#soft pining looks across ballrooms neither of them able to make a move
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can we get medieval slow burn crumbs pls 🤲🙏
I have had this idea with Knight Ghost bouncing around in my head since I saw an absolutely destructive to my psyche insta reel, so here it is
Ghost helps you get his mail shirt over your head, far too big and far too heavy for you to practically wear, but he's insistent. You try not to tense your shoulders at the weight of it, try not to buckle your knees when it drops into place. You knew knights were strong but to wear this every day without so much as a complaint? Plus the rest of the armor? Your eyes roam over Ghost's broad shoulders as he turns away from you to fuss with the rest of his armor. You always thought he'd look smaller without all the metal, but it almost feels like the opposite it true.
He's larger than life. Life being the operative word here. A living breathing man of flesh and blood, and greater warmth than the fire. His linen shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, revealing the firm musculature as he moves. You grab the mail shirt in your tightening fists, feel the well worked metal press its indents into your skin, still so warm from being on Ghost. You want to touch him. You won't, you're not supposed to. Not supposed to want to. You think that's what the armor is for, to keep you from thinking the man underneath is human, to keep you from wanting him.
"You alright Princess?" He asks, his voice is so low and rasping it makes you want to melt, "Thought you'd be complaining about the weight by-" He turns to look at you again, and his voice falls another impossible degree, "-now. Jesus." His eyes drag over you, fresh kindling for the fire in your stomach, the heat in your cheeks.
You must look silly in your dress and his chain mail, but the way he looks at you... God, the way he looks at you. Not even at your best dressed has a man looked at you like that. You swallow, and hold onto the mail rings a little tighter.
"It's heavy," You tell him, and although you mean it to sound like a complaint, to whine and put on the spoiled princess act that keeps all the other men away, you find your voice quiet almost reverent. Ghost nods, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. The only man in the kingdom with the impertinence not to look away, not to bow his head to your gaze.
"It'll keep you safe," He barely breathes, his eyes don't leave you, can't leave you. There's no where safer to look than your face, and no where more dangerous.
"You're doing a more than suitable job of that already," You know that twitch in his brow, the way his lips draw thin.
You remember the bandits that had ambushed your carriage, the way they're battered their daggers against your door, made slow battle with your guards. How they'd dragged you out of your safety kicking and screaming with harsh laughter. How Ghost's blade had torn through them like paper, his eyes red with fury. The physical shield he'd put between you and your assailants, the sound their swords had made bouncing off his armor was still ringing through your ears. Blood still soaked the hem of your dress.
"I'm not taking any chances," His eyes leave yours, turning his attention back to his armor. It's like having cold water thrown over your head. With you, you think, he's not taking any chances with you. "Can you move at all?" He asks, not looking at you, it feels purposeful. You hesitate, before testing the weight over your arms, hopping to feel the drag of the chain try to pull you down. You shake you head.
"Not much, I don't think I'll be swinging a sword anytime soon." He chuckles, and the heat returns to you, your heart clenching tight in your chest.
"That's good," He nods, "Violence doesn't suit you."
You wish it did, sometimes. You've begged him enough to at least show you how to properly hold a sword, but he always refuses. Always tells you, your future husband won't want your glaring to hold real threats. As if your gaze doesn't already bear his shadow, doesn't command Ghost to act as your sword. Wouldn't he come with you, to wherever you did marry? You couldn't stand to be apart from him.
Ghost lifts you up onto his horse with a quiet grunt of effort. "We'll have to take more rests, she's a strong horse but with two of us..." He shakes his head, pets a hand down the horse's neck. "Do you think you can stomach a few extra days of travel, my lady?" His hand lingers on your dress. His lady, you think, he never shortens the words like the others do.
"Of course, I'm hardly one to complain," for you, you tack on silently.
"Of course not," for me, he seems to agree.
#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost mw2#knight!Ghost#princess!reader#medieval au#I want him so fucking badly I am screaming I want him#his lady and her knight#soft pining looks across ballrooms neither of them able to make a move#Ghost seeing his girl in his armor and losing all ability to think#cod ghost
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Hello. I am very interested with WinterIron. Enemies to Lovers, abo with omega Tony, accidental bonding, mutual pining, a lot and a loooootttttt of kissing and touching (with "I do it because of bond" excuses).
Please feel free to cross anything you feel uncomfortable with.
Hi there! I wasn't able to get everything in there, but hopefully there's enough? I loved this prompt so much, it was a fun verse to write in 💙
CW for omegas having few rights in this verse and for creepy Aldrich Killian
As always, everything I write can also be found on ao3
~
mate bond: [meyt bond] noun
1. A mental and physical connection that ties two people together following a mating bite
2. A pair bond between spouses
~
[An excerpt from The Other Half of My Soul: An Exploration into Unconventional Bonding Methods by Anderson-Lopez et al, 1972]
“While rare, it is important to note the existence of mate bonds in individuals who have not exchanged bites. These instances have notably occurred during times of high stress for one or both individuals, and are sparked by an inciting incident of some kind, usually a traumatic event. While these types of mate bonds, dubbed soulmate bonds by the media, frequently occur between individuals who are highly compatible, it is not necessary. Curiously, however, it does seem necessary that the individuals are scent matched for a soulmate bond, even though compatible second genders are not a requirement.”
~
Bucky maintained that it was an accident.
Tony had been meant for Steve, after all. That was the arrangement Howard Stark had decided on with Fury. Bucky had only come along as moral support for the first meeting between Steve and Tony. He wasn’t even supposed to meet Tony first, but the crowded ballroom had been too much for him, so he’d ducked out into the hallway, only to come across two alphas menacing an omega. He supposed that some of Steve’s fiery nature must have rubbed off on him, as he normally would have never taken on two alphas by himself, not when he was down an arm. But he’d taken one look at that omega, pretty brown eyes wide with distress, and leapt into action. It hadn’t been until both alphas had been sent off running with their tails between their legs that he’d realized the omega he’d rescued was Tony Stark, Steve’s arranged mate.
Unfortunately (fortunately? No, definitely unfortunately), the arranged match would never come to fruition as Bucky and Tony had looked at each other and immediately bonded without a shared word or bite between them.
Howard was furious, Fury less so—Bucky was still a SHIELD agent, even if he wasn’t the great Captain America, so the planned union between SHIELD and SI would still happen—but both Bucky and Tony insisted that it hadn’t been done on purpose. And, as neither had a mating bite but could still feel the other at the back of their mind, it was hard to disprove the existence of what had once been called a soulmate bond, though was now called the rather unglamorous name of Mate Bond Subtype C, which Bucky thought sounded like an illness.
The media thought it was the most romantic thing they’d ever heard. Steve, who was slowly courting another alpha from SHIELD, thought it was a relief. Bucky, who didn’t want an omega while he was still recovering from the surgery on his arm, thought it was a nightmare at first.
He didn’t know what Tony thought.
They might have shared a bond between them, but Tony had quickly figured out how to shield his feelings. It had taken Bucky a little bit more practice but he too had worked out how to keep his thoughts and feelings private, which was good, because he doubted Tony would like to know what he was thinking.
They’d been bonded for three months and, while Bucky had moved into Tony’s penthouse apartment, they didn’t share a room, let alone a bed. He still took long missions that took him away for weeks at a time. Tony spent more time at SI’s research labs than he did at home. Bucky hadn’t shared Tony’s heat, nor had Tony shared Bucky’s rut, though neither of them had invited anyone else into their beds. And other than their planned public outings where they had to touch to put on the façade of a happily bonded couple, they didn’t hold hands or kiss or lean into each other, giggling.
The problem was—Bucky wanted all of that. He wanted to sleep curled around Tony. He wanted the two of them to be home long enough to share more than one dinner together at a time. He desperately wanted to share cycles, but even more badly than that, he wanted to touch Tony as often as the omega could stand it. Because the problem was also this—sometime in the course of three months, he’d fallen in love.
~
Tony slid his hand into Bucky’s as they stood in the elevator. “It’s just a quick walk around the ballroom, say hi to a couple investors, and then we can leave,” he said reassuringly, giving Bucky a quick smile. “I know how much you hate these shindigs.”
This was true, Bucky did hate them, but he knew that Tony hated them just as much, though he hid it much better than Bucky did. “Don’t worry,” he replied, squeezing Tony’s hand quickly. “I’ll stick to you like glue.”
“Well, maybe not like glue. Like Velcro, maybe. Howard’s got a couple investors that I know he wants me to meet and that I know you’ll hate so you’re more than welcome to go off and find people more to your liking then. I heard Steve’s coming.”
Bucky had to fight to hide a frown. He knew Tony didn’t mean any harm by the comment, but he hated how Tony thought he wouldn’t want to be by his side even when meeting people he didn’t like. So what if he didn’t like them? He’d still prefer to be giving Tony silent support instead of wandering off and leaving him alone for that long.
Before he can respond, the elevator came to a smooth stop, the doors opening on a soft ding to reveal the glittering ballroom Maria Stark had chosen to host the Annual Stark Foundation’s Shareholders’ Ball, meant to honor those who had given so generously to charity over the last year. The room was decorated in delicate ice-like structures, calling to mind the snow blanketing the city outside, though it wasn’t nearly as cold inside. Golden chandeliers reflected off the dark windows, giving the impression of a never-ending stretch of light. It was all so very glitzy and glamorous. Bucky hated it. It was an obscene display of wealth, meant solely to remind everyone that the Starks were richer than anyone else in the room.
“One hour, Bucky Bear,” Tony murmured like he could hear Bucky’s thoughts. “And then we can go get burgers.”
He dropped Bucky’s hand in favor of sliding his own into the crook of Bucky’s elbow, gently steering him towards the first group of investors. Like every other rich person he’d met since bonding with Tony, they were simultaneously smug of their own “generosity” (mere pennies compared to their bank accounts) and jealous, both of Tony’s wealth and Bucky’s luck in landing a Stark (not his words). The smugness was blatant, the jealousy only slightly hidden in the way their eyes lingered as Bucky took the opportunity to brush his lips across Tony’s cheek, quietly telling him he was going to go get them drinks.
“I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me,” he promised, understanding the minute tightness at the corners of Tony’s eyes.
Tony smiled and nodded, attention already turning back to the investors—or, more likely, to his latest project, however much it might have looked like he was paying attention to Hugh Worthington IV. Bucky slipped through the crowd to the bar. Fortunately, it wasn’t crowded yet and he was able to order a whiskey for himself and a scotch for Tony, who always refused to drink the fruity drinks he actually preferred at these parties, almost immediately. As he waited, he turned back to the crowd, idly scanning it. Steve wasn’t there yet, if it was indeed true that Fury had managed to stuff him into a suit and send him off to schmooze. His eyes sought out Tony, who was laughing as he excused himself from the group Bucky had left him with, moving on to another small throng of people.
He smiled despite himself. Tony was lovely like this, despite his discomfort. Bucky got to see him laugh so rarely at home that he cherished every moment he got to see it while they were out in public.
“Sir, your drinks,” the bartender prompted. He thanked them absently and left a tip on the bar before making his way back across the ballroom to Tony’s side.
Tony wasn’t laughing now. In fact, if his pursed lips were anything to go off of, he was pretty furious, and Bucky wondered what had upset him between him leaving the bar and him returning to Tony’s side.
“Doll,” he said, letting Tony know he was there. Tony turned and took his drink, thanking him with a quick kiss that Bucky desperately wanted to turn into a longer, sweeter one.
“Honey, Senator Stern here was just telling me about an omega’s rights bill he filibustered so it wouldn’t pass,” Tony said, irritation bleeding into his tone.
“Now isn’t that interesting,” Bucky drawled, irritated himself. The bill in question was a law that he knew Tony had backed, as it would have put a stop to the arranged bondings the wealthy were so fond of. They’d both known it would be a longshot to pass, but they’d remained hopeful. “That’s the one that Stevie supported isn’t it?”
“It is,” Tony agreed. “My alpha here—” He patted Bucky’s chest. “—is close friends with Captain Rogers. They grew up together, you know. Steve spends nearly every Saturday evening with us. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear about this bill failing to pass. Isn’t he supposed to be putting in an appearance at the Senate hearing next week? It would be such a shame if he couldn’t make it.”
Tony’s statement was only partially true. Bucky mostly saw Steve at SHIELD, as Steve, despite being always welcome at their apartment, didn’t want to be reminded of how close he’d come to an arranged bonding of his own. But Steve, who had been an omega before receiving the serum, had always been an outspoken supporter of omega’s rights, and now that he was an alpha, and Captain America to boot, he used every bit of that privilege to push as much pro-omega legislature through Congress as he could. He was a thorn in conservative senators’ sides, like Stern, and it was a minor miracle that they’d gotten him to appear in front of Congress to talk positively about a Republican bill supporting an expansion of benefits for veterans, when he normally disagreed with anything Republican just on principle. Steve’s support would go a long way toward getting that bill passed.
Tony’s veiled threat was effective. Stern, one of the authors of the bill, blanched, making Bucky smile. He loved watching Tony do his thing. There was really nothing better than Tony putting bullies like Stern back in their place.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Stern stammered out before hurrying away.
As soon as he was gone, Tony drooped, leaning back against Bucky. It was nice, being able to lend his support to his omega, but Tony was standing up straight again after only a moment, the façade falling back over him.
“I really hate that guy,” Tony said softly. He looked up at Bucky. “Sorry about using your friendship with Steve like that. I was just so angry. Saw red for a second there.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said. Impulsively, he reached out to clasp Tony’s shoulder, running his thumb soothingly over the soft skin just above his shirt collar. “You guys got a bad lot in life. You do what you gotta do to make it right.”
Tony hummed. “I really wanted that bill to pass. It wasn’t right, what Howard and Fury wanted me to do. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that.”
“Sorry,” Bucky offered up. It was a lame apology, but he didn’t know what else he could say to make it better. He knew very well that if he and Tony hadn’t bonded that night, Steve would be Tony’s alpha.
To his surprise, Tony smiled and nudged his shoulder, teasing, “I don’t know, you’re not so bad.”
Bucky sputtered, nearly choking on his whiskey.
“Oh, look, Steve’s just arrived,” Tony said airily, like he hadn’t noticed the effect his words were having on Bucky. “Let’s go say hi.”
Talking to Steve at these events was always awkward. Tony and Steve were both aware that neither of them wanted anything to do with each other as mates, which made having to see each other a study in unspoken tension. He didn’t think it was that either of them had a problem with the other, and he suspected that they could even manage to be friends eventually, but it was that knowledge that they’d nearly been forced to mate that made things so tense between them. Still, he appreciated that Tony was willing to put up with it so that Bucky could see his best friend. It was the sort of small kindness that Tony unthinkingly did that had made Bucky fall in love with him so easily.
Tonight was no different. Tony and Steve exchanged no more than a few awkward words before Tony excused himself to go meet with Emma Frost. He didn’t bother kissing Bucky this time, as Steve was one of the few people they didn’t have to pretend with and it didn’t seem like anyone was watching them at the moment. It would have been different if they’d met up a few months ago. There’d been more than a few people who’d somehow got it into their heads that Steve and Tony’s proposed bond was a love match instead of arranged, and they’d all watched eagerly to see how Steve, Tony, and Bucky interacted in those days following Bucky and Tony’s bonding, clearly wondering if Steve was going to pick a fight. They’d been sorely disappointed, of course; Steve and Bucky didn’t fight over anything, let alone an omega that Steve hadn’t wanted.
“So Fury roped you into the dog and pony show, huh,” Bucky asked, eyeing the stiff collar of Steve’s shirt. He’d be willing to bet that it was brand new. Steve was much more at home in a pair of khakis and a flannel shirt than he was in a tuxedo.
“Senator Brandt actually,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “He thinks it’s good for me to make appearances and drum up support for SHIELD.”
“Sucks.” There was a niggling worry growing at the back of his mind, unrelated to Steve’s complaints about the brass, but Bucky didn’t know what it was. He glanced around the room, but was unable to spot anything amiss. He tried to put it out of his mind by asking, “How’s working with the Commandos?” He couldn’t entirely keep the bitterness out of his voice. Bucky had been moved out of the Commandos unit a few weeks before meeting Tony, and it wasn’t that he didn’t like being on Strike Team Delta, but he was still irritated that he hadn’t had a choice in the matter.
“Not the same without you,” Steve said, grimacing at him like he knew what was going through Bucky’s mind.
They continued talking about SHIELD as they slowly circulated the room and all the while, that worry was growing stronger, slowly morphing into fear, but it wasn’t until he happened to catch a glimpse of Tony standing in the corner and looking tense and unhappy that he realized they weren’t his feelings. They were Tony’s. Tony was worried and scared and had brought down his shields so that Bucky could feel his emotions and Bucky was standing on the other side of the room like an idiot.
“Excuse me,” he said brusquely, cutting Steve off. “Tony’s in trouble.”
He headed straight for Tony, pushing through the crowd without sparing a thought to anyone he might be offending as he shoved them aside. For once, it was Steve who was trailing after him, offering apologies to everyone who looked offended.
There was a look of naked relief in Tony’s eyes as Bucky marched up behind the alpha Tony was talking to. It was a look he’d never seen on Tony’s face before, at least not directed at him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that his omega was happy to have him there or disliked that Tony had to be relieved at all.
“Something wrong, doll?” he asked, hand clamping down on the alpha’s shoulder.
“Bucky,” Tony breathed. He sagged back against the wall. “This is Aldrich Killian. He’d like to propose—” Tony’s mouth twisted unhappily. “He’d like to propose an omega trade. I told him I wasn’t interested, but he insisted on talking to you.”
Anger flared in Bucky’s chest, hot and furious. Omega trades weren’t common anymore, used mostly in backroom deals to secure a transaction. You treat my omega right and I’ll treat your omega right, and maybe we can have a deal. He knew the rich, traditional alphas Tony had grown up with still occasionally used them, but he hated them. He’d always hated them. The very concept treated omegas like property, like hostages, and the thought of seeing Tony—his Tony—under someone else had his vision shading red.
“Is that so?” he hissed.
Killian, the idiot, didn’t seem to notice Bucky’s growing anger. “Maya’s a great—” he began to say.
Bucky cut him off with a hand around his throat, slamming him into the wall.
“Bucky—” Steve started, a warning in his voice.
“Tell them it’s SHIELD business,” he snapped. “Isn’t that the usual excuse?”
What Steve did to placate the crowd growing around them, he didn’t know; he was too intent on Killian to care. “Let me get this straight,” he growled. “You asked Tony for a trade and when he told you no, because I know him, he wouldn’t ever want that and he wouldn’t be quiet about it, you cornered him and insisted you’d only listen to a no from me.” It wasn’t a question. Tony’s thoughts and emotions were flooding him with what Killian had tried to do to him. He growled again at the image of Killian’s hand on Tony’s arm, removed after only a moment. This—this—alpha had tried to put his hands on Tony, had ignored his clear no, and was still babbling on about whatever business deal he wanted out of Bucky—or, more likely, Tony, though as an omega, Tony wouldn’t be able to make that decision.
“It’s a yes or no question, Killian,” he finally snapped, losing his temper. “Did you or did you not ignore Tony’s answer—"
“He’s an omega,” Killian tried.
“He’s a person. He’s a person who was clearly uncomfortable with you and you should never have ignored that. The only reason you’re still standing and not laid out on the floor is because he cares about making a scene, but guess what, I don’t.” His hand tightened on Killian’s throat, making the man wheeze. “Do—”
“Bucky,” Tony said quietly, cutting through his anger.
Without removing his hand from Killian, he looked at Tony. Tony still looked a little shaken, but there was something else in his eyes, something that Bucky didn’t know how to describe.
“Let him go,” Tony continued. “You made your point.”
“He—”
“Yeah, he did,” Tony said, knowing what he was going to say. Bucky wondered if his own shields were down, letting Tony read his thoughts and feelings. “And you were here to stop it, so it’s okay. Let him go, we can go get burgers.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to make sure Killian never laid hands on someone unwilling ever again, but then Steve was there, carefully pulling Bucky away as he muttered to him about seeing what Fury could do about Killian. And that wasn’t exactly what Bucky wanted, but it was better than nothing, and taking care of Tony was his priority anyway. So since Tony wanted burgers, he would go get burgers.
He spun on his heels, intent on heading to the elevators, only to freezes as soon as he saw Tony. They were supposed to be faking it, which meant that he should do something—wrap an arm around Tony’s waist or kiss his forehead or—or something. But Tony had just had to deal with an unwelcome touch. He shouldn’t have to deal with another one so soon afterwards.
Tony surprised him though by stepping forward and sliding his hand into Bucky’s, interlacing their fingers. “Come on, alpha. Let’s go home,” he said, leading Bucky through the crowd watching them. Bucky ignored them in favor of drinking in the sight of Tony whole and healthy, if not happy.
They were quiet in the elevator ride back down to the parking garage, quiet as they climbed into the back of the car, quiet as Happy pulled out onto the road. Then Tony slid across the backseat to tuck up against Bucky’s side. He rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and, after a moment, Bucky rested his cheek against Tony’s curls.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Tony said. Bucky could feel the truth in his words through their bond, and he realized that Tony hadn’t put his mental shields back up. “I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I hadn’t been expecting something like that.”
“Shouldn’t have taken it so far though. I know you’re not—we’re not—” He grimaced as he fumbled over the words. He’d been able to admit for three months that he and Tony weren’t in a relationship, why was it so hard now?
Tony hesitated before carefully saying, “We could be.”
“We—what?”
“Bucky Bear,” Tony said warmly, sitting up so he could look him in the eyes. “You have to know—people don’t just do what you did tonight or the night we met, for that matter. Not for me. I—I don’t know, the way we bonded, it threw me off. I wasn’t expecting it and I reacted badly. But—then the way you reacted to Killian got me thinking—maybe we could try?”
“Try?” Bucky whispered.
“Try us?” Tony asked, leaning back in slowly, giving Bucky enough time to move away if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We could try. I—I’d like that.”
Tony smiled at him, bright and lovely, and closed the distance between them.
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AU-gust 2021 Prompts
4. Dancing
(Soooo it’s almost October… but that’s okay, right?)
Who wants some Dadneto feels? Who wants pining Erik?
If you do you’ve come to the right place!
Charles is nanny to Wanda and Peter, who’ve lost their mother, Magda. Erik is living a half life as an overworked single father, feeling the loss of his wife. Charles brings them back to life. This is the moment Erik realizes he’s desperately in love with Charles.
This exists in the Nanny Fic verse, but stands alone as a sort of prequel. You don’t have to have read Nanny Fic for this to work.
~2300 words
*
Erik knew the exact moment his heart had gone into free fall. One second in time when everything had crystallized, when notions and feelings that had been vague or easily ignored all shifted into place and could no longer be so easily denied.
Everything had been hard for so long, work especially, or completely, as work was virtually all he did. His entire existence boiled down to a desk, in an open space office, downtown. He got to work early, always early, trying to eek out the extra time needed to get caught up, even though he never quite succeeded in doing so. The day was spent in a haze of stress and tension, trying to meet unmeetable deadlines, and failing. He, and the rest of the team, would get scolded like school-children, belittled, until all the metal in the office vibrated imperceptibly. Imperceptibly because he needed this job— the stable pay, the incredible benefits, the mutant friendly culture. In the end, they all stayed late, too often, too late, to make up for the aforementioned deadlines. Overtime? Never. It was their fault, their incompetence, after all.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
It was no way for anyone to live, because it wasn’t a life. It was an existence, maybe, barely, but not a life.
Wander and Peter deserved so much more.
Every day he missed his kids. It was an ache like a stone in his shoe, but lodged instead in his heart, and he could see no way to remove it. Quitting, finding something else, it wasn’t an option, not in this economy. So the ache was always there. Always always always. When he finally did get home, he was tired. So fucking tired. He tried. He really did. He rallied as best he could for them but, at best, they got half of him because he was living a half life. Worn down, worn out, nothing left.
They had already lost one parent.
Magda.
Forever.
They barely had half of the other.
At least they had Charles.
Thank god for Charles.
His gratitude for the man and everything he did for him, for the twins, was staggering.
He shouldn’t have been able to afford a full day nanny/tutor after the education system had shut their doors on two young, volatile, mutants who couldn’t control their powers. Charles had swept in and hadn’t balked, like every applicant before him, at what Erik could pay. It was such a non-issue, Erik hadn’t looked a gift horse in the mouth, and had hired Charles on the spot.
Every day since, he had left them in Charles’ capable hands and, every day since, he had come home to bright smiles and happiness, to little people bursting with the need to tell him what adventures they’d gone on that day. There was joy, laughter and stability in the Lehnsherr household again. How could he be anything other than staggeringly grateful?
That’s all it was, gratitude, or so he told himself, until he couldn’t any longer.
When he ran his powers over his watch that lightning-strike evening, he was getting home around what should have been the tail end of dinner time. Charles stayed when needed, Charles cooked, even though contractually he was obligated to do neither. Erik paid him overtime, of course, but each day the clock ticked past 5:00 he half-panicked that when he finally made it through the door, Charles would throw his hands up and say ‘enough is enough,’ balking at yet another 12 hour day and justifiably disappearing from their lives forever.
Erik thought they would be seated at the table, finishing up— once again finding himself missing dinner, missing that precious time where he could talk to them, share a meal, share their day. If it had been a bit earlier, if he’d been on time, he usually found them finishing up their studies. Though he’d seen both many times already, he never failed to boggle at his kids sitting politely to dinner, or engrossed in whatever lesson Charles was offering that day. His kids — Peter especially — sitting. Engrossed. Learning. Sitting. They’d come farther, faster, under Charles’ care, than they had in an entire year at school. He was a miracle worker.
Today, however, he saw neither. They weren’t eating dinner, as expected, or even watching TV, as they did if he was particularly late. They were…
Dancing.
Well, Wanda and Charles were dancing, Peter was moving around the room erratically, random bursts of his incredible speed, that sort of resembled dancing, if you squinted. The control was itself incredible and something he never could have dreamed of before Charles. It was also incongruous because the music was— a waltz? Or, something like it. Erik wasn’t particularly versed in ballroom music.
Wanda and Charles, unlike Peter, were dancing in time to the music, in the proper way. Wanda was perched atop Charles’ feet in the manner small children sometimes did. She was smiling up at Charles with bright eyes, and Charles was smiling back with just as much warmth. The reddish glow that signified the use of her powers was escaping from her hands, though she didn’t seem to be using those powers in any way he could discern. She just seemed… happy.
“1, 2, 3, 4. Yes, just like that Wanda, you’re doing splendidly!”
Her smile got wider.
They turned about the cleared out living space and he came into Wanda’s line of sight. “Papa!” She leapt out of Charles’ grasp and surged toward him, tackling his long legs hard enough to knock him back a step. “I’m learning how to be a Princess, a real princess! Like they have where Charles is from!”
Peter stopped just short in front of him, after another burst of extreme speed, startling him back another step. Erik wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it. “I’m the court jester!” he announced, proudly.
Erik laughed, “Of course you are.” The warmth of their happiness began to chase away the weariness, the cold ache ever present in his chest, and replaced it with something else.
“We had a tea party!” Wanda went on and gestured to the kitchen table, where the remains of little tea sandwiches, cakes and biscuits were strewn about, along with a teapot Erik didn’t recall owning. “It was so fancy!”
Peter speeded to the table, knocking into it, and nearly upended the contents. He picked up a tea cup. “We held it like this! It was so silly.” He held out his pinky finger in that cliched way.
“Watch me dance!” Wanda all but plowed back into Charles, who winced as she stepped back onto his feet with just a bit too much force. He bore it in stride and picked back up where they had left off. “Do you see, Papa? Do you see? I’m dancing just like a princess.”
Erik reached out and stroked her hair as they passed. “Du bist eine Prinzessin, Bärchen.”
Peter began “dancing” erratically again. “I didn’t want to be a prince.” He crinkled his nose in distaste between bursts of speed. “Jesters are way cooler than stinky princes.”
Wanda did not respond but held her head higher, more haughtily.
Erik felt suddenly, wildly, close to tears.
As they made another pass, Wanda gasped and released Charles, lunging at Erik again. “Papa! You and Charles can be the King and Qu—” Her face screwed up in momentary confusion. “—King. We can have two Kings, right?”
“Of course. Whatever you want.”
With that settled, she went on. “Then, the kings should dance too!”
Erik’s eyes immediately flew up to Charles’, who looked just as taken aback by the sudden suggestion as he.
“Oh Bärchen, I don’t think—”
“Papa, the kings have to dance too!” It was a statement of inarguable fact. The sky is blue, the sun shines every day, the kings must dance. Peter stopped to nod his agreement.
Erik sidestepped. “The king could dance with his princess.”
That earned him 5-year-old exasperation. “Why don’t you want to dance with Charles? That’s silly. He can teach you. C’mon Papa!” She physically nudged him in Charles’ direction. Catching Charles’ gaze, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “It appears Princess Wanda has spoken.”
Charles’ face was alight with amusement. “Yes, it does appear that way.” He straightened his shoulders and extended his hand. “May I have this dance, sire?”
That hand was warm, when Erik placed his own on it, and soft. When those same hands settled on Erik’s upper back and waist, the heat seeped through the thinness of his dress shirt. He hadn’t been this close to anyone, hadn’t been touched, not since… All at once he wanted both more and less, to fall forward and pull back.
Charles was no less beautiful this close up— blue eyes still sparkling with amusement, a quirk to his very red mouth projecting the same emotion, a loch of his unwieldy hair falling playfully across his forehead, a sprinkle of barely there freckles across his nose. There should have been flaws. With their nearness, Erik should have been able to pick them out, but he couldn’t find a single one.
“Papa!” Wanda jolted him back to the room. “You’re not dancing!”
So they weren’t. Feeling very caught out, warmth rose to his cheeks. Blushing? Was he blushing? Erik didn’t blush.
“Have you waltzed before?”
“No.”
“Like this.”
Charles was gentle. He lead with authority, but
somehow managed to be gentle at the same time. It seemed to sum up everything he had learned about the man, watching him nurture his children back to life. After a few awkward steps and bumping knees, Charles’ lead was easy to follow and Erik found himself gliding across the floor in no time at all.
“You have a natural grace,” Charles murmured, as they turned about the room.
“Hardly. You’re an excellent teacher.”
“No.” The word was said with surprising firmness. “You’re very fluid, you feel the music. Musicality like that cannot be taught. Not easily. Certainly not this quickly.”
Something burned in Erik’s chest at the words, at the sincerity behind them. The feeling took a moment to recognize, but it was pride. When was the last time he’d felt proud about anything he’d done? The warmth spread, trickling outward from his chest, from where Charles’ hands were still pressing against him. Could he feel it too, through the small, open space between their bodies? He felt like he could.
Around them the kids danced too— Peter in his manic way, Wanda with an invisible partner.
He wanted to drop his forehead to Charles’, wanted to disappear in his warmth, his kindness, his care. Experiencing this small taste of it, he suddenly, desperately, wanted more— wanted to be the object of the same support, encouragement and comfort his children received. A nanny no longer, but a father to his children, a partner to him. All at once, he could see it so clearly, what it would be like if Charles didn’t leave at the end of each day. If he stayed, if they were…
Oh god.
To not be alone in this.
He couldn’t think the word.
To be whole.
He shouldn’t think the word.
To be a… family.
In that moment, he wanted it so badly he could scarcely breathe. He was gripping Charles too tightly now. He knew he was. But, he couldn’t stop. It said everything he couldn’t and absolutely shouldn’t— please don’t go, please stay, please be here with us.
We love you.
I love you.
The clarity of it was striking. You’re Charles. I’m Erik. I love you. Please stay. Now. Always.
Striking, real, clear, but terrifying.
He let go. Too fast.
“Are you all right?” The concern on Charles’ face deepened the ache that had taken hold with such fierceness in his chest.
He wasn’t. He hadn’t been. Not for a long time. But, for an awful moment, he thought that he could be. With Charles, he could be. “Fine,” he ground out, unused to losing his composure so completely. “I’m fine just… tired. It’s late, isn’t it? I’m sure you want to be getting home.”
Was that…? No. He was projecting. Surely, he had not seen a fleeting burst of disappointment in Charles’ features. The man was nodding. The children were protesting.
“You know I’ll be back tomorrow.” Charles chided as he bundled them into a group hug which Erik had to restrain himself from joining.
“Can we play princesses—”
“And jesters!”
“—again tomorrow?”
“Of course, your highness.” Charles stood and gave them both a bow. Wanda giggled and curtsied in return. Peter bounced. “Until tomorrow then.” His gaze flicked from the children to Erik. “Have a good night, King Erik.”
Erik swallowed. It was painful. “And you, King Charles.”
When he was gone, Erik was half nibbling, half tidying the remains of the tea party, trying to ignore the prickling behind his eyes, trying to dispel every last feeling Charles had provoked, trying to banish every last thought and box up every last ridiculous hope. Wanda sat at the table watching him. She did so with eerie quietness for awhile. So lost in his own thoughts, he startled when she finally broke the silence.
“I like Charles, Papa. Do you like Charles?”
The way she looked at him, boring into his soul and past his defences in a way entirely too reminiscent of her mother, he knew the answer was in someway important, someway meaningful.
“I— yes, Bärchen, I like Charles.”
She nodded and having apparently received the desired response, she hopped off her chair and went to pester her twin.
Somehow he knew the word they had both meant wasn’t like, but love. A word neither of them dared say aloud. The people you loved, especially when you loved them most… they didn’t always stay. They could be taken and it hurt in a way you could never fully heal from. Maybe if you held back, maybe if you didn’t give it all, maybe they wouldn’t go.
Erik gave up on his tidying and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.
He couldn’t be with Charles.
Could he?
*
If this has perked your interest in the original fic here is the link to Nanny Fic:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898845/chapters/29467485
8 chapters. Unfinished. Not abandoned.
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Text
I Remember You
I heard this song at work last night and it inspired a quick little fic I couldn't get out of my head, so here you go. Read it here on AO3
He hated these fancy soirees. The only redeeming thing were the free drinks. He fully intended to spend the night in an alcohol induced haze. He grabbed another goblet from the tray of a passing servant and looked around the ballroom. There were several people milling about, spreading the latest gossip between themselves, no doubt. The room was stuffy and hot, and the wine was, blessedly, going straight to his head. He made his way around the perimeter of the room, and stepped out into the gardens. There were people out here as well, but they were fewer and further between. He meandered along the paths, catching snippets of conversations as he went. He took in the flowers, the fountains, the greenery. His eyes drifted around, looking at everything and nothing, and then – there she was.
No, it couldn’t be her. She was hundreds of miles away, living in the Free Marches where he had foolishly left her. He looked closer; this woman was a bit heavier than Meg, and her flaxen hair was a bit longer, but the way she carried herself with that calm confidence… it must be her. He skirted around the edges of the garden, careful not to lose sight of her. She was chatting with several other ladies, holding a fan in one hand and a wine goblet in the other. He stopped to watch her, thinking back to the last night they had spent together.
“Why can’t you take me with you? It’s only Orlais, it’s not like I don’t know how to handle myself around nobles.”
“I understand Meg, I do, but to know you were so close to the fighting… the thought would eat at me constantly. It’s better for you to be here, where it’s safe.”
She had laughed then, and he swept her into his arms.
“You’re a fool to think anywhere in Thedas is safe, my love.” She kissed his temple, placing her other hand on his cheek.
“You are safe here, now, in my arms,” he kissed her mouth, tasting the honeyed wine that lingered on her lips. She gave a soft moan, and pushed her body flush against his.
A servant brushed his arm in passing, eliciting a flurry of apologies. He waved them away after relieving them of two more goblets of wine. He drank one down immediately and placed it on a low wall near a secluded seating area. She was still chatting, though most of the women had drifted back into the ballroom. She had turned towards him more, to have her attention focused on the remaining women, and there was no doubt it was her. She looked radiant – her hair was shining in the moonlight, and her skin had a glow to it he had never seen before. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought.
They lay in bed together, flushed and panting. Her head was on his chest, and he was running his fingers through her soft golden hair. He kissed the top of her head and felt her smile. She moved herself up to gaze at him, propping her weight on her elbow.
“I will miss you terribly, you know that right?” he ran his hand down her hair again, following the curve of her back.
“Yet you are still determined to leave me,” she chided with a small smile.
“It’s not as though I have much choice. There is civil war in Orlais; I must return. Would you have me abandon my men when they need me?”
“I would have you take me there as well.”
“I would be happy to take you anywhere you pleased,” he growled, rolling her onto her back and peppering her chest with kisses.
“Enough of you,” she laughed, batting at him as he held himself above her. “Neither of us will be able to walk tomorrow if you keep that up,” she pushed him down onto his back and curled onto her side next to him. “You can’t lead soldiers if you cannot even walk.”
“Aye but you’d get to keep me around longer,” he lifted his eyebrows at her with a grin, which made her laugh again. He would never tire of hearing her laugh.
She was laughing now. Not the sound he remembered, but a measured thing meant to convey mirth but not born from it. The other women were making their excuses and farewells and moving back to the ballroom. She was left standing near a trellis full of blooms, sipping her wine and gazing at the flowers. He moved towards her before he had time to think about what he was doing.
“Meg.”
He stopped a little more than an arm’s length away and waited. Her gaze shifted toward him and she gasped. They stood there for long moments while she stared at him as though he was a ghost.
“Say something, Meg.”
“You,” she breathed. “I never thought I’d see your face again.”
She did not move toward him. She stood as though rooted to the spot, her fingers curled tightly around her goblet.
“It seems the Maker had other plans.” He shifted his weight; she continued to stare at him. He cleared his throat, took another swallow of wine.
“You’re looking well.” She seemed to gather herself then, her grace returning to her in measured amounts.
“Thank you. You are as beautiful as ever.” He took a small step towards her. “Your hair is longer.”
She gave a small huff, the air coming quickly from her nose.
“You haven’t seen me in over three years. There are many things about me that are different now.”
Her words had no bite to them, but they stung him just the same.
“I’m sorry Meg.” He moved toward her again, but this time she moved back. “Please,” he said, reaching out to her.
“I can’t. You told me not to wait for you, you said I deserved a life.”
He remembered the morning he left, saying those words to her.
“You shouldn’t wait for me; what kind of life will have you here, pining for a man that may never return?”
“I want my life to be with you. Why are you fighting so hard against this? I love you and I would continue to do so, with or without your permission.”
“Please, my love, don’t waste your years here waiting for me. I love you more than anything in this world, but I would not see that fate for you. You deserve to be happy.”
“I am happy. I am happy with you.”
“I’m sorry,” he stated flatly.
She had withdrawn into herself, holding her goblet close to her chest. The hand holding the fan was across her belly, as though she was attempting to keep herself from breaking apart.
“I meant it. Every word. I want nothing more in this world than for you to be happy Meg.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came at an invitation by the Comte, he wanted to parade me around in front of other nobles to show his connections.” He looked at the trellis, noting the vibrant red of the flowers that bloomed there. “Mostly I came for the free wine.” He looked back at her; she had a slight smile on her face. “You?”
She looked behind her, into the ballroom. She started to turn away, then stopped. She stood there a moment more, obviously torn between staying and going.
“I am here with my Lord Husband,” she whispered. “We are celebrating the announcement of our first child.”
She looked back at him then. He had never seen her look so sad. He attempted to school his face into something resembling happiness, though inside his heart was shattered. He should have known. He should have anticipated.
“Allow me to offer my congratulations to you both.” He bowed to her, allowing his face to slip into agony momentarily.
“We thank you,” she replied, giving a slight courtesy. “I must return.”
She turned her back on him completely and made her way up the stairs. She was almost to the doors when he called out to her. She paused, barely turning her head.
“I am glad to see you again,” he said.
She nodded, and waked through the doors into the ballroom. He watched her until she was swallowed by the crowds, then turned and set his goblet on the ground near the trellis. He looked back into the ballroom once more, hoping to catch sight of her one last time. She was standing with a group of nobles, still holding her wine with her other hand protectively on her belly. She was no longer alone; a man stood next to her with his arm around her waist. As the conversation progressed, he watched the man reach down and place his free hand over hers, over the child growing inside her. She smiled up at the man as he did so, gazing at her new husband with a fondness she used to reserve for him and him alone.
He turned and walked out of the garden, trying to forget that image, and knowing he never would.
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