#though... I have been feeling shrimp emotions for the past two weeks and my stomach has tied itself up in knots over it.

[neverendingford]

.

[christowhore]

Making You Mine

pairing: chris evans x professor!fem!reader, chris evans x oc!female (brief)

summary: you and chris have your first date.

word count: 3.0k

warnings: !!! 18+ minors dni !!! slight smut, fluff, age gap (reader is 28, chris is 39) suggestive conversation, two dorks in love, alcohol consumption, heavy making out, dry humping, orgasms, rpf

notes: ngl to y’all i didn’t even mean to make it include some smut, but i ended up getting carried away. this is the second part of the ‘Pining for Professor’ series. i hope you all enjoy it and make sure to let me know what you think! *i do not give consent for this fic to be reposted or translated*

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MAIN MASTERLIST • SERIES MASTERLIST

The next few days that passed after your encounter seemed to fly by. You were busy working on your dissertation while Chris was attending ASP interviews.The two of you would text from time to time, just keeping the other updated about your life.

Chris had planned the evening out. Before considering what meal he wanted to make you, he made sure to ask you about any dietary concerns or allergies that you might have, and he was thankful that he did. You informed him that the only food allergy you had was apples. Part of him thought you were joking because he never heard of that being a restriction one could face, but after sending him a photo of one of your allergic reactions, he trashed every single apple he had stored in his fridge. A dramatic reaction, yes, but he wanted to make sure you were both completely safe and comfortable.

He decided on making a simple pasta dinner, something easy that he believed he couldn’t possibly mess up. It wasn’t until he was googling wine pairings when he remembered the woman he was supposed to have this same evening with just a few days ago; Lindsey.

Chris had been so preoccupied with you that he completely forgot about the woman. Looking at his phone and opening their messages, he saw that he had been accidentally ghosting her for the past three days. Not knowing how to deliver the news, he decided it would be best to break things off over the phone than through a text.

Clicking on her contact, he dialed her number and listened to the dial tone ring in his ear. He was pondering on what to say when he heard her voice through the phone. “Hey stranger, I was wondering when you were gonna call me back.”

“Hey Lindsey, sorry I got a little busy with life. Can we talk?”

For about the next five minutes, Chris tried his best to not give the cliche ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse, but in the end he had to explain to the woman how he met somebody else, you, and that he didn’t want to string her along any longer. The call ended with some harsh words from her which he expected. Even though he hated that he hurt her feelings, in the end all he kept thinking about was you.

A couple miles away from his home, you were at your house going through your entire wardrobe trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. Did you want to go the fancy route and wear a nice dress or something casual like jeans and a blouse? Even though Chris told you the plans he had scheduled for your rendezvous, you were still feeling nervous about the whole affair.

Thankfully with the help of your friends, they were able to ease your worries and help you out with your ensemble.

The night before the planned evening, the two of you lay awake, plagued with nerves. Worried about messing up and ruining the chance to be with the other.

With how his morning started the day of his previously planned affair, Chris made sure that nothing could stand in the way of tonight. He had his suit pressed, the ingredients needed for the meal prepped, and a bouquet of red roses bought fresh from the florist resting in a vase of water. Scott went with Dodger over to his sister Shanna’a house, leaving the home to himself.

The day proceeded quickly and soon enough it was time for the date. You agreed to drive over and meet him at his home, arriving there around eight in the evening.

Walking up to the home and knocking on the door, you kept cracking your knuckles, a nervous tick of yours whenever you got anxious. Once the entryway was opened and Chris stepped into your sight, all of those pesky jitters suddenly left your body.

Chris was clad in a tailored black suit that clung to his frame. The white button up he donned was crisp and clean, you could make out a few of his tattoos peeking through the material. Accessorizing his attire, he wore a black and silver watch, the silver in the band matching the Saint Christopher medallion clasped around his neck showing through the opening of his top. His hair was perfectly gelled, making him look fresh out of a photo shoot.

He looked absolutely delectable and part of you didn’t even care about the meal, you just wanted to know how the material of his clothes felt against your skin.

When Chris opened up his door he knew you’d be there, beautiful as ever but he didn’t expect the sight that he was met with.

Your regularly curly hair was straightened, cascading off your shoulders and perfectly framing your face. The makeup you applied made your features light up. He took notice of the lipgloss you put on and all he wanted to do was grab you and taste the substance that was lucky enough to touch your lips.

Looking your body up and down, he noticed your black silk dress, a tie in the middle cinching the material together. The material stopped at your mid thighs revealing your velvety smooth legs and high heeled shoes. Thoughts of him trailing his hands up the sides of your calves while he pinned you below him flashed in his mind. Quickly he shook the image out of his mind to put back all of his attention on you.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered in awe.

“You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As you entered his home, he placed a hand on the small of your back tugging your frame into him so he could place a kiss on your cheek. The same butterflies you experienced when he pecked you that night in the parking lot reappeared by the dozens.

The smell of sautéing onions and garlic filled your senses, instantly making your stomach lurch around. “Whatever it is you're making smells amazing,” you commented to the brunette.

He bashfully smiled, “Thank you, I’m almost finished, though I should let you know I’m not the greatest cook.”

You laughed at his comment, unconsciously placing your palm against his upper arm. “It’s alright Chris, at least you have your looks right?”

It was his turn to laugh, your playful matter had him buzzing.

The two of you made your way through the kitchen, him to the front of the stove while you sat in the high chair behind the counter top. Before he returned to cooking the vegetables, he grabbed the bouquet of red roses he had ordered and handed them to you, a smile instantly appearing on your face.

You thanked him for his generosity and the two of you continued on in lively conversation while he focused back on finishing dinner.

Laughter filled the room while you two chatted in his living room. You two had finished dinner, Chris making a wonderful shrimp scampi that even he was surprised tasted good.

Even though you spent three hours talking that evening in your office, you two didn’t have any difficulty finding new topics to explore.

You spoke about your family and how life was growing up without siblings. How it felt being at an advanced academic level at such a young age, which allowed you the opportunity of being employed at the university at 21. Surprisingly, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around the man, something that you had never done before. It was something about his demeanor. His presence was inviting and captivating, and all you wanted to do was continue to be around the actor.

Chris was at a loss of words with how to describe how you made him feel. You had such a hypnotizing way to yourself. He would listen to your laugh and drink it in as if it were the last time his ears would be blessed with the sound. Your smile was so genuine, stretching from ear to ear and all he wanted to do was keep that look on your face till the end of his days. He didn’t know he was staring at you until you waved in front of his face, regaining his attention.

“Earth to Evans. Are you okay there?” Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed while you stared intently into his eyes, waiting for his response. He didn’t even think about the next words that came out of his mouth when he spoke.

“I know that we just met last week, and this is only our first date, but would you do me the honor of being able to call you my girlfriend?”

The statement that was rushed out of his mouth had you choke on your glass of wine. Regaining your composure, you set the drink down and looked up at Chris.

There wasn’t any humor in his eyes, just determination as well as a bit of trepidation.

You were about to speak when he started up again. “Usually when meeting someone, I go on about two to three dates with them. Get to know them and go through the ‘what if’s’ possibilities. But with you I realized I can’t wait that long. The only thing I care about is being able to see that smile on your face, and have the melodic sound of your laugh ingrained in my life. And I don’t want to waste another second trying to determine ‘what if’ we’re not a match when I already know that you’re the one for me.”

This time you were the one at a loss of words. Emotions wrangle throughout your body. You were nervous, but the nerves that stood on end were due to the fact of being scared of how quickly you were falling for him.

Without saying anything but donning a beaming grin, you nodded.

Chris immediately leant forward and molded his lips with yours. The kiss was soft and delicate. His right hand slightly cupped your cheek, and in that moment you felt safe, you felt at ease. There was no other place the two of you wanted to be than right there in each other’s embrace.

When you pulled away it felt like time was at a standstill, nothing else mattered but the two of you being together. Even though he wasn’t a photographic person, Chris felt this overwhelming need to document this moment.

He quickly pulled out his phone and asked you if it were okay to take a photo of the two of you, a personal keepsake so to speak. You nuzzled into his side, shoulders touching, breaths fanning across each other’s face. Chris extended his hand with the camera app open and aimed towards the two of you. Though you were looking at the screen, a beaming grin stretched across your features, he was only looking at you. Admiring you as if you were his entire world, which you were slowly but surely becoming. Snapping the photo, he locked his phone and tucked it away back into his slacks.

With the close proximity you two shared, he took advantage of the opportunity to kiss you again. He was desperate to feel you, touch you, taste you. The flavor of your strawberry lip gloss inviting him in.

You melted into him, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket pulling him closer into you. He leaned into your touch, causing the two of you to lay back against his couch.

His hips were slotted in between your legs, crotch rubbing against your warm core. The friction drawing out a low moan from your chest.

He continued to feverishly attack your mouth. This kiss was different from the first. This was pure hunger. You two were desperate to feel the other. His tongue slotted into your mouth, tasting the leftover remnants of the Pinot Grigio you consumed. Notes of grapes and honeysuckles on your tongue made him push deeper. The intoxicating taste and the effects of the alcohol had him unconsciously grinding into you, rubbing his cock against your covered mound.

You ran your hands across the expanse of his body. Rubbing his arms, slightly gripping his ass, tangling your hands into the brown tuffs of his hair, you couldn’t get enough. He felt amazing against you. The rubbing of his hips were drawing out moans that you didn’t even try to suppress due to the unwavering desire you felt towards him. You felt him lift your leg up, giving himself more room to rut against you. The movement caused your dress to hike up, showing the lace of your black thong to your now boyfriend.

The two of you continued with your actions. Tongue slapping against each other as you sloppily tasted the other. The movements of his hips against your cunt accelerated to a rigorous pace when he felt a wet patch growing on your panties.

You felt like honey teenagers, dry humping each other like a pair of desperate virgins, but in that moment it was perfect.

Drawing away from each other, Chris nestled his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shockwaves of arousal straight to your core.

You were both close to reaching your respective peak, your moans were getting wilder and his hips were becoming unruly.

It only took a few more bumps of his crotch against your covered clit for you to gush in your panties. An erotic moan left your lips and filled the room while your back arched, pushing your breasts against his chest.

Hearing the near pornographic sound that left your body, while feeling your peer nipples press against his front allowed him to reach his release as well. Biting down against the column of your neck, he came in his pants, filling his boxer briefs with his seed.

Chris collapsed on top of your panting body, the two of you trying to regain a steady breath. He lay there in your arms, your nails dragging along the nape of his neck.

When he finally regained composure, Chris raised up on his palms and looked down at you. And as if your minds were synced up, you both erupted in a fit of giggles.

After coming down for your laugh attacks, you excused yourself to the bathroom to freshen up.

You stood in front of the mirror, examining your reflection. There was still some adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream causing your hands to slightly shake. Your lips were red and swollen due to the attack on them moments prior. But what you couldn’t ignore was the dopey smile that seemed to take permanent residence on your face. You felt like a giddy schoolgirl, though you weren’t complaining.

Your recently ended relationship with your ex Justin was not great. The reason for the break up was due to the fact that he didn’t make you feel special. Looking back at it now you don’t even know why you agreed to start dating him in the first place. But you were thankful it concluded, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon and placed every star in the sky yourself.

Back in the living room, Chris paced around the living room for your return. Happiness surged through him, making him pump his fist in the air like he was John Bender in The Breakfast Club.

He's been with plenty of women throughout his life, even getting engaged to one, but it was in this moment he realized he had never been so infatuated with someone until you entered his life. You made all of the hairs on his body stand up just by looking at him. It elated him but also scared him. It scared him due to how fast he was falling for you. But he didn’t care. Though this feeling was foreign, he had no problem welcoming it with open arms.

After a few moments consisting of composing yourself, you made your way out of the bathroom and back to Chris. You two stood there, just smiling at each other like idiots. It was him who finally piped up.

“So that was some first date.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment.

“Tell me about it,” you replied.

The two of you conversed some more before it got late and you decided to call it a night. Making sure you had all of your belongings, including your roses, he escorted you to your car.

Resting against the door, you couldn’t resist temptation so you pulled him into you, attaching your lips to his once more. This kiss wasn’t the apprehensive one you first shared, or the hungry and desperate one that came after. This kiss was full of passion. It was the type that made you breathe out a sigh of relief into the other's mouth, glad that your bodies were in union in such an intimate manner. Neither of you wanting it to end.

When you finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against your own, trying to savor the moment a while longer.

“I’ll call you when I get home, alright?”

Repeating the actions yet again of your first meeting, he went to open your door, waiting for you to slide in before shutting in. After turning on the engine, you rolled the window down allowing Chris to rest against the frame on his forearms.

“See you later, girlfriend.”

“Right back at you, boyfriend.”

Giving you a fleeting kiss goodbye, he stood up and watched as you pulled out of his driveway and back to your home.

Chris stood there in his driveway for a while. He thought about how the date went twenty times better than any other one he’d ever been on. How you made him feel like the greatest man in the world. The way your lips met his and how it was like they were made to be caressed by his. The smile that crept on your face when he called you his girlfriend. And he thought about how now nothing else in this world mattered except for keeping you in his life and making sure that wonderful smile never left your features.

A/N: so the song True by Spandau Ballet is the song i envisioned when Chris opened the door. it’s that one slow 80s song they play in movies where it’s goes like ‘ah ah ah ahhh ahh’ it's all romantic and what not, y’all know the song i’m talking about, that one. cheesy i know, but i works.

anyway baby, i know there’s not a lot of dialogue, i’ve come to the realization that it’s one of my weakness but i’ll be working on it.

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* dividers credit: @firefly-graphics *

[melancholic-pigeon]

WIP Wednesday #15

Since Jason's birthday is tomorrow and all, I'm doing something longer as a treat. A triptych, if you will!

Content warnings for child abuse and neglect, alcoholism and food insecurity.

Thalia wakes up, like she usually does, to Jason curled against her with his fingers in his mouth. She can't easily put him in his crib by herself, but her mattress is on the floor and there's nowhere for him to fall, so she can ensure that she's there to hold him whenever he wakes up crying. Her shirt's a little damp, but this time it's just because he's drooling in his sleep. Last night, thankfully, was free from disruptions.

For him, at least.

He's a year old today, and she hasn't seen their mother since two nights ago, slumped on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka on the ground next to her. The door to her room is closed. Whether she's in there sleeping it off or out somewhere getting drunker, Thalia has no idea.

Bitterly, she doesn't care. It's not like their mom cares about them, either.

Jason yawns, his hair sticking up like a cockatoo's feathers. The first eye contact of the morning always leaves him giggling and reaching for her, and the feeling of his small, warm body flopping onto her brings her focus back to where it should be.

"Happy birthday, shrimp."

"Happy," he repeats, nosing at her stomach.

It's up to her, like usual, so she gets him dressed and ready and gives him the last of the cereal to occupy himself while she digs through her closet to find the old coffee can she stashed there.

Every time she thinks she can get away with it, she lifts a bill from their mother's wallet and puts it in the can. Every nickel she finds on the street, every dime she pulls from the couch cushions; it all adds up, a little at a time.

After carefully saving as much as she could for the past few weeks, she's squirreled away enough. She takes out a fistful and stuffs it in her pocket, then re-buries the can under a pile of her laundry.

Today's special, and she'll cover the loss somehow— by sneaking some extra groceries under her coat again, if she has to.

Jason's finished with his breakfast by the time she emerges, sitting patiently and playing with the plastic dish she'd given it to him on. Her sweet baby brother, looking up at her with a smile so sunny you'd think they were living like kings.

Her chest feels tight and her throat's in no better condition. After a deep breath, she reaches down to grab his hands.

"Do you know what birthdays mean?"

He takes a second to think about it as she pulls him to his feet, then shakes his head.

"Birthdays, Jason," she says, grinning— it's harder to dwell when he's holding onto her hand— "mean birthday cake."

The gas station a block away at least has the miniature kind wrapped in cellophane. He won't know the difference, since he hasn't even been introduced to the concept of cake yet, but she'll still have to make it up to him with a real one someday.

—

By the time Jason turns two, Thalia has shoplifting down to an art form.

People are usually too busy fawning over how precious her brother is to pay her much attention, and having Luke along makes it almost easy. Jason adores him, and he's happy to draw focus away from her by translating the toddler babble and proclaiming that they're his favorite babysitting clients, which conveniently explains the lack of adult supervision.

Thanks to him, she's managed to get Jason something a lot better than cake.

She saw it in the window of a toy shop and immediately knew it was perfect, but it cost more than she'd scrounged in the past six months. She'd been resigned to the idea of stealing a brownie instead, and then last night, Luke showed up at her doorstep with it tucked under his arm and his face split into a wicked grin.

She's not sure she wants to know how he managed to smuggle it out without getting caught, but the way Jason lights up when he lays eyes on it, happier than she's ever seen him, is enough to make her ignore the uneasy feeling.

"Puppy!"

She can't help but mirror it back to him, her heart swelling with emotion as he flings his arms around the stuffed animal's neck. It's almost as big as he is.

"That's right. It's a wolf puppy. She's named after a mama wolf called Lupa."

The real Lupa is the matriarch of a pack living at a conservancy in San Diego county. Her likeness is an embodiment of the fiercely protective love Jason should have gotten from his own mother, and which has fallen to Thalia and her limited capabilities instead.

Jason rolls over, still holding tight to his new doll, and lays his head in her lap. If she's coming up short, he certainly hasn't noticed.

"My Lupa?"

He's gently petting the wolf's fur, in a movement that's strikingly similar to how Thalia's petting his hair. She blinks a few times to chase away the burning in her eyes.

"Your Lupa."

She can't give him the childhood that he deserves. It's a struggle to make sure even his most basic needs are met, and some days it feels like the whole world is united against them, but then he hugs her leg or curls up against her shoulder or tells her in that sweet voice love you, Taya—

And everything settles in her chest, refining itself into a white-hot determination.

She's all he has, and the one thing she can make sure he'll never want for is someone who loves him enough to fight for him.

She understands how the real Lupa must feel about her cubs. She knows, with more certainty than she's ever known anything, that if anyone so much as thinks about hurting her little brother— hurting her baby— she'll tear them to shreds with her teeth before they have time to run.

—

Everything is perfect. Thalia's made sure of it.

The party doesn't start for another hour, so she has to keep Jason occupied until then. He thinks she has lunch reservations and they're meeting at her place for coffee first— the second part is true; she has a pot of Kona ready to go as soon as he arrives.

While she's preparing his decoy surprise, the rest of his friends are in Manhattan, helping Percy and Sally get his bash underway. She finds herself quivering with excitement as she puts the last few touches in place.

The doorbell rings and she squeaks, shoving the main item behind a bookshelf before racing to answer the door.

"Happy birthday, shrimp." She stands up on her tiptoes and hugs him around the neck. "I have something for you."

Jason beams, pink, and squeezes her back.

"I told you last year that you don't have to get me anything. Your company is a gift in and of itself."

"Ha ha," she counters dryly, knowing he can hear her getting a little emotional at the sincerity on his face. "Very funny. Like I'm not going to try to make up for the ten of them that I missed."

She takes hold of his arm and pulls him into the apartment, past the kitchen to the hall that leads to her bedroom. She opens the door beside it, the one that used to be her study.

Jason's eyes go wide.

The desk is still there, but the chair is new, much larger than the one she used. The bookcase is the same, too, but she's put her video games in a box in her bedroom and filled the shelves with fresh sketchbooks and paints and pencils instead. The bed is new too, as well as the nightstand and the dresser.

Sally stripped and varnished all of the wood, and built a set of floating shelves that are currently storing a series of framed photos from Annabeth's camera reel. Piper decided on the paint colors— sky blue with a deep purple accent on the wall that slants to the ceiling. Leo took care of borrowing Jason's favorite sketches to make the framed prints above his bed, by pretending he was doing a photography project with them.

(He'd burst into laughter when she gave him Jason's baby drawings to frame too, and she'd almost punched him in the mouth— but then she'd noticed his voice was a little tight when he told her the crayon scribbles looked just like her.)

"Wow," Jason breathes, staring around the room as though he doesn't know where to land his focus. "This— is all of this for me?"

"Anytime you need an escape, you've got one. Think of it as your safe house. And there's one more thing."

Reluctantly, she steps away and retrieves what she hid earlier.

Jason's mouth drops.

"Lupa," he whispers, raising his hand. He stops himself halfway through reaching over, like he doesn't know if he should. "How did you find another one? I thought they were a limited run."

Thalia takes his hand, wrapping his fingers around the new doll's front leg.

"I traded twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies for her with a collector in Montana."

"Do I want to know how you got twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies?"

"It's not as sordid as you're thinking, I just spent a lot of time on Ebay."

Jason laughs, shaky, and sits down on his new mattress. He's probably not even conscious of the way he's running his thumb over Lupa's paw, exactly the way he did the first time.

He said that donating the original to charity was his idea, but Thalia has a suspicion he was pushed into it with a healthy dose of shaming and manipulation, and the look on his face— shocked, bright-eyed, a little scared like he thinks she'll disappear if he blinks— pretty much confirms it.

Thalia sits beside him and wraps an arm around his back. He slides down along the mattress until he's lying with his head in her lap.

"My Lupa," he says quietly, and she knows he remembers doing it before.

"Your Lupa," she chokes back. "For real, this time. Nobody's going to take her away from you, ever again."

It's different now, because Lupa is about the size of a two year old child, and Jason very much no longer is. She fits in the crook of his elbow, and he couldn't wrap his arms and legs around her if he tried.

Thalia tries not to think about all the nights between then and now that he's needed her, and didn't have her.

He smiles, wiser than his fifteen years.

(He's fifteen years old. God. She missed so much— thirteen months isn't long enough to even really begin to catch up.)

"I know they won't," he tells her. "You won't let them."

She's never going to get those years back. The only thing she can do is make sure she appreciates what she has now.

"I believe you would."

"I'll bite anyone who tries," she whispers back, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He bursts into laughter, reaching up to ruffle her hair like she used to do to him.

@perseusjackson-jasongrace @msdrpreist I still feel self-conscious about pinging people tell me if you'd prefer I didn't difjvhg

[winterfang53]

Gajevy Week 2020 - Trials

Gajevy Week 2020 Trials!

Gajeel had never thought that their first pregnancy would be so hard.

In the beginning, Levy and Gajeel had kept their surprise a secret from the rest of the Guild, telling only Lily -- at the advice of Porlyusica.

“The first trimester is the most critical,” Porlyusica had explained, “if you’re going to have a miscarriage, it will happen then. You’re not far enough alone to get an ultrasound done, but your vitals look good so you’re fine for now. Just don’t overdo it!”

This had scared him. The thought that the little life the two of them created together could vanish on them was terrifying. While Levy felt fine and so far Porlyusica thought everything was going well, this didn’t stop Gajeel from monitoring Levy closely.

Which he’s forever grateful that he did.

About a month in, Levy developed a sudden and violent case of morning sickness. It was like one moment she felt fine and the next she had her head in the toilet throwing up everything she ate the past 24 hours. Gajeel did the best he could; making sure Levy ate and being there for her when she felt ill but there wasn’t much they could do. It was at this time that they had to tell Wendy about the baby, so she could help monitor Levy’s nutrients.

After almost a month of this -- 2 months in -- Porlyusica finally had an idea of what might be causing Levy to be so sick.

“We don’t have any records of Dragon Slayers having offspring,” she said during one of the Redfox’s appointments, “most women don’t get this sick and based at me and Wendy’s observations, I think the baby might be extracting an abnormally large amount of mineral -- particularly iron -- from Levy. This might indicate that Gajeel’s magic has somehow affected the baby. We’ll need to start you on supplements.”

And the supplements helped! Levy started feeling better, not 100%, but still better -- though not as much as Porlyusica would have liked. Gajeel really couldn’t understand why the supplements weren’t working as they should have, she was taking the right dosage but it was almost like she needed even more!

It started to make sense why near the 3-month mark when Levy suddenly grew a baby bump. It had literally happened overnight, shocking the Redfox family at the size.

“I’m only 3 months!” Levy exclaimed, “how am I already this big?”

Porlyusica, this time, had the answer. “You’re having twins,” she said in relief as she showed the couple the ultrasound screen, “this is why the supplements weren’t working as well as they should have -- you had 2 babies sucking you dry.”

There, on the black and white screen, were 2 tiny babies curled next together. Their little heartbeats fluttering fast as Gajeel rested his head on Levy’s stomach to listen. Gajeel had never felt so much love, for 2 little people he had never met before, in his life.

“Twins will bring their own complications,” Porlyusica explained, “even though you’re past your first trimester, you need to be extra careful. We might need to put you on bed rest in a couple of months.”

The sudden baby bump made it impossible to hide from the Guild any longer, though the looks on their faces when they learned that Gajeel and Levy were expecting twins of all things was pretty funny. 

“You’re having a baby!” wailed Jet and Droy, clutching each other as they cried.

“They’re having twins, you idiots!” Cana cheered, “lets party!”

The party had been short-lived, however, as they discovered that the smell of alcohol makes Levy nauseous, resulting in her almost projectile vomit across the Guildhall. Unfortunately, this prevented Levy from visiting the Guild as much as she would have liked, causing the stressed -- now very emotional -- mother-to-be to sob on a daily basis. 

“Lev, baby don’t cry!” Gajeel pleaded as he held her, stroking her hair gently, “you’ll be able to visit the guild soon! Porlyusica said most mothers get over their nauseousness in the 3rd trimester!” 

“B-but I wanna go today!” Levy wailed, clinging to him tightly, “I wanna see my friends!”

“They can just come here Sweetheart, now come on; you need to eat! You’re eating for 3 now, Lily’s making a big lunch!” Gajeel said trying to pacify her.

Levy looked up at him in horror, making Gajeel immediately regret his choice of words -- though not really understand why he did -- as a fresh batch of tears welled in her eyes. “You think I’m fat!!” Levy sobbed loudly, pushing Gajeel away to cry into her arms which emphasized her baby bump. 

Much to Gajeel’s chagrin, emotional Levy was here for the rest of the pregnancy, which Gajeel learned the hard way was very sensitive about her weight and how big she looked. The nauseousness vanished though at the 5-month mark, only to be replaced with bizarre food cravings that happened at any time.

“Gajeel, honey, wake up!” Levy whispered in his ear one night around 2 AM, “I need you!”

“Wha-” Gajeel awoke, half-dazed, “Wha-what happened? Are you ok?”

Levy shook her head, “no! I need Doritos with strawberry sauce!”

Gajeel could only look at his wife in disbelief, “...you want Doritos with strawberry sauce?” he asked, “at...2 AM Lev?”

Levy looked at him shyly, pulling the covers up to her nose. “I need them,” she said as if she too had no idea why.

Gajeel took a deep breath before swinging his feet out of bed, “what flavor Doritos Shrimp?”

“Cool Ranch!” Levy exclaimed cheerfully.

“Cool Ranch and strawberries…” Gajeel whispered to himself as he rummaged through the cabinets, “the very idea makes me wanna vomit myself.”

By the time they had reached 7 and a half months, Levy looked more baby then Levy. The swell of her stomach grew to a size that made Levy always uncomfortable, making it hard for her to sleep which brought a bought a new round of nausea. Gajeel couldn’t wait for the twins to be born, just so he could ground them for the rest of their lives for this.

“Not even born and they’re already trouble Lily,” Gajeel said one afternoon while Levy was taking a rare nap, “they’re not even here yet and I already feel outnumbered.”

“What did you expect Gajeel?” Lily teased, “they are your children after all.”

“Oi!”

 They didn’t have to wait long, however, because just a week after 8 months, in the middle of the Guildhall, Levy’s water broke; catapulting the Guild into a mass panic. Porlyusica had luckily enough had been at the Guild that day, allowing her and Wendy to take action. 

“She’s going to need a C-section,” Porlyusica had declared after examination, “you need to leave.”

“What!” Gajeel growled, “like Hell I am!”

With the help of Lily, Master, Natsu, and Laxus of all people, Gajeel had been dragged out of the room to wait in the hall. For 1 painstaking hour, Gajeel paced violently outside the clinic door, grumbling and glaring that the offensive wooden door that kept him from his Levy, when he froze stiff at the sudden sound of babies crying. Tears welled in his eyes, almost blurring out the form of Wendy who poked her head out from behind the door.

“Wanna come meet your babies Daddy?” she teased as Gajeel nodded dumbfoundedly.

As he tripped through the door and laid eyes on Levy for the first time, Gajeel couldn’t fight the tears from falling. There, bundled up and resting in her arms, were their babies! The two little bundles were fast asleep, their little head rising and falling with Levy’s breathes. Both of the babies had fine blue hair atop their pink bodies but the baby on the right had a bright pink headband: A boy and a girl!

“Gajeel, they’re perfect!” Levy cried as she held them close to her, the babies nuzzling into their mother’s chest for warmth.

“‘Course they are Lev,” Gajeel choked as he came near, placing his large hand on both the babies heads, stroking their fine blue hair gently, “They’re ours!”

Levy laughed, starling the babes resting slightly before they grumbled and resettled themselves. “Great,” Levy joked, “they have your attitude!”

“Oi! That just means they’ll be great!” Gajeel said, defending himself, “what are we gonna do Lev? A boy and a girl who are already trouble… I say we ground them for the past 8 months!”

This made Levy laugh again, actually waking the babies this time to open beady red eyes to glare at their father. “Oh Gajeel, I would do it all over again,” Levy sighed as she kissed the babies’ heads, “every crappy morning and sleepless night! Oh, I would go through all those trials again for them, I love them so much!”

Gajeel leaned over and kissed Levy, “me too Lev, me too. I’d go through anything for our little trials of love.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 17)

The ocean is kinder to Azula than she expected. It might be the sense of freedom and adventure that she craves or possibly the feeling of getting away from the past. It feels better. She feels better. She can’t entirely shake the feeling of sullenness that creep in every now and again, mostly at night as she lies in her cabin, but she still feels like some weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

She sits on the deck for the longest time, watching the waves roll by and scanning the waters for any sign of life, a familiar face on a stalled or damaged boat, possibly on a thin strip of debris. She holds a book and reads a page every now and again.

She sets her book aside and reapplies her sunscreen. Preferring fresh air to the antique but stale air of the lighthouse, she has always been rather tan. Her excessive amount of time spent on deck, has deepened her complexion that much further.

She can’t see anything for miles so she puts her book aside and wanders over to the steering wheel. Her father stands behind it, face to the sun and the wind. The open ocean seems to be treating him rather well too, his skin is just as tanned and he has taken to grooming his beard and hair again, both of which flutter almost absurdly majestically in the breeze.

Azula finds herself faintly humored, he hasn’t yet taken the braids out of his beard. The night prior, Katara had declared that they needed to get pirate looks, that Sokka would have brought pirate hats and eye patches along if he had planned this trip. By the end of the night they all had the most awful improvised eye patches and bandanas. And Jet had very boldly vowed to give Ozai the most swashbuckling beard on the high seas.

She had muttered something about him becoming a hardened pirate and giving Khozen a little competition. Ozai hadn’t particularly fancied that idea, citing poor hygiene as the chief reason for his objection to the lifestyle.

They have been sailing for a week or so and have made several stops on little islands and land masses. Most of them were unoccupied, another handful boasted single houses on privatized land. They’d knocked on several doors and inquired about Sokka. It had been as futile as Azula had anticipated. Though it wasn’t an absolute waste, the third house that they came by was home to a grumpy old woman and her cheerful husband.

Much to the woman’s annoyance, the man invited them in for lunch. Azula doesn’t have a taste for pineapples served with dishes that otherwise had no fruits. Pineapple on pizza is an absolute no. She found herself of the same opinion when the old couple served it with shrimp and rice. She took to eating only pineapple and the buns they’d meant as an appetizer. Katara on the other hand was delighted, doubly so to have a new recipe for La-bsters. She vowed to name it after the old couple. The old woman was adamant that Katara name it after her cat. And so La-bsters will soon have a dish called Miyuki’s meal.

She can’t say that she will forget that night, the taste of pineapple and shrimp will always haunt her nightmares and she has a feeling that Zuko won’t be deleting the video of her trying it any time soon. It is just as well, she knows that when Sokka sees it...if, she corrects herself. If Sokka sees it, he will get a kick out of it.

“I can take the wheel.” Azula offers. “Go get some water, father.”

He pats her back, “I’ll be back in a moment.” His voice is steadier, livelier and his eyes aren’t so tired. She isn’t entirely sure if he has any lingering withdrawal symptoms, if he does, he doesn’t show them. He does know, however, that he still has cravings. He is irritable on those days and they give him space. On those days he lurks below deck in the cabin by himself, refuting all offers for company. On those days she does most of the steering and Katara keeps watch for her. Zuko fills in for her when she needs a break. And Jet, though he doesn’t steer the boat, being as he has a horrid sense of direction, does most of the cleaning and ship repairs. Though she finds that his emotional support is the most helpful.

Ozai remerges on the deck with two water bottles. He holds one out for her. “Thank you, father.”

He nods and crosses his arms as he peers towards the horizon. His face stern.

“What’s wrong?”

He presses his lips together. “We’re going to need to find a place to port. The weather forecasts are calling for a storm.”

“How bad is it going to be?”

“It isn’t supposed to be a hurricane, but they advise that boats be kept out of the water if possible.”

Azula nods, “and when is it supposed to hit?”

“As of now, they are predicting early tomorrow morning. They say that it could break in the afternoon. I would prepare for an early morning storm.”

Azula nods. For a time they are quiet. “Father?” She looks up.

“Yes?”

“How are you holding up?”

For the briefest moment his lip quirks up. He holds up his AA chip, it glints gold. “I’ll have my purple chip by the end of your journey.”

She doesn’t think that it is just her journey. It was her idea, yes. But all five of them are on it and for their own different reasons. For their own ideas of closure. She wants to say that her father is on two of them simultaneously. “You’ll make it to your bronze chip, right?” A year is a long time, she is aware.

His firm grip his back on her shoulder. “I hope so.” He gives it a squeeze.

“Mom would be proud.” Zuko leans in the doorway. “She wouldn’t want you to drink because of her.”

“I’ll leave you two alone.” She would like some time with Jet anyhow.

.oOo.

Zuko’s stomach is tying itself in knots. He has been keeping his distance from his father, but it is time to confront the man. If for no other reason than to keep Azula happy. She loves their father dearly. And for as much as she insists that she doesn’t care, he is certain that having their family rift apart would break her.

“I like to think so.” Ozai agrees. He is silent for a very long time. Zuko doesn’t know what to fill the silence with.

“Believe it or not, I want Azula to be proud too.” Another long pause. “And you.”

Zuko isn’t sure what emotion comes over him exactly. Perhaps a sense of empowerment or satisfaction. It is now his turn, his turn to yell about disappointments and expectations. It would be so easy. So easy to note how funny it is that Ozai is the family disappointment, not him.

He very nearly does. At the last moment he recalls just how easy it would be to cause his father to drink again. He also recalls that they are on a beverage free boat so no opportunity would arise. Instead he says, “I’m trying to be proud.”

“But…” Ozai prompts.

Zuko shakes his head. “I’m still angry.” He replies. “About the drinking, about how you dragged Azula down the beach, about how you left us to handle your job... about how you used to call me a disappointment.”

Ozai gives a long exhale. “We never really settled that did we?”

“No.” Zuko shakes his head. “I still don’t know if you’re proud of me. Azula says that you are. She said that you found my cooking and baking helpful. But you never said it.”

“Zuko, I didn’t think that I had to.”

He almost grows teary eyed. “You did.”

Ozai seems to nod and says nothing more.

“Can you make me proud too? Can you really try?”

“I’m really trying now.” Ozai swears.

Zuko is still skeptical.

“Come here for a minute.” He calls to Jet. “You, steer the ship.”  He and Azula make their way over.

Jet gives a thumbs up. Just as they are disappearing below deck, Zuko hears, “hey Katara, come steer the ship for a moment!”

Ozai leads him into the kitchen. He pulled a loose board from the wall and comes out with an unopened bottle.

“You’re kidding!?” Zuko scowls. “Azula is…”

“Not going to know.” Ozai finishes.

“You’ve been…”

Ozai shakes his head. “This is the only one I brought aboard...just in case.”

“Why would you show me that?”

“Follow me.” He motions for Zuko to follow him back on deck. He gives it a quick scan, presumably for Azula. Finding the coast clear, he fully appears on deck. He reaches the bow.

“Father, what’s that?”

Zuko’s stomach knots, he can only imagine how tense Ozai is. But the man seems rather relaxed. He holds up the bottle and throws it overboard. “I was saving it just in case.” He pauses. “I’ve always told the two of you to tough it out and forget the baby steps…”

“That was the second manliest thing I’ve seen all year!” Jet declares.

“What was the first?” Zuko asks, desperate to shake away the last remaining vestiges of anxiety.

“Toph doing bench presses.”

Ozai rolls his eyes. “You kids do the strangest things.”

.oOo.

Azula goes to bed feeling both hopeful and uneasy. It has been a good day, a soothing one. Her father seems well, better than he has been in a very long while. She feels as though they are beginning to close the gap.

But Jet... The day with him had gone well. Perfectly in fact. She almost wishes that it hadn’t. She almost wishes that he would do something to piss her off, to break her heart, anything. But he hasn’t, he has only been patient and supportive.

She puts her head on the pillow, clasps her hands over her middle, and fixes her eyes on the ceiling as she takes in the gentle rocking of the boat. In shifts they are on the lookout for storm clouds and a safe place to dock. She ought to relieve Zuzu and take a second shift, she doesn’t think that she will be sleeping anyways, regardless of the soft ambiance of the waves.

Her head is whirring with possible scenarios and countless conflicting thoughts. Jet isn’t Sokka. Not by any means, but he suits her in a way that Sokka doesn’t. They have more things in common. And yet she craved the clash that she and Sokka had--it was fun.

She finds that she is very easily able to picture herself curled up with Jet right now. Can picture herself doing so time and time again. Just as much, she can vividly see herself holding Sokka tighter than ever on the way home. Of course this image is tainted with a knowingness that Jet will be lonely in the cabin over.

Azula wishes that he will do something to make her hate him. To make it easier for her to break things off. A much deeper and darker part of her, hopes that they don’t find Sokka. This part of her is mercifully small, more or less an intrusive thought that she casts aside as soon as it arises.

She just wonders what she would tell Jet if they do find Sokka… Or what she would tell Sokka…

Her mind wanders further and she finds herself fretting that she might not get to decide anything at all. That when she tells him about Jet, he will make up her mind for her. She reminds herself that the odds of finding him are slim to none. That she should just get some sleep instead of fretting over something that might not come to pass at all.

But that is not how her mind operates. She is a girl of plans and she spends the night running through scenario after scenario. Script after script until dawn breaks and Zuko cusses loudly.

She hears a rumble of thunder.

[mikauzoran]

Marichat/Adrienette: To Waltz Among Shades: Chapter Four

To Waltz Among Shades: Chapter Four: Recalibrating

An hour and a half flew by in a flash as Chat and Marinette studied together.

“See?” Marinette snickered, giving Chat’s bell a flick. “You’re not as hopeless as you made yourself out to be. You’re smart, Chat Noir. You’ve got this. It’s probably just Professor Keller’s teaching style or her accent or something.”

“I’m betting on ‘something’,” he snorted as he finished writing down the mnemonic she’d taught him on one of the pages of loose-leaf she’d given him for taking notes. “and that ‘something’ is the fact that I’ve been a little busy trying to recover from a mental breakdown this past year,” he joked…but then realized that that wasn’t funny.

The spell between them broke as they were both reminded that they weren’t just Minou and Princess anymore. There was Adrien whose family was dead or in jail and Ladybug who had helped them all get there. There was Chat Noir who accidentally caused his father’s death and Marinette who couldn’t do anything as her friend’s life spun wildly out of control.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why he whispered. It just felt like the right tone of voice for the fragility of the word, the way he was feeling.

“It’s okay,” Marinette reciprocated down to the volume level. “Me too. I’m sorry too. I—”

“—Marinette!” Sabine called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner!”

The two blinked at one another for a minute, completely thrown by the interruption.

Chat looked away first. His gaze dropped to the notes he’d taken as he stood and began to fold them up. “I should go. Thank you for letting me take up so much of your time.”

Marinette rose to her feet, reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. “Chat Noir…I…It was no trouble. I enjoyed studying with you. We should…do it again next week?”

He looked up at her in complete bafflement. “What? Really?”

She withdrew her hand, looking down and to the side and blushing madly. “If that’s something you’re comfortable with. I’d be happy to have you.”

“You would?” Chat gaped at her, still caught up in total astonishment. “You’d be comfortable with that?”

She nodded shyly, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. Not truly. I mean, awkward and frazzled, yes, but…not actually uncomfortable…. Do you feel uncomfortable around me?”

He shook his head. “Just…nervous. A little out of my element, but not uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Her face lit up in a dazzling smile as her cheeks supplied contrast in a warm, rosy hue. “Good. That’s…I’m really, really glad to hear that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled giddily, a grin forming on his own lips. “Me too. I thought that that was why you’d been avoiding me. I thought…”

“No!” She shook her head violently, waving her arms too for good measure. “No! Not at all. I was trying to stay out of your way because I thought that I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, Princess,” he assured in a soft, verbal caress.

“Oh,” she whispered, eyes slowly tracing over his facial features, letting herself truly look at him. “…Oh, Minou…”

“Marinette!” Sabine called again.

“Stay for dinner,” Marinette blurted out, catching Chat by the hands. “Have you eaten?”

He froze, trying to recollect.

His stomach let out an audible gurgle, and Chat winced as he remembered.

“Not…today, actually.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide in concern and surprise.

“I had dinner with Nino last night, but today…” He looked away. “Today is Wednesday—fend for myself day—and I was kind of worked up about coming over to talk to you tonight, so I just…didn’t feel like eating.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she inquired gently, trying not to pressure him.

He bit his lip and shrugged. “I mean…kind of? I sometimes have dinner with the Couffaines, and that’s usually okay, but…it might be a little overwhelming. I don’t know what Luka and Nino have shared with you about my current emotional state, but sometimes I burst into tears, so…I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable if it turns out it’s too much.”

“Chat Noir, it’s fine,” she protested. “My parents and I wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to say we understand because we probably have no clue, but…we won’t be uncomfortable or think less of you for crying. So…Unless you feel uncomfortable crying in front of people.”

He shook his head and looked up to smile at her sadly. “I’ve kind of gotten used to looking ridiculous in front of other people. I’m not really self-conscious as much as I’m afraid of making other people feel uncomfortable and for that discomfort to push them away.”

Marinette nodded, giving his hands a squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about that here. I’ve had to forbid them from bothering you, otherwise they would have been in your face, making a nuisance of themselves from day one,” she snorted. 

That statement struck Chat to the core. He realized that Marinette probably thought she was helping by giving him space and keeping her parents out of his way as he had struggled to pick himself out of the rubble that had been his life when it collapsed on top of him, but…the truth was, he could have used the help and support. Tom and Sabine had always been like surrogate parents to both Adrien and Chat Noir. To lose them and Marinette AND Ladybug all at once while simultaneously trying to make sense of a world that had turned upside-down in a matter of minutes had been crippling. 

“They mean well,” Marinette continued, not noting his heavy silence. “but they’re a little intense. I mean…you remember when my father thought I liked you. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that it’s fine. No one is going to care if you start crying. My parents would be happy to have you if you want to have dinner with us.”

Chat bit his lip. “Do you happen to know what you’re having?”

She nodded, breaking into a smile at the indication of his interest. “The main dish is shrimp stir fry. The side dishes are all meatless. How strong is your stomach feeling today? Do you think you can do shrimp? I seem to remember that being something you actually liked before…uh…” Her face blanched as she trailed off.

“…The accident,” he tentatively supplied, waiting for her to scoff and accuse him of killing his father.

She nodded, eagerly latching onto the expression, relieved that he hadn’t couched it in terms such as “the day you let my father die”.

“Or, if you can’t do seafood right now, Luka and I have been cooking together a lot. We’ve been working on healthy, balanced, vegetarian dishes, and I have plenty of leftovers from our experiments in the fridge: cashew tofu curry, veggie tikka masala…I’ve got dal, kidney bean and sweet potato stew…”

Chat’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in shock. “Wait…. You…You’ve been cooking for me? I thought it was just Luka.”

Marinette bit her lip and shrugged. “Well…at first it was just Luka and Nino working together to try to keep you fed, but…Luka was getting really stressed about you not eating, so…I started researching and talking with Mylène—you know, she’s studying to be a pediatrician, so she’s taken a lot of courses in nutrition—and I kind of worked to come up with some recipes Luka and I could make together for you, so—oh!”

Marinette gasped as Chat Noir pulled her into a crushing hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, voice weak and wavering as he fought back tears. “Thank you for still caring about me.”

Marinette quickly got over her surprise and wrapped her own arms around him. “Oh, Chaton…. Of course…of course…. You’re my partner and my friend. I’ll never stop caring about you…if that’s okay?”

He nodded, too choked up to reply at first. “…Yeah. More than just being okay, I think I really needed to hear that. This whole time I thought—”

A loud knock came at the trapdoor, startling the two apart.

“Marinette? Did you hear me, Honey?” Sabine called again, concern in her voice.

“Sorry, Maman! I had my music on,” Marinette called back. “Down in a minute.”

Then she turned to Chat and lowered her voice. “Would you want to join us?”

Chat swallowed and nodded.

“Hey, Maman?” Marinette raised her voice once more. “I’ve actually got a friend over to study for Business. Can he stay for dinner, pretty please?”

“Of course, Dear,” Sabine chuckled. “Hurry down before it gets cold.”

“Thanks, Maman!” Marinette turned back to Chat. “Ready?”

Chat bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you think it’d be better to go as Chat or Adrien?”

Marinette pursed her lips. “Whichever way you feel more comfortable…but…I’m sure they’d be relieved to see Adrien doing well. It’d be easier to explain if you got overwhelmed too. It’s your decision, though.”

Chat’s brow creased as he weighed the pros and cons. “I kind of feel safer as Chat. It’s kind of like—well, it literally is—armor…but…I guess I don’t need armor here after all.”

Marinette shook her head. “You’re safe, Minou.”

Chat closed his eyes. “Detransformation.”

Marinette sucked in a sharp breath as the transformation dissipated, leaving her long-time crush in baggy cargo pants and a Kitty Section band tee.

She barely noticed as Plagg flew off to find Tikki.

The kwami’s magic had hidden how washed out Adrien’s complexion had become, and the mask covered the reddish-purple smudges under Adrien’s eyes. He looked sick and faded.

Adrien opened his eyes, and the once-shiny peridot pools looked dim.

She could feel her heart cracking in her chest, breaking for the pale shadow of his former self that Adrien had become. She resolved then and there to do more for him now that she knew her actions wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, now that she knew he wouldn’t spurn her and push her away.

“Hi, Marinette,” Adrien whispered self-consciously.

“Hi, Adrien,” she giggled, a warm smile settling onto her lips and sinking into her voice. “It’s good to see you.”

He let a watery laugh escape as he looked away and raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Glad you think so. I’m still debating whether or not it’s good to be seen. I know I look awful.”

Marinette reached out and gave his arm a companionable brush with two of her knuckles. “You wear ‘awful’ pretty well. It’s like back in the eighties and nineties when it was fashionable to look like a heroin addict.”

Adrien let out a snort of surprised laughter. “Well, I didn’t think I looked quite that bad.”

Marinette covered her face with a hand and groaned, “I didn’t mean to say that you look like a heroin addict.”

Adrien smirked, snickering, “I see that you still suffer from foot-in-mouth syndrome, just like back when you had that massive crush on me in collège.”

Marinette smacked him on the arm as she looked away, her shoulders rising to her ears. “Geez. Stupid cat.”

Adrien placatingly put up his hands. “Sorry. Low blow, I know, reminding you of your past bad judgment before you met Luka.”

“That wasn’t bad judgment, Adrien,” Marinette sighed, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted. “…Bad judgment is you wearing a jacket like that in summer.”

Another bout of laughter caught Adrien by surprise.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and pretended to whine, “Well, I wasn’t planning on detransforming, was I? I was just going to be here for three minutes. The jacket is like a security blanket, so sue me.” He stuck out his tongue.

Marinette rolled her eyes, inspecting the fluffy, cotton jacket with its fake fur lining the hood and collar. “Well, it’s a nice jacket, even if it is too hot to be wearing one that heavy. I picked out one just like it for Luka when he retired his old one.”

Adrien tensed.

Marinette’s brow furrowed as she caught sight of a slight defect on the right sleeve. She seized Adrien’s arm and brought the mended tear in the sleeve closer for inspection. “This is from the time I stole Luka’s jacket and accidentally got it snagged on my sewing machine. This is Luka’s jacket.”

Adrien grimaced. “Is now a bad time to mention that I occasionally steal your boyfriend’s clothes?”

Marinette gave a snort, releasing Adrien’s arm and rolling her eyes as she replied wryly, “And I bet he really gets off on seeing you in them.”

“It’s not like that between us,” Adrien rushed to assure. “He’s not cheating on you. We’re just friends. Close,” Adrien clarified, “but just friends.”

Marinette laughed again, halfway between amused and annoyed. “You are still as oblivious as ever, Beau Gosse…and Luka’s not cheating on me because he has my permission.”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. He tried to formulate some kind of response to those assertions, but she cut him off with a kind smile and a tug on his arm.

“Come on. Let’s head downstairs so that my parents can fuss over and feed you.”

With a nod, Adrien silently followed, pushing down all the thoughts that were swirling around in his head to consider later when he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep in the wake of all the discoveries of the past two hours.

“Maman, Papa, look who’s here,” Marinette called as they descended the narrow steps into the living/dining/kitchen area.

Tom’s eyes went wide, and Sabine gasped, bringing her hands up to her mouth. Both of them broke out into wide grins.

“Adrien!” Tom reached him first, scooping him up and spinning him around, all while crushing him in a fierce hug. “Good to see you, Son. You’ve been missed around here.”

“Th-Thanks,” Adrien croaked out, partially due to the force behind Tom’s hug but mostly due to emotion. “I’ve…I’ve missed you guys too.”

“Tom, put him down and let the rest of us have a turn,” Sabine scolded impatiently.

“You’re just jealous that I got to him first,” Tom guffawed but set Adrien down gently and released him regardless.

“You better believe I’m jealous,” his wife scoffed, taking an unresisting Adrien by the hand and tugging him over to the couch. “Sit,” she instructed. “You’re too tall.”

Adrien obeyed easily and found himself pulled into Sabine’s arms, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as she pet his hair and held him tight.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” she cooed. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Adrien wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as he burst into tears. “S-S-Sorry,” he choked.

“No,” Sabine soothed. “None of that, Darling. You go ahead and cry. It’s all right. Isn’t that right, Tom?”

Tom came over to rub a meaty hand up and down Adrien’s back. “You go right ahead and cry, Son,” he urged in the gentle tone he had used when Marinette was little and woke up from a nightmare. “We’ll be here when you’re done.”

At that, the floodgates opened, and Adrien began to cry all the harder. It only lasted a little less than five minutes, though, and Adrien came back to himself and pulled away.

“Thanks,” he whispered, voice thick.

Tom gave him an encouraging pat on the head while Sabine took his face in her hands, wiping away tears with her thumbs.

“Oh, Xiao Mao,” she sighed. “We only wish we could do more for you.”

Adrien smiled bashfully, making eye contact with Tom and then Sabine. “I’ve really appreciated the care packages you’ve sent with Nino and Luka. Just knowing that you were thinking about me, that you cared…that was really big for me, so thank you.”

“Marinette said you needed some space,” Tom broached the subject warily. “and that we couldn’t come storm your apartment. Has that rule changed?”

“Because I’ve been on her for a year now to let you know that we’d be happy to help with whatever you needed—help with laundry or cleaning your apartment or cooking or anything at all really, if you just wanted people to eat meals with,” Sabine paused to cast a meaningful glare at her daughter.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Maman.”

Adrien couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m…good for the most part. Luka and Nino helped with the practical stuff to keep me alive. Between those two and Chloé, there’s usually someone storming my apartment, so I think I’m covered on those grounds—Not that I don’t seriously appreciate the offer.”

Tom and Sabine both nodded, assuring, “Of course. Of course.”

Adrien bit his lip. “Though…I think I would like to join you for meals sometimes…if that’s okay?”

Sabine squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

Tom gave Adrien a solid thump on the back. “You’re welcome whenever you want, Son. Our door is always open to you.”

Adrien apprehensively turned his gaze on Marinette over in the kitchen. “Is that something you’d be okay with, Marinette?”

Her eyes widened, and she put down the scraps of paper napkin she’d absentmindedly been shredding. “Adrien, I want you here whenever you want to be here. Like, I don’t even have to be home, if you ever want to just stop by. I’m so sorry that me trying to give you space made you think you weren’t welcome here.”

Adrien opened his mouth to respond, but only a stunned, “Oh” came out.

“…Well,” Sabine spoke up after the silence had stretched a bit too long to be comfortable. “At least we’ve got the misunderstanding sorted out now. Adrien is welcome here whenever he likes. Now, let’s hurry up and feed this poor boy. He’s too skinny.”

Before Adrien could really regain his mental footing, he was being marched over to the table by Sabine.

 Dinner was actually a pleasant affair. After his initial emotional moment, Adrien didn’t feel as overwhelmed by the situation. There were certain points that made him feel sad or had him longing for a family like Marinette’s, but it was far more manageable than Adrien had originally anticipated.

After the meal, Adrien and Marinette helped with cleanup so that Tom and Sabine could get to bed at a decent hour to be up to open the bakery the following day. They said their goodbyes, and Adrien received round after round of hugs as Sabine and Tom admonished him to take care of himself and not be a stranger.

“Your phone numbers are still the same?” Adrien verified.

The Dupain-Chengs all nodded.

“I had to change mine after the…” Adrien’s face went ashen. “…uh…death threats, but…”

The Dupain-Chengs collectively gasped.

Adrien waved his hands. “Chloé and Luka and Nino took care of it. It wasn’t… Well… It wasn’t not a big deal, but…” Adrien shook his head. “But I’ll call you guys maybe next week sometime, and maybe we can have dinner together again?”

“Definitely,” Sabine assured.

“Whenever you want,” Tom added.

“And maybe you could come over a little early and we can all cook together,” Marinette suggested hesitantly. “Only if you want, though. No pressure. Luka mentioned that you like to help cook, so…”

Adrien nodded, a thrill of excitement going through him at being included. He’d always enjoyed helping out at the Couffaines’. “That would be fun, actually…. Maybe when I’m having one of my good days. Sometimes being around other people is too much, but…that would be nice.”

“We are always happy to have you,” Sabine insisted, giving Adrien another hug before she and Tom headed down to their bedroom to turn in for the night.

Marinette and Adrien finished cleaning up and then headed back to Marinette’s room so that Adrien could collect Plagg.

Adrien cleared his throat, feeling awkward as he watched Marinette offer Plagg a cheese tart and Tikki a chocolate chip cookie. “I should get going…but thank you for everything tonight. Helping with Business and having me for dinner and everything.”

“Of course! It was really great to see you,” Marinette exclaimed, turning back to face him with a brilliant smile. “Please do call when you feel up to it. I’d like to study with you and have dinner again…maybe be friends again? Hang out?” She hopefully put the suggestion out there.

His eyes widened. “I…uh… Yeah. I would like that…if that’s something you want?”

She nodded, expression earnest. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Adrien didn’t understand. Did she just pity him, or…? Did Marinette really want him back in her life? She didn’t hate him? Had she forgiven him for what had happened? Did she believe that he hadn’t known about his father? Had she really been avoiding him this whole time solely because she didn’t want to remind him of the accident? Was the past year only a misunderstanding after all?

“I…I’ll think about it,” Adrien decided. “I don’t…I’d like that, but…I mean, I’m sure Nino and Luka have told you what a mess I am. Some days I’m fine. Other days I…I can’t function. I’m not able to be around people, and…”

Adrien looked down at his feet. “Things are kind of complicated with you.”

Marinette nodded, biting her lip and forcing herself to accept where he was and what he felt able to do. “Okay.”

He shook his head. “I mean…I really loved you for a long time.” He peeked up at her, and Marinette couldn’t contain a small gasp.

“Both of you,” Adrien clarified. “Even after Marinette started dating Luka and even after Ladybug told me to stop hoping because she had a boyfriend, so…I have a lot of complicated feelings I need to untangle about you. Sorry.”

He looked down at her feet, his cheeks beginning to blaze grenadine. “I want to say yes, but…I don’t know if I’m healthy enough for things to go back to the way they were before—if that’s even what you want. I need…I need to talk to my therapist about all this. I’ve been so busy dealing with-with—you know—this past year that I haven’t really gotten to…dealing with my feelings for Marinette and Ladybug much.”

Marinette hesitantly stepped forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. “It’s okay. Do whatever’s best for you, okay? I’ll…I’ll be here…if and when you’re ready. …The most important thing is for you to be healthy and happy, Adrien.”

He looked her in the eye, studying her expression, trying to read the truth. He found only sincerity in her features. He nodded. “Thanks.”

She squeezed his hand and let go.

He gave her a small, uncertain smile and then called on Plagg to transform him.

“Thanks again, Princess,” Chat chuckled with a wink, feeling much more secure with his mask on. “I can see myself out.”

He turned to head up the ladder, but she caught him by the tail.

“W-Wait!”

Chat let out a startled, “Gck!” and then a groan. “Marinette, you have got to stop doing that.”

“Sorry!” she yelped, letting go of the belt. “Sorry. I just…remembered that you said you came here to ask me a favour. What was it?”

Chat tensed, swallowed, and steeled himself for her rejection. “So…this chain of events is going to sound a little odd, but just go with it. My therapist has been trying to work with me on letting go of some of the emotional baggage from my past, and Luka brought over a keyboard the other week because he thought it would help if I started to play again because I want to, and, I mean, music therapy is a thing, so…I was thinking, music has always helped me work out my feelings in the past, so maybe it would be good if I had a private piano recital where I played some pieces about the things I’m working through,” Adrien spit out in one breath and then pushed onward before she could interrupt. “I know just playing songs isn’t going to fix things, but maybe getting some of that emotion out will finally help me find some peace with my parents and what happened and-and me and all of that, so…I think doing the recital will help me feel better, so I want to do it. For the first time, I really want to do something just for me.”

He stopped and looked at her, still feeling coiled like a spring.

Marinette slowly began to nod. “That’s… Yes. Yes. You should definitely do that if you think it will help. I’m really happy you feel so passionately about this. This is really good, Minou…. What do need my help with?”

He gulped. “The Fox Miraculous.”

Marinette blinked several times, confusion slowly flowing over her face. “The Fox Miraculous?”

Chat winced. “I’d kind of like it to be more than just me playing the piano. If I could use Trixx’s illusionary magic to add a visual component…kind of like those multimedia light shows they do at Disney,” he explained. 

Marinette kept nodding, her mouth forming a little “o” as understanding came into her eyes.

Chat rushed to add, “I know it’s a little over the top, but… And I know my family has a bad track record regarding abuse of Miraculouses, so I’d understand if you don’t trust me.”

“What?” Marinette choked.

“But I swear I won’t do anything bad. I promise I didn’t know anything about what Father and Nathalie were doing, and I would never—”

“—Adrien!” Marinette cut him off, taking him by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

He did, his eyes full of confusion and anxiety, borderline fear.

Her expression, however, spoke of distress and determination with a good dose of compassion. “I know. …I know what kind of person you are, Adrien.”

He blinked, not certain he’d really heard her. “You…do?”

“Yes,” she responded vehemently. “Adrien, yes.” She paused, confusion turning to clarity. “…You didn’t hear the speech I gave the other day, did you?”

He gaped at her, feeling completely off balance. “Speech?”

Marinette shook her head. “Ladybug. The other day at the…the anniversary celebration.”

“O-Oh. No, I…” He forced himself to swallow and take a breath. “I was kind of hiding out with Luka, trying to pretend that I didn’t exist.”

With a wan smile, she gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe, if you feel up to it sometime…look it up. I’m sure it’s on the Ladyblog or YouTube.” Marinette released her hold and went over to the phonograph set on top of her trunk. 

At the press of some buttons, the phonograph opened up to reveal the Miracle Box.

In a series of quick, succinct movements, Marinette retrieved the Fox Miraculous and shut the whole thing down again. She was back by his side in less than thirty seconds, holding out the octagonal box.

“How long do you think you’ll need him?” She tried to make her tone light and friendly, as, obviously, Adrien still had some misgivings about where the two stood in relation to one another.

Chat took the box with shaking hands and carefully tucked it into his left pocket. “A week…maybe two at the longest,” he informed. “I promise I’ll let you know if it will be longer than two weeks. I’m kind of hesitating right now, trying to get up my courage to just do it, but…”

She nodded, placing a reassuring hand on his upper arm. “It’s okay. Take as long as you need. Just give it back when you’re ready…or give it to Nino to return, if that’s easier.”

Chat frowned. “Not Luka?”

Marinette winced. “He doesn’t know about Ladybug.”

The lines on Chat’s forehead deepened. “You told Nino but not the guy you’re in love with?” His tone was more puzzled than accusing, but there was definitely some judgment in his voice.

Marinette shrank, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Nino figured it out when we were fifteen; I didn’t tell him. And Luka doesn’t need to know. He’s safer if no one knows that they could get to Ladybug through him. I know we were never on the same page about identity reveals, but I love him too much to put him at risk.”

“The threat is gone, isn’t it?” Chat asked uncomprehendingly.

Marinette met his gaze once more. “There are still crazy fans and regular bad guys. There are people out there who could get it into their heads to try to use my powers to cause harm, and if someone like that were to try to use Luka against me…”

Chat shuddered, imagining himself in that hypothetical situation. “Okay. I get it. I don’t think it’s fair to have a secret like that from him, but…I can understand your line of reasoning, Milady. …Besides, it’s none of my business.”

Marinette bit her lip. “Not completely. I wouldn’t say it has nothing to do with you, but…thank you for keeping an open mind, Chaton.”

He smiled weakly, giving her arm a companionable pat before turning once more towards the ladder. “Thanks for hearing me out, and thank you for all your help.”

“Of course,” she repeated for what felt like the dozenth time, knowing she’d repeat it as many times as he needed to hear it. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?—But only when you’re feeling up to it. No pressure.”

Her flustered rush finally got a genuine fond smile out of him. “Take care, Meinu. It was good to see you.”

“Likewise,” she hummed happily, warmed by his peaceful expression as he bounded up the ladder and leapt through the skylight, making his way back across town to his apartment.

 Chat hopped down from his window into the great room. Removing the box holding the Fox Miraculous from his pocket and setting it down on the coffee table, he called off his transformation, and Adrien Agreste sank onto the couch face down.

Plagg landed on top of Adrien’s head and gently began to run his paw back and forth over Adrien’s hair, purring softly in an attempt to comfort his kitten.

They stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes, allowing Adrien time to attempt to assimilate the knowledge he’d gained and try to adapt.

“Kid?” Plagg softly broke into the silence. “You should probably call somebody.”

“I don’t want to bother Nino. He’s with Alya,” Adrien mumbled, raising his head a bit so that his words wouldn’t be garbled into the couch cushion.

“All right,” Plagg agreed, flying in to pull Adrien’s phone out of his back pocket. “Let’s call Luka.”

“No,” Adrien groaned, rolling over onto his side and reaching for the phone. “He’s probably with Marinette now that I’m not monopolizing her.”

Plagg gave a snort, setting the phone down on the coffee table and unlocking it, pulling up Adrien’s texts with Luka. “You don’t know that.”

“Do too,” Adrien grumbled.

Plagg rolled his eyes, typing out, “Hey, Orpheus. What are you up to?”

“Plagg,” Adrien hissed.

“Hush,” the kwami chided. “I’m not typing mushy stuff like you do. I’m soliciting information. The use of the nickname lends my message the feel of authenticity.”

Adrien blew out a snort and rolled back over, pillowing his arms and resting his forehead on top. “He’s busy.”

“Oh?” Plagg snickered. “He says that the bar he usually plays at burned down last night, so he has the whole night off.”

Adrien’s ears perked up. He raised his head, blinking in confusion, eyes filled with hope. “Really?—Hey. What are you typing?”

“I’m writing suggestive messages inviting him over so you two can finally work out the sexual tension between you,” Plagg replied matter-of-factly.

“Plagg!” Adrien lunged for the phone.

On the screen, Adrien found only: “Could you come over? I’m having a rough night, and I need you.”

Adrien glared at Plagg.

Plagg shrugged. “I never said that the messages were explicit. I mean, I didn’t specify what you needed him for, but, to my understanding of human courting rituals, ‘needing’ someone could imply ‘need to mate’. …I’m not sure he’s read that meaning into the words, though.”

Adrien’s phone dinged with Luka’s answer: “b there in ten angel”.

“You’re welcome,” Plagg huffed, going off to fetch a wheel of Brie from the fridge. “It’s up to you now to get his pants off.”

“Plagg!” Adrien hissed again, despite knowing his protests were useless.

 True to his word, Luka was at Adrien’s apartment ten minutes later.

“Hey, P5,” he cooed, caressing Adrien’s face as his eyes skimmed over the boy he adored, assessing the damage. “What’s up?”

Adrien grimaced, picking up on the anxiety thinly coating Luka’s voice. “Sorry. I’m fine. Plagg was the one who texted you.”

Luka’s carefully neutral expression shifted into a frown. “He must have had some reason to text me, right? He doesn’t usually interfere unless he feels like he needs to.”

Adrien pulled Luka into a hug so that he could hide his expression. He didn’t feel capable of keeping up a good poker face at the moment.

“I’m fine. Just a little confused and overwhelmed,” Adrien whispered into Luka’s shoulder.

“You should take him into the bedroom so you can snuggle and groom each other,” Plagg suggested helpfully from the kitchen island where he had an assortment of cheeses spread out around him like subjects paying homage to their lord.

“Plagg,” Adrien groaned. “Humans don’t groom one another.”

“Do too,” Plagg snorted. “You forget I’ve been around for thousands of years, Kid. I’ve lived with plenty of humans. I’ve witnessed humans licking each other all over before.”

“Plagg, that’s not grooming,” Adrien hissed, burying his face further into Luka’s shirt.

“Oh?” Plagg played dumb, doing his best not to smirk impishly. “Well, whatever it is, maybe you two should go do that. My previous holders have always been so happy afterwards, and Adrien could definitely use some cheering up and affection.”

“Shh,” Luka comforted, lightly rubbing a hand up and down Adrien’s back. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me.”

Luka looked back into the kitchen at Plagg. “Plagg, why did you think Adrien needed me?”

Plagg shrugged. “Kid, tell him who all you just had dinner with.”

Luka pulled back slightly to look Adrien questioningly in the face.

Adrien shrank, his gaze dropping to the floor. “…Marinette and her parents.”

Luka sucked in a breath. “O-Oh? How-How did that go? Are you okay? What happened?”

Adrien shook his head. “I’m just…feeling a little messed up. It…everything was totally fine. It was…like…” He pressed his lips together, trying to force his thoughts into a cohesive sentence. “Like you were right. Like everything was just a big misunderstanding and nobody hates me, nobody blames me, and…”

He pulled Luka back into his arms, curling his fingers into Luka’s shirt.

“Angel, of course no one hates you,” Luka sighed, nuzzling Adrien’s hair and squeezing him tighter.

“I didn’t believe you,” Adrien choked, tears finally beginning to fall as his whole body trembled. “I…I couldn’t believe you. And even though Marinette doesn’t hate me, she still abandoned me when I really, really needed her, so it’s not like things are okay now.—Or am I being stupid and petty? Should I just get over it? I can’t just…” Adrien shook his head, looking to Luka for guidance. “I’m not okay. I feel better now that I talked to her, but I’m not okay. I can’t force myself to just forgive and forget and be okay. Is that ridiculous?”

“No, Angel,” Luka cooed, giving Adrien another squeeze. “Nothing that you’re feeling is ridiculous. It’s okay to feel whatever you feel,” he assured.

“Sorry.” Adrien rested his head back on Luka’s shoulder. “I…I’m not okay. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Perfect Fifth,” Luka whispered, making gentle shushing noises and carefully rocking Adrien from side to side. “It’s fine. Hey, let’s go get in bed so we can snuggle and talk about it…or maybe just snuggle and watch Disney movies until you feel better. What do you think? Rapunzel? Frozen? Both?”

“Both,” Adrien mumbled into Luka’s neck. “Tangled first.”

“All right, Angel,” Luka acquiesced, giving Adrien one last squeeze before beginning to guide him to the bedroom. “It’s going to be all right.”

[displacedprincess]

y tú nunca juraste que saldría ileso || eleteo

Elena has a secret, and it’s time to tell Mateo.

Alternatively: McKala continues her tradition of titling Elena threads with a lyric of a Spanish song that only 12% fits because she likes the lyric 

@wizardroyale

ELENA

She’d known for a week she was pregnant. She was approaching three months pregnant by now, and now that she’d cried her eyes out to Naomi, discussed her options with her, and determined before anything she had to tell Mateo, it was time to do just that. God, but it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Naomi had, thankfully, cleared the apartment of everyone but Elena ahead of Mateo getting home from work which gave Elena enough time curl up in bed and panic over what she was going to say to him. In the end Naomi’s effort was fruitless and Elena had nothing nice and neat scripted. 

Elena had managed to stress cook. Not that shrimp fettuccine alfredo was fancy but it was something.

When the door opened, she was in the kitchen, portioning out two plates of her shoddy early dinner. “Mateo! I boredom cooked super early, you’re just in time for first dinner.” She hoped her plastered on smile was bright enough to hide how fucking terrified she was, but she should know better by now.

There was no hiding anything from a sorcerer, was there?

MATEO

It was a little after 3 o’clock in the afternoon when Mateo walked through the door, calling out a greeting to Elena. He’d immediately smelled the garlic in the air and knew that Elena had been cooking before she even had the chance to tell him from the kitchen. 

Before that, however, he had sensed the now familiar tension as he walked up the stairs. It had been clawing at his insides like a restless animal pacing for awhile now—anytime he was around Elena, actually. Between that and the Anxiety and Fear constantly swirling around her like a storm cloud behind the False Smile she wore, he’d been worried for her. 

He’d asked a few times if she was ok and had always gotten the same casual rebuff, so he’d decided to sit back and wait for her to tell him whatever was troubling her—whenever she was ready to tell him.

He grinned, dropping his backpack on the sofa before marching into the kitchen and catching her around the waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ooh, that smells amazing, mi amor! I forgot to pack a lunch so first dinner sounds really good right about now.”

ELENA

Elena was very good at fake smiles. At the one year anniversary of her parents’ assassinations, she’d had to give a speech to Avalor honoring them and she’d be damned if she didn’t smile even while her heart was cannibalizing itself, was tearing itself into pieces. Right now, even her eyes almost looked like they believed the smile she wore.

At the kiss to her cheek, Elena did genuinely giggle. No amount of anxiety could make her love him any less and at least that bit of happiness she didn’t have to fake.

“Great, because I’m starving,” she said, bringing the plates and two forks to the table. She wasn’t all that hungry - throwing up almost everything you eat kind of makes you not want to eat - but having a fork and a plate of pasta gave her something to nervously mess with. 

She’d been careful not to eat anything she wasn’t sure was safe around Mateo since she found out she was pregnant. Elena wanted to be the one to tell him, not her stupid morning (terrible misnomer, by the way) sickness. 

“How was work? Didn’t get bitten by any clients?”

MATEO

Mateo loved it when Elena genuinely laughed, even if it was just a small giggle. Laughter was a sign of happiness and happiness meant he was doing his job as her boyfriend well. Truly, he wanted little more out of life than to make her as happy as possible.

Following her to the table he held a chair out for her, pushing it in before taking the seat beside her. He didn’t care how much she teased him for being silly or sappy, chivalry wasn’t dead and he would hold doors and chairs for her until the end of time. 

“It was fine,” he commented, swirling a few pieces of pasta onto his fork and taking a bite, “And nah. The clients all love me. I apparently have a calming presence or whatever.” He laughed, taking another bite before adding, “Mmmm! The shrimp alfredo is so good! Did you do something different this time? Like—I dunno, did you add more garlic, maybe?”

ELENA

Elena normally would’ve teased him, or at least acknowledged how sappy he was with a soft chuckle, but was such a mess of nerves all she could do was smile. It wasn’t fair that she’d kept it from him until this long, but at the same time...Mateo wasn’t the one pregnant. It was her body and she deserved a few days to sit with it and wrap her head around it for herself before telling him.

She’s only intended three, maybe four days, but it had been a week and she did think it unfair to let it get to eight days.

Still, the words weren’t coming and she wanted to talk about anything but that. Luckily he gave her an out.

“More garlic? Is it particularly garlicky? I haven’t tasted it yet, let me see.” Elena twirled some pasta onto her fork and stabbed a shrimp, pretty certain she’d be okay eating it. She’d eaten some pasta dish at work the other day with crab and didn’t throw up her guts, so! Shrimp alfredo had to be safe, right?

...right?

Wrong. Elena hadn’t yet swallowed her food before her stomach rejected it, doing its best to keep the offending food out, but Elena was like her father. King Raul and Elena shared the horrible habit of nervous-nausea, and Elena’d become an expert at willing herself not to throw up. The fear of the shame of vomiting on national television was a great motivator to just keep it down.

She wasn’t able to stop herself from heaving with a closed mouth though, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from opening it. Elena swallowed hard, forcing her food down, and willed it to stay down.

“Fuck.” Elena mumbled behind her hand.

MATEO

Mateo did not miss the closed mouth heaving. He’d noticed she’d been nauseated a lot over the past few months—going back to their date on New Years eve—and every time he’d said something about it, she claimed to just be feeling under the weather. As if it were a lingering flu or something—a going-on-three-months-now flu. 

So when she covered her mouth with a muttered curse, he went on instant high alert. He had managed, however, to learn to remain calm during these instances—and that was progress, right? 

Instinctively, he reached over to place a comforting hand on her back and rubbed it gently, though worry sparked in his eyes. “Hey, you look like you’re going to be sick. You ok? Do you need help getting to the bathroom? Or I can grab the Tums? Some ginger ale? Whatever you need, just say the word.”

ELENA

Elena shook her head at everything Mateo suggested, keeping her hand clapped over her mouth. God, she really couldn’t deny it anymore, could she? 

“It won’t help!” Elena snapped, the pent up anxiety and tension just exploding. “It won’t help. I’m not sick, it’s- it’s worse. How can we both have been so oblivious, especially me? How did I not notice-���

She buried her face in her hands to hide her watering eyes. “I’m-” no, she should turn to face him. “I’m pregnant, Mateo. I’m pregnant.”

MATEO

I’m pregnant.

How could two little words have such a huge effect on one person. Ice coated his insides as a storm of thoughts and emotions burst into Mateo’s mind at those words. Shock. Fear. Panic. Worry. More fear. More shock. More worry. All of these emotions and more swirled in his mind as he stared unseeingly ahead, shaking his head in denial. 

Pregnant? Elena? How? When? Was it even possible? How long? Oh. My. God. What had he done?!

He was having trouble taking a breath as he tried to process the implication of what she’d just told him, though coherent thought alluded him. Did that mean that he—he being, Mateo—was going to be a dad? To a baby? With Elena? Oh. My. God.

A moment later, he snapped out of it, noticing Elena crying and realized that this had been the source of the fear and anxiety he’d been sensing coming from her. Words failed him as he scooted his chair closer and reached to wrap his arms around her and gently pulled her against his chest. 

“I—I don’t know what to say—” he finally managed to croak quietly, “Except that I’m so so sorry, Elena.” His own eyes filled with tears, stinging as he tried to blink them away, only managing to send them trickling down his cheeks. 

ELENA

Elena laughed mirthlessly and wiped at her eyes. Why was he crying? He’s not the one pregnant, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t fair to be so angry over his reaction because the logical part of her knew it was justified, but the emotional part of her was only thinking about herself. That was what made him a better person than her.

“Why are you apologizing, I’m the dumb bitch that can’t remember birth control pills.” Elena muttered, covering her face with her hand. 

“What are we supposed to do, Mateo? I can’t be pregnant right now. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, and I’ve talked over all my options with Naomi and I can’t - I can’t think because I can’t wrap my head around it, and I want it to be a false positive but the hospital did a blood test and I really, really am like three months pregnant. Almost.”

MATEO

Why was he apologizing? Because he knew he was the dumb ass who had caused this, that’s why! It was all his fault, and he knew it! 

“Three months?” he echoed back in a hollow tone. He cast his mind back three months and that—that was right about the time they’d decided to ignore the doctor’s orders and just have sex anyways. And there was only one time in that time he could remember having completely unprotected sex—that very first time when they’d both literally lost their minds. 

He just—he needed to hold her, to help ground him and keep the panic at bay. He knew that as long as they were together, they could handle anything. 

But he also needed to look her in the eye, to tell her what he needed to say. So he pulled away, just enough to meet her gaze, keeping hold of her shoulders. He worried his lip, trying to find the words to say that might help and not make things worse.

Brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, he watched her with his eyebrows furrowed together, worried. “I—honestly don’t know? Just that, whatever we do, we’ll do it together. If you’ll let me, that is.”

He reached down and took her hands in his, saying, “I swear, I’m with you, Elena. Every step of the way, ok?”

ELENA

Elena shook her head and let it hang low as stray tears fell on their hands. She didn’t know what it was she wanted him to be there for her through, though. Yeah, she and Naomi had laid all her options out there on the table when they talked. They were both ardently pro-choice and Elena had not completely eliminated that option yet actually.

Still, not all of Avalor was on the same page as her and Naomi. Avalor was much less religious than the rest of Latin America, but Elena would have caused a scandal if she didn’t show up in public with an ash cross on her forehead on Ash Wednesday. Just ending the inconvenient, poorly timed, unwanted pregnancy would be her decision if she actually felt like she had the freedom to make the best choices for herself.

Elena wasn’t just Elena though. She was the rightful queen and deposed princess of Avalor. Every action even in secret could come to the public light even years later. Imagine the public shame if anybody found out.

So, no. Elena didn’t have a choice. Like it or not - and she hated her situation - she was pregnant, and going to remain pregnant.

“Having an abortion would cause a scandal if the hyper-Catholics in Avalor ever caught wind of it.” Elena said plainly, letting go of Mateo’s hands and holding her head high, blinking away the rest of her tears. “So that’s out even if I wish I could give it a fair shake as an option. If I was anybody but who I am, I would probably go that route.”

That wasn’t to say she didn’t want...she did want, one day, to marry Mateo and have children with him. Right now, while they were in exile from their home, was not the time. But Elena was not a woman whose body belonged to herself. As the first in line to the throne of Avalor, Elena was always expected to reproduce someday, and it was fortunate that Elena always knew she one day wanted to. 

As the ruling branch of the royal family of Avalor, the heir to the throne had two jobs. To prepare to rule with a fair hand, and to bear heirs to the throne. 

“So I have to have the -” she swallowed, unable to bring herself to say the word ‘baby.’ Not yet. “- I have to stay pregnant.”

Soon, when she was done processing what was happening to her life and to her body, she would be able to acknowledge it fully. As of now, she was still numb, still full of regret, and still felt so betrayed by her own body.

“That’s what is going on, so.”

MATEO

Having an abortion–– 

Now, Mateo was not the type to have an opinion on, let alone speak up about controversial topics the way Elena and Naomi were. The very idea of getting involved in such things filled him with anxiety to the point where he was useless and unable to function. Honestly, for the most part, he felt that most of those issues were best left to each individual.

Live and let live, right?

But when the word “abortion” came out of Elena’s mouth, directed towards her pregnancy––their unborn child that was part him––a fresh wave of sorrow, overwhelmed him. He didn’t know what to say, because of course it was her body and he had no say over what she chose to do with it. 

But their baby––the thought of never having the chance to meet them was upsetting to the point of tears. 

It was all so confusing. 

He loved Elena and wanted what was best for her, and their unborn child was part of her. Though, to a lesser extent, it was part of him too. He wanted Elena to be free to do what she needed to do for her own well being and happiness. But he also had this strange sense of wanting to do what was best for the tiny person that was growing inside her.

Regardless, he knew he would support whatever decision she made, even if it broke his heart.

And then there was the fact that she was doing that cold, calculating political thing she did whenever she talked about her position as ruler of Avalor. It made him crazy when she did that, when she put her own needs aside because of “the way it would look” to the idiots who had done nothing to help her since all of the political unrest began so many years ago.

“Just stop. Please.” he said, his tears drying up as he scowled, shaking his head. “This isn’t about what THEY think. They aren’t doing a damn thing to help you while you’re stuck in exile, so I don’t think they get a say in this. This is about what’s best for you and, to a lesser extent, what’s best for us. We’re the ones who have to live with our choices, not them.”

He sighed deeply and reached out for her hands again, giving them a squeeze. “Please, Elena. You know how I feel about the political image stuff. I get that its part of the “rightful queen of Avalor” package, but I don’t believe you have to do anything. You always have a choice. However, should you choose to stay pregnant, then I will be here for you every step of the way.”  He met her gaze evenly, determination sparking in his eyes as he insisted, “I’m not going to run away from this, I swear, Elena. I’m with you, always.”

ELENA

“Because they’re suffering more than me, living under a dictatorship! I forgive them, I do, even though there’s nothing to forgive.” Elena argued. “And you don’t understand. You don’t understand because you’re a commoner. You’re a private citizen whose life was always your own.”

Since her first breath Elena belonged to Avalor first, her parents second, and then herself. Her parents never said as much but her life experiences made that abundantly clear. 

Elena let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Sure, I have a choice. Nobody is holding a gun to my head. But neither option is ideal, so is it really a free choice? What’s best for me is undoubtedly to not be pregnant. But I don’t think you agree with me there. You don’t have to see reagents to see the face you just made. God, I should have just handled it on my own the second I knew and avoided this conversation, but now I’ve told you and — and now I can’t even look you in the eye and say I don’t want this. If you keep telling me I have permission to think selfishly then I might make the choice that’s best for me and I’m not convinced you’ll forgive me.”

She wriggled her hands from his grasp. “I never had an actual choice. My body belongs to the Flores royal family line. So I’m pregnant. And abortion is out of the question, so here we are, Mateo. Both on the most wanted list of a dictator and about to complicate things further.”

MATEO

At her words, Mateo flinched away with an audible gasp as if he’d been slapped, his eyes going wide and his brows knitting together as he stared, speechless. 

Really, if she’d wanted to hurt him, she’d found the perfect angle of attack—using his social status compared to hers against him. He knew all too well how common he was, and how not evenly matched he was for her. 

But then she started putting words in his mouth and making assumptions about his motivations and his eyes narrowed. 

“I think I’m starting to understand,” he said cooly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms as if to warm himself, “First, you think I’m too common and too stupid to understand your position—not that I’m surprised, I mean, I’ve always thought so, so why shouldn’t you? And now I’m apparently not important enough to have thoughts and feelings worth even hearing if you already regret telling me before taking half a second to listen!”

The volume of his voice increased as he spoke until he was nearly shouting. It was the strangest thing—he wasn’t one for yelling, and certainly not at Elena. But everything in his mind was still spinning and he did not know how to navigate this new territory. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, willing himself to calm down—and willing her to calm down while he was at it, hoping it would work. He didn’t want to be mad at her, he wanted to help—even if letting her lash out at him hurt. He had it coming, didn’t he? This situation was at least half his doing.

“Look,” he said, quietly now, choosing his words carefully, “I’m sorry. Forget I even said that. This isn’t about me. I said I would support you, no matter what you choose, and I mean it. Take that however you want.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor as he finished, “I just don’t want you to make a choice in either direction that you will regret, alright? And—I mean, like I said, its your body, your choice, right? But, if you want to know the truth, I will take a complicated life with you any day over a life filled with regret—because I’m not convinced you wouldn’t regret terminating this pregnancy later—wondering what might have been once its too late.”

ELENA

“Typical man.” Elena scoffed, not really meaning anything she was saying at this point. She was hurt and scared and when she was either of those things her instinct was attack, attack, attack with a poison tongue. 

“I wouldn’t regret it, because it would be the smart thing to do. I’m twenty-five years old Mateo, I think I understand my mind perfectly well. But.” She held up her hands and stood up from the table. “I told you I’m going to remain pregnant, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

She began to pace the floor, afraid she’d snap at him even worse if he touched her again, gave her comfort she didn’t deserve. 

“So I really don’t think we have to talk about it more.” They did. But Elena was trying to avoid it. 

MATEO

Typical man? His head snapped up at the barbed words. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? 

He watched her pace a moment, sympathetic. He couldn’t help but notice the way the venom coming from her mouth didn’t match with the reagents now swirling around her. She was scared and anxious and hurting and he knew that was a recipe for one angry wolverine of a princess. 

He made a split second decision, understanding that she was probably going to yell at him again, but also knew that she needed him—even if she was in 100% denial of any such thing.

Standing, he moved the few steps over to where she paced, folding her in his arms as soon as she turned around and held her tight. He didn’t have the words to fight and honestly didn’t think anything he could say would help. Actions would speak volumes where he couldn’t. 

He could feel her fear and tension pounding into him like a tidal wave, so hard it was almost painful and he struggled not to give into her frantic panic. He willed his magic to calm the fear, imagining it wrapping around her like a warm blanket or a hug. It wasn’t a skill he’d quite mastered yet, but he hoped it would help, if even a little. 

“It’s going to be ok, mi amor,” he murmured, so quietly it was almost a whisper, holding her close. “It’s going to be ok.”

ELENA

Elena made to throw Mateo’s arms off of her, but his presence that one second infuriated her just as quickly calmed her. Barely. She did not smile and she did not feel at ease but she didn’t feel like her heart was going to fly out of her chest. She didn’t want to lash out at Mateo anymore. 

She didn’t want to get away from him, and instead, wanted to be held. 

“You don’t know that.” Elena said quietly, almost a whisper. “But thanks for the sentiment.”

MATEO

Mateo sighed with relief when she neither pushed him away, nor did she yell at him. She relaxed ever so slightly in his arms, the raging storm of emotion receding a bit.

Perhaps the worst was over? He could only hope. 

“I do so know that,” he insisted, stroking her hair with on hand. “Because I know that as long as we have each other, we can handle anything that comes our way.”

Was that cheesy as hell? Yes. Yes it was. But he didnt’ think that made it any less true.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m shocked and terrified and have no idea how to do any of this,” he continued, his voice shaking with emotion, “But, I feel a lot better knowing we’re doing this together.”

ELENA 

Elena would’ve called him cheesy and smiled had she been capable of either of those things right now. While she couldn’t yet smile at or tease him, her white hot anger was still keeping its distance, and her anxiety was replaced with an uneasy calm. 

A numbness. 

“I really, really do appreciate that you’re trying to say things to make me feel better. And maybe you mean them, I know you mean them, but I’m just not able to believe them right now. Do you understand?” Elena said, apologizing with her facial expressions and tone but not with the actual words ‘I’m sorry I’m pregnant and not happy.’ 

“You have to understand that I am dealing with a lot right now. And so are you, I know that, but I’m the one—” she swallowed. “— I just want you to know that I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I’m not going to feel better today but thank you for trying. Can we… can we give up on trying to make me feel better for today? I do feel better than I did an hour ago. But I think that’s the best we can do for today.”

She laced her fingers with his and did manage a thin smile. 

MATEO 

The truth was that Mateo hadn’t been aiming for sunshine and roses. Really, he wasn’t so foolish as to think that anything about their current situation was going to be easy and nothing but time would bring peace. 

If he was being honest, he was terrified and felt the old self loathing and guilt creeping in with whispers of “I told you so,” and “Look what you did, you’ve hurt her” and “They’d all be better off without you.” It took every ounce of courage and determination that he possessed to keep telling that voice to shut the hell up, and this was not about him. Elena needed him and he would be there for her. 

He could sense Elena’s panic and rage had receded, and that was enough for him. 

Returning her smile with a nod and a tiny smile of his own, “I understand,” he said quietly, “I won’t say another word about it until you want to talk.” He glanced around to the living room and their bedroom door beyond and then back at her, asking, “I think we could both use a quiet afternoon—how about a nap? Or maybe we could watch a movie on the couch? Or—” he cringed, shooting her an apologetic look before finishing, “If you don’t want to be around me right now, I—I understand. I can take the couch if you want to be alone in the bedroom.”

ELENA

“I wish I could sleep for weeks.” Elena lamented, burying her face in Mateo’s chest. 

Elena closed her eyes and just stood there pressed against him. She stayed safe in his warmth for a moment before sighing and figuring it was time to use words again.

“You can nap with me.” She said quietly. “I’d like that.”

MATEO 

A sigh of relief escaped him as she rested in his arms, perhaps not the same as always because this moment felt so big, like they were standing on the edge of a completely different unknown than any they’d faced before.

But she didn’t hate him for what he’d done to her and so long as that was true, he believed they would find their way.

He held her and petted her hair, more than willing to just be there in the moment as long as she needed him to be.

At her words, he simply smiled and nodded quietly, murmuring, “That sounds perfect,” before taking her hand and tugging her to the bedroom. He kicked his shoes off, pulling off his hoodie and jeans and slipped under the blankets, pulling the covers back to wait for Elena to join him. 

ELENA 

Elena couldn’t say anything. She was afraid if she did she would yell at him again and say things that she didn’t mean like “you wouldn’t understand, you’re a commoner.” The C-word wasn’t fair. It was too harsh.  

She curled up next to him and laid there in silence for so long that she thought he’d fallen asleep by the time she craned her neck up to look at him.

“Mateito. Are you asleep?” Elena whispered. A beat. “I shouldn’t have accused you of not understanding. I know how thoughtful you are and how much you think of me.”

MATEO 

Mateo was not, in fact, asleep. His arms had curved naturally around her when she snuggled up to him and he’d been lying there with his cheek resting against the top of her head. There were too many thoughts and worries and questions plaguing him and his chest far too tight to actually find sleep, but having Elena so close had brought a small amount of calm to the storm in his mind.

“Hmmm?” he murmured quietly, smiling a little at the familiar, childhood nickname. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I get it, you were upset. And maybe you’re right. I don’t understand the royal obligation thing as much as I should, seeing as I’m dating literal royalty.” He shrugged. 

“But I will always try to make sure you, Elena Flores, the woman I love, are taken care of first and foremost—even before our people. Because if I don’t look out for you, who will?” He said this matter-of-factly as he kissed her hair and tightened his arms around her.

ELENA

Elena craned her neck to press a kiss to his cheek and then buried her face in the crook of his neck. She did not feel like everything would be okay, no, but she felt a little bit better knowing that Mateo was in her corner no matter what. Not that she actually truly worried he wouldn’t be - this is Mateo she was talking about! - but the explicit verbal confirmation was a comfort.

“I forget, sometimes. That I’m a person, and not just an extension of the royal institution.” Elena admitted as she stayed pressed against his warmth. “Keep looking after Elena the Person, because Elena the Princess has enough people over her already.”

She exhaled through her nose and closed  her eyes. “Thanks for letting me have time to...sit with you and this information and let it really sink in. We can talk about it more tomorrow, but for today, just. Thank you. Thank you, Mateo. For being kinder than I deserve.”

MATEO 

Finally starting to feel a little drowsy, he held her a bit closer, resting his cheek against the top of her head and murmuring a simple, “You’re welcome.” A yawn slipped out as he added, “Te amo, Elenita, and I’m here for you. No matter what.” 

In spite of the whirlwind of emotion still going on in his mind, he closed his eyes and snuggled down under the blankets, feeling warm and sleepy with the woman he loved in his arms. Though he knew their lives would never be the same from that moment on, at the same time, it felt like nothing had changed. They still loved each other and they were in this life together.

He knew deep in his gut that even though nothing felt like it was ok in that moment, as long as they had each other, everything would somehow work out in the end. 

[writing-parker]

Walk Me Home, Ch. 3

Summary/Pairing: Joanna Taylor finds out Tony Stark is actually her dad. Peter Parker X OC

Word Count: 5k

Warning: Mentions of death, drugs, and alcohol. This is rated M for language and smut. Seriously NSFW. I warned u.

Ch 1: Walk Me Home, Ch 1

Ch 2: Walk Me Home, Ch. 2

 A/N: Here’s chapter 3~ Thanks to everyone who has commented and messaged! My inbox is always open if ya’ll wanna chat about anything.

This has only been edited by me, so excuse any errors.

   Weeks pass and spring melts to summer in New York City. Jo finds herself falling in love with the heat and outdoor markets and even the tourist crowded streets, but she would never admit that. Everything she saw still reminded her of her mother, but she was healing. There were bad days, of course, but things were getting better.

She and Tony grew closer. Sometimes it was easy. Sometimes they would fight. There were a lot of pent up words and emotions between the two, and sometimes they spilled over. The worst fight came in the beginning of June. Tony had hosted an event at the tower and everyone was required to show up in their best clothes. There were grumbles from some of the Avengers who were less than thrilled about Tony’s parties, but she figured that they didn’t quite understand that this was working just as much as the missions and the training.

Jo sits idly at a bench in Bryant Park, people watching. She sips on her iced coffee and thinks about that night.

The evening came to an end and she found herself on the roof with the others, caterers and vendors breaking down the food and tents and tables. She was sipping beer with Steve and Peter when Jo overheard Tony talking to the Caterers, telling them to dispose of the leftover food however they normally do.

“Are you serious?” Jo looked up at him, “Tony, that’s such a waste!”

“What else am I supposed to do with shrimp puffs and caviar and champagne?” He shrugs, then frowns and looks at the caterer, “Actually, leave the champagne here.” The man nods before turning to walk away.

“I don’t know, maybe donate it to the some of the thousands of people in this city who are food insecure?” Jo feels herself start to get upset, maybe irrationally “There’s gotta be something better than throwing it away.”

“Jo, food like this goes bad if it’s not eaten right away.” Tony barely looks at her.

“Just because it doesn’t taste as good doesn’t mean they’re aren’t hungry people who can eat it! Just because you don’t understand what it’s like to be hungry doesn’t mean you can be so flippant about this.” Jo slams her beer on a table and storms away. Peter and Steve look between the two, nervous. Bucky stares at the ground. Natasha takes a shot.

“Hey! You don’t get to lecture me about what I do or don’t understand, okay?” Tony yells after Jo, making her stop in her tracks.

“Well someone needs to give a shit! It’s not you!” Jo can hear herself overreacting over leftover food from a stupid event, but she can’t stop herself.

Tony strides over to her, angry, “Do you know how much money I literally give away every year, Jo? How about instead of taking whatever you’re angry about today on me, you go talk to my accountant about the charities I carefully choose to contribute to.”

“You’re not getting what I’m saying!” Jo throws her hands up, exasperated.

“Why do you care so much about leftover food?” Tony demands, voice raised.

“Because when I was growing up there were years when I didn’t know where my next meal would come from, okay? And here you are literally throwing away enough food to feed a family for a week? Fuck that.” Jo all but spits at him. She thinks back to middle school. Her mom was trying her best but they didn’t have much of anything at all. Eleanor had been laid off after she hurt her back working and struggled with an addiction to the pain pills she was prescribed. Jo doesn’t talk about it with anyone, especially the press or interviewers. No one needed to know about those years.

Everyone is staring at them scream at each other. Steve, Nat, Peter, Clint. Bucky and Sam. A few lingering guests that she met tonight but already forgot the names of. Jo could care less. Let them watch.

Tony felt the color drain from his face at Joanna’s words. Her, his daughter, grew up hungry, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Stop looking at me like you feel sorry for me! You don’t get to be sorry if you weren’t there.” Jo rolls her eyes and turns to leave.

“You can’t be mad at me for something I never even knew about!” He yells after her.

Jo, whips around, tears stinging her eyes, “Yes the fuck I can.” She yells at him, striding closer to get in his face, “I resent you for it.” She tells him, using every word to hurt him. “I had nothing. And I grew up thinking that my dad knew about me. And didn’t want me or care that I was hungry and scared and hurting. You know what that does to someone?”

There are tears running down her face that Jo doesn’t bother to wipe away, “So forgive me if it’s hard for me to let that go but, it doesn’t just go away.”  She turns on her heel and storms away from the group on the roof, past Peter and Steve.

Peter grabs her arm, “Hey, you okay?” He says lowly. Jo just yanks her arm away from him and all but runs to her apartment, having FRIDAY lock access to anyone that isn’t her.

The next morning Tony was waiting in her kitchen, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. “We have so much talking to do,” Was all he said to her. So they did. They talked for a really long time. He asked Jo to be honest with him, so she was. About everything- how bad things were, how there were times when she had to rely on the kindness of strangers when her mom couldn’t even get out of bed.

They both cried a lot, but came out on the other side understanding each much better.

Jo thinks about those couple days as she sips her iced coffee, sitting on a bench in Bryant Park when a familiar voice pulls her from her thoughts. Peter Parker is walking across the lawn towards her with a woman that looks to be about Tony’s age following behind him.

“Hey,” He smiles at her easily. She smiles back, taking him in from behind her sunglasses. He was in jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his frame. Truthfully, it had been more than a week since they had any semblance of alone time together. They were both busy people, she supposed, and it’s not like he belonged to her. Friends with benefits, that’s what they had agreed on. The benefits were a plus, but she missed the “friends” part the most right now.

“Hey stranger!” She smiles, standing to give him a quick hug. “What are you doing out here?” At this time of the day he was usually in the lab with Tony or working on his online courses at MIT. Peter didn’t need to go to college, not by any means, but he had insisted that it was important to him.

“Uh, this is my Aunt May.” Peter says, “May, this is Jo. We meet with Mr. Stark for dinner once a month, sort of a little tradition.”

“Joanna Taylor?” May asks, Jo nods, “I have heard so much about you from Peter! It’s great to finally meet you.” May pulls Jo into a hug, who is shocked at first then reciprocates easily.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Jo smiles at her warmly. She really can’t believe that Peter told his aunt so much about her.

Peter, who is beet red, puts his arm around May and turns them away from Jo, “We’re already late, sorry!” Jo laughs and waves goodbye to a very confused May.

  A few nights later Jo finds herself stressed and anxious and pacing around her apartment. While it was true that most days were getting better for her, she still had bad ones. She was feeling lonely and isolated, increasingly so over the past couple of days- she knew she was actually neither, but she couldn’t help her thoughts.

Jo had texted Peter the night before, gently asking him to come down and watch a movie with her. He hadn’t ever replied, which was making her worried for him. Even if they weren’t sleeping together at the moment, he was always one to shoot her a text back. That made it three nights in a row she hadn’t even heard from him. If she hadn’t seen him in the park the other day, she would have been concerned about his health.  

Maybe it was too much too fast. They spent nearly every night together for a month, getting to know one another. Peter learned about her life before she was famous and her favorite music (oldies, always) and that she would fall apart under him when he brought his hand up to her neck when they were together physically (not too much pressure though). Jo learned about Aunt May and classes and what it was like to be a superhero (and that how to do that thing with her tongue that drove him absolutely crazy).

She didn’t realized how much she liked his company until she didn’t have it.

Jo’s sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, writing to calm herself down, when the elevator door opens. She barely has time to register who it is before Peter Parker is pulling her off the stool she is sitting in and crashes his mouth to hers. His hands grip her waist tightly and he bites her lip before sucking and licking his way down her neck, one hand slid up her stomach to her breast, squeezing hard.

Everything about what was happening made her feel worse than she already did.

“Peter,” She says his name tersely, “No. What-”

“Shh.” He sushes her and presses his lips back to hers, and when Peter’s other hand closes around her throat, his body pressing hers into the granite countertop behind her. She guide his arm down to her hip and he backs her further into the countertop uncomfortably. He squeezes her hip enough to leave a bruise.

“Peter, c’mon.” She can barely get the words out around his lips. She pulls her head back and away from him, but his lips just latch onto her neck. It’s all too much, too harsh and she already felt on edge. She tries to pull further away but she’s pinned against the counter and she can barely breathe.

“You’re hurting me!” She yells eventually, using both hands to shove him off her. He stumbles off her.

“What the fuck, Jo?” He yells back, immediately getting in her face.

It takes everything Joanna has not to flinch. She hadn’t known him long, but this was so out of character for him, if she didn’t feel like she was about to have a full blown panic attack, she would be genuinely concerned for him.

“Peter…”

“You’ve been begging me to come down here all week.” His eyes are wild, “What’s your deal?”

She turns away from him, wrapping her arms around her middle, “I haven’t felt good all day.” She says, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Jo, there’s literally a glass of wine on the table. I’m sure you feel fine.” He pulls her close again, biting her earlobe, “Let’s go to your room.” He was so hot and cold, she felt like she had whiplash.

Jo’s heart races in an uncomfortable, nervous way, “Peter, no.” She says low and firm.

“Jesus, Joanna.” He raises her voice at her, “What do you think this is?” Jo stays quiet. “We fuck, that’s it. We hook up and sleep in different beds. I’m not here to fucking hold you every time you have a bad day.” He turns away from her, running a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Get out.” Peter looks at her, and actually sees her for the first time of the night. If he kept talking to her like that she would break.

“Jo-” Her glare has him pinned.

“Fine. If you won’t leave I will.” She grabs her bag from where she discarded it earlier, hoping the keys to her loft are in there. Atlas was fed so she wasn’t concerned with leaving him for the night.

She doesn’t look at Peter as she brushes past him, jamming her finger into the elevator button. She’s gone before he even has time to react. Peter opts to take the stairs, two at a time to his own apartment, feeling out of control.

When he steps inside, Sam, Bucky, and Steve are sitting on the couch, watching basketball. The door slams the back of the wall as Peter enters the room. All of the men tense and look up at him. “Woah, Pete. You look like you got hit by a car.” Steve says, standing.

Peter snorts, raising an eyebrow at the older man, knowing very well he was capable of stopping a car going 40 with his bare hands.  “You know what I mean.” He shrugs.

“I think I just fucked up really bad,” Peter’s chest feels uncomfortably tight and he feels a bit light headed. He clenches his fists and paces back and forth in front of the three men. Steve takes a good look at Peter, immediately growing concerned.

“Sure looks like it,” the older man says.  

“I haven’t slept in like 5 days? I have midterms for my summer classes already but I swear they just started. And I’ve been working on a project for Mr. Stark- that I am really fucking up- and Tony is not afraid to let me know that. And trying to keep up with training. Oh, yeah and I have a mission every other week, gotta save the world too, yanno. And, oh my god, is this what dying feels like?” Peter has both hands in his hair, looking at Steve with wide eyes.

“Peter!” Steve approaches him like he would a wild animal, going into Capitan Mode, “I understand you’re stressed, but everything you just said seems pretty temporary. Take a few days off from training, finish your midterms. Whatever Tony has you working on can wait a day or two, too. I’ll talk to him.”

Steve’s words calmed Peter down a little bit, but the only thing he could think about was Jo. How rough he was, how mean he was. He had actually hurt her. With his hands. He was going to be sick. “You don’t understand! There’s this girl I’m seeing, I was just at her place. And, oh god,” Peter buries his head in his hands, “I was so awful. I think I hurt her.”

Steve’s eyes immediately turn stormy, menacing “… Hurt her? You didn’t put your hands on a woman.”

“No! Steve, not like that I swear. I just… I was frustrated and mean and I said some things…” Peter trails off, feeling worse than when he first came in.

Same and Bucky exchange a look. Over the past month they had noticed Peter sneaking away and coming back late at night, and eventually curiosity got the best of them and they asked FRIDAY where he was going. Neither were surprised to find out he was spending his time at her apartment, what with the way he looked at her. Bucky argued that just because he was spending time with the only other person his age in the tower, it didn’t mean that they were seeing eachother.

Peter explained to the men what happened, feeling chagrined and embarrassed the whole time. “She stormed off and now I don’t know what to do.” Peter finishes looks at all three men. He expects them to be furious with him, treating a woman like that, but they all look at him with sympathy.

“Well, get after her.” Is all Bucky says.

Peter all but sprints to his room, throwing on his suit, figuring the fastest way to get there was, well, pretty much flying. He puts on dark clothes over the red and blue suit- Jo would probably think he was such a tool showing up in his suit to apologize. He’s out the door less than 5 minutes after Bucky told him to go.

Across the water, Jo steps out of her Uber and treks up the stairs to her apartment finding it dark. She steps inside to grab the pack of cigarettes she keeps in the junk drawer in her kitchen. She didn’t smoke, not really- a pack of cigarettes would last her 3 or 4 months. She only liked them when she was stressed, which was an understatement.

She pulls a lighter out of the drawer and as well, and exits her front door again, walking up the final flight of stairs to get to the roof of her apartment. She and Camille had spent hours up here months ago, setting it up to be a nice space for them to hang out. She turns on the twinkle lights and sits at the edge of one of the plastic chairs, lighting her cigarette.

Peter swings to the apartment directly next to hers, having seen her on the roof. The building he’s on is a few stories higher than Jo’s, so he quietly watches her smoke on the roof. He takes his mask off at and sighs lightly. Even without the zoom of his mask, his enhanced vision helps him see that her hands are shaking.

He didn’t even know what he had been thinking, showing up at her apartment, acting the way he did. Tony has just absolutely freaked out on him about the project he was working on, and that on top of everything else he was stressed about sent him over the edge.

He had needed a release, a warm body, anything to get him out of his mind. He shakes his head, remembering how scared her eyes were when he got in her face, yelling. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if she never even wanted to look at him again, but he had to apologize.

He clears his throat loudly and says, “You know, in your line of work, smoking is a pretty irresponsible decision.” He jumps from the building next to hers on to her rooftop.

Jo rolls her eyes and turns away from him, taking another drag of her cigarette. Peter takes a step closer and Jo jumps out of her seat, taking a step away from him, “Don’t.” She warns.

He stops in his tracks, both hands up, “Jo, I-” His voice breaks. He steadies himself with a deep breath, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

The look in her eyes almost breaks his heart. Anger. Distrust. Disgust, even. “You hurt me. I said no and you hurt me.”

“I know.” Is all he says, looking at the ground. “I understand if you never want to talk to me or look at me ever again, but I need you to know how sorry I am. Jo, please.”

The desperation in his voice makes Joanna look up at him, really look at him. For the first time since she’s known him, he looks completely out of his element. And sad. And scared. And like the 19 year old boy he is. She’s not sure if it’s the light or if there’s tears shining in his eyes.

“Peter-” Her eyes soften a bit.

“I just,” He pauses, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I just can’t believe how out of hand I was with you. You of all people. That’s not me, Jo. I need you to know that. Everything just feels out of control right now- I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He’s definitely crying now. He looks so broken.

Jo walks over to stand in front of him, reaching out slowly, like he might lash out at her. She slips her hand in his. She’s not sure what to say- she’s hurting too. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” She tells him eventually, “I was feeling anxious and shitty all day and then when you… it was bad, Peter.”

“I know,” He whispers, “I’m so sorry.” She can tell he’s hurting so bad. She pulls him into her and his hand comes up to the back of her head, cradling it to his chest and burying his nose in her hair. Peter is practically shaking, so Jo guides him to a chair to sit. Peter wraps his arms around her middle and pulls her into his lap, his face in her neck. “Please don’t leave me.” Her heart breaks.

“I won’t,” Jo swallows, “I’m not leaving.”

Before she can stop him, Peter’s nudging the long skirt she’s wearing down her hip and running his fingers over the bruises his fingers left. “Fuck! I’m so sorry.” He sobs into her chest.

Jo pushes her own thoughts out of her mind and moves her hand up and down his back, wanting to cry herself. Peter quiets eventually and the hand rubbing his back falls to her side.

Peter makes a dejected noise in the back of his throat, “Please don’t stop…” Jo looks at him, confused. “Your hand.” He explains. Truthfully her arm had started to tire, but she would comfort him until it fell off, if that’s what he wanted.

He shifts under her. “Peter,” Jo whispers, pushing some hair out of his face. His head tilts up at her and she finally gets a good look at the circles under his yes. He must’ve not slept for days.

“Let’s go downstairs, yeah?” Jo gives him a small smile, climbs off his lap and gingerly grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet. He just stares at her, wondering what he did to deserve someone like her. She leads him down the stairs and into her apartment.

“I, uh, need to use the bathroom.” He tells her, dropping her hand. She turns on her heel and makes her way to her room, flipping on the light next to her bed. A few minutes later, Peter wanders in her room. Jo notices he’s now bare chested under his hoodie.

He’s never been in her room before, but he just doesn’t have the energy to look around. His eyes find hers and he hopes that they can convey the words he can’t keep saying to her. I’m sorry, he tells her, I need you.

Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

“I’m so tired, Jo.” Is all he gets out, voice hoarse. Peter moves to sit at the edge of her bed, head in his hands, and Jo moves to stand in front of him. She combs her fingers through his hair and Peter rests his head on her stomach.

Jo trails her hands down to his neck, playing with the hairs there. “Let’s go to sleep.”

She tries to step away but his hand circles her wrist delicately, like he’s afraid to ever hurt her again. She looks down at him, a little confused. “Peter?”

“Just let me. Please.” He says before he lifts his hand to her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip, before he traces his fingers ghost down her neck. Jo shivers. Peter continues to map out her body. The spot behind her ear that was so sensitive. Her shoulders. He spends extra time on her collarbones before pushing the light cardigan she’s wearing down her arms. The buttons clack on the hardwood floor.  

Peter touches her softly, reverently. His hands slide down her waist, feathering her sides. She lets out a breathy laugh, making Peter smile at her ticklishness before his hands finds her hips. The tight undershirt she had on has bunched at the waist, leaving a sliver of skin exposed above her skirt. Peter looks at the purple marks he left on her body and feels physically ill. He gently grabs her hips, rubbing circles on the skin there.

The way Peter touches Jo now is such a contrast from earlier in the day. She almost has trouble that this boy in front of her, these hands, caused her any type of pain. Even if it was just a bruise. Jo sighs and tips her head back slightly when Peter’s fingers trace patterns on the skin there.

He looks up at her, eyes closed, lips parted, blonde hair wild as ever, “I swear,” her eyes open slowly at the sound of his voice, “with the light like this you look like a fucking masterpiece.” Jo would scoff, if the look in Peter’s eyes didn’t make her believe him.

Then he’s standing in front of her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, fingers splaying up her skull, the other on her hip. “I never meant to hurt you.” He whispers.

Jo reaches a and up to trace the circles under his eyes. “I know.” She whispers. “You need to sleep.” Peter watches as Jo unzips his hoodie. He lets it fall off of his shoulders, where it lands next to Jo’s with a soft thud. She pulls back the blankets and gestures for him to get in.

Peter watches as Jo shimmies out of her long skirt, leaving her just in a pair of boyshorts and her undershirt. She crawls into bed next to him, reaching to turn off her lamp. Peter immediately pulls her towards him, Jo’s back against his body, and tucks her into his chest. She feels warm and safe to him.

“Is this okay?” Peter’s already fading.

“Of course,” Jo tells him. It’s the last thing he hears before he falls asleep. The day weighs down on Jo and she’s asleep not long after him.

   Jo wakes slowly the next morning, a warm weight over her torso. Even before she’s fully coherent she knows it’s Peter. The pale light glows through her window in a way that tells her that it’s still really early. She looks to her nightstand for her phone, but realizes she hasn’t seen it since she left her apartment at the tower. It’s probably in her bag somewhere.

Gently puling herself from Peter’s grasp, she sits up to look at him. He looks so peaceful in the moment, like the 19 year old boy he is. A light smile forms on Jo’s face. He shifts under her eventually, eyes opening slowly to look at her.

“Hey.” He rasps, looking at her like she’s the sun.

“Hey.” She smiles softly at him, he rolls over on to his back and pulls her to his chest.

“Jo, I don’t think I can thank you enough for last night.” He tells her. “I… needed that.”

She can’t find the words to tell him that she would do anything for him, so she props herself up on his chest and closed the gap between their lips smoothly. When they kissed it was slow, leisurely, maybe even a little bit careful, until she sighs into his mouth, slipping her tongue in to tangle with his.  

Peter ran his hands over her body, pulling her a little further on top of him, needing her weight to keep him steady. One hand tangled itself in her hair and the other on the small of her back. Peter isn’t sure how long they kiss like this. Her nails scrape down his chest, hands grasp his biceps, shoulders, anything she can get them on.

Their bodies pressed themselves against each other, kisses deepening. Peter gently tugs at her tank top, put doesn’t make a move to pull it off. “It’s okay,” She says, answering the question he didn’t ask. Jo sits up on her knees and Peter sits up as well, and they peel the shirt off her body together. Peter’s pants are next and then they’re both naked, chests heaving.

Peter pulls her to him, pressing her lips to his. They move over each other, under each other, skin growing slick with sweat as their kisses heated. His hand clutches her breast, her legs wrap around his hips.

He can feel and hear her heart racing a million miles an hour, presses his lips to the skin above it before capturing on of her nipples in her mouth. She gasps and moans underneath him, his lips continuing their trail down her body.

He makes her fall apart with his hands and his mouth- her hands tugging desperately at his hair, his name falling off her lips like a prayer.

“Peter. Condom. Nightstand.” Jo pants at him. He reaches over blindly, fingers finding the foil square easily. Jo plucks it out of Peter’s hand, giving him a searing kiss before rolling the latex down. They both moan out loud when he pushes into her.

They rock against each other at a pace familiar to them, one they knew would drive them both to the end. Peter leaned down to kiss her, holding her tightly as he brought them both to climax.

“Holy hell, Jo.” Peter gasps in her ear after the ringing stops. He kisses across her jaw and behind her ear, pulling her into his side. His hand lightly trails up and down her back.

“I didn’t know it could be this good.” She tells him truthfully, tilting her head up to look at him.

Peter’s eyes search hers for a moment before he whispers, “Me neither.” He gives her a slow, deep kiss.

The two stay in bed all morning, talking about anything that comes to mind. Jo is mid-sentence when Peter shushes her and sits up quickly, eyes wide with concern. “Wha-” She can’t get the words out before there’s a loud bang and then another crash in her apartment. Terrified, Jo screams.

Before Jo can even react to what’s going on, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes are barging in her bedroom, fully suited. The two look ready to fight for a moment, then take in Jo and Peter, both still naked, in her bed.

“Oh, thank god.” Bucky sighs, at the same time Sam points at them, “I knew it!”

@liamakorn @supertight-tightywhites @bookxobcessedxintrovert

[webcricket]

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3216 (Act II)

A/N: Act II of a five-act series charting Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: The Queen of Angst @willowing-love who has my everlasting gratitude for helping hone these words [and, I’m sure, a bottle or two of my tears stored on a shelf somewhere for her own personal amusement].

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

Act II

“Hey kiddo.” Dean pinches and massages the exposed skin of your sweat-slick neck where you sit, groaning and hunched, over a mug of tea at the bunker’s kitchen table. The piquant scent of ginger steeping in the liquid smacks his senses from where he stands and he surmises exactly where and how you spent your morning. “You still worshipping the porcelain goddess? Cause if you are, we gotta find you a new religion real fast.”

“It’s nothing,” you mumble into your sleeve. Breath reflectively reeking to fill your nostrils, stomach acid tickling your throat, you do your best to ride out a renewed wave of nausea.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” you affirm.

Swinging a bowed leg over the seat, he settles onto the stool beside you. Perching an elbow on the tabletop, he props his chin up to objectively survey your miserable form. After the briefest of internal deliberations regarding the appropriateness of broaching the delicate topic, he dispels any qualms on the subject of the conceivably ‘no vacancy’ status of your womb and speaks, “Not to be blunt, but it’s been almost two weeks. Have you considered the notion that this may have nothing to do with the blue plate surf ‘n turf special you ate at Vinnie’s Diner? I mean, even bad shrimp isn’t this bad.”

You have considered the notion. At length. And you’ve settled firmly on denial as a plan of action – not that this strategy is necessarily working, but Castiel isn’t due back until tonight and you can’t begin to think about the scope of this properly without him. “No,” you lie. At least you’re sticking to your plan.

“Y/N-”

“It’s not possible.” You’re a hunter. He’s an angel. Both of you societal outliers in tenuous orbit around every impending apocalypse and new and improved big bad. It wouldn’t be right; no matter how wonderful the thought, or how many times you’ve dreamt of creating a family, it wouldn’t be right bringing a life into this messed up world where the path, moment to moment, is so uncertain – where everything could all come crashing down around you in the span of a single heartbeat.

“Oh honey, if the sounds Sammy and I are subjected to from behind closed doors when Castiel is around are any indication, I’d say it’s not only entirely possible but also very probable.” He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “I told the guy his angel blade doesn’t count as protection. The way you two go at it like rabbits. I’m surprised this didn’t come up sooner.” His diversional tactic doesn’t work except to demolish your hormonally fragile defenses.

You feel a prick of tears stinging your eyes. “Dean, I-,” your voice cracks, “I’m scared.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and draws you flush to his chest. Rubbing tactile reassurances into your back as you sob against him, he murmurs into your hair, “I know. I know, sweetheart. I got you though, you hear? And that stubborn pain in the ass angel? He loves you more than anything. We’re in this together. No matter what, okay?”

“Yeah?” you sniffle into his flannel shirt and peer up into his sincere greens.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, Dean.” You peck a kiss to his cheek and exhale a relieved sigh.

Nose flaring when your morning sick breath fans his face, he grimaces. “Ugh, you smell worse than Sam does after a run!” He continues to grip you tight in spite of any repulsion for your stinky state, contemplatively musing, “Like a ginger tea porta potty.” Reaching up to collect the wetness on your cheeks with a thumb, he grins wide when you smile. “There’s my girl.”

Clutching his hand and pressing your face into his palm, you manage a hoarse giggle.

“Duma, you must allow me passage.”

The shrill laughter of Castiel’s kin rings out into the air, piercing the nighttime quietude of the playground. “Castiel,” his fellow angel sneers, “it appears you’ve developed quite the sense of humor squandering your divine purpose amongst humanity all these years.”

“I see no humor in my request.” His mouth tenses in an anxious line, tongue worrying the pale pink shell of his lower lip. He bows his head in a demonstration of contrition. Heaven’s doorstep is the last place he wants to be, and at the same time, the very place his fractured heart compels him to be.

“Really?” His sister’s unrestrained delight gleams in the grin of her vessel – lips peeled taut over her teeth in righteous ridicule. “Because it sounded to me like you just demanded safe passage into Heaven.”

“I did.” He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders, muscles stiffening in response to her disdain. Flexing his fingers into fists, he feels the bolstering weight of the angel blade tucked up his coat sleeve; a reflexive defiance narrows his gaze.

One angel will not block his path. He might bend her will; if not with persuasion, then by force. But she is not alone; two more angels maintain a wary distance when they step out from the shadows behind him.

Appearance dour, Duma’s eyes spark dangerous and dark in the dim glow of lamplight illuminating the park. “The same Heaven you decimated not so long ago?” she bristles, emboldened by the presence of her brethren. “The one you selfishly betray to serve those mortal stains, the Winchesters?”

“Yes, sister,” he growls, knowing he will gain nothing by denying the truth of the past, “the same Heaven.” The same Heaven your soul inhabits. The same Heaven he must visit at any cost. He stands before his kin in ruin, fatalistic in his desire to look upon your soul once more. Already defeated, he has nothing more to lose.

“Oh, but brother,” she tisks, intake of breath a prolonged hiss. Revolving her back to him, flouting her superior authority given the circumstance, she muses, “It isn’t the same Heaven you remember at all.”

“Duma, please.” He pitches forward, halted by a firm grip seizing his shoulder and the heel of a boot simultaneously striking his calf and bending him to one knee. White hot celestial metal threatens to split the prickly flesh of his neck if he struggles.

She glares sideways, arms crossed, coolly regarding him, judging, “You’re no angel, Castiel. Not anymore. Some of us question whether you ever were at all. There’s nothing for you in Heaven.”

But there is someone. Your name resounds in the thunderous broken beat of his heart; he feels it pulse the length of his limbs, choking his gullet as it climbs to throb at his temples and wetly pool in his eyes. He clamps his jaw to preclude himself from crying it out; the iron tang of blood coats his bitten tongue.

An astute angel, she reads his reticent reaction as a confession to the contrary and reconsiders her assertion, “Or perhaps there is?”

Gulping guilt, unshaven skin scraping on the celestially forged lethal edge of the weapon held to his throat, his eyes cast downward, instinctive in their avoidance of the painful truth.

She skulks toward him. Threading her fingers into his hair, grabbing a fistful of loose curls by the roots, she yanks his head backward, forcing him to meet her penetrating gaze. “Maybe you seek the soul of that woman? The hunter. The one you are so fond of.”  

His vessel strains against the torrent of grief erupting from within at her mention of you; a reflection of firelight simmers in his irises as the vision of your lifeless body consumed by flame blazes in his mind. The raw emotion of anguish rises unbidden and uncontainable to shudder his vessel.

Holding him fast, shrewdly perceptive of his surfacing pain and vulnerability, she stokes the smoldering remnants of the seraph’s heart. “I heard the rumors. I didn’t believe them. Not until now.” Inclining so near that the heat of her breath laps at his skin as she speaks, the question glides innocent yet incisive off her tongue. “Tell me, Castiel. What happened to her?”

A flicker of anguish contorts his fascia. I happened! his mind screams out. His jaw quivers mutely. A muffled mournful mewling abrades his ears. The pungent odor of smoke and ash swirls to suffocate all else. Devastated by the rush of remembrance, the answer weakens his stoic resolve. He staggers under the weight, braced upright by the angel at his back.

Duma scrapes her nails into his scalp to compel an answer.

“I-I failed her,” he admits, telling her what she wants to hear and what he knows by the agony afflicting his heart to be true. Sadness dampens the dusky circles marring his melancholy countenance.

She snarls, “In the end you fail us all. It’s what you do.” Shoving him roughly, deeming him nonthreatening in his present state, she snaps her head, gesturing for her comrades to release him and make for the gate.

Backing off, giving him a wide berth as he fights to stand and stay balanced, the two angels circle around to the Enochian spell-etched sandbox and vanish in a spectacle of swirling purple light.

Trembling, Cas reaches out to catch Duma’s wrist as she turns to join them. “Allow me to speak to her one last time; then do what you will to me as penance for my transgressions. Imprison me, destroy me, I will atone for the wrongs I have reigned upon her and Heaven.”

A sadistic smirk twists her mouth. “Beg,” she simpers.

Expression grey and hollow, any vestiges of pride that remain disintegrating in the submission of the act, he collapses to his knees. Hands sinking into the gritty earth for support, as though he needs the handhold to keep from falling further than he already has from grace, he rocks backward. Sat suppliant on his heels, he turns up his sullied palms in surrender and peers up at her, tone somnolent. “Have mercy, sister,” he beseeches. “I’m begging you.”

Harshness softening, she extends a light touch to smooth his disheveled locks. “Look at you, Castiel. How far you’ve fallen. How fouled by humanity. How exhausted you must be by this relentless battle to yield yourself over to Heaven’s mercy.”

Eyes shimmering and wet, he feebly nods. “Please, please take me with you. Take me…home.” To her, he swallows the rest of the words that rise up, take me home, to her.

Lowering her slender frame to peer into his pallid features, a tender empathetic smile affects Duma’s face as she strokes his cheek with her fingertips. “You’ve suffered much, haven’t you, dear brother? An angel is not made to know this pain of love and loss.”

“I feel-” he professes, hesitating. “I-I feel. Father forgive me.”

“Yes, perhaps,” she relents, cupping his cheek, thumb smearing the brine of tears salting his skin. “Perhaps compassion is the correct course. Perhaps it is what Father would do.”

A shaky sigh of relief shivers his frame. Eyelids fluttering shut, your smiling mien manifests before him and can almost hear the laughter lighting up your eyes. It’s the summer day in the small park near the bunker you first said those three little words to him. The day he learned what the longing in his own heart meant. The day that forever altered the course of your lives. You materialize so near in his mind he might reach out to straighten the crooked halo of daisies ringing your wind-blown hair. Imagining you thus, he relaxes into Duma’s calming caress.

But her gentleness is false and fleeting, meant only to further wound him. “Perhaps not,” she spits, shattering his dream. Clawing at his jaw, streaks of crimson well in the wake of her nails. “This-”

Gaping in horror, the bleakness of the vacant park filling his vision, he recoils and topples backward onto the ground.

“This is your punishment!” She kicks the dirt and motions broadly around them. “To exist in exile here. Haunted by your failures. The love you feel for this woman, the pain too – it is forbidden. You break our most sacred oath, and for this indiscretion alone you deserve death. Be grateful I stay my hand, brother.” Sauntering backward into the whirling gate, she sentences him as it engulfs her, “There is your mercy, Castiel.”

Rolling to one side, he shields himself from the whoosh of leaf litter and sand smattering his fallen form as the gate seals behind her and any traces of the sigil granting access to Heaven are eradicated in her wake. Silence veils the park. Flattening his back to the ground, blues hazily filter beyond the vast black atmosphere of night. Trained toward the heaven denied him, he blinks numbly, the sting of sand and tears naught compared to the great void aching in his heart.

“I’m pregnant.”

An emotion verging on panic churns in the angel’s aspect. Color draining from his cheeks, his gaze falls from your nervous but elated smile to where your palm rests over your belly. It’s then he allows the foreboding niggling at his angelic senses this past month that something about you seemed different the acknowledgement it’s been wanting all along. “No,” he states, as if denying the life he kindled inside of you – the life consuming you – would somehow change the truth of it. No, he thinks, even as the rapid beating of your daughter’s heart assails his ears. No.

“It’s true.” Your smile falters at his disquiet reaction. You exhibit a handful of positive pregnancy tests as proof. “Dean picked them up for me today. He had a hunch. You know Dean and his hunches, right? I wanted to wait until you came home, but-,” you ramble, filling the uncomfortable vacuum between you with whatever words sprout upon your tongue, “-I suppose patience isn’t one of my virtues, is it? I’ve had morning sickness since just after you left to meet up with Jack.” In nervy compulsion, your fingertips dance across his chest and fret at the buttons of his shirt. “Cas?”

Inside, he’s crumbling. The creation of a Nephilim requires inconceivable power. Power on par with the likes of the devil and the archangels or God himself; a power Castiel did not believe he possessed as a simple seraph. He did not understand the enormous power contained in the sentiment of love – nor did he comprehend the pure and untapped potential of this love when wielded by an angel flawed by too much heart. He was careless at the cost of your life. He outstretches an unsteady hand to touch your stomach.

You catch him halfway, squeezing your fingers over his own and lifting the hem of your shirt to flatten his broad palm into the softness of your flesh.

Eyelids drooping, all he can see is the replayed memory of his tentative hand resting on Kelly’s bulging belly. Though not his progeny, Jack spoke to him then. Gave him reassurances. Settled his trepidation. Forged an unbreakable bond. Yet this child within you, his child, is silent.

For all their connection and her power, she is unable to traverse the expanding emptiness shrouding her father’s heart at the thought of losing you. She cannot reassure him this is a beginning, not an end. She cannot show him the radiant gladness and love shining upon her from within your soul. She wills you to speak for her, to give him the comfort she cannot.

Your lips part, voice quavering, “Cas, everything…everything’s going to be okay.”

Lashes heavy, his focus resolves on your anxiously searching eyes. In them he sees bravery; Kelly’s bravery, too, shone much like yours. And now she’s gone, because for all his power, love, and goodness, Jack could not save his mother from her death upon bringing him into this world and neither could the angel. It will be no different for you.

“Angel, say something. Please.”

“It’s a girl,” he says, deflecting his unquelled surge of terror with a statement meant to distract you.

“A girl!” you squeal. Joy crinkling at your nose and eyes, you leap to throw your arms around him. “Oh, my angel-”

He burrows his chin into the delicate skin of your neck. Yes, your angel. Always. As you are his; but no matter how close he holds you now, he feels you slipping away.

Gazing out the dingy windshield toward the playground and Heaven’s bolted entrance, Castiel ignores the insistent rhythmic buzz of the cell phone vibrating on the passenger seat cushion of his truck. The sky above brightens in the violet-orange hue characteristic of the dawn. He scarcely perceives this day’s light; his mind is anchored in another sunrise – your final one.

He can feel the interlocking of your fingers through his own, filling the gaps, giving him something to hold on to. He remembers the weight of your sleep-mussed head lolling to his shoulder, the warmth of your burgeoning belly and body nestled to his torso as you huddle on the roof of the bunker on a whim awaiting daybreak. He doesn’t know yet it will be your last day together.

“You ever wonder what a sunrise is, angel?”

He shakes his head as he did then, a compact smile shaping his mouth. It’s not because he hasn’t thought about it or that he dismisses the notion as trivial; rather, he delights in hearing your meditations on such topics.

“I think it’s a promise fulfilled. A beginning born from darkness. The light is hope.”

Of the opinion the bulk of his Father’s creations are rarely so complex, the angel wordlessly reasons maybe the cycle represents nothing, it being merely the revolution of a planet around a star. A star that one day will blister and die and consume the life it once nurtured. A means only to an inevitable end. Considering the optimistic smile aglow on your face, he humors you, says nothing, and simply nods.

“No matter what happens, the sun always rises. Promise me you’ll remember that, angel.”

You don’t say the words when I’m gone; he hears them nonetheless.

“Castiel, please promise me…”

A jolt judders his vessel at the vividness of the recollection. His fingers contract around the thin air. He glances to the space beside him. Growling and grabbing at the nettling cell, three letters pop up on the screen – Sam. He isn’t sure why he keeps the device turned on anymore. Or for that matter, charged. Or why he even bothers to keep it at all aside from habit. He sends the call to voicemail where Sam will be unable to leave a message in a mailbox already teeming with Dean’s collected alternating raving rants and plaintive pleas for Cas to do the right thing.

The angel briefly ponders stuffing the phone out of sight in the glovebox. Leaning across the seat to unlatch the cover, he decides instead to toss it out the open window. He no longer knows what the right thing to do is and doesn’t need to be reminded of this fact – he lost sight of this and everything else when he lost you. The only thing, right or wrong, he can concentrate on is the objective of seeing you again. If Heaven won’t help him he’ll need a back door and, cranking the key in the ignition, he knows precisely where to go knocking.

Continue reading Act III:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/173598542435/an-angels-elegy