Rumple had made sure everything was perfect. The food was set out on the table, chairs were arranged in conversational clusters, and enchanted instruments played soft music. He had even left the curtains open, and pinpricks of starlight shone from the black sky outside. There was nothing Belle could do to add to this night, not until the guests arrived. With nothing to occupy her, Belle’s thoughts kept drifting back to useless worries.

What sort of people would be coming tonight? What would they think of her? How would they treat her? Belle had been trained to be a lady, to be charming and pretty and make polite small talk. But now she was playing the role of a servant, a walking object reduced to near-silence.

Could she do it? Could she demean herself like that in front of Rumple’s friends? Or would some part of her rebel? She wanted to be good, wanted to make Rumple proud. If she disobeyed him--if she even tried to--would he discipline her in front of his guests? Would he be angry with her? Disappointed? That thought, the thought of letting him down, was the most worrisome of all.

She was wearing her costume--the ruby collar, the terrible shoes, the gold threads hanging from gold wax on her breasts. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, exposing her back. Rumple had given her a hundred lashes and her flesh was a mess of slowly healing scabs. He hadn’t sewn her up this time--he had said that he made the cuts to be only skin deep, more for show than to inflict real injury. Belle’s long red skirt flowed onto the ground as she knelt at Rumple’s feet and dug her fingernails into her palms.

“You don’t have to stay down there, you know.”

Belle looked up at him. “Excuse me?” Her voice sounded different when she spoke the only words this collar allowed her. It was higher-pitched, and meeker. She sounded like a small animal, squeaking in the face of a predator.

Rumple set aside the book he had been reading. “You may come up here and kiss me, if you want to.”

“Right away!”

Belle scrambled to her feet as best she could in her high-heeled shoes. Rumpelstiltskin pushed the fabric of her skirt to the side and helped her straddle him so that she sat on his lap. He had taken her last night and then again this morning, but they kissed as though they hadn’t seen each other in months.

He let her control the kiss, let her put her arms around his neck and suck his tongue into her mouth. Belle devoured him, hungry and needful and shameless about getting what she wanted.

Rumple held her by the golden belt at her hips. He steadied her, grounded her. He kept his hands there even when their mouths broke apart. Belle gasped out the first deep breaths she had been able to take all evening.

“Thank you,” she said. It was the first time the collar’s words had matched what she really felt.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned at her. “Do I detect a hint of nerves, my sweet?”

“Excuse me,” Belle nodded, her shoulders slumping. Rumpelstiltskin rubbed her flesh with his thumbs.

“You’re going to be alright, you know. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you already for going along with this silliness.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t think it was silly to meet Rumple’s friends, to know the sort of people he would invite into his home as guests. But there was no way to tell him that while she was wearing his collar.

“Almost everyone said they would come,” he said as he trailed his hands up Belle’s body. “But I’d like it just as well if they didn’t.” He fingered the threads that hung from her nipples.

It was the lightest touch, but it pulled Belle into a haze of desire. She whimpered and jerked her hips toward him without even meaning to.

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her, his eyes black. “I wouldn’t mind having you all to myself while you’re wearing these.”

“Right away,” Belle whispered. Her body ached for him, for his touch, for his embrace, for the moment of satisfaction that would come after the party and put an end to this insufferable waiting.

Rumple licked his lips and pulled her close--but then abruptly cocked his head to the side. “Someone’s here,” he said. He set her to her feet and stood up. “Are you ready, my dear?”

Belle gathered herself and straightened her shoulders. “Right away, thank you.”

Rumple took that for the ‘yes’ that she meant it to be. “Perfect!”

He opened the doors that led into the foyer and they walked through together. This had been the first room that Belle had ever seen of the castle. She remembered his words that night, when he pointed at the other set of doors: That’s the way out, you won’t be using it. She had been so bewildered then, so unsure of what the horrible Dark One would want from her.

How could she have imagined that she would come to want things from him?

Tonight the front doors were opened and Belle could see out into the walled courtyard. Lanterns hung along the avenue from the front gates and a waxing moon hung low and yellow in the sky. Snow on the ground reflected all the light, giving the courtyard a dim glow. Belle shivered and crossed her arms over her naked chest, not ready to leave the warmth of the foyer.

Rumpelstiltskin stood outside on a middle landing, unaffected by the weather. He had his eyes in the air, at a swirl of orange magic that was changing shape in front of them. It looked like a tube, with a line across the top, but the outline of the thing was faint and sketchy. As the shape came into focus, it became smaller, the orange more vivid. It spun, as it traveled downwards, rotating like a flying toy. By the time the shape reached the ground, it had become a solid object. Belle was so mystified by the magic that she didn’t realize the shape was a hat until a young man reached down and put it on top of his head.

“Jefferson!” Rumpelstiltskin called down, in a tone that Belle could only describe as happy.

“Dark One!” the young man shouted up to answer. He had a woman with him, and he took her by the hand as they ran up the stairs to meet Rumple.

To Belle’s amazement, the two men embraced each other like brothers. No, more than brothers. Rumple and Jefferson lingered over each other, both of them seeming hesitant to pull away. Jefferson kept his hand on Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder for far longer than was necessary and Rumple didn’t seem to mind at all.

“It’s been too long, old friend,” Rumple said.

The young man squeezed Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. “We invited you to the wedding! And the baby’s christening! You’re always welcome in our home, I hope you know that.”

Rumple patted Jefferson’s hand fondly and gently pushed him away. “I did you a favor by staying away. But I thank you for not doing the same for me. And it’s so good to finally meet your bride!”

The woman was not tall, but she carried herself with complete confidence. Her copper-colored gown was cut to emphasize her large bosom and hips--the figure of a very wide hourglass. She was fair-haired, with a face so round and pink it could have been a peach. Her dark eyes sparkled brightly enough that Belle could see them glinting from where she stood.

“Dark One,” Jefferson said with an air of formality that Belle thought might have been affected, “this is my wife, Leona Ogg of Lancre.”

“Lancre,” Rumple said thoughtfully. “That isn’t around here, is it?”

“Not hardly!” Leona Ogg laughed, her body shaking and her round cheeks flushing red.

“And let me introduce you to Belle.” Rumple turned and called up to her. “Will you come down, my sweet?”

“Right away,” she answered, grateful that he hadn’t ordered her. Her terrible shoes and the long skirt made the stone steps particularly perilous. This was no time to be under the control of the cuffs. She walked, as quickly as she could manage, down to Rumple and his friends.

As she approached, she could see Jefferson and Leona’s faces shift from genial to startled. Not shocked, as far as Belle could tell. Perhaps they had seen pleasure-slaves before. But still, it was clear that they hadn’t expected to see one tonight.

It was the first time anyone but Rumple had seen her in this costume. It was, Belle realized, the first time anyone but Ariel had seen her since she had become Rumpelstiltskin’s thing. Her body trembled a little, and she tried to convince herself that it was only the cold, but she knew it was her racing thoughts.

Who were these people, really? What kind of people were they? Had they ever seen a woman displayed as Belle was now? What did they think of her? Did they judge her? Admire her?

Belle squared her shoulders and held her head up proudly. Whatever they thought of her wasn’t important. She wasn’t there for them, she belonged to Rumple. She was his thing and he was proud of her. That was, she told herself, all she needed.

The three of them were silent while they all looked at each other. Belle saw that Jefferson and his wife were both wearing collars. They were simple things of brown leather, with an iron ring in the center. Belle had never seen that sort of thing before and she tried to puzzle out what it meant. Did they belong to someone too? Had either of them ever been what she was now? Or were collars just the fashion where they came from?

The couple was still staring at her, taking in her costume and her body underneath it.

Jefferson broke the silence. “Huh!” he said, adjusting his hat. “So I guess it’s that kind of a party?”

“Not today,” Rumple said. “For now the girl is just for show. Do you like her?”

“Coo, yes I do!” Leona sighed. She reached out to Belle, but then hesitated, her hand still halfway in the air. It looked like she was waiting for something, waiting for permission.

Belle gave the permission. She joined her hand to the other woman’s, greeting her like a friend.

Leona squeezed her hand and then released it. “You’re gorgeous!”

Belle blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

She didn’t need their approval. But it was still a relief to find acceptance from the first of Rumple’s friends she’d ever met.

“You must be freezing!” Jefferson almost looked ready to take off his russet-colored coat and put it around Belle’s bare shoulders. He turned around to Rumple. “Can we go inside?”

“Yes, of course.” Rumple dismissed them with a wave. “Belle will get you some refreshments and then come back to greet the rest of my guests as they arrive.”

Obedient to the unspoken order, Belle turned around to lead them to the dining room. As soon as she turned her back, she heard both Jefferson and Leona suck in breath at the sight of her.

She turned her head and tried to give them a reassuring smile. “Thank you,” she said. It was all she could say.

Leona waited until they were in the foyer to bustle up to her and talk somewhat privately. “So is all of this fun for both of you or just for him?”

None of Belle’s phrases could answer that question, so she just smiled and shrugged.

Jefferson caught up with his wife. “In my experience, the Dark One doesn’t treat sex as casually as he probably could. I bet you either really like this or you’re getting paid really well.”

Belle gave an enthusiastic nod. “Thank you!”

“So both? Well that’s good luck. You’re living the dream!” He laughed and wrapped his arm around Leona’s ample waist.

Belle led the couple into the dining room and showed them the food. Earlier that day, Belle had spent an hour taking heaping trays out of the cupboard and placing them on the table until it groaned under all the weight. Rumple had watched, keeping a careful eye that she didn’t wobble in her golden shoes. It was agreed that she would serve drinks from the cupboard, but the guests could feed themselves.

When Jefferson saw the food spread out, he rubbed his hands together greedily. “Leo, do you remember when we went down to Genua to celebrate Fat Lunchtime?”

“Of course, love.” With one hand, Leona picked up three of the tiny sausages on skewers. “We had a grand time, but you said the food was disappointing.”

“It was,” her husband agreed. “Because it was just a pale reflection of these!” He held up a handled glass bowl that was full of pastries covered in white powder. “The Dark One and I first discovered these delights while we were running an errand for the Chef-Queen of Maldonia.”

Belle went over to the cupboard in the cabinet to get pull out the drink tray. Behind her, she could hear Jefferson making exaggerated moans as he ate half the pastry in one bite.

“Leo, you have to try this!” he said with his mouth full. The white powder had dusted over his printed orange shirt. Leona batted at the powder while Jefferson pushed the other half of the pastry toward her. “Try it!”

“What is it?” Leona laughed. “What’s it called?”

“A beignet. It’s like nothing in this world or most others.”

As Belle approached them with the tray, Leona took a dainty bite out of her husband’s hands.

Immediately, the woman’s eyes went wide. “It’s hot!” she said. “It’s sweet!” She chewed. “It’s amazing!” Leona’s face melted into pure bliss.

“I know!” Jefferson beamed at his wife. “It’s just fried dough in powdered sugar, but it’s so easy to get wrong that it will change your life when you have it done right!”

“Let me have another one.”

“Excuse me?” Belle came between them with the tray.

She offered two cups to the two guests. One was made of clay and was no bigger than a thimble. The dark amber liquid inside smelled faintly of apples and intensely of alcohol. The other cup was a lavender porcelain teacup and saucer. The drink was steaming, but the aroma wafting out smelled much earthier than any tea Belle had ever known.

“Oh, thanks very much.” Jefferson smiled broadly at the teacup, as if he knew exactly what was inside it.

Leona took the thimble cup and quaffed the contents in a single swig. Her eyes watered but her expression was that of pained delight. She pounded the flat of her palm against the wooden tabletop as she swallowed.

“Jefferson,” Leona gripped her husband by the arm. “I need you to promise me something.”

Jefferson held his cup and saucer in his free hand and carefully blew on it. “Anything, my love.”

“Promise me, you’ll never let Mum know that her scumble is now only the second best I’ve ever had in my life.”

Jefferson threw his head back and laughed. “You should see if that cupboard makes brandy better than your mother’s too.”

“I would never!” Leona cried. “To be bested by a little wooden box at scumble and brandy? It would break her heart!”

The couple laughed together and Belle went out to see Rumple again. They seemed like lovely people, not monsters at all.

It did make her heart heavy to see a man and a woman so obviously in love with each other, to see them delight in each other’s company and be utterly comfortable together. She would never have that, not so explicitly.

No one would ever call her “my love.”

Rumpelstiltskin was still standing on the landing outside the foyer, his hands behind his back. He looked over at her as she approached.

“Are they settled in?”

Belle nodded. If she had a voice, she would have told him how impressed they both had been with his refreshments. She would have to remember to tell him when he took her collar off after the party.

“Jefferson is an old friend,” Rumple said softly. “We’ve been on dozens of adventures together, off and on, over the years. But he has a family now, so I’ve seen less and less of him.”

From what Jefferson had said, that had been Rumple’s choice, not his. But perhaps that wasn’t for her to mention. Either way, she couldn’t now. All Belle could do was stand close to him and rub her hand along his golden brocade coat. The next time she was permitted a question, she would ask about Jefferson. She wanted to know about the adventures they had gone on, and how they had become so close, and what, exactly, that closeness involved.

A shadow appeared over the moon and Rumpelstiltskin stepped away from Belle. As the shadow came closer, it appeared to be the shape of a man. He was tall and wearing dark robes, holding a staff and standing on a--Belle squinted--a carpet?

The carpet flew over the gates, through the courtyard, and stopped in front of Rumpelstiltskin on the landing. The man disembarked and the carpet rolled itself up and placed itself into a corner in the foyer.

This new guest stood like someone of great importance. The staff in his hand was made of bronze, shaped like the head of a hissing snake. He wore a black turban on his head and had a large red and blue bird perched on his shoulder.

“Belle, may I present Jafar, Grand Vizier to the Sultan of Agrabah.”

“Soon to be the sultan’s son-in-law,” Jafar bowed with an oily smile. “And shortly after that, the sultan.”

Rumple cocked his head to the side. “So you are to wed the little princess then? I’m sure she’s happy to hear that.”

“What does it matter how that shrew feels about it? When her father issues a command, she must obey.” His eyes roved over Belle while he kept talking to Rumpelstiltskin. “Women are only ever truly happy when they’re being obedient to their men, don’t you find?”

“In my experience, it depends on the woman,” Rumple said evenly. “And on the man.”

“Aw-waak!” Suddenly, the bird on Jafar’s shoulder made a noise that sounded like human speech. “Too cold!”

Belle blinked, and felt her mouth open. Did that animal just speak? How was that possible? Was it magical? Had it been a person at one time, transformed into a bird? Were such creatures common in Jafar’s kingdom?

Rumple saw her expression. “So you still have that parrot, then?” He emphasized the word slightly, just enough that Belle knew he was doing it on purpose. So that creature was called a parrot. She would have to ask Rumple about that too, when she got her voice back.

“Oh, yes,” Jafar said with a throaty chuckle. “Iago can be a dreadful nuisance at times, but no one else in my confidence has more cunning and devious ideas.”

“Feed me!” the parrot said, as if participating in the conversation.

Belle couldn’t stop staring at this animal, and she couldn’t help the feeling that it was looking back at her with understanding. Its eyes were yellow, the black pupils moving and regarding her in a manner unlike any other bird she’d ever seen.

It had an intelligence, she thought. It looked at her like it knew she was a whore, and knew what whoring meant. Belle’s stomach roiled as the parrot looked at her. She was an object of lust to this animal as much as she was to any of the people here tonight.

“Belle,” Rumple’s voice cut through her thoughts, “why don’t you take Jafar and his companion inside with the other guests?”

“Thank you,” she nodded, blinking. This was silly, she thought. She had known what it would mean to be presented as Rumpelstiltskin’s thing, his whore, his pleasure-slave. That was the whole point of this party, for him to show her off and drive all of his friends wild with jealousy. Of course they would want her. It should be a compliment that anything with eyes looked at her with desire.

But knowing the logic of it was entirely different from feeling those strange and lustful eyes upon her as she moved.

When she turned around the parrot whistled. “Tailfeathers!” it said. Then it whistled again and made chirping sounds all the way into the foyer. Somehow, by some creeping feeling at the base of her neck, Belle knew that the noises the animal was making were obscene.

“Hush, Iago,” Jafar snapped the creature’s beak shut between his thin fingers. He stopped her before she could take them from the foyer to the dining room. He wrapped a bony hand around her bare arm and held her still. His fingers rubbed at her skin, slowly sliding down her arm and stopping at the cuff on her wrist.

With surprising strength, Jafar pulled her hand up to him so that he might examine the cuff more closely. Belle’s body followed her wrist, and she almost tripped over her heels and her long skirt. She almost fell into the arms of this man, this towering stranger who smiled like poison.

“My apologies for the insult to your lovely ears. Iago is a vile animal with base instincts. But clearly you are a creature of more refinement.”

“Thank you?” Belle took a step backwards, gently pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“In my kingdom,” he went on, “a jewel such as yourself would adorn a sultan’s crown. Perhaps not as a queen, but you would certainly be the favorite in a harem.”

“Excuse me,” Belle made herself smile and nearly bolted for the dining room.

Jafar stalked behind her, unruffled. “And with your obvious aptitude for punishment… Well, I know many men in Agrabah who would give me everything they possessed just to spend an hour with you in a dungeon.”

“Right away!” Belle loudly announced her presence and her intention as soon as she opened the doors.

But Jafar didn’t let her take another step into the dining room. He grabbed her wrist again, snaking his gnarled fingers around one of her cuffs.

“It’s these, isn’t it?” he hissed. “These are what bind you to the Dark One, what make you his slave instead of mine.”

“Hey there!” Jefferson bounded over to them, almost forcing his body directly between Belle and Jafar. “You look like an interesting person! My name is Jefferson, pleasure to meet you!” He stuck out his hand in greeting.

Jafar shook Jefferson’s hand like he had been offered a dead fish. “Ecstatic to make your acquaintance.”

Jefferson stayed where he was and Belle snuck away to the cupboard. On her way, she passed Leona, who was standing beside the enchanted instruments.

“You alright?” she spoke softly enough that the men couldn’t hear.

Belle took a deep breath, and then she nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

Leona winked at her. “Didn’t look like old bird-and-bedsheets there knew this wasn’t that kind of a party.”

Belle snickered and the laughter felt like a cool breeze on a stifling day.

The cupboard yielded a bowl of fresh fruit cut up into small pieces, and a small cup full of something steaming and black. Belle took another breath before she went back to Jafar.

Jefferson was still pulling the vizier into conversation. “Just where did you say you were from?”

“Oh, much farther than you’ve travelled, I’m sure.” He reached out to Belle as she served, but Jefferson interrupted the motion by clapping the other man on the back.

“Try me!” he laughed. “I promise you, I’ve been almost everywhere!”

Jefferson knew what he was doing, Belle thought. He was protecting her, with Leona as his partner. When she got the chance, she would have to tell Rumple what very good friends they had.

She slipped away from the dining room and back outside to wait with Rumple.

When he saw her face, his brow furrowed. “Something happened. Are you alright?”

Belle nodded and stood beside him. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t care about the cold anymore. If she froze to death it would be fine, as long as she could do it at his side.

Rumple pressed her close to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to stop?”

Belle shook her head against his high collar, relishing the warmth of him.

He rubbed her shoulder. “Perhaps this was a foolish notion. But I still say you can handle it. Just kiss my boots if you need it all to go away.”

Belle nodded into his coat, wanting to nod into his skin, wanting them to be naked together in a bed, warm and happy and alone. She wanted to talk to him, to use her own words instead of smiles and gestures and meaningless phrases. He was right next to her and she missed him so much.

But she didn’t want the party to stop. She didn’t want to give up so easily, to put an end to everybody’s good time. She was stronger than that, she knew she was. There was nothing she couldn’t handle tonight, so long as everything ended with her in Rumpelstiltskin’s arms.

Presently, there was a strange rumbling sound coming from the avenue leading to the castle. Through the darkness, Belle saw two lights, brighter than the rising moon. The lights were above the ground and at the same level, like the eyes of a giant animal, and they were getting closer.

“Oh.” Rumple said flatly. “Well, there’s no way to explain what you’re about to see, so just think of it as a white metal monster, or a giant horse with no true life in it.”

It certainly sounded like a monster. The rumbling grew louder as the lights grew brighter and there were a few other sounds that almost sounded like the honking of a goose, but longer and angrier.

Abruptly, the noises stopped and the lights dimmed. A door opened in the side of the white metal and a woman stepped out. In the near-darkness, Belle could only make out hair that was black on one side and white on the other.

“Hello, darling!” the woman called up from the avenue. “We’ll be right up!”

“‘We’ she says,” Rumple muttered. “I wonder which paramour she brought with her this time.”

Two women came up the steps. The one who had greeted them raced up the stairs, lifting the hem of her skirt up to reveal shoes very much like the ones Belle wore. Her shoes were colored the bright red to match her gloves and the inside of her white fur coat. The woman moved with impressive speed. How could she run in such shoes?

The other woman walked more slowly, as though she had to ponder each step before she took it. She kept her eyes on the ground but didn’t lift up her green dress.

“Darling!” The pale woman greeted Rumpelstiltskin with a kissing motion over each of his shoulders. “It has been ages! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

“Here, mostly,” he said flatly. “Cruella, let me introduce you to Belle.”

The woman’s face was heavy with cosmetics. Her painted lips made a perfect scarlett O when she looked at Belle. She held up a long pipe in a red-gloved hand and brought it to her mouth.

“Well!” the woman said as she exhaled smoke. “Yes, I can see why anyone would want to stay sequestered with a little morsel like this.”

Rumple didn’t respond to that. “Belle, this is Cruella de Vil, of the House of de Vil.”

Belle gave Cruella de Vil a polite smile. She seemed such a volatile person, it was hard to know how to react to her.

Cruella grinned and called down to her companion. “Ursula, come get a look at this gel! She’s so beautiful I’m about to be sick!” It took Belle a moment to understand the odd way this woman said the word girl.

The other woman reached the top of the stairs and Belle saw why she’d had so much trouble. She had thought that the woman was wearing a green dress, but now she saw that only the bodice was made of green cloth. The woman wore no skirt, because she had no legs. Her lower half was a bright green cluster of wriggling tentacles. She had to propel herself on them to move forward.

“This is Ursula,” Rumple said, “the Sea-Witch. Ursula, this is Belle.”

Belle tried not to stare at the Sea-Witch, even as her mind reeled. So she was a water creature! How agonizing must it be for her to live on land! Did she do it all the time or had she only come out of the ocean for this party? Belle was so engrossed in her thoughts, she almost didn’t feel something cold and wet slide across her cheek.

It was a tentacle, caressing her face as dextrously as a hand. Belle gulped, but refused to let herself scream or fight against the bizarre sensation.

Ursula had brown skin and yellow hair. She wore a green crown that held her hair back, but still let it cascade down her shoulders. Her smile was wide and knowing, with very white teeth.

“She is exquisite,” her voice was deep and musical. She turned her gaze to the other woman. “But I’d rather go home with you.”

Cruella preened, wrapping her white fur coat closely around her body. “Darling!”

“So the two of you are back together,” Rumple said. “Is it for good this time?”

The Sea-Witch answered with a laugh, “Never for good, but it will be forever.” She took Cruella by the hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. “At least, I want it to be.”

With her free hand, Cruella caressed Ursula’s cheek. “You just need to stop leaving me alone for days at a time. I get terribly lonely, and bored and I… seek out company. It’s only because I miss you!”

Ursula chuckled and wrapped her arm around the other woman’s waist. “If you say so, love.”

Love again, Belle thought. So many people had love tonight. Even people Rumpelstiltskin called monsters. These women stood together, their foreheads touching, each of them smiling a smile meant only for the other. Looking at them hurt Belle in a way she couldn’t describe.

“But look at this creature!” Cruella broke away to gesture at Belle. “Isn’t she the perfect little pet! Look at her collar!” She looked at Rumple. “Oh, but she is a good girl, isn’t she? I’m sure you like to make her roll over and beg!” The last word was almost a growl, playful and suggestive.

Rumple only smiled politely. “Why don’t you ladies go inside for some refreshment?”

In the dining room, the other three guests were over by the enchanted instruments. It seemed that Jefferson and Leona had gotten the instruments to change their tune, and now the couple was trying to teach Jafar and his parrot a song about hedgehogs. Their attention kept Jafar too occupied to give Belle any trouble.

Belle served Cruella de Vil a clear liquid in a glass shaped like an upside-down cone on a very long stem. At the bottom of the glass, there was an olive on a skewer.

“Oh my God!” Cruella’s eyes were teary as she took the glass by the stem. She held it up and looked at the clear fluid as though it were the elixir of life. “Gin!”

Ursula was given a two-handled bowl that was covered with seashells. She didn’t drink the contents, but slowly poured them over her body like she was rinsing off after a bath. The Sea-Witch sighed contentedly, her tentacles reaching out to catch any errant drops of moisture.

“Coo-ee!” Leona called over to the newcomers. “Come and join us! We’ll all be singing after another round or three and it’s better if you know some of the words ahead of time.”

Cruella and Ursula exchanged a look. Belle imagined a silent conversation between them, debating the merits of joining in on the revelry or staying outside the circle of merriment. After a moment, the two women walked hand in hand over to the others.

“I have been known to enjoy a pretty voice,” Ursula said.

“And when we’ve all learned your song, I’ve got one to teach you all.” Cruella de Vil grinned saucily. “It’s got my name in it.”

“Mind serving us another round, Belle?” Jefferson asked.

“Right away,” Belle said, her smile not so false as usual. Jefferson had become a balm to her, a life raft while she swam through a treacherous ocean.

Belle served them all. As she walked among Rumple’s friends, there were subtle touches placed on her body, from everyone but Jefferson and Leona. Belle tried to ignore the sensations. The touches were nothing galling, no assault on her body. If she asked any of the guests, they would say that it was an accident--a brush across her back, a finger against her palm, a soft press of a body against her body. It was nothing, she told herself. Nothing worse than she had expected.

She went outside.

Rumple had his eyes on the night sky, scanning it across the horizon. He stopped when he heard the clacking of Belle’s shoes. “How are you holding up, little one?”

“Excuse me,” Belle said, beleaguered. The party had only begun and already she would have happily said good night to every new person she had met today.

“You know how to end it if you need to.” His face was sympathetic. Belle wondered if he knew what she felt. She wanted the party to be over, but had no desire to be the one to end it. “Is everyone alright in there?”

“Right away,” she nodded. The phrases made no sense, but Rumple understood.

“Good. We can lock them all in and go traveling.”

Belle snorted out a giggle and for a moment everything felt normal again.

Rumple held her by her arms. “I know this is a trial, my sweet. But you are doing so well! Everything we set out to accomplish by planning this party is already done! I promise you, it will be smooth sailing from here on out.”

Belle nodded. “Right away.”

“I think everyone who is coming is here. Are you ready to go in?”

She didn’t speak, but held up one finger as an answer.

“One thing first? What is it?”

Belle threw her arms around him and pressed her body into his. Of all the touches she had received that night, this was the only one she craved.

Rumple stumbled back a little, but quickly returned the embrace. He held her and for a moment they breathed the same air and there was no one else in the world except for them.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she answered.

Slowly, they broke apart and Rumpelstiltskin led her into the dining room, closing the doors behind them. She brought him a goblet of gold-colored wine from the cupboard--and another round for everyone else--and they allowed the chatter and revelry to keep them separated. He sat on the table and struck up a conversation with Leona. Belle stood by the cabinet, ready to serve.

The company had broken away from the enchanted instruments and fractured into hubs of conversation. Jafar and Ursula seemed to be comparing types of magic. Leona and Rumple were talking about Jefferson. And Jefferson was talking to Cruella. She was describing a very specific leather item that was far beyond the skill of any leatherworkers she could commission.

“No, I know where to procure something like that,” Jefferson said between bites of a beignet. They were standing by the glass cabinets, close enough that Belle could hear the entirety of their conversation. “There’s a man by the name of Tuttle Scrope in Ankh-Morpork who specializes in such items. If you have your measurements handy, we’ll actually be going that way after the party. I could bring you back a quote, including my finder’s fee.”

“Darling, that would be simply divine!” Cruella smiled. “My sweet Ursula seems to think she has cause to doubt me and I want to show her that I’m faithful as dog to her!”

“Understandable. Why do you think my wife and I wear these?” He flicked at his leather collar with his thumb. “Now, if you happen to have gold on you, I can--”

The doors slammed open and everyone went silent.

Two women entered the room, both of them beautiful and magnificent. One was tall and sleek, robed in black and purple with a horned headdress over curly blonde hair. The other was shorter, but no less grand. Her black gown was wide and adorned with jewels--blood red rubies and onyx and diamonds. When she spoke, her voice was low and mocking:

“Sorry we’re late.”

#Golden cuffs #rumbelle #Jefferson #Jafar #sea devil #cruella de vil #ursula

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