#this AU has been rattling around in my head for months

[flowerakatsuka]

Do you have a fave hesokuri au or skit au and have you kuroba’d them 👀

HI EVAN, THANK YOU SM FOR THE ASK!!! 😊✨

and yes, i do!! a few actually, heh. i've talked a little bit about the youkai & denki mystery aus i have for kuroba before and i really love those, but i think my favorite might actually be their royalty / prince au. which i haven't really talked about before so uh. i hope you don't mind, but i'm gonna use this as a excuse to ramble about it.

i'll put my infodumping under a cut bc it might get long, but here's their designs for the au. 🤭

SO. kuroba comes from a commoner household, but because their grandfather was the royal gardener to the matsuno family and they acted as his apprentice, they've basically lived their entire life on the castle grounds in spite of their status. they've gotten to meet and come to befriend quite a few people of a higher social status than them, the most notable being the 2nd prince of the matsuno royal family, karamatsu.

they first met as children, when karamatsu ran away from his caretakers to hide in the gardens and cry by himself. kuroba had been helping with cleaning up the rose beds that day and stumbled upon him. they've always been the meddling type and can't leave others alone when they're upset so they sat with him and tried to comfort him to the best of their ability, ( even if it was just providing him company and a hand to squeeze while he cried. ) after that, karamatsu became very curious about kuroba and would often visit the gardens in the hopes of spending time with them. the two became very close over time, with him following them around the gardens as they worked and running to them whenever he needed a shoulder to cry on ( which they were always happy to provide. )

they're still very close as adults despite some things changing, like karamatsu adopting a more flashy personality to stand out more amongst his brothers and kuroba taking over their grandfather's role as royal gardener. a lot of the things stayed the same, though.

however, their close friendship starts posing some issues within the royal counsel. one of the princes having such an intimate relationship ( and obvious infatuation ) with a commoner is unsightly in the eyes of the nobility and could make them question the integrity & stability of the crown. so iyami, ( who's a sketchy noble adviser to king matsuzou, ) proposes that karamatsu be engaged to duchess dobusu to help quell the rumors going around about kuroba and him. matsuzou agrees and even though he tries to protest it, kara eventually agrees to go along with it for the sake of his family and kuroba.

when karamatsu tells them the news, kuroba takes it pretty well and congratulates him with a smile... or at least, that's the reaction he gets out of them. in reality, they're fucking devastated because they've been harboring feelings for him for years at that point. they already accepted the fact that they could never be together, but that doesn't make the reality of the situation hurt any less. still, they want to support karamatsu and be happy for them so they're taking the truth about their feelings for him to the grave. ( that's what they planned on doing, at least. )

they slowly drift apart after that ; karamatsu's visits to the gardens become less frequent, kuroba stops personally delivering fresh arrangments to karamatsu's quarters, they barely even greet each other when crossing paths. it doesn't help that iyami got into kuroba's ear, warning them that they should keep their distance from kara to preserve his reputation and not lose their job — which they really can't afford as the main breadwinner for their family. neither of them are happy with how things have changed, but there's not much they can do about it.

as karamatsu and dobusu's engagement party draws closer and kuroba has to help with the decorations, their discontent really bubbles to the surface. one of their noble friends, ( i haven't decided who yet lol, ) finds them crying and tries to comfort them, eventually convincing them to sneak into the party and dance with kara so they at least have one unforgettable memory of him to hold onto. with their help, they manage to do it with their identity hidden behind a mask.

things seem to go off without a hitch ; they'll be able to have to moment with karamatsu all for themself and basically no one will be the wiser. that is until they slip up and speak while dancing with him. they start to leave when he almost says their name, but he stops them and gives them the pine-shaped brooch he was wearing before letting them slip away. to make matters worse, iyami sees this all go down.

the events after that are a lot less plotted out, but i imagine some standard historical fantasy romance webtoon bullshit going down. like karamatsu trying to confront kuroba about that night, but them telling him to stop and leave them be. it's be some wild melodrama, which i do kinda live for.

the climax would probably be iyami staging some villainess-esque condemnation event to expose kuroba for sneaking into the party and get them kicked out of the castle. but queen matsuyo and some of the nobles kuroba had befriended come to their rescue. basically, they argue that if there's someone who's willing to be with karamatsu's annoying ass, then why would you force him onto someone else? none of the other nobles want him, please let kuroba have him so they don't have to deal with him. this includes dobusu, who agrees to give the royal family her duchy's support if they break off her engagement with karamatsu and let kuroba take him off her hands. so after getting matsuzou's approval, they live happily ever after theeeeeee end. there's probably other factors that could play into them getting together at the end, but yeah.

anyways thank you for coming to my rambling, i am so sorry it got this long. this is one of the aus i've thought about A LOT so i ended up having a lot to say. 😭

[hustlebonezzz]

WHERE IS MY MIND!? 🗣️

Happy Halloween! 🫰🎃

[ivymarquis]

Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave. 

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him. 

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger. 

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either. 

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back. 

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification. 

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy. 

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it. 

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face. 

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children. 

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine. 

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access. 

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further. 

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it. 

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly. 

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his. 

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves. 

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore. 

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children. 

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt. 

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to. 

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name. 

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air. 

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate. 

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her. 

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities. 

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home. 

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss. 

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John. 

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her. 

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely. 

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd. 

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake. 

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife. 

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John. 

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress. 

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her. 

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong. 

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night. 

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has. 

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden. 

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan. 

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed. 

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed. 

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming. 

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her. 

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits. 

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.” 

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally-  and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance. 

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down. 

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. 

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest. 

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control. 

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted. 

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children. 

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her. 

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely. 

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules. 

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions. 

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it. 

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down. 

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?” 

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[sunnie-angel]

i've had this idea for a kind of cracky jason todd x reader hockey au rattling around in my head for close to 10 months now but i don't think i'm ever gonna have the motivation to sit down and write this particular fic, so! here's the outline for what i would have written. honestly if anyone wants to adopt the fic, go for it.

you're the assistant manager of the Gotham Knights, the city's beloved hockey team that hasn't had a shot at the regional championship in years. this year, the impossible's happened: the Knights have made it not only to the championships, but to the top six teams. there's only three games that stand between the Knights and total victory, but the first team you're set to play is notoriously dirty. send opposing team players to the hospital in stretchers regularly kind of dirty.

and so what do you do? well with not only your job but your hometown pride on the line, in a fit of desperation you reach out to famous local crime lord Red Hood. high on caffeine and adrenaline, you ask if he’ll be an alternate goalie (he's already got the right helmet for it) going into the championships because no one in their right mind is going to sabotage a crime lord’s team right in front of him. hell, just with him riding the bench, it might be enough to save your boys from getting the shit beat out of them.

and of course jason isn’t really a big sports fan but he is a son of Gotham so like hell is he gonna let the Knights lose at their one big chance if he can help it. so Red Hood becomes the team’s alternate goalie and yeah, the first few practices are awkward, but because toeing the line of insanity has paid off so far, you tell him that yeah he may be a crime lord that’s there mainly to intimidate the other team but he’s still gotta do practice drills if he wants any ice time during the game.

and when the other team finds out, they throw a fit. their manager tries to get him barred from the game, but Hood’s not a meta, has never actually been prosecuted for a crime, and technically his legal name is last name hood first name red so they can’t make him give up a civilian identity just to play. the publicity around the attempts to bar him only drive more interest surrounding the regional championship and suddenly every single game of the next few matches is sold out. you're keeping your job based on that turn around alone (the Hood jerseys sold out in minutes), but now you're determined to get these guys to win.

jason as red hood accidentally becomes a permanent part of the team after they win the regional championships and then get bumped up to compete for the national championship. you're no longer afraid of him because even if you've never seen his face, you have carried him moaning back from a session with the physio because he's got soo many weird injury issues that are finally getting long term treatment. kinda hard to be afraid of a guy who's just been giggling from pain as the 8-year old knot in their neck finally gets released, you know?

as the Gotham Knights get closer to their first ever national championship title game, jason starts to develop a weirdly good relationship with the rest of the Bats. they may disagree with his methods and ethics but Gotham actually has the chance to win at something so they won’t go after him for now. at least not until he wins them that trophy. and anyways, keeping busy with hockey mean's jason's got less time to be putting heads in duffel bags which really goes a long way to making bruce happy.

along the journey to the championship cup, jason and reader fall in love.

[cranberrymoons]

hey sweetheart

prompt: meetcute at work (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: e (18+) word count: 896 words tags: modern au, line cook eddie/waiter steve, hooking up

welcome to Day 4 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

Steve is halfway through his first week when he meets him: the line cook with the long hair pulled back in a bun, the stark black lines of tattoos snaking up his arms, the flirty little smile that he flashes in Steve’s direction when Steve comes back to pick up Table 6’s starters.

It’s a hell of a time to start a job in the first place: mid-holiday season, no one around to train him except Robin who’s only worked there a couple weeks longer than he has and knows next to nothing about The Way Things Work.

But she’s Robin, and she’s familiar, and she knows him well enough to warn him to avoid the flirty long-haired line cook with the big brown eyes and the dimples and the million watt smile directed right at him and – 

Fuck.

“Sweetheart, you rang in Table Twelve wrong,” the guy says, leaning forward over the pass with a ticket in his hand. “This says no onions, but the special isn’t made with onions.”

Steve stares at him as he loads Table Six’s plates onto a tray. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely.

“My name isn’t Sweetheart,” he says eventually. “And so – just extra don’t put onions on it. Who cares?”

The cook raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. “Thought it sounded nicer than ‘hey new guy’, but if you’d prefer that –”

“Steve,” he says. He shoulders his tray. “My name is Steve.”

The cook gives him a little smile, eyes flashing in the bright fluorescents of the kitchen.

“Alright, Sweetheart.” He tilts his chin up. “Extra no onions for Table Twelve, and you can call me Eddie.”

---

It continues on like that for a week or two: Eddie flirting, finding any excuse to ask a question about his ticket. 

Steve knows what he’s doing; he’s worked in restaurants before, and he’s fucked enough hot line cooks in his time that he should know better than to fall into the trap, but still, he finds himself drawn in, entertaining Eddie’s endless teasing and prodding and poking until he starts doing it back – little digs about his shift meal, questions about a menu item that he already knows the answer to.

“Dude,” Robin says, halfway through his first month. 

It’s rounding up on Christmas, and the place is packed, corporate groups out for holiday parties and couples on dates. 

“If you don’t stop flirting, I’m going to cut your fucking dick off,” she says. “Seriously.”

And – okay. That’s fair. 

Steve pulls himself away from where he’d been leaning over the pass, asking Eddie a question about the catch of the day that he’s already asked three times tonight. Clears his throat and straightens up. He tugs his tie back into place, claims the braised oxtail that’s destined for Table Two and clears his throat.

“Sorry.”

Eddie sends him a wink, and Steve feels himself flush.

“Please tell me you’re not going to fuck him,” Robin says as they exit the kitchen.

Steve sighs. “I’m not going to fuck him.”

---

And of course, he’s lying through his teeth.

The very next night, they’re both off work, and he gets a text from an unfamiliar number, just –

hey sweetheart 

Steve flushes as he stares down at his phone, scratching a hand back through his hair. He takes a breath.

Wonder who this could be , he texts back.

All he gets in response is a simple,

😇 

---

Two hours later, he’s flat on his back in Eddie’s bed, clinging to his shoulders and whining as Eddie fucks him so hard he loses his breath, so hard he feels like his brain is rattling around in his skull. He digs his teeth into Eddie’s skin, ankles locked around his back and not even bothering to hold back the noises that Eddie’s punching out of his chest, just –

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice coming high in the back of his throat. “Holy shit, I –”

Eddie’s mouth runs up the column of his neck, hands trailing over his skin, nails dragging sharp lines down his sides.

“You going to come for me, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low in his ear. “Show me how pretty you can be?”

And that’s – for some reason that sets Steve off, turns his skin over to fire as he grips tighter to Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging in, back arching off the bed, coming so hard he sees stars.

---

And then later, when they’re both fucked out and exhausted and Steve is preparing to take his cue to gather his clothes and make a graceful exit, he feels Eddie’s mouth skimming up the side of his neck, hand tangling in his hair, dragging him into another kiss.

A real one, with teeth and tongue and lips, a kiss that isn’t intended to go anywhere other than just to be , and his breath catches a little in his chest, hand skittering over Eddie’s back as he rolls over on top of him.

“Stay?” Eddie asks, voice quiet and hopeful and muffled where their mouths are still pressed together. He smiles, lips quirking up and drawing Steve along with him. “You know I know how to make breakfast.”

And Steve breathes out a quiet laugh, bumping their noses together. He sighs.

“As long as there’s bacon.”

[also on ao3]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm hoping y'all like it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The chamber is pungent with sweat. A clammy sheen coats Edith's forehead as she gives another rattling cough. You hear the crackle in her lungs and smell the iron of her blood before it stains the crumpled handkerchief your mother dabs her lips with. 

She's been sick for months. Your mother said the summer heat would help her recovery but the drought that followed the spring downpour only seemed to worsen her symptoms. The once buoyant and bright eyed girl lays shrouded beneath a canopy, gulping and gasping, frail and despondent. 

Your fathe clears his throat, startling you from the doorway. You hadn't heard him appear. You glance at him over your shoulder and ser the grimness in his eye, the stone that has not dislodged since your sister fell ill. She always was his favourite. She's everyone's favourite. She is gentle and kind and rare.

Your mother turns to peek at your father's shadow. She gives a nod and rises, beckoning you forth, handing over the cloth and squeezing it into your palm. 

"Sit with your sister," she nearly whispers. The chamber is always quiet, as if speaking too loud might tempt the fates. Alas, it was always Edith who would sing to fill the dearth. She always knows what to do, what to say.

You perch on the edge of the bed as your mother crosses the floor. Not a word passes between your parents as they retreat. Again, the must discuss something dire, as they've done these last weeks. Each time, it only serves to gray their melancholy further.

Edith stares above her. Eyes glassy and distant. She coughs again and a fleck of phlegm lands on her chin. You mop it up as you wonder how her round cheeks could ever have become so taut and worn.

Her gaze drifts, slowly and lazily, a divet forming between her brows as she strains to look at her. The corners of her lips twitch but she hasn't the strength to smile. She gulps back another raspy cough.

"It's… you," she breathes, "my… sister."

Her words come far apart, each summoned with an effort. As you lower the handkerchief back to your lap she wheezes and lifts her hand shakily. She moves it towards you and lets it drop onto yours.

"I love you, sister," she wisps, "I… I remember…" she shakes her head and wets her tongue, "how much you love…dandelions and daffodils… and everything yellow and blooming." 

Her chest rattles as she falls into a fit. She curls her shoulders and clings to you tightly, her brittle nails sinking into your skin. She swallows loudly as she leans heavily against the pillows, her coughs subsiding. 

"I recall… and I know… you are just as… vibrant…" she bends her fingers around yours, "you must… be… for mother."

"No, Edi, you awe," you murmur, your syllables wobby, "and you will be. Again. You will be that for motha and fatha. You have to… I can't."

She groans and lets her head loll, "you will."

You frown. She is wrong. You cannot replace her and she will not die. It cannot be.

You lower your chin, eyes stinging. Your sister always cast a shadow over you, but you don't mind the shade. She always let you stand off to the side, she let you be quiet, she let you be unseen and safe. She is the only person who ever knew the real you and loved you for it. 

"Don't be… sad," her voice creaks, "I'm not."

You peek at her from under your lashes and furrow your brow, to ask 'you're not?'

She reads you as well as ever, "how can I be?" She heaves and gathers her words, "it may be a short life… but rich… and less than… lonely."

You can't hold back. It's more than what she says, it's the resignation in her tenor. Even in defeat, she is blissful. You bend over her and embrace her daintily, resting your head on her chest, listening to dull beat and the hoarse crackle within. You close your eyes and sniffle.

"You will be well again," you avow, "you have to get well." You let your tears flow down and wet her shift. She raises her hand and rests it on your head, petting your lightly, "I need you."

"I will be around… always," she hums, "you will know where to find me."

Her words dangle over you, confounding you. Cryptic but certain. You know she is right, as ever, but you want so badly for her to lie to you. 

🔹

You wake beneath the small glow of a single taper. Your mother holds a candlestick as she gently tugs on your sleeve. You peer over at your sister’s silhouette, her breaths whistling with each exhale. You sit up, reluctant to leave her.

“Come,” is all the wraithlike matriarch bids.

You obey, rising to follow her across the dark chamber. The hallway is lit only by her candle and the light shining out from a doorway further down. Your father welcomes you into his study, an unusual occasion but you sense not a happy one.

He sits behind his desk on the grand carved chair with medieval posts topped with polished wooden orbs. Your mother lowers herself onto a velvet seat and you take another stiff oaken chair, dragged in from the dining hall. You glance between them and purse your lips tightly. 

Your father sighs, long and heavy, steepling his fingers then quickly, letting them twine together. He sits forward and presses his chin to his knuckles. Your mother sits staunchly, staring ahead, sombre and silent.

“It is best in these moments to be pragmatic,” your father begins quietly, pushing his shoulders back as he forcefully clears the frog in his throat, “to think as a family, to consider the legacy of my name.” He looks down, unusually reticent. He moves his head back and forth, grazing his untended stubble across his fingers, “you will have to make the journey to Jade Park.”

Your frown. You’re uncertain what he means. You shake your head and blink furiously. It’s the closest you ever came to speaking out of turn. Though, your father despises how little you ever said.

“She is too sick to travel. Or to marry. Even if the lord in question made the trek himself to meet his betrothed, she would not be able to receive him… if she were still alive.”

You choke audibly and clutch your throat. Your mother lets out a thick breath and shifts on her seat. Your father’s lip curls, irritated.

“The Duke made a contract for a wife, he will have one,” your father declares, gritting his teeth, “whether he be disappointed or not, he cannot claim forfeiture.”

You send your mother a desperate look. You cannot go and marry Lord Laufeyson. He is to be Edith’s husband. You were still to have some time ahead of you.

Your father covers his face and drags his hands up, combing over his hair with a growl. He holds his skull before sitting up sternly.

“And by the lord, speak up! He will not want a mute as a wife,” he snarls.

You shrink. It should have been you. You should be the one sick and dying. It should be Edith carrying on your father’s hopes. You are not good enough for it. Nor are you ever good enough for him. Where he dotes on Edith, he rants at you.

“Speak!” He slams his palm on the desk.

You flinch and push your head up. You fix your posture and unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you part your lips, “yes, fatha, as you bid me–”

“As is your duty,” he sneers, “as a daughter must. As a woman!”

He rails as he waves his hand angrily with each word. He slaps it back down and pushes himself to his feet. He stomps away and stops before the faded portrait of his forebear. You peek again at your mouth, her lips are straight as she looks at you blandly.

“Fatha,” you eke out and stand, “I pwomise I will do my best–”

“I cannot hear you!” He spins to face you, “I hear only mindless babbling. No husband wants a mouse for a wife. Let us only hope Laufeyson will accept one sister in place of another.”

“Fatha,” you squeak.

“Wife,” he ignores you, moving back behind his desk, “you will be certain to review her diction. Mute and dumb, how pitiful.”

You wince. No matter your efforts, your words are always skewed. Every syllable is a little longer than it needs to be, and you cannot form a sharp R. It all fools loose and awkward.

“Fatha–”

“Fathaaa,” he mimics and turns his back to you, “Thea, get her away from me. Ready her luggage.”

“Luggage? When am I to leave, fatha?”

“As soon as we can have you gone,” he mutters, “your sister deserves to die in peace.”

You fold your arms, holding yourself as his words sink into your chest. Like a knife, it cuts to the core and you can’t fight the sob that rises in your throat. You spin on your heel and flee. You hear him boom at your mother.

“Be certain she does not act as a child for her husband,” he barks.

You clamour into your sister’s chamber and over to the bed. You lower yourself next to her once more and wiggle close. Your tears fall as you tuck her hand between her arm and her body.

“Sista,” you gulp, “oh, sista, I don’t want to go… I don’t want you to go.”

🔹

You touch your lips as the carriage shudders with each turn of the wheel. You still feel your sister’s cold skin against you. That final kiss you gave. You know for sure that is what it is. You will not see her again. Not above the earth.

You lean against the wall, trembling with the motion. Your mother is across from you, dabbing her eyes with a folded handkerchief. She bawls loudly now and again, a lock of your sister’s hair clutched in her other hand. 

Despite her protests, your father insisted it would be undue for you to go alone and for neither of them to attend the introduction to assure the contract’s fulfillment. So she accompanies you and the single maid, Doreen.

Dread suffocates you in the cramped space. Even as the sun shines between the curtains, it is gray inside.

You put your head down and stare at the pages of the novel in your hands. Your vision is bleary and you don’t read. It is only an excuse, an act. You try to imprint your sister’s features into your head, try to memorise her voice. You never want to forget her. You want to keep every part of her with you.

The wheels roll on into the night. Your mother pulls a blanket around her but you let the cold chill you, almost praying that it might sicken you. That you could take the ague and your sister’s place. You shiver and look out from behind the curtain, watching the silhouettes of hills and trees pass.

The driver stops at the Crescent Hotel just inside the city. You rent a room and spend the night awake. Your mother sobs and snores until the sun rises. 

When you're ready to set back out on the road, your mother is certain to have the maid arrange your hair and check your face. She has you wear a particular dress, a shade of moss with pearl buttons, and a bonnet with a broad brim. Once past the city, it is only another hour to Jade Park.

You sit with hands clutched, the bench rigid beneath you, uncomfortable as your restlessness mounts. On and on until you are dizzy and quivering. You don’t know that you can do this, but you know you cannot say so.

You approach a great wall of lime washed bricks with a grand golden gate with twists at the peak of each pole. Your mother cranes to watch as you get nearer and you wring your hands together until the seams of your gloves sear your skin. The driver greets the gatekeeper and is let through after a brief introduction.

He proceeds through as the clop of the horses like hooves to your fragile mind. Closer and closer. The wheels slow and the carriage jostles as the driver climbs down. Yet another voice greets him, a groomsman who directs him before opening the door.

The driver places a step down for your mother to descend and you come out after he as the groom assists with a helping hand. You nearly trip on the inch tall heels of your shoes and your mother darts a reproachful glare in your direction. You apologise and look up at the square peaks jutting up from the top of the boxy manor.

The walls are a pale beige trimmed with lush hedges. Stone steps stretch before the wide doors and multi paned windows look out onto the sprawling lawn of green, speckled with marble statues, a fountain, and finely kept flowers. Tall trees peek out from behind the grand house and softly wave in the breeze.

Your mother steps closer to you and pinches your arm.

“Shoulders straight,” she girds, “do not gape like a simpleton. If you must, you may hide behind your fan.”

She takes a step forward, then another. Three before you kick yourself into motion. Your heart thumps loudly as you try to keep pace. The groom shows you up the steps and two others appear to open the double door at the top.

Oh my. 

[yuri-is-online]

Hello hello! Anon here. First of all, congratulations on getting accepted for your courses! Don't worry about trying to balance work and the blog, we will always be here waiting for you. Second of all, your whole Yutu AU has been really fascinating to look through. (Though that may be because of my bias toward Fire Emblem Awakening, as it was what got me into the series) Sorry for the incoming wall of text, but it's been giving me THOUGHTS.

So imagine this: whoever Yutu's dad is (I'll pick Azul for this example because I headcannon his English voice somewhere between Matt Mercer's Chrom and Olivert from The Legend of Heroes games) finds out who Yutu really is. You remember that cutscene after Chapter 13 in Awakening, with the Lucina reveal and Chrom has this: "You deserved better than a sword and a world full of troubles. I'm sorry."? Imagine Yutu hearing something like that: the acknowledgement of everything he's gone through, the pain of knowing his dad couldn't do anything and can't do anything more than offer words, and the reality that it might now be really possible to change the future? I imagine Azul breaking down after hearing all that because the last thing he wants to do is hurt Yuu or his son after everything he's been through. Oh goodness, the two of them both need hugs.

Second: did Crowley tip off the Magic Marshalls (because I think he would) and force Yuu to take the blame for his negligence (because he absolutely would)? Now imagine Yutu finding this out and telling his dad. Now his dad knows Crowley is a cheapskate who fobs his work onto everyone else without a second thought. And now he's responsible for having Yuu taken away and starting all this? Knowing the boys and how far they would go for Yuu I'd imagine they don't take that well. In other words, to slightly alter a quote from Regina in Once Upon A Time: "I guess killing a crow suddenly made the top of my to-do list."

Sorry for the wall of text but that's been rattling around in my head for a few days (so make of it all what you will). Hope you're doing well and looking forward to what's next!

-The anon who loves Riddle & Azul

AHHHHH (i feel like I always take forever to answer your asks I am sosososososososososo sorry, this one just drove me crazy in a good good way)

Listen fire emblem awakening was my entire personality for like all of middle school.  The only thing i wanted to talk about was chrobin.  I celebrated Morgan and Lucina's birthdays by drawing them. I think I still have a Cherche x Libra fan art thing I drew on some sheet of paper somewhere in my things because I was SO MAD that no one shipped them and I couldn't find fan art of them anywhere and I just oooooooooooh.  THE WAY CHROM GETS A NEW CRIT LINE ABOUT HOW ANYTHING CAN CHANGE AFTER THE REVEAL???? BECAUSE OF HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO KEEP THAT PROMISE AND GIVE LUCINA A BETTER WORLD???? i just cant be normal about them i am so sorry.  R+A annon I love you, I love you so much for this you made my entire month and possibly my year.  Awakening is also what got me into the series and made me so many friends I just love her so much.  She's an icon and I hope she gets remastered with Sumia either deleted or with a fucking personality.

I should probably sit down and actually write a timeline for myself of events, but since I am free to lean in to the fire emblem pacing, I want to say that monsters from Yutu's timeline start showing up (similar to how the Risen do in Awakening) in the past and stirring up trouble, which leads to an event where Yutu panics and forgets himself in his desperation to protect his dad.  The main way the future kids always proved themselves was by showing their mother's wedding ring, but Yutu doesn't have that so really it's just up to his dad to see someone who looks like him and Yuu blended together, supposedly from Yuu's world using magic and above all else crying out and driving up his own blot levels to protect him calling him dad. For Azul! Yutu it's especially painful, he feels like he already knows what his dad is going to say. That he's disappointed in him. That he has no idea how they could possibly be related. That he hopes in this future he turns out to be different. But that's not what happens.

Before Azul overblotted he was quiet. There's a similar quiet over him now, a similar look of tense surprise, but Yutu- no- his child doesn't know that. His child is looking at him in fear, in worry for his reaction or his safety he doesn't know but he knows the way those tears start to form. Azul knows the quiver of the lip and the shriek, of all the things he could have passed on to such a treasure.

"You deserved better from me." Because it's true. He might think of himself as a work in progress but he still thinks he has quality; he would have done research, read every book he could get his hands on, taken classes, anything he would need to do to be a good father, a worthy partner. Anything. "You deserved to have the world within your grasp, not whatever shadow of a future and a father I left you with. I am so sorry." He does not expect Yutu to grab him and hold him like he's still somehow worthy of his love, but Azul can't fight the urge to grab back, to stroke his son's hair and let the tears fall on his suit without any care at all. I'm here. It's ok, daddy's here, daddy's got you, he won't let anything happen to you.

As for your second question, I did not really write Crowley like that no. It was more like he was the first person mysteriously arrested after the Magical Marshall's decided to finally do their job. I was writing it like they wanted to ship Yuu away to cover up for their own incompetence in preventing seven overblots instead of properly investigating what might have caused that. He's not completely innocent though, so yes. The boys do not take it well at all. And please do not apologize for sending in your thoughts, I am so so slow but I love hearing from you.

[aisiedaisie]

Mon Cher

Summary: Vampire! Sirius is looking for his next meal after his only in to the local blood bank ghosts him. Thankfully, it’s spooky season, and what better disguise than his own skin? With parties filled with costume wearing people, blending in has never been easier. But soon after walking into this one random college party, Sirius finds something far, more tempting than a blood bag.

Pairings: Wolfstar

Tags: Vampire AU, immortal Sirius Black, mentions of blood, alcohol, smoking and the like, definitely not proofread-

Notes: This idea has been plaguing my mind since I woke up the other morning.

Word count: 4.8k

"Fuck." The curse slipped from Sirius’s lips, sharp and venomous, just as his battered phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. The noise was loud enough to rattle the thin walls, sending his downstairs neighbors into a fit of retaliation—fists pounding against the ceiling, muffled shouts of "Shut the fuck up!" and "Be quiet!" slithering through the cracks. But Sirius hardly registered their irritation.

His mind was in a frenzy—racing yet stalling, stuck in an endless loop of buffering, trying to wrap his head around why the number he dialed led only to the grating beeps of disconnection.

He was furious. 

Rightfully so. 

Peter had vanished, seemingly evaporating into thin air. His calls went unanswered, the line dead, leaving Sirius stranded in his frustration and confusion. Peter, a dhampir, worked at the local blood bank—his only reliable supplier in this dreary town.

A groan tore from his throat, edging dangerously close to a whine, as his fingers raked through his dark curls in frustration. The stress clawed at his thoughts, dragging them under.

He needed to feed. Soon. Though, thanks to his pureblooded lineage, Sirius could stave off the hunger for longer than most. But it had been two weeks now—two long weeks since his last meal.

And he was hungry.

With Peter gone, though, this was going to get complicated. He could try feeding on animals again, but he'd sworn off the habit centuries ago—too much guilt over draining the neighbors’ pets. Besides, this town was so urbanized there wasn’t a park in sight, let alone a forest to skulk around in.

That left one last option.

Feeding on a human.

There were a few reasons why this was his last resort, rather than the first. The main one being that, as a pureblood vampire, if Sirius wasn’t careful, he could accidentally turn his victim into a low-level vampire—a consequence he had no patience for.

Another exasperated groan tore from his lips as he let his head knock itself against the wall. He needed to figure out how he was going to find a willing... a willing human.

He grimaced. 

“Damnit, Peter. If you're not already dead, I’ll kill you myself,” Sirius spat, his gaze drifting toward his abandoned, battered phone. The screen was a mess of cracks, more than there’d been a few minutes ago. 

It was still lit, showing a fractured image of him and his brother, Regulus, standing in front of Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery. The photo had been taken a few years back during the few months he had moved to Salem for a bit before returning to Europe.

He was this close to calling and waking his brother up to bitch about his unfortunate circumstances  when something caught his eye.

The date.

His stormy grey eyes widened as he read it again: October 30th.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“This could work,” he muttered, pushing himself off the hard, uncomfortable floor. His gaze shifted from his poor phone to his closet, and without hesitation, he crossed the room yanking the door open.

 All he needed now was something suitable for the night.

The brisk night air nipped at Sirius’s exposed collarbone, his alabaster skin glimmering faintly under the waning moonlight and the dim street lamps lining the bustling college town. He wore a stereotypical frilly white peasant top, untied at the collar, paired with sleek black pants. His fangs, usually concealed, were on full display—his thirst making it impossible to hide them. 

Thankfully, he didn’t stand out too much.

The streets were flooded with people, all draped in costumes. Some stuck to classics: pirates, bar maidens, the Scooby-Doo gang. Others wore more niche outfits—like the dozens of men dressed in black with stark white spikey hair and sunglasses obscuring their eyes. 

Sirius didn’t quite get the reference, but he wasn’t one to judge.

The crowd seemingly moved as one, heading toward the massive house at the end of the street. Muffled music and rainbow lights spilled from the open door and garage. The house was fully decked out for Halloween—giant spider webs stretched from the roof to the ground, melting into the thick white mist pouring from fog machines which snaked across the lawn and spilled out onto the pavement.

As Sirius followed the flow of people, snippets of conversation reached his ears. “James always goes all out for Halloween,” a redheaded woman just ahead of him said fondly. She was draped in emerald velvet, shimmering green fairy wings attached to her back.

The woman next to her nodded in agreement, humming softly. She wore a similar costume, but hers was made of glittering tulle the color of topaz, perfectly complementing her short, dark curls and the fluttering golden butterfly clips that were nestled in her hair.

Sirius hummed quietly to himself as he followed the stream of partygoers into the crowded house. The moment he crossed the threshold, he was hit by a wall of deafening music, mingled with the drunken chatter of people shouting over the bass-heavy track. 

Deciding to grab a beer from one of the many half-filled ice chests, he made his way to the wall, leaning against it as it thumped in time with the pulsing rhythm. His eyes scanned the room, hoping—praying—that someone might catch his interest.

A honey blond man, dressed as Prince Charming from Shrek, sauntered up next to him, a fake coy expression plastered on his face.

“What’s got a handsome man like you pushed into a corner like a scared little kitten?” he purred, his voice too saccharine to be sincere.

Sirius tried his best to keep his expression neutral, barely sparing the man a glance, even as the so-called ‘Prince Charming’ pressed his body up against his side. Internally, Sirius grimaced. ‘His blood has to taste like garbage-’, he thought, taking a swig of his beer to avoid an otherwise unavoidable eye roll.

“I’m Gil. What’s your name, kitten?”

Sirius couldn’t handle it any longer. He turned his gaze to the blond, giving him a slow, measured onceover. “I’m more of a dog person actually,” he replied, flashing a brief but unmistakable glimpse of his fangs as he offered him a sarcastic smirk. With that, he pushed off the wall and away from the blond.

He navigated through the sea of drunken partygoers, but as he tried to slip past the dance floor, someone grabbed his hands and pulled him in. The pounding music matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he let go of his reservations and allowed himself to be swept across the floor. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, genuine and unexpected, as he was spun around and grinded on by strangers. 

Before long, his beer was drained, and with a soft promise to the girl he’d been dancing with, he excused himself.

That’s when he caught a glimpse of something—a flash of red and brown. A hurried figure darted toward what looked like the backyard. Sirius hesitated for only a moment before setting his empty bottle on the nearest counter and following them outside.

The fresh air was a welcome relief, biting and cool against his skin after the stifling heat of the dance floor. He inhaled deeply, eyes scanning the almost empty backyard as he stepped out into the open night.

A large, pear shaped pool sat in the middle of the yard, its still waters reflecting the flickering lights of the house. A round table was set just off to the side, and a fire pit glowed toward the back, surrounded by a handful of partygoers. 

Some lingered near the doors, catching their breath before heading back inside, while others lounged in crimson and gold bean bags around the fire, the warm glow dancing off their faces. Both spots were inviting, but Sirius’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

Sitting alone at the table was a lanky man with sandy blonde hair. A loosely tied red paisley bandana hung around his neck, and a worn cowboy hat rested against his back. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the end glowing faintly in the dark.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. His feet carried him toward the table, as if on their own accord.

“Mind if I nick one off you?” he asked, gesturing toward the man’s cigarette.

The cowboy’s hazel eyes lifted, meeting Sirius’s stormy grey gaze. With a casual shrug, he pulled out the pack and offered him one.

Sirius nodded his thanks, taking a seat next to the cowboy. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips. His gaze dropped as he leaned in, lighting his cigarette with the tip of the cowboy’s already burning one. The pristine paper gradually turned a warm orange, glowing softly alongside the other’s own cigarette.

His grey gaze slid upward, sultry and deliberate, as he eyed the cowboy through dark lashes. “Thanks, cowboy,” he murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

The cowboy quickly looked away, his freckled, scarred hand rising to cover most of his face as he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “Not a problem,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

The two sat in soft silence—well, as quiet as they could with the occasional cheers and laughter from the firepit nearby, and the distant hum of music drifting into the backyard, far quieter than what Sirius had endured on the dance floor.

Sirius’s gaze couldn’t help but wander over the cowboy’s form as he relaxed into the stiff poolside chair. The cigarette he held was little more than a nub between his fingers now. He wore a loose fitting white T-shirt, paired with dark brown pants. Sirius had to admit—he looked good.

Before he could stop himself, Sirius asked, “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Remus,” came the quick response, as the blond turned, raising a questioning brow. “And you?”

“Sirius.” He offered a smile, this one far more genuine than the sarcastic smirk he’d given ‘Gil’ earlier.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “Named after a star, huh? That’s gotta be a tough name to live up to.”

“And Remus isn’t?” Sirius shot back with a smirk, leaning forward to put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray between them. “For your sake, I really hope you don’t have a brother.”

Remus let out a full laugh, the sound rich and infectious. The action made a sense of pride bloom in Sirius’s chest. His laugh was lovely.

“I don’t, thankfully,” Remus replied, snuffing out his own cigarette.

Sirius nodded. “Good, can’t have such a handsome cowboy fall victim to fratricide.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly averted his gaze, muttering a hurried, “Shut up,” which only made Sirius more aware of the effect he was having on the poor male.

Sirius leaned in, his smirk playful. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, shifting slightly to the side to catch another glimpse of Remus’s flushed face.

Remus groaned, his head falling back against the brim of his cowboy hat as he gazed up at the cloudy night sky. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, the words tinged with a hint of exasperation but not at all angry sounding.

Sirius only snickered, leaning in closer as his hand settled gently on Remus’s knee. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you actually want that,” Sirius whispered, his voice low, the teasing edge unmistakable.

Remus’s gaze shifted, locking with Sirius’s once again. His freckled, scarred cheeks were flushed with warmth, a soft pink spreading across his skin. The sight was almost sinful, and Sirius’s pulse quickened at the thought.

Then there was his scent—God, his scent. Remus’s natural aroma was intoxicating, something Sirius wanted to capture, to bottle, so he could breathe it in whenever he pleased. It was warm, inviting, perfect.

It made his mouth water.

“Maybe I don’t,” Remus agreed, though there was a reluctant note to his voice as his gaze shifted away again. Yet, he made no move to remove Sirius’s hand from his knee.

Sirius’s smirk softened into a gentle smile. “Wanna bounce?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. Remus was beautiful… and God, was he thirsty.

“Damn, not even offering me dinner first?” Remus teased, though the embarrassment was clear in his tone. His hand moved to cover most of his face, leaving only the tops of his flushed cheeks and those stunning hazel eyes visible.

Sirius arched a dark brow, playing along.

“Who said anything about skipping dinner?” He shook his head with mock exasperation. “There’s a diner near my flat that makes amazing waffles and crepes.” He pulled his hand from Remus’s knee, rising to his feet before offering his hand, extending it toward him, an invitation.

Remus considered his options. His nose wrinkled in thought for a good minute.

Just as Sirius was about to let his hand drop and assure him there was no pressure, Remus took it, standing up beside him.

“If the food sucks, I’m never going out with you again,” Remus warned.

Sirius turned to him, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. “Already thinking of a second date? I must’ve really swept you off your feet,” he teased, his voice light as he guided them back toward the throng of costumed dancers.

Remus didn’t answer but his hand tightened around Sirius’s as they wove through the crowd, clearly not wanting to lose him in the chaos.

Sirius’s pale hand gripped back confidently, navigating them swiftly through the sea of people until they emerged onto the quieter street outside.

The food had been a pleasant surprise, much to both Remus’s and Sirius’s delight. The waffles were some of the fluffiest Remus had ever tasted, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk at the way the cowboy raved about them. It wouldn’t have shocked Sirius if Remus started frequenting the diner on his own after tonight.

Over dinner, Remus also discovered that Sirius spoke fluent French, and it had been almost distracting how divine the language sounded falling from his lips as he exchanged words with the older French woman who took their order.

Now, they were walking back to Sirius’s flat, the night settling comfortably between them.

Remus, in typical form, broke the peaceful silence with a teasing question. “I’m not going to end up on the next episode of a true crime investigation podcast, right?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced over at Sirius.

Sirius let out an unexpected guffaw, not having anticipated that. “Not if you’re good,” he teased back, though his palms were growing sweaty, and he could only hope Remus would attribute it to nerves.

Which, in a way, wasn’t entirely wrong.

Behind his playful demeanor, Sirius was struggling. It was getting harder to keep his vampiric urges in check, and the fact that he genuinely enjoyed Remus’s company only complicated things. Feeding on him and leaving him in some alley didn’t feel right. It felt wrong, on so many levels.

A soft groan slipped from his lips as they rounded the corner into his apartment complex. Remus must have noticed, his grip tightening in reassurance.

“It’ll be fine,” Remus said, his voice soft but confident. “This isn’t your first time with a guy, rig—?”

Sirius shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No, I—” He hesitated, his voice dropping.

“That’s not what I’m nervous about.” He pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking the door and holding it open for Remus to step inside first.

Remus’s brows furrowed in brief confusion, but he let out a hum, stepping into the flat. The interior was modest, much like a college student's dorm room. Movie and sports posters covered the walls, and a pile of clothes sat abandoned on a chair near the closet.

Sirius shut the door behind them, his gaze flickering briefly toward Remus. “Want some water?” he asked, already moving toward the kitchenette and grabbing two bottles of sparkling water.

Remus was beckoned toward a small coffee table, Sirius gesturing gently toward the white chair across from him. With a small sigh, Remus sat down, reaching behind his neck to remove his cowboy hat and hang it on the chair’s back knob. He couldn’t hold back the question that had been burning at him for a while. “Why are you so nervous?”

Sirius grimaced, knowing his anxiety had been showing despite his efforts to hide it. “I have something to tell you… and it might be hard to believe—“

“NO WAY YOU’RE A VIRGI—“

“NO!” Sirius groaned, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that… it’s... just promise me you’ll hear me out, okay?” His expression softened, dark brows pitched upwards looking almost like a kicked dog.

Remus sighed, then nodded, though his confusion was still clear. “Okay.”

Sirius nodded, bracing himself. “I—I’m not human,” he blurted out.

Remus’s hazel eyes widened in surprise before narrowing skeptically. His face carried the unmistakable look of someone thinking, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Before Remus could respond, Sirius raised his hand to stop him. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”

Letting out a soft scoff, Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What are you, then? A merman? A fairy? A werewolf?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he gestured to Sirius with a dismissive wave.

“I’m a vampire,” Sirius said, his voice steady.

“Liar.”

Without hesitation, Sirius gently took one of Remus’s hands. “I’m serious. I’m telling the truth.” He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs. They were long, far too long to belong to any normal human.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius…”

“Touch them,” Sirius urged, his stormy gray eyes filled with a mix of desperation and sincerity. “They’re real. They’re not like those cheap, fake ones from Halloween stores.”

With a sigh, Remus leaned forward. His free hand reached up, gingerly taking one of Sirius’s fangs between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a light tug, expecting it to pop off.

But it didn’t.

“Fuck…” Remus whispered, his amazement quickly blending into concern. He withdrew his hand from Sirius’s mouth, a look of disbelief overtaking his features. “I really am going to end up on a true crime podcast, aren’t I?”

Sirius squeezed the hand he was still holding, a soft and reassuring touch. “No, Remus… no.” His voice was gentle but firm, the weight of his sincerity evident. He could never hurt anyone—especially not the man sitting across from him.

Remus sat back, staring at Sirius, processing the revelation. After a long pause, he muttered, “I need another cigarette.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh softly. Of course, Remus would want a cigarette after that revelation. He hung his head, dark curls falling into his eyes, and let out a gentle huff of amusement. “That was better reaction than I expected.”

“You’re buying me a pack,” Remus groaned, letting his head fall with a soft thud onto the coffee table. “Make that two.”

Sirius smiled, a warmth spreading in his chest. “I can do that,” he assured, his voice lightening the atmosphere.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, hands still clasped atop the wooden table, neither wanting to break the connection. It felt too precious, too fragile.

“So if you’re not planning on killing me,” Remus began, lifting his head to meet Sirius’s serious gaze, “what do you plan on doing?”

Sirius sighed softly, his stormy gray-blue eyes steady and sincere. “I won’t deny I was looking for someone to feed on… I normally don’t have to resort to this, but my blood dealer—”

“A blood dealer?” Remus interrupted, unable to suppress a laugh. The sound cut through the tension, making Sirius relax a bit.

He nodded, frustration etched on his face. “He just up and disappeared—”

Remus hummed, nodding slowly as he processed the information. “I get it,” he replied, his voice empathetic.

Sirius took a deep breath, glancing away as he spoke. “I just… I don’t know why, but I felt like you would understand.” His gaze drifted toward the window above his bed, lost in thought. “I mean, it’s not something I usually do. I’ve always managed to find my blood without needing to, well, resort to this.”

Remus’s expression softened, a mix of curiosity and understanding in his hazel eyes. “And you thought I’d be okay with being your… meal?” He leaned back slightly, studying Sirius. “That’s a lot to put on someone you barely know.”

“I know it is,” Sirius admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But there’s something about you. You feel… different. Like you wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, pondering Sirius’s words. “Okay, but you can’t just expect me to say yes without some kind of… agreement here,” he finally said, a playful glint in his eye. “I need to know you’re not going to, I don’t know, turn me into a vampire next.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “I promise, I’m not looking to turn you. Just… to feed. That’s all.”

“Okay, then. Let’s start with that,” Remus said, his voice steadying. “But you owe me a pack of cigarettes for this, okay?”

“Deal,” Sirius grinned, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. The connection between them felt like it had deepened.

After some careful explanation and repeated reassurance that there was no chance Sirius would ever turn him into a vampire, he led Remus to the bed, their hands still intertwined.

“You might want to sit, or maybe lie down,” Sirius murmured, his voice low as he gestured for Remus to get comfortable. “Some people get a little lightheaded when they lose blood.” His eyes flickered with concern, though his tone remained gentle.

Remus raised a brow, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. “You sound like you've done this before.”

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle softly, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to brush his fingertips along Remus's jaw. “I have,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, “but it’s been a while.”

“How long?” Remus’s voice was soft, but curious.

Sirius’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face as the memories surfaced. “Since I was a stupid teenager,” he confessed, his tone heavy with regret. It was the same moment he'd sworn off feeding from humans, the same day he decided wild animals were less complicated, and blood bags even less so—though both were harder to come by now.

Remus exhaled slowly, his fingers covering Sirius's trembling hand. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered, though Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus was comforting him or trying to steel his own nerves.

Sirius gave a small nod, moving his hand from Remus’s jaw and letting his fingers slide down the column of his neck. The freckled skin felt warm beneath his touch, soft and inviting.

Sirius’s fingers found the knot of the red paisley bandana which was still loosely draped around Remus’s neck, tugging gently at it until it unraveled.

Remus's breath hitched, the faintest tremor in his body as Sirius’s skilled hands loosened the fabric and let it fall away. “If it hurts, you’ll stop, right?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

Sirius immediately nodded, leaning back just enough to meet Remus’s worried gaze. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, nodding as if giving himself over to the moment, his trust in Sirius both beautiful and heartbreaking to witness.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, both flattered and pained that Remus could trust him this much—even with a vampire’s hunger hanging between them. A part of him wondered how things would have played out if they had met under different circumstances—when he wasn’t starving, when his mind wasn’t so clouded with want.

Sirius leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against Remus’s neck, the words he wanted to say dissolving as Remus’s scent flooded his senses. God, the smell was intoxicating—warm and rich, the kind of scent that called to every primal instinct he had.

A low, desperate groan slipped past Sirius's lips as he nuzzled against Remus’s skin. “Fuck, you smell so good, Rem,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, sounding almost like a plea.

Sirius could feel his pulse drumming in his ears, overpowering even the quiet sounds of the room. He tried to steady his breath, but every inhale brought more of Remus’s scent, and his self-control was stretched to the limit. He let out a shaky breath as he hovered near Remus’s neck, words spilling out in a low murmur before he could catch them.

When Remus tightened his grip on the bed sheets, Sirius felt a pang of guilt mixing with the hunger inside him, making the moment feel so fragile he thought he might break it. "You say that like it’s a bad thing," Remus whispered, his voice a blend of nerves and a faint, playful challenge. Sirius let out a quiet chuckle at that, a bit surprised he could still laugh, given the way his chest felt like it was tied in knots.

“It’s not,” he managed, his voice rough and deeper than he intended. 

He couldn’t resist brushing his lips lightly over Remus’s skin, testing, savoring, reassuring. He tried to hold back, to keep his cool, but the scent of him—warm, earthy, undeniably inviting—only made his restraint feel flimsy.

Remus’s breath hitched, sending a surge of anticipation through Sirius. When Remus whispered, “You… you can go ahead,” Sirius felt something unfurl in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pure, aching need. With careful deliberation, he pressed his lips to the spot on Remus’s neck, feeling his fluttering  pulse thrum against his lips, a rhythm that seemed to call to him. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, barely a breath, before he allowed his fangs to sink in.

The taste of Remus’s blood was a rush, sweet and filling, warm in a way that made Sirius’s whole body tingle with the unexpectedness of it. He was half-afraid he’d lose himself in it, but he fought to stay grounded, to be as gentle as he’d promised. He’d forgotten what it was like to feed this way—close, deeply connected to the one he fed from.

He felt Remus’s sharp intake of breath, the tension, and then the slow, softening relaxation as the discomfort gave way to something else. Sirius gently eased back, his tongue brushing over the bite marks, soothing the skin and tasting the lingering warmth there.

Sirius pulled back just enough to meet Remus’s gaze. His chest tightened as he took in the hazy, dazed look in Remus’s eyes, relief melting the last of his worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a little rougher, barely holding back the concern and care that spilled out.

Remus let out a slow breath, a flicker of a smile softening his features. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice tired but clear. Sirius could feel his own shoulders relax, the relief flooding through him like a balm. “That… wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

A small smile tugged at Sirius’s lips, the weight of his relief finally loosening. “Told you I’d be gentle.”

Remus let out a weak chuckle, his exhaustion starting to set in as he slumped back a bit. “You did… but I think I might need to lie down for a bit.”

Sirius nodded, guiding him to recline on the bed, his hand lingering in Remus’s hair, brushing away a few stray strands from his face. “Thank you… for trusting me.”

Remus’s eyes were half-lidded, his face softened by drowsiness, but he managed a faint smirk. “Just… don’t forget those cigarettes,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he surrendered to the pull of sleep.

Sirius stayed there for a long moment, watching over him, his hunger finally sated, but something else—something warmer and deeper—settled inside him. As he sat by Remus’s side, Sirius felt a strange peace that had eluded him for so long, and for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

"Of course, mon cher—I'll buy you as many packs as you want," Sirius whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. The words were gentle, almost reverent, as he leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Remus's exposed forehead.

The touch was light, fleeting, but the intimacy of it lingered in the quiet space between them. Sirius watched Remus’s peaceful face, the tension that had been there before now smoothed away as he slept. For a moment, Sirius allowed himself to just breathe him in, feeling an odd sense of contentment— something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled back, settling himself beside Remus, content just to watch over him as the night deepened around them.

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself. 

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go. 

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right,  with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone. 

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she? 

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead. 

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.” 

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.” 

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down. 

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man. 

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep. 

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized  hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law. 

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.” 

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed. 

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded. 

“One bite at a time.”

[moss-marinara]

In Stars And Time: Rogue Variable AU

(spoilers for Literally Everything In ISAT under the cut) Surprise! New AU! been working on this for a few months, rattling it around in my head, a mira looping AU with a twist!

so, basically: SASASAP happens as normal, up until loop makes their wish, where do to wording or a little trolling on the universe's part, mirabelle gets stuck in the loops instead - with a small caveat. siffrin still vaguely remembers each loop, taking the place of the dreams he has at the beginning of each new loop (tho they just see them as odd dreams at first). this causes him to act a little differently each loop, hence the name. they're literally a Rogue Variable, something that can't be easily accounted for. As for loop? yeah they're Going Through It, wracked with guilt over the whole "trapping one of their friends in a timeloop because they gave up" thing. they're also still connected to siffrin like in canon, being able to see through their eye and contact them through their brain. initially loop even thinks it's siffrin stuck in the loops, which causes loop to freak out when siffrin doesn't remember getting crushed by a rock because Clearly Someone Looped Back. and as for how looping works, it is indeed still tied to siffrin, looping all the same ways it does in canon, it's just mirabelle who remembers each loop. overall there's quite a bit of deviance from canon in terms of how the loops go, it certainly takes a bit longer to figure out how things work considering both mirabelle and loop are working in the dark, and there's not a shot in hell loop's actually going to reveal (or even realize) it was there wish that trapped specifically mirabelle in time until atleast act 4 or 5. anyways, do feel free to send asks about my silly little AU concept, i'll try to answer them as soon as i can but my notifications are still a bit fucked and don't show up atm

[r0swells]

hello! take some designs for an after-game PMTOK au i've had rattling around in my brain for a bit. More explanation under the cut :]

Okay so the basic premise is that a couple of months after the game something something star spirits cause the legion of stationary + Olly and Olivia get reborn as toads (except for like, 1.5 of them) and are dropped off unceremoniously in Toad Craftsman's front yard for him to deal with.

This was mostly an excuse so I could draw some Olivia interacting with everyone because we never got to see her hanging out with them and I plan to rectify that! Uh here are some design notes:

For all the LoS I really wanted to give them all different types of mushroom caps for fun so Colored pencils got a death-cap mushroom as theirs since I wanted something flat like their box. I wanted their design to be reminiscent of an art student since I thought it would be funny.

Rubber band's mushroom cap is a bunch of enoki mushrooms reminiscent of their little hair thing. I think they adjusted the best of the LoS to being a toad since they already took a pretty humanoid form when they were an office supply.

Hole punch's mushroom is a Morel mushroom since they have a bunch of holes and stuff. their hair is also supposed to look like cut up paper.

Tape has a button mushroom since I really didn't wanna distract from their hair and them having a really tiny hat seemed funny. Still the most loyal to Olly even though he literally has no powers anymore because its the FAMILY!

Scissors is an oyster mushroom since it looks kinda cut up. Also their Handaconda has been turned into one of the Underwhere hands from the river Stix. They're the one dealing the worst (besides Olly) with being a toad and keep trying to do flips and shit and failing.

Stapler is a chain chomp with really messed up teeth, thats it.

Olivia and Olly are just normal toads! Also Olivia is fine, she just spawned with the "cut" out on her cap, since she can't really wear her signature hat. Didn't really have to change much about their designs, they're already perfect. But as stated above, Olly is really not doing well being a toad, makes it really hard to make origami. I also think Olivia really doesn't like it either, she liked being who she was and this just feels wrong to her. it feels wrong to all of them tbh

I also tried my hand at an Origami craftsman design. I wanted him to kinda look like Olly and Olivia, having Olivia's hair texture, but Olly's color and shape. I've seen people head canon him to be really young and I totally agree, makes his mistake seem a little more driven by naivety then by deliberately going against what he should know. He's dealing...okay with having a bunch of people in his house.

+ some sketches

Yea the only ideas I have for plot is that Olly is trying to remake all the 1000 cranes again so he can turn them all back into their true forms and they can leave (the idea of taking over doesn't really appeal to him anymore) and go somewhere else. But there's also a time limit since the origami festival is happening soon and the Craftsman has to go to it and the others really don't know how everyone else might react to them. Also everyone only remembers up to when they die so colored pencils really has no context while Olivia knows mostly what happened. i like the idea that this creates some tension between Olly and the LoS who are questioning what happened to make him change his mind so drastically.

so yea if anyone has any ideas or questions send me an ask, I really like this au and really wanna talk about it :]

[newtonsheffield]

so Sophie’s Edwina’s secretary in the bodyguard au?! Oh bless her, she doesn’t get it easy does she 😂😂

Probably pleased she’s not having to deal with the future Queen and her bodyguard drama as that’s gonna be a headache! and all that drama only for Edwina to be like “hold my beer” with Josephine…

Sophie Beckett, Princess Edwina’s private secretary is the hardest working woman in that palace and everyone knows it. Sophie is constantly seen, herding Edwina around the palace with her arms held outstretched, walking forward, giving Edwina little choice but to move in the same direction.

She might not have to deal with Princess Kate and the fact that the Princess is clearly, in Sophie’s opinion, shagging Anthony Bridgerton her head of security. It’s none of Sophie’s business, it’s really not, she just walked past a cupboard in The Small Palace one day and the last time she checked, mops didn’t say “Fuck, Anthony.”

It’s just not Sophie’s problem! It isn’t! She has enough to deal with Edwina, frankly.

“I have a secret.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes at Edwina across the car. “Is it…? About a certain… security guard?”

Edwina narrowed her eyes, “What do you know?”

“What do you know?”

Neither of them spoke for a moment before Edwina sighed, “My secret is different than that. I have a crush on a straight girl I have for a very long time.”

“How long’s a long time?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

Sophie winced, “That’s a long time.”

Edwina groaned, “I know. It’s fucking awful. I haven’t really thought about her in ages and then she showed up at this event and I… fuck. She was my sort of… peer big sister thing when I was at school, she was finishing up when I started and she… is… fucking perfect. It’s annoying.”

“Do I know this woman?”

“She’s… the Duke of Haverford’s daughter.”

Sophie let her mind tick through the list of people, their pictures before she gasped, “Josephine? Ohh she’s pretty.”

“I know.” Edwina groaned, “And I fucking… couldn’t stay away from her at that stupid party could I? I’ve been texting her and it’s a fucking disaster is what it is.”

“Well maybe not, are we sure she’s straight?”

“She told me she was when I mentioned something in passing.”

Sophie winced, “I’m sorry, I guess you need to decide if you want to be friends with someone if it’s going to make you feel like shit. You don’t deserve to feel that way.”

“She doesn’t want me to feel that way.” Edwina’s voice was tiny, staring out the window.

“And it’s not her fault, she is who she is, and you are who you are. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Right.” Edwina nodded, “You’re right. I’m just going to stop. I’ll stop responding to pictures of her cute little sausage dog.”

“What’s the sausage dog’s name?”

“Haggis.”

Sophie let out a squeak. “I’m sorry. That’s…” She scoffed, “Barely a cute name. Fuck Josie.”

“Yeah,” Edwina sighed, “Fuck Josie.”

“I didn’t expect you to take our new mantra literally Edwina!” Sophie hissed as she herded her down the hall, her cheeks still burning from having to keep the king out of his own study months later while Edwina rattled the desk drawers loose.

Edwina grinned, “Well, you know what I’m like.”

“I need a new job. I need to transfer to your sister.”

“Speaking of my sister, have I mentioned Anthony’s brother to you?”

Sophie scoffed, “Oh you are not setting me up with someone to distract me! At least don’t use your father’s office to secretly shag the daughter of one of these rich fuckers! Your father thinks I’m insane!”

[rom-e-o]

✨As Good As Gold✨ (Modern AU) (Ebenezer/Constance)

Here is part one ... because this alone was 23 pages. ^^;

I, um, get a little invested when writing these two. Just a smidge. Oops, haha.

Also, this store features Ebenezar Charles Scrooge ("Wolf") and Bess Scrooge (kudos to @quill-pen) and is a follow-up to her AMAZING fic, "All The Little Breaks" that she blessed me with after an ask. Since then, the inspiration has been churning! She also helped write and check the Wolf/Bess sections as well. (Seriously, they are such a delightful couple, every moment with these two is so enjoyable!)

Enjoy!

STORY IS 18+ for some explicit content. Minors DNI.

“You have everything you need, yes? I tried to make sure her bag was completely stocked.”

“Yes, yes, I do. And you most certainly did. I think this diaper bag weighs more than five babies altogether.”

“W-Well I wanted to make sure you had everything while we were away, just in case! I know you have a spare key to the apart—um, flat, but you’re already doing Ebenezer and I an amazing favor by watching her. I don’t want to cause any trouble or extra trips.”

“Connie, I think you packed well enough for Starla to stay with Wolf and I for months. Seriously, girl, you packed her a snowsuit … it’s July – almost August. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

The tone of Bess’ jest was playful, but it sparked mild alarm in her friend.

“Of course not! I promise, we’ll be back—”

“I’m joking,” she said. “I know you two will be back, punctual as ever.”

A familiar bark thundered in the background, causing Bess to laugh. “Yes, yes, we haven’t forgotten. Starry’s gonna need a good bodyguard, Prudence. You’re up for it, right?”

The mastiff’s loud bark echoed proudly from the phone’s speaker. She swore the timbre of her call rattled the phone’s delicate inner workings.

As Elizabeth “Bess” Sullivan playfully ruffled Prudence’s ears and beamed at her friend from the other side of their video call, a red head of hair slowly peeked in from the bottom left corner of the frame. Mere moments later, a string of burbles accompanied the surprise guest, and their bright blue eyes slowly entered the camera��s view.

When those icy-blue eyes landed on the likeness of their mother on the other side of the screen, the baby let out a peal of laughter. Her tiny fingers sought the screen, seeking the familiar warmth and vetiver scent of her mother. “Ba … ba!”

Constance’s eyes welled up briefly as she saw her baby reaching for her on the other side of the video call. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she blew her beloved little girl a kiss. “Hello, Starry! Oh, there she is, my beautiful girl!”

Starla burbled a reply that was absent of tangible words, but the emotion was conveyed superbly through her gummy smile and chubby, flailing arms.

“Yeeees, that’s your mama,” Bess said, laughing at Starla’s enthusiasm as she dropped a loving kiss on top of her head. “She’s going on a trip with your papa. For their wedding anniversary – before you were ever born, cutie pie! But don’t worry. They’ll both be back in a week, okay?”

Starla paused to stare at the screen, then scrunched her legs up for a round of excited kickies. “Eeehee! Wa-ba!”

Ebenezer Scrooge glanced over from the driver’s seat of his McLaren, smiling softly at his beloved baby’s coos and clucks. Seeing his interest, Constance pivoted the phone in his direction, allowing him to see their child. The man smiled as he saw his beloved, redheaded daughter examining the phone screen as if she was peering through a portal to another world.

When she spotted her father, she squealed with laughter again. “A-ba!”

The man’s heart softened at the display, almost to the point where it ached. If he looked too long, he feared it may cave a hole in his chest until he ultimately resigned himself to turning the car around and driving en route back to London. He missed his sweet daughter already but was eternally thankful for his brother and sister-in-law’s generosity in watching her. He and Constance desperately needed a holiday away together, he knew. Not only to reconnect after Starla’s birth, but to reconnect as husband and wife again.

In the meantime, he knew his daughter would receive the utmost care under the watchful (and extremely detail-oriented) eyes of his twin brother and sister-in-law. It helped soothe the burn of being away and refocus his mind on reconnecting with his wife, which he more than wanted and needed. They’d both been operating at a deficit of affection for many a fortnight, and it had worn them to threads. In fact, he’d begun to crave her, and her, and her happiness, more than air in recent months.

Spurred by sentimentality, his hand lofted from the gear shift for a moment to take Constance’s free hand and kiss it, his lips pressing firmly against her knuckles. The metal of her wedding band was cold against his lips.

The woman bloomed under his affection, and she turned to grace him with an affectionate smile that he hadn’t seen grace her features in months.

Gods above, how he’d missed seeing her happy and hearing her laughter, he thought. Had it not been for the fact that the country roads were as windy and uneven as they were, he would have retained his grip on her hands a few precious seconds longer. Simply feeling the familiar way her hand molded to his – their palms flattened together and fingers entwined – made his breath stall in his lungs. Alas, as they neared another turn, he reluctantly relinquished her hand to shift down a gear to more appropriately take the next turn on the unpaved road.

“We’ll be back soon, my little love,” he told Starla, his voice a touch cloudy. “Bess, if anything happens—”

“I’ll call Magda first. If it’s a real emergency, then we’ll call both of you.”

“But—”

“But we’ll still take tons of pictures to share with you both once you return.”

Both parents begrudgingly acquiesced to that. While they trusted Bess and Wolf with their daughter’s life, they couldn’t help but worry a bit. It was in their nature as a pair of perfectly matched worrywarts.

Their little girl had come off a nasty bit of colic and a fever, so naturally, they wanted to make sure she stayed in sterling condition. Their fears were further assuaged by the fact that Bess was a seasoned labor and delivery nurse, but small flecks of worry persisted for the sole reason that she was their baby, and it would be impossible for them to not worry at all.

“Have fun!” Bess said, bouncing the giddy baby on her knee. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two! And Con, flat shoes. Do not break an ankle out there.”

The call ended after one more round of thank-yous and goodbyes to their daughter and Bess. Once the screen went dark, Constance leaned back in her seat with a deep breath and put her phone to her heart. “Oh, I miss Starry already.”

“It’s our first time away since her being born,” he agreed softly. The epiphany occurred to him as the words left his lips.

“It feels so strange for her to not be in the backseat, giggling away.”

On cue, he glanced in the rearview mirror, only to see that Starry and her car seat were both absent.

“I know …” Ebenezer said, his hands turning the steering wheel so the car made a slight right into another road, “But she’s in amazing hands, my dearest. Bess and my brother would do anything for her. That includes spoiling her.”

Constance laughed. “I don’t mind that.”

She sighed in resignation, slipping her phone back into the side pocket of her Telfar shoulder bag. “Speaking of Wolf and Bess, I have a calendar reminder set to send a very large bouquet, dark chocolates, and some Gurkha cigars to their flat for their trouble once we return.”

Ebenezer gave her a sideways smirk. “One step ahead, as always.”

“Well, don’t say that just yet,” she muttered, “That’s the last, and only reminder, I set. Everything else can wait until we are back. I am agenda-less from here on out.”

One of his bushy brows quirked upward. “Truly?”

“Well, our official calendars are clear,” she reminded him slyly, “As you well know, sir. I manage your calendar.”

“A task you are all too talented at,” he quipped. Sometimes, he swore his wife had the ability to bend space and time with how she could arrange meetings, deadlines and video calls in such a way that they slotted together like natural puzzle pieces. She could cram thirteen hours of work in an eight-hour day; a feat which wasn’t always a virtue.

“We are appointment-free and out of office for the entire week,” she continued. “I made sure to set up the automatic email replies and changed our phones’ answering machines on our last day clocking out.”

“Very good,” he said. “Though it’ll be a struggle, I’m sure, to not check your laptop. I know how you feel about emails and seeing that number in your inbox tick up.” He hated it too, so he had no room to talk.

“I left it behind.”

He paused before turning to her, eyes blown slightly wide in stupefaction. “You … I beg your pardon?”

“I left my laptop back at the flat,” she repeated, slowly glancing over to check his reaction. His reaction seemed to spur some hesitancy. “I figured … that would be best. I want to focus on us, not work of any kind.”

It was a confession that, without context, might have seemed mundane or a futile attempt to fish for shallow admiration. Yet, in that moment, Ebenezer felt a surge of admiration shoot through him.

Last month, the two had gotten into a heated disagreement – the climax of many weeks of Constance overworking herself to exhaustion and leaving Ebenezer single-handedly to care for Starla – and he’d yelled at her and tried to throw the damn laptop away. For weeks after the stressful birth of their daughter, the device had served as her excuse to hunker down in her dark office and prattle away on her keyboard into the wee hours of the night, often missing meals and quality time with family. The tedium had lured her into a sinkhole with no bottom, pulling her deeper down by the day. She’d avoided coming home on time many nights and often left before sunrise the following day. It had seemed as if she couldn’t stand to be near him … as if she was ashamed to be with him.

After a while, he’d started to mirror her actions.

Bess had later determined the root cause of the behavior to be a severe case of “baby blues” and intrusive thoughts combined with Constance’s borderline compulsive desire to be perfect and independent.

Looking back, it had seemed so obvious she needed therapy and help.

Yet, in the moment, he’d been frustrated, terrified, and felt … neglected. Like she was falling out of love with him and giving up on their daughter. There was also the fact that Starla’s birth had almost killed Constance as well, and the dread he’d felt that day watching her face go white in his arms had gnawed at his nerves to the point of fraying. Sometimes, when he slept, the ghoulish vision haunted the corners of his nightmares.

He’d felt so powerless to help her, and he’d detested the feeling. The thoughts had spurred him to mania. One fateful day, he’d tried to throw the device in the trash, and they’d scuffled. In a cloud of panic, she’d shoved him hard into the bookshelf, burying him in a small pile of books and knickknacks as a result (thankfully, the quartz paperweight had missed his head).

When he’d opened his eyes, she was gone – have sprinted out into the rainy streets without her keys or cell phone.

Never before had he felt such fear. For a horrifying moment, he entertained the notion that her shrieked sentiment of “leave me alone!” would be the last words he’d ever hear from her.

The incident ended with them reuniting at his brother’s flat. He’d been worried so sick for her safety and had apologized over and over for scaring her. She’d done the same, begging his forgiveness and apologizing for starting the miscommunication. She’d said she had wronged him and their daughter too many times over. She’d sworn, with a firm hand over his heart, that she would do better.

And, weeks after that fateful day, she had kept her promise.

In addition to seeing a marriage counselor together, she had begun therapy (a long overdue need for after her marriage to her abusive ex-spouse, Orin) and was taking longer breaks from work. She maintained a strict cut-off point for all after-hours emails and inquiries, and maintained a strict 9-to-5 schedule, plus multiple breaks.

After a nearly four-week period of watching his beloved wife spiral into the same workaholic tendencies that had almost completely ruined his life beyond salvation, Constance was coming back into herself.

She’d started smiling again. Laughing again. Making lunches for their friend group again. She was always home in time for dinner, and had also started cooking dinner again some nights, making it a responsibility the couple loved to share. The woman was even taking days off in the middle of the week to be with her daughter, even if it met dealing with an irritated client days later.

Now, they were taking an extended holiday together to a remote cabin, and she had left the laptop back at the flat.

She’d left work, literally and figuratively, behind.

“That is … wonderful,” he said. It took him a bumbling second to find the words, though they did little to convey the extent of the joy he felt. Mirth sprang forth in the form of a disbelieving chuckle. “I-I … am proud of you, my dear. That’s a triumph.”

Feeling the genuine love behind his words, Constance allowed herself the indulgence of savoring his praise. In a perfect world, they would have never squabbled so horribly, she supposed. Yet, for all the ugliness that it had brought to the surface, it had also brought them closer in some ways.

Those other ways, there was still much work to do. But … in every adult relationship, wasn’t there always, to some extent?

“Thank you,” she admitted softly, almost serenely.

“You are most welcome. The pleasure is all mine.”

His voice held warmth that she had missed. Even sitting comfortably, it made her weak to her core to hear him sound so pleased, so strong, and yet so fragile all in one breath.

She was tempted to lean over and kiss him, but with how rugged the roads were, it was best not to risk any distraction. Besides, the sun was already high in the sky, and they were due to arrive at their rented cabin in half an hour. With the way they’d planned their route, they would arrive just in time to get settled before enjoying supper. Constance had plans for that.

Once the car was parked and they were settled, then they could officially begin their vacation. She was over forty years old, she reasoned. She could be patient a little longer, despite her urges to get a little rambunctious to make up for lost time.

After all, the last thing they needed was more unsteady ground.

Of all the destinations the couple had stayed in during their first year of marriage, this one had to be the most stupendous, Constance thought.

The pictures she had viewed of the listing online did not do the quaint cottage justice. The cottage was crafted from logs of fragrant cedar in rustic red tones that matched the other conifers that sprouted proudly from the soil in the forest nearby. The cabin stood one and a half stories tall, and bore its weight triumphantly on a flat expanse of land at the crossroads of a dirt paths. On one side of the abode was a field of billowing, golden wheat that seemed to stretch to the tree line miles away. On the other side of the house was the showstopper – a fenced, sprawling field of blooming sunflowers, all turned toward the blazing summer sun in worship.

There was a place to park the car next to what appeared to be the mostly bygone remains of a horse’s hitching post. Once Ebenezer shimmied the vehicle in the alcove and turned off the engine, he stepped out and rounded to the other side to open the passenger door for his wife. He offered her a hand, and she gratefully accepted it.

As she stepped out and up, she beamed at the sight. “Heavens, this is even more lovely than I thought.”

She inhaled deeply, struck by how honey-sweet the air was in her lungs.

“It’s quite beautiful out here,” Ebenezer said, equally fascinated as he took a moment to appreciate the surroundings, before then looking back to admire his wife. Somehow, in the countryside air and sunshine, she seemed to glow even more than she did in the city.

“Look – the sunflower field is enormous,” she said, drifting closer to the edge of the fence for a better look. “It’s like a cornfield with how dense it is! I didn’t know sunflowers could bloom like this in England.”

“I must confess, I’m shocked as well. One or two sunflowers is one thing, but this is … quite extraordinary.”

“Well, the countryside gets the point of incredible views this time around! Not that I don’t love the city – it’s my home, but I think the sunflowers will be kinder to wake up to than London traffic.”

“Ha! Some die-hard Londoners would still fight you on that.”

One word of her sentiment snared his attention: countryside. Not another person, or building, for miles. If he squinted down the road, he could see the start of a tiny, historic town on the horizon, the little brick buildings looking like flecks of pepper against the hills. Well, at least there was some civilization within eyesight. For two city folks like them, that was reassuring. The two were looking to get away from the world for a moment, not go completely off the grid. Neither of them were equipped for that, or had the desire to be survivalists.

Just to be safe, he checked his phone. Perfect reception and Wi-Fi. That was good.

As he set about unloading the luggage, Constance approached the front door to get them inside.

“Let’s see, the check-in instructions from the owner said to look for a ‘key in a snail,’” she recited out oud. “No code or box. Hmm.”

She swayed her head across the expanse of the spacious front porch, looking for anything that fit the description. Sure enough, perched in the corner of one of the front window’s large outer sills was a golden, ornamental snail sculpture that was about the size of a baseball. Gingerly, she reached out and curiously pulled up on the shell. It lifted with minimal force, and inside, a house key glittered against a felt inlay.

Not the best security system, she thought as she took the key and slipped it in the lock.

“There we go.”

There was only one key, it seemed. For safekeeping, she immediately pulled out her own personal keyring and looped it onto the bundle. It seemed the two would need to stay together for most of their holiday. She was quite alright with that.

Just as she finished the task, she noticed a familiar shadow and heard recognizable footsteps behind her. She turned to see her husband – her beloved Adonis, hoisting their bags onto the porch.

She lingered back a few paces to give him room to drop the bags and open the door for her, as he always was keen to do. As he did so, she bid him a ‘thank you’ before motioning to step inside.

“Hold one moment, darling.”

Just as she paused, she felt his strong arms loop across her shoulders and under her knees. He all but swept her off her feet, grinning all the way up as she let out a gasp of delighted surprise.

He carried her over the threshold of the cabin with two, long-legged strides. All the while, she clung to him and beamed a smile that could ravel the rays of the sun itself. Her feet kicked slightly, one of her nude heels practically falling away.

Once they were safely on the other side of the front door, effectively christening the temporary abode for their stay, he deposited her carefully back on Earth. The man didn’t relinquish his grip until her feet were firmly planted on the floor, and even then, their lips remained locked for an extra half-minute as she praised his strength with a deep kiss.

When they finally broke apart, their attention turned to the entryway table, which was adorned with a handwritten card from the cabin’s owner, a box of frilly cakes, and the largest bouquet of pure white lilies Constance had ever seen.

“Ah, good,” Ebenezer remarked, “The flowers arrived. And they look perfect.”

“Did you plan this?”

“I cannot take credit for the card and cakes, I’m afraid. The flowers, however, are my doing. I know you love lilies, but we can’t have them in the flat.”

Lillies were one of Constance’s favorite blooms, and their beauty to her was only heightened by the fact that they were incredibly poisonous, from petal to pollen, for cats. Two feline companions called their flat home. Sunshine, a beloved feline that Constance, Bess, and their companions Gal and Addie ‘shared custody’ of; and Patience, their most recently adopted feline companion (and Prudence’s most beloved little sister).

A lifelong lover of cats, Constance would have been beside herself with grief to put the precious creatures in any sort of peril, let alone for a selfish reason.

With no felines in the cabin, they were free to enjoy the lilies for the entire week. He’d taken advantage of the scenario and ordered a triple-digit bundle that was hearty enough to survive their entire stay. When she was preoccupied with a phone call one morning, he’d even called ahead and specifically asked the owner of the cabin to pick them up and place them inside. Lo and behold, she’d gone far above and beyond his request and added her own gifts to the assortment.

“Oh, Ebenezer! You shouldn’t have!”

“Nonsense. You deserve the best, let alone fresh flowers you adore.”

Constance swayed forward to admire the bouquet, inhaling the sweet smell of the flower that often leant it glorious aroma to all her favorite perfumes, before reaching for the card.

Ebenezer and Constance,

A first wedding anniversary is a wonderful time – enjoy it smartly, along with the frilly cakes! The flavors are lemon curd, maple, and vanilla bean. The lemon is my favorite. The bakery in town is incredible, just make sure to get there early.

Have fun!

-Olivia S.

“She is wonderful,” Constance said, passing the note to Ebenezer for him to read as well. The couple would be sure to send her many referrals down the line.

Peering past the entryway, the cabin opened into a warmly lit foyer. The logs making up the indoor walls were cut to perfection and appeared freshly oiled. The sheen only made the red color, as sanguine as freshly turned autumn leaves, pop even more against the herringbone floors. The furniture itself was rustic in design, with an emphasis on large silhouettes and ample cushioning. The pillows and tufted blankets blazed with a myriad of rich patterns and jewel tones, all featuring unique smocking patterns that gave each piece its own equivalent of a human face. It kitchen, located right across from the front door, featured modern appliances spliced in with old-world accents made from polished sheet rock.

The coziness continued into the bedroom, which featured large windows, lace and velvet drapes, and a very large oak-framed bed with linen sheets. They’d most certainly make use of that.

In the meantime, they dropped their suitcases there and continued on for the moment.

One piece that attracted their attention immediately was a lacquered cabinet in the corner, located just on the other side of the living room’s main media console. The crown jewel of the cabinet was an antique Victrola phonograph that sat proudly at the top, its parts made of shining brass without so much as a speck of oxidized green. The morning glory horn at the top was painted a shade of deep, wine-drunk purple that shifted slightly into a petal pink toward the tips. The top and sides boasted a distinct, tiger maple veneer that was distinctly antique the carried the aroma of linseed oil.

While Constance busied herself putting away the sparse number of groceries she had brought in a cooler bag from home, Ebenezer curiously sauntered over to the device to inspect it. A simple flick of the fingers was all it took to open the cabinet and reveal a modest collection of records inside. He discreetly thumbed through the collection and was relieved to find that Olivia appeared to fancy classical music as much as they did, for it made up a solid majority of the collection. Perfect. Swiftly, he made his musical selection and slipped the record from its sleeve and onto the original, pine-green velvet pad.

Just as Constance finished sorting the produce and poultry in the fridge, the opening strings of “String Quartet in F Major, Op. 3 No. 5: II. Andante cantabile” by Hoffstetter met her ears. The notes danced through the air like aloft dandelion seeds, the melody spritely and energetic before taking a slower, romantic swing. Recognizing the melody, Constance was lured from her task and into the living room, her eyes brimming with both glee and curiosity.

There, Ebenezer poised himself proudly before dropping into a gentlemanly bow. He extended a hand in a silent request for a dance. In his loose linen shirt and crisp trousers, silver hair slightly tousled and lips drawn into a hopeful semi-smirk, he looked the part of a dashing man laying his heart bare for his lover.

Constance was quick to oblige, drifting into his arms like a swan taking its first strikes onto a crisp lake.

One larger hand fit perfectly into the hourglass-shaped notch in her waist, and they began a delicate waltz.

Even in an unfamiliar space, neither of them missed a single step, all while their eyes never strayed from the other’s.

Their trance lasted until the mechanical parts ground to a halt as the record ended.

 “You brought groceries?”

“Just a few! I didn’t know what would be available in town and how readily, so I brought just a few items. Besides, I have a special plan for dinner.”

“Really? Well, color me fascinated.”

That special plan was making her husband a dish that she’d had the recipe memorized since she was a teenager. The recipe essentially mirrored what many others called chicken with browned butter and fresh sage, but Constance had been introduced to the dish by her mother Theresea, who had shown her how to prepare the dish one day in their New York apartment.

Her mother had told her over a hot stovetop, “Darling, this is the meal I made for your father on the date right before he proposed to me. Make this dish for the man you want to be your future husband, and he’ll be putty in your hands! I’ve shared it with three associates, and they all experienced the same thing. Use your power wisely, dear. The path to any man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Is it really that tasty, mama?”

“The taste is quite important, dear, but that’s not all. It’s a dish that proves that you have skills in the kitchen. That you’re an adult who can cook, not simply assemble ingredients. You can make something both hearty and savory, and without a ton of fancy ingredients. It’s a dish that shows you aren’t just a maiden looking to impress a beau … it shows you’re a woman worth pursuing as a wife.”

Constance had never had the opportunity to make the dish for her first (and ex-) husband, Orin. She’d graduated from university in Maryland, come home, and he’d proposed to her after a celebratory round of drinks. Any romance of their union had been officially ruined after their honeymoon, and from then on out, he always requested a specific menu for dinner. She was never permitted to choose. After a while, the desire to cook at all had extinguished itself, and food was replaced with warm whiskey and other substances to kill the pain.

With Ebenezer, however, she’d taken a chance and prepared the dish for him one night after they’d been living together for a few months. It wasn’t the first time she’d made dinner, but it was the first time she had prepared that dish specifically. She paired the dish with bakery sourdough, a kale and sunflower seed salad, and a 2011 Cabernet.

She had been paranoid at the time that her cooking skills were rusty, but that night, the very slender gentleman had cleaned his plate, crust of bread and all.

“I think that may be the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life,” he’d told her. “Absolutely sensational, Dear. You outdid yourself.”

“Really?”

“Truly. I would eat more if I could, but I’m positively stuffed.”

Sure enough, just a few weeks later, that ring was on her finger, and they were planning their wedding together.

Was the recipe a family secret turned into a real love spell? Likely not, but she certainly couldn’t argue with the results.

“Would you like some help?” he asked, rolling up the cuffs of his linen shirt.

Constance made sure to get an eyeful of his sculpted forearms before moving her eyes north to his visage. “Well, I was going to say that you should get comfortable and enjoy some brandy after the long drive, but … if you really don’t mind, I’d love that.”

“Really?”

“I always enjoy cooking with you.”

That decided it, as far as he was concerned. He all but skipped into the kitchen, eager for nothing more than to spend time with her.

They worked side-by-side in the kitchen for the next half hour, preparing the poultry and browning the butter in tandem. All the while, Ebenezer asked questions about the recipe, inquiring about amounts and the specific brands of some ingredients (like the butter).

As they worked, they sipped a freshly uncorked Malbec, a shared favorite of theirs.

“So, your mother taught you this recipe, did she?” Ebenezer asked while chopping the fresh garlic. Julienne first, then brunoise.

“Yes. When I was just a teenager. I learned it quickly, as it’s pretty simple. Sometimes the best recipes are.”

“You should still write it down,” he suggested with a smile, giving her a longing gaze. “Pass it down to the next generation. Starla might make it one day as one of her favorite recipes.”

“Mmhmm. Perhaps one day, if she’d like.” Thankfully, they still had quite a bit of time before then.

The cryptic response earned a slight brow waggle of amusement but was quickly forgotten as she directed him to add the garlic to the butter pan.

He scanned the other ingredients scattered on the counter and noted a bottle of cheap, brown-bottle sherry. They used it often in recipes back home, so she’d brought an extra for their trip. “Shall we add a splash?”

“Mm … there’s no other alcohol in the dish, so it shouldn’t conflict with anything. Let’s try it.”

Another ten minutes later, and the meals were plated. They moved from the kitchen to the cabin’s quaint dining room table to eat. It was a small, circular table, which forced them closer than usual. Neither complained in the slightest.

“Heavens, I should have brought tapered candles,” he teased, “That’s all we’re missing for a classic romantic table setting.”

Constance gave him a good-natured chuckle as she refilled his glass of wine. “Let’s not get too crazy on our first night of vacation.”

They shared a laugh, clinked their glasses, and began to eat.

Immediately after the first bite, her eyes lit up. “Wow. Ebenezer, that splash of sherry was a wonderful idea!”

He gave her leg a playfully jostle with his foot. “Told you so.”

 As the tranquil night’s sapphire shadow stretched across London and the speckling of cities surrounding it, Bess found herself stirring.

As she rose from her bed, she furrowed her brow in confusion. Normally, she was awoken by noise, a dream or – something. At least her phone alarm. In this case, the woman had to take a beat to let reality coalesce around her before she realized what had awakened her.

She moved her hand to the other side of the bed, seeking the familiar warmth of her fiancé, who always rested right beside her, and usually had at least one arm around her. As she suspected, his spot was vacant. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, it only took one survey of their bedroom before her eyes landed upon the familiar outline of her soon-to-be husband.

Ebenezar “Wolf” Scrooge was crouched over the bassinet in their room, grinning from ear to ear as he chattered nonsense at Starla. Even from the bed, she could hear her little giggles and coos in response to his playful chatter.

Bess sat up fully, bringing her knees up slowly before crossing her arms. “I didn't hear her cry.”

“She didn't,” Wolf whispered, “I got up to use the loo and just peeked in at her when I came back and she was awake, cooing and smiling up at me. I think the toilet flush might have roused her; we might want to consider using the guest bathroom through the nights she's here.”

“Good idea.”

For the next few moments, Bess was a captive audience as she observed Wolf gently poke at Starry's tummy. The act earned even more of those adorable giggles.

Then, just when she thought she couldn’t smile wider, one of the babe’s chubby hands lofted to grab his nose and squeeze it. Bess laughed, then quickly smothered the sound with the back of her hand.

Letting out a light squeak in surprise, he then chuckled. “My! S-Strong grip already, haha.”

Starry roared with laughter at his reaction, bicycling her onesie-covered feet in the air.

“Oh, now she's very much awake. My, oh, my … well, what should we do about that? We can’t have you awake for too long – you’ll be cranky later. Here, up you go.”

He gingerly reached into the bassinet and picked her up. Scrunching her legs, she immediately calmed down as Ebenezar allowed her to rest upon the warm expanse of his chest. By the time her coos quieted, his arms had already wound around her protectively.

“Well, how about we take a few laps around the flat?” he asked her in an amusingly conversationalist tone. “That always calms my mind. Does that sound alright, little one?"

“…Weh. A-ba!”

“Hah. Very good. Clever girl.”

As he cradled her, he hummed a soft melody, the tones reverberating from deep in his chest. The act almost immediately made the little redhead’s eyes heavy, but she stayed awake, occasionally squirming against her comfy confinement.

Moving slowly, he walked her down to the flat’s main living area. “Now, my dear, for an exclusive tour of the chateau. To your left, you will see the electric fireplace – we’d love to use it with you, but you need to be in a playpen for that. You’re just a little too curious with those hands of yours.”

Exemplifying his point, Starla reached up and tried to grab his nose again. Veering his head away in the nick of time, he smirked and wagged a finger at her. “Now, now. Fool me once, and only once, little one.”

She giggled again, as if she understood she’d been caught red-handed and reveled in the mischief of it.

The next stop was the veranda for some fresh night air and to show her all her auntie's outdoor plants and garden boxes.

“Look at these pretty-pretties, Little Star,” he said, pointing at the vibrant clusters of petals amidst a sea of evergreen. “These are called ‘marigolds’. These ones are very special, because they bloomed the very day you were born. And Auntie Bess has kept them healthy and strong since then. Aren’t they lovely?”

“…Beh?”

“Haha, yes.”

He patted her back and brought her back inside before the chill proved to be too much for her. She squirmed slightly, burrowing herself against his chest, seeking warmth. The sensation nearly stole the breath from his lungs, and he fought the urge to grip her form even more protectively.

Bess traipsed behind them softly, deciding to grab a midnight snack while everyone was already awake. After all, with a baby in the flat, their already normal schedules would surely become vastly out of whack in the coming days. It would be prudent to adapt, and steal moments of sleep and substance whenever possible.

As she walked to the fridge and reached inside for a carton of blueberries, she watched them the whole while. With each observed interaction, her heart just turned to utter goo. She always knew her Wolf would make the most adorable father.

If only she could give him one of his own, she thought with a familiar ache of melancholy. She wished with her whole heart for it to be possible, but some things simply weren’t meant to be. That didn’t mean it didn’t well up tears in her eyes on those particularly hard days.

But she knew he'd be an amazing dad to any child that came into their life, however they decided to go about it.

In the meantime, they would have plenty of company and precious moments to fill their cups with in the interim.

As Wolf drifted into the kitchen, the couple shared a soft forehead bump.

“Did my garden meet her standards?” Bess asked, keeping her voice low.

“Nothing short of stellar.”

When they parted, they glanced down in tandem to see that Starla had finally fallen asleep. With the grace of the lupine creature he was nicknamed after, Ebenezar made his way up the stairs to deposit her back in the safety of their quiet bedroom. After closing the door (leaving it open a crack), he made his way back downstairs with a yawn.

Bess awaited him, having already prepared him a serving of blueberries. She also pulled some strawberries from the fridge, which he was never one to say no to.

“It’ll be dawn soon,” Bess said as she slid him a plate with a soft smile.

“I woke you up. I apologize.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said softly, reaching over to lay a hand on his arm, “Besides, seeing you like that with her … that was worth waking up for.”

Tenderness touched the corners of his eyes, relaxing the muscles of his face ever-so-slightly. His larger hand moved to cover hers, giving it a slight squeeze.

“It … does make me think, I confess,” he admitted.

“It makes me think, too,” she admitted softly.

A beat passed before Ebenezar seemed to sense the remorse in her voice and moved around the kitchen island to pull her into an embrace. His hands rubbed up and down her spine as her head found its favorite spot right over his thumping heart. As her hand laid over the plane of his robed chest, she could still feel the heat there from where Starla’s weight had rested mere minutes earlier.

“We’ll have a family someday,” he promised his fiancée. “I know it.”

She nodded, believing him, and believing it in herself too. He always inspired the best of her good faith, not just in others, but in herself.

“Yes,” she replied shakily. “Yes. We will.”

Somehow, some way.

With sunrise mere blinks away, Ebenezar offered to fill the kettle to start some tea. Since they were snacking, they might as well start their day, he reasoned. They both had the day off, which made the decision even easier.

As he prepared the tea, she moved their morsels to the living room area. Bess then drifted to the window shades to raise them in anticipation of the sunrise.

“You think those lovebirds are up yet?” Wolf asked as he set the kettle to boil. “Their internal clocks are sharp as tacks, and if Starry rouses as easily at home as she does here, I’m tempted to take bets on if they’ll sleep in at all.”

“I hope so,” Bess said, yawning into an open palm. “Connie especially. Those weeks when she was going into work early … she was setting alarms as early as three in the morning.”

“Gods above – whatever for?”

“Compulsion, guilt … many reasons. Anyway, they seem to be doing better since the incident, and according to Adonis, she’s started sleeping again.”

And cuddling, she thought secretly, remembering when Connie had called her in excited tears after her and Adonis had woken up entangled in each other’s arms for the first time in months.

“Thank goodness,” he said. “Especially as a new mother, she needs sleep. Connie is just as bad as you at putting other matters at hand before herself, after all.”

“I’ll let that comment slide since it’s still early, sir, and we both need caffeine.”

He chuckled from afar.

“Well, if anyone can get her into bed, I venture it’s safe to say that your brother can.”

Wolf made a noise of vague disgust as the electric kettle beeped, and he went about measuring the tea leaves for two mugs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she teased, sitting up to look at him from the other side of a tufted armchair. “And even if I did, am I wrong?”

“Ugh.”

“Darling, they have a baby,” she laughed, “Certainly you know.”

“Know WHAT, exactly?” he challenged, his accent flaring up with the question. “That adorable little gummy-mouthed angel was delivered first-class by the stork. Or she sprouted up in a cabbage-patch. Or perhaps Constance has perfected the art of mitosis. Whatever way that little sun drop came into being, she certainly didn't come from MY brother. My brother is as endowed and capable of relations as a Ken doll. Clinging to that fact is the only way I can sleep at night, I’ll have you know.”

“That's a little dramatic, don't you think?”

“Be sent an accidental sext by one of YOUR family members and see what insanity YOU come up with to cope with the trauma, Elizabeth.”

Bess let out a musical laugh, and the sound was beautiful enough that any unpleasant imagery lingering in his mind was immediately sanctified by the heavenly ring of her voice. Unfortunately, she was quick to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of mirth. He stiffened as well, realizing why she’d suddenly gone stone silent.

Glancing up the flat’s stairs, she paused as her midnight eyes rested on the overlook window that showed their bedroom, a nightlight for the little girl casting ghostly silhouettes against the glass.

His eyes followed hers, his body not moving an inch. He was frozen mid-step, a steaming mug in each hand, eyes wide and lips rolled between his teeth.

When no giggles or cries wafted from the open door, they both relaxed in tandem. Heaving matching sighs, he crossed the threshold of the room to deliver a mug of tea into her hands.

“Thank you,” she mouthed out.

“You’re very welcome.”

Bess scooted over in the spacious armchair, patting the space beside her. Rolling his eyes (the loveseat would be more practical) he was powerless to resist her. He slowly settled down beside her. The tight confines meant that she had to scoot into his lap for them to both be seated together.

Predictably so, neither disagreed.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the best place in the flat to sit side-by-side, but it was a damn fine place for a pair of engaged lovers to snuggle up.

It also happened to be the best place in the flat to watch the impending sunrise.

While one couple was slowly waking up from their restful slumber, another couple had avoided sleeping altogether.

As it turned out, the lovebirds had not gotten a wink of sleep that night.

With a straw-soft gasp, Constance ground her hips down, stuttering frantically on her descent. She moved briskly, chasing a final, blinding surge of pleasure as her and her husband’s hips swayed with piston-like precision toward their goal. She sat atop him, straddling his hips, hair thrown back over her shoulders while her hands sought the wide expanse of his chest for balance.

They’d gone to bed rather late after dinner, after spending many more hours dancing in the living room and sharing glasses of wine. By the time they finished their last dance, their lips had come together in a series of increasingly frantic kisses. He all but walked her backwards into the bedroom, unzipping her dress and kicking off his slippers with ease.

He’d then lifted her up, thrown her on the massive oak-frame bed, and made passionate love to her there for hours. The foreplay alone stretched into the night, with them worshipping each other’s bodies with grasping hands and cradling thighs. Lips explored, tasted and savored velvety areas that the other would never dream of letting another human being see, let alone touch.

When their bodies did finally come together, hips bucking in tandem and throats raw from screaming each other’s names, the beginning rays of dawn had begun to peek over the horizon.

With one last sob of pleasure, Constance sank down hard and threw her head back, her body spasming around the contour of him. Drawn and sweat-slicked, she rode the waves of release with frantic gasps, all while her husband’s massive hands clamped onto her hips and helped amplify the force of her sways.

“That’s right, give it all to me,” he coaxed, his voice hoarse but firm. “All of it. All of it, darling.”

With one last exclamation of his name in the otherwise soundless bedroom, she let out a whimper of relief.

Slowly, her arms began to bow from strain. Ebenezer released her hips and went to hold her elbows, his strong hands fitting around the joints easily. Taking all the strain off her exhausted body, he supported her on a slow descent.

“There you go. Slowly. I have you…”

He rolled to his side and guided her onto the mattress, where he took the initiative of shimmying his hips away from hers. With a nod of permission, he pulled out as gingerly as possible, as they were both quite over-sensitive.

While Constance laid on the bed and caught her breath, he discreetly removed the condom, tied it off, and tucked it into the wastebasket that they’d pulled near the bed hours before. It wasn’t the first condom they’d used that night-turned-morning.

When he turned back to her, the visual of her nude body reclined against the bed – her ample bosom heaving and red hair draped over the pillow in tousled ringlets – captivated him to stillness. One of her hands had lofted to her chest, laying over her heart, as if she was trying to caress it into calmness.

He gazed upon her like she was a painting to be admired. The spell was only broken when her cornflower blue eyes opened to meet his. Still breathless, she smiled and reached out to him. To touch him. To hold him.

He was quick to twine their fingers, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there.

Gods, when was the last time they’d made such passionate love, he wondered. It had to have been before Starla was born. And for hours – literally until dawn? That, he knew, they’d never done before.

He was sure his muscles would be screaming at him in the coming days (and rallying himself would take a moment – he wasn’t a teenager anymore), but sod it all, it was beyond worth it.

He kissed up the length of her arm, relishing in the laughter he earned as his other arm swept her close, gathering her just so her back was pressed to his furred chest. She was putty in his embrace and moaned in soft delight as his arms crossed around her with possessive adoration. Even after being joined for hours, he still wanted to cradle her close, sweat and musk be damned.

When his lips finally reached the destination of her cheek, he spent an extra moment lingering there.

He laughed, and with his lips still pressed to her skin, the feeling sending a tingle through her. The effect lured a smile to her lips, and she languidly stretched her arms out in front of her as he continued to dot kisses along the back of her sun-kissed shoulder blades.

“Gods above, you are fantastic,” he whispered with the reverence of a man reciting a mantra by heart.

With one last squeeze, he released her so they could lay side by side more comfortably. Most importantly, they could also gaze in each other’s eyes, which was a post-coital ritual he insisted upon. In his mind, to drift into the haze of slumber without glimpsing the eyes of the woman who had brought him to ruin was borderline heretical.

However, once he opened his arms, he was alarmed to see her rise from the blankets. For a panicked moment, he was thrown back into the memories of the days when she would shun his touch and rise from bed immediately to leave him, turning his back on him to succumb to the tedium of work.

Without realizing it, his hand had nearly shot out to snatch her back.

Yet, this time, she did not leave the bed.

In her naked glory, she instead rose and turned to the massive window that backed the impressive bed. She drew the curtains, and he squinted against the light.

She then undid the latches, snapping them open with ease, and hoisted the pane high over them. Fresh air swelled into the bedroom like a crescendo of music. After all, their activities had made the bedroom quite stuffy, and while the lingering perfume of sex was intoxicating, it was far from refreshing.

The second the glass lifted, a wave of sunflower-scented air rolled in. The crispness immediately brightened his senses.

“There we go,” she said before slowly drifting back down to him.

That was when she noticed his hand, still partially extended to her.

Noting his reach, sadness touched her eyes for a moment before she took his larger hand between hers. Breath fluttered in his lungs as she closed her fingers around hers, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The declaration was punctuated with a resolute stare, her perfectly plucked brows slanting inward as she studied his face … studying to see if he believed her.

He answered her inquiry by luring her back onto her back, where he covered her smaller frame with his wider one.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke the words, “Kiss me again, please.”

He felt foolish for a moment, asking for a kiss of all things after their prolonged coupling. Yet, Constance answered without a smidge of hesitation. Her hand snaked upward, fingertips skimming the shape of his jaw and feathering through his sideburns. Cupping the back of his head, she tangled her fingers in his silver locks and nudged him down. He descended upon her as she rose to meet up, their mouths meeting again. Chastely. Sweetly.

Lovingly.

 After a shared shower, Ebenezer donned a new linen shirt and pair of trousers in the thinnest material he had. It was to be a slightly warmer day than before, and unlike the day prior, he had a small itinerary for the morning.

“My dear, I’m going into town to fetch breakfast from that little bakery Olivia mentioned,” he said from his station in from of their bedroom’s large vanity. “It should be about a thirty-minute walk. I could drive, but it’s not that far.”

While he spoke, he snapped his antique, silver Piaget on his wrist. He slid the watch face into a proper position, he checked his freshly dried hair in the mirror before angling his eyes toward the reflection of the open ensuite bathroom door behind him.

Moments later, Constance padded out, donned in a terrycloth robe and her hair freshly curled and make-up applied to perfection. Her eyes and lips were more naturally adorned than usual, allowing him to appreciate the natural shape and color of her features.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she enthused.

“You’re more than welcome to join me.”

“I might … um, how are your legs?”

He laughed. “Sore, but not terrible. A stretch and some exercise will do them good. How about you? You were the one doing the more, erm, physical work last night.”

It was true. Her legs felt a little wobbly, and she was definitely tender in other areas, but not to the point of no return.

“Would you mind waiting for me?” she inquired. “I promise I’ll dress quickly – Olivia said to arrive early, after all.”

“Well, of course! I’d love your company. We can drive if—”

“No, no, a walk sounds lovely!” she said.

“…You’re sure?” he asked.

There was layered reasoning to his question that extended far beyond their intimacy the night prior. Thanks to her ex-husband, Constance had a previously snapped femur in each leg that each had required many years of potent (and highly addictive) pain medicine to manage, on top of other substances she’d already been using at the time. It wasn’t until recently that her legs had healed to the point where she no longer required daily pills or physical therapy.

Nonetheless, her legs were weaker, tired easily … and she was also an incredible klutz. It was as adorable as it was concerning, and as much as he enjoyed catching her, he still worried for her.

He was a man in love, and as such, he worried and toiled over her, especially considering their recent incident.

“Darling, the figures can wait.”

“No, they can’t. The client turned them earlier today. It’s the last of the month – if they don’t go in this report before the end of business hours today, they’ll be added to next month’s expenditures. It’ll throw everything off!”

He’d always worry about her. Her determination to survive was also a compulsion to action. When the jaws of a bear trap snapped shut, Constance would tear herself free, no matter the pain and blood. That was the problem.

“We can afford to eat more than a fair share of checks. Please. We can figure it out and re-balance tomorrow.”

“I’m so close, Ebenezer. I can do it.”

“I know you can, Constance. That’s not the issue. It’s just—”

“I promise I’ll be only a moment,” she said. “Wait for me?”

“I just need to input a few more lines, Ebenezer. Please, go on without me. I’ll be just along in just a minute.”

No sooner had the man agreed and sat down in the living room armchair that she reappeared again, fully dressed in a silky maroon midi-dress, synched at the waist. A pair of espresso-colored wedge sandals (not stilettos, bless her) completed the ensemble. She wore her hair in a simple chignon, her second favorite way to wear her hair.

He checked the time with his watch, brows arcing into twin horseshoes. “That was fast.”

She had certainly kept her promise, he noted with great pleasure.

After a quick detour to the kitchen island to grab her shoulder bag, the two set off.

(Part 2 coming soon - thank you for reading!)

"No fog, no mist. Clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold—cold, piping for the blood to dance to—golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells—oh glorious, glorious!" ~ A Christmas Carol

[cloudtastrophie]

A little headcannon tidbit based off of chapter 2 of @canarydarity 's ranchers baseball au <3

-----

St. Louis felt infinitely like home. Or, as close to home as Jimmy could get. Coming into the city from the Illinois side of the river made him sick to smell the air of his childhood backyard. To taste the dirt in his mouth as he, once again, lost against Grian at the diamonds. St. Louis was 10 times smaller than grand old New York, New York, but it was 10 times more welcoming. The drivers were calmer, the streets less full, the culture more laid back. It was a lazy city, sticky and slow like molasses in the early summer midwestern heat. 

As the team bus rattled its way across the Eads Bridge, Jimmy felt Joel smack his arm, breaking his gaze away from the lazy flow of the Mississippi. “What in the bloody hell are they building?” Joel muttered, half standing to see over Tango’s shoulders across the isle. Tango looked as if he was about to burst out of the window, he was pressed so hard to the glass. He swiveled his head to look at Jimmy and Joel. 

“You two haven’t heard? It’s been in every paper for weeks!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Jimmy shook his head and stood up taller to see what the fuss was about. By then, the whole team was ‘ooh and ahhing’ at the absolutely massive structure being built, right on the banks of the river. 

“It’s going to be called the Gateway Arch. It’s probably going to be the biggest feat of engineering since the Empire State. Probably better than the Needle out in Seattle is going to be.” Jimmy raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. Since when did Tango have a special interest in engineering?

“I did a few months in an engineering class. Got me hooked, but numbers are easier to understand.” Tango explained, as if he had read Jimmy’s mind. Then he turned back around and continued to peer at the stories-tall cranes slowly moving into place, and the two wide, square beginnings of what would apparently become a feat of engineering. Jimmy didn’t really see the draw, but he leaned across Joel and the isle to Tango anyways.

“We should come back to see it once it’s finished.” Jimmy said, watching the construction site fade behind them. The Cardnial’s stadium appeared behind the looming Old Courthouse. 

“I agree!” Tango replied, beaming. Jimmy didn’t care if he was 100 by the time the Arch was finished. He’d come back and see it with Tango when it was done.

------

hi worm i know you're reading this,,,ok I haven't had the energy (or time) to do any art for the baseball au but the brainrot has been stuck with me for DAYS. so I decided to write a little tidbit of how I imagined the ride into St. Louis for that game against the Cardnials. I have a lot of love for the city I grew up around so I really wanted to do something for it for you :) And if you're interested, here's some of the history I incorparated to make it feel more historically accurate! (i'm a cloested history buff, can you tell)

the st louis gateway arch began construction in 1963 technically, but I'm like 90% sure that there was soo much prep work done on the site before the actual construction, as there is a basement underneath it, and a huge walkway/viewing platform area, as well as the whole thing with the levee right on the Mississippi. I wanted to sort of figure out what that would look like in 1961 when the plans were being laid out. Also, the Arch is a certified national park, it's professional name being "St. Louis Gateway Arch National Park"

The Old Courthouse. UGH its one of my favorite buildings I've ever seen actually. Its so beautiful, and you can, from the road I'm writing them on, see Busch staduim looming behind it. The Courthouse also actually held the first two trials of the Dred Scott case, if you're into that kind of stuff.

The Eads Bridge. Also one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It is the oldest bridge on the Mississippi and was constructed under the care of Andrew Carnagie. That bad boy is made out of actual authentic Carnagie steel. Sooo history rich. Pretty sure they actually held a parade with elephants once it was done. so that's cool

Oh, and Busch stadium. It wasn't called that way back when! And it looked much, much different than it does now. I'm honestly not sure what it was called in the 60's, but I'm sure most people called it Cardnial's stadium. It was a beautiful and massive stadium back then, and it still is now.

the seattle neetle was being constructed around the same time as the arch as well, which is why i had Tango say something about it LOL

And for funsies, here's a scorecard that I'm sure Tango would've recieved in 1961 from the stadium.

hope you enjoyed my little rant!! And if you made it to the bottom of this and you're not worm, I hope you enjoyed learning a little about st. louis today. :)

[slightlystupidhun]

Niente

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A band AU I’m writing! Sorry if it’s bad! There is no magic in this universe, just music! @puffin-smoke did an amazing Redacted Band AU that you should check out too!

Niente; To nothing; indicating a diminuendo which fades completely away…

It was a cool fall evening in the shaw household, the lights of the house emitting a warm feeling from the outside. It had been half a year since Gabriel Shaw took Tank in. Their parents had dropped them off to study with David and just never came to pick them up. Tank remembers so vividly how the phone rang, and rang, and rang but no one picked up. Gabe refused to let them leave on their own so he took them in, they were just a few months away from turning 18.

Tank had not intended to join the “family” band either. It was more of something that happened to them. One day while paroling the house they saw that one of David's old electric guitars was left out in the living room. The black guitar with red paint splattered on it, giving the impression of blood, was so appealing to Tank they simply couldn't resist. They had practiced acoustic guitar, but had little experience on electric. They only remembered what little their father taught them when he attempted to play, the instrument never sounding right in his hands.

They picked it up, it was already plugged into the amp, and looked around the room. Pausing for a moment, waiting to hear if anyone had come into the house, they were pleased to find that they were still home alone. David and Gabe left for a meeting for their band. David was the drummer, Asher was the singer, and Milo played bass. Their old electric guitarist, Asher's sister, left for a different band. The first few notes they strummed on the guitar sent electricity through their veins. They strummed again, becoming obsessed with the sound. It fully represented them, their thoughts, feelings, their whole being. They began strumming out the chords to an AC/DC song their dad tried playing, thunderstruck. It was the a simple standard they knew how to play on electric.

The music soared from the guitar and filled the room. Tank started playing with the strings and improving their own melodies. They were so wrapped up in the song that they didn't hear Gabe and David enter the house. They didn't see the pair walk into the living room. The sound enveloping the house was completely theirs, like they owned the instrument. No one could replicate the way they played. Even if they weren't perfect at it they were still so alluring.

As Tank strummed the last chord on the guitar, Gabe stepped forward and applauded. Their head snapped up, fiery eyes meeting his warm ones. A slight blush spread across their face and they quickly stepped away and set the guitar on the soft green couch next to them.

“I… I… sorry…” They mumbled out. “I wont touch it again…”

“No! Don’t say sorry. In fact, you were quite good. Ever played before now kid?” Gabe asked moving over to pick up David's old guitar.

“No… not really. I mean I've been playing acoustic guitar a little, or I used to with my da… with you know.” They kicked their feet on the hardwood floor..

“Well my band is looking for a guitarist. I'm sure Dad would be willing to teach you. He taught Asher's sister.” David said, nudging Tanker with his shoulder.

“Me?” Tank asked.

“Absolutely! I will! You’re in the band Tank!” Gabe cheers as he wraps an arm around Tank. “I’ll start teaching you tomorrow.”

That is how they ended up where they were now. On a large stage opening for a band that Tank has been a fan of for a while now. They were called Tooth&Fang. Tank was practically in love with Quinn, the lead singer. He was attractive and very, very charismatic.

As their set came to a close as David rattled the symbol one final time. The whole band waved as Asher yelled out one final time.

“Thank you everyone! We are DxW! You have a good night!” He and the band ran off stage, high fiving one another. Tank stood on the outside avoiding the three’s cheers.

“Hello~” A sly voice spoke into Tank's ear. Tanks eyes widened, immediately recognizing the voice. They pivoted to see the mischievous grin on the face of Quinn Fox, the lead singer they're practically in love with. “Well aren't you, a spitfire. You played that electric like a star, precious.”

Tank was on cloud nine. Quinn even offered to meet them in his dressing room after the show.

“No.” David said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in the alley way. The band was packing their equipment up in their van.

“What? Why not? He literally just wants to meet up!” Tank pleaded, waving their arms about.

“No. No super famous 28 year old rockstar wants to meet with a 19 year old, just to chat and hang out. I've heard about his reputation…”

“But you haven't seen his reputation have you. You haven't experienced it first hand. You have no idea whether or not it's true!” They pointed their finger into David's chest, knowing it would irritate him.

“Tank. No. And get your finger off my chest dumbass.” David's eyes lit up with anger.

“I'm going. I am 19 fucking years old. I am old enough to choose what I am gonna do with and where I am going to spend my time.” They pivoted on their heels and began walking back inside.

“Tank stop!” David yelled at them before crossing his arms and standing firm. “I’ll tell Dad.”

Those three words stopped Tanker in their tracks. Was he serious? He was going to rat on them and play tattle tail. Furrowing their brows and balling their hands into fists they walked back over to David. “I hate you.”

The next two days the only time Tank spoke to David was if he directed them to do something in the band. They were pissed off at him. How the hell was he able to control what they did? And the fact that he threatened them with telling Gabe. They continued to ignore him and mope around until their phone buzzed. They looked at their instagram feed and saw a message from Quinn_The_Vamp.

[symbiotic-slime]

Excuse me, did you say Venom TMA AU????

yes!!! it’s been rattling around in my head for a couple of months now, so if u want more in depth lore I’m more than happy to indulge but I’ll give a basic run down! there’s two separate ideas for this. I’ve categorized Eddie (a mixture of the movies and comics versions of him) and Flash based on what they’d be an avatar of and what they’d be a victim of so—

Avatar AU:

Eddie is an avatar of the Corruption, and the Venom symbiote is a manifestation of the Corruption! it starts out as a mould growing in Eddie’s apartment, but eventually its influence gets him and he bonds with them and becomes an avatar! there’s a lot of body horror in it, I basically went ham with adding anything and everything I thought would be cool. he’s basically a Flesh Hive, but instead of worms coming out of the holes in his skin it’s Venom’s goop! also since the corruption deals with obsessive and toxic love, the body horror element of that is Venom ripping Eddie’s ribcage open to curl around his heart >:3 I have a playlist for this AU, so check it out if u want to!

Flash is an avatar of the Slaughter (I know, making the soldier an avatar of the Slaughter how original)! his is a lot more tragic than Eddie’s, since his arc starts with the abuse he suffered as a kid and the fear of his dad’s unexpected violence marking him for the slaughter! then it kind of goes through his life being an avatar (think kind of what Elias pulled from Daisy’s life if you’ve listened to that part — where she’s not fully an avatar but definitely influenced by it). the timeline is a bit warped, I wanted for him to join the army pre- making up with Peter in this AU since war is such a big part of the Slaughter. it ends with him getting his legs amputated like in canon and since he’s unable to continue feeding the slaughter, its influence on him starts to wain. he basically becomes an avatar in recovery, growing weaker but refusing to give into the urges again. him and Peter become friends and he gets a “happy” ending (well, as happy of an ending is anyone in a tma au can hope for)!

Victim AU:

this one does not have as much substance to it, I just thought about what their greatest fear would be and like. I haven’t actually come up with any interesting supernatural ideas for this yet lmao

Eddie would be a victim of the Lonely (he goes off the deep end literally every time the symbiote leaves him or when he thinks they’ve died)

the Venom symbiote would be a victim of the Desolation (literally everyone they love either is “dead” or has died at some point — I’d ignore Flash’s resurrection and the whole Eddie and Dylan being able to come back I think from the current run)

Flash would be a victim of the Web (especially with the addiction themes from s5)

S5 SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

I’ve also thought about what domain they’d be placed in following the eyepocalypse. literally the definition of putting them in situations because I’ve basically assigned them their own personal hell

Eddie would be placed in the Fog House domain or Martin’s domain

the Venom symbiote would be placed in the Furnace domain

Flash would be put in the Theatre domain. this one is literally a perfect fit for him since what we see of it is a guy being forced into his alcohol addiction over and over again.