#sort of fluff

The chamber orchestra’s song drifted through the open doors behind Corbeau as he stood alone on the moonlit balcony, a smuggled cigarette lit in his hand, the smoke curling into the clear night. How Lysandre managed to swing renting out a historical site for a gala had amazed Corbeau at first, but as the gala dragged on, he found himself slowly becoming uncomfortable with the ordeal. The suits, the perfect smiles, the metaphoric masks. It was all so tailored and ingenuine. Stiff in a way that was starting to feel suffocating.

Corbeau knew it wasn’t just the formalities that were causing him to feel that way, but he squashed that feeling down. Lysandre had taken him in, taken him off the streets, and offered to finance the business venture Corbeau had recently told him about. To doubt the man who had brought Corbeau into the light felt wrong.

He took a drag of his cigarette, the taste far from the cheap acridness of his very first cigarette. If he wasn’t allowed to drink yet, Lysandre could at least allow him to smoke, and better to smoke something of a higher quality than whatever Corbeau could get off the street. It was an imperfect habit, and Corbeau knew he’d eventually have to quit it if he was to stay around for much longer. But it was his imperfect habit.

“You know I hate when you don’t say anything.” Corbeau sighed, turning. Behind him in the shadow of the glass doors had been Grisham. He stood tall and perfect in his white and red suit, a stark contrast to the black and purple suit Corbeau wore. There was a beat, and then Grisham stepped onto the balcony, hands folded politely behind his back, head held high.

“Don’t let Lysandre see you smoking, he wont be happy.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’ll smell it on me later.” Corbeau flicked the ashes off to the side, looking back out over the carefully curated garden, “And I doubt I’ll see him until tomorrow anyways.”

“Mm.” Grisham made a small noise, still clearly checking to see if they were alone. They were, Corbeau knew when he had complete privacy. Corbeau leaned against the balcony, taking another drag.

“Are you not having fun, pretty boy? You had your pick of dance partners back in there.” He said pretty boy softly, kinder than any insult that had been sent Grisham’s way, and Corbeau could see the subtle shift in Grisham’s stance at it.

“They’re not you.” Grisham said it without thinking, his posture stiffened when he realized what he had said, “I mean- They didn’t- they weren’t. They- Don’t look at me the way you do.”

“The way I do?”

“You see me. Not what I should be.”

“What you should be or what you are? You’re Lysandre’s chosen scion, you’re the light in the dark. Perfection made human.” Corbeau waxed poetic, an insulting lilt to voice as he mocked the compliments that had been thrown Grisham’s way before, “And I’m his shadow. A project.”

“You know you’re more than that.”

“Mm, maybe.” Corbeau settled into silence for a moment, ignoring the way that Grisham’s ears were absolutely burning, “So, why not dance with any of them? It can’t just be that you don’t like the way they look at you.”

“Maybe I wanted to dance with you.”

It was Corbeau’s turn to blush. He turned his face away, knowing he had walked right into that one.

“First I kiss you, now you want to dance with me?” His retort lacked any bite, earning an unseen and rare sly smile from Grisham, “What will the others say when they see Lysandre’s chosen dancing with an outsider?”

“They’ll say nothing if they know what’s good for them.”

Corbeau cracked a smile at the promise, grinding out his cigarette.

“What the hell, why not?” He stood upright, “Let’s do this right.”

Corbeau gave Grisham a perfect bow, right hand resting over his heart, left hand extended outwards. In the distance, the orchestra was beginning a new piece, introduced in sighs by an accordion.

“May I have this dance?”

Grisham hesitated for a moment, his ungloved hand ghosting over Corbeau’s outstretched hand. He exhaled a shaky breath, sliding his hand into Corbeau’s with a quiet certainty.

“You may.”

Corbeau stood upright, taking a step towards Grisham and resting his free hand on Grisham’s shoulder, exactly where it belonged. He squared his shoulders, steeling his will. He’d never danced before, at least not outside the lessons he’d been taking leading up to the event. But Corbeau knew Grisham could dance, that he’d been taking lessons for years, that his movements would be naturally elegant and masterful.

But there Grisham was. Letting Corbeau lead him around in a simple box step. The gala inside was far from both of their minds, only the orchestra’s waltz surrounded them.

“You’re stiff.” Grisham muttered, “It’s alright, loosen up.”

“I am loosened up.” Corbeau huffed, “You’re just... Taller than I’m used to.”

“Mm, sure.” Grisham hummed, pausing the waltz to switch his and Corbeau’s hands around so he was in the lead, “May I?”

“You already have-” Grisham moved before Corbeau could finish his sentence, guiding him into a proper waltz and supporting him fully. Grisham leaned in, whispering which foot Corbeau should move.

Corbeau’s eyes were on Grisham’s face. On his eyes, for once not hidden behind thick sunglasses. On his lips, wordlessly expectant and looking just as soft as the first time Corbeau had kissed him. To Corbeau, the orchestra was now a distant haze. To him, all that mattered was the young man before him.

Grisham might have been leading their slow waltz, but Corbeau was the one to draw them to a pause. The one to stand on his tip toes. To cradle Grisham’s face in his hands. To close the distance between their lips. To kiss him again. Not at all desperate to claim ownership, but self assured, almost loving. And Grisham melted into Corbeau’s kiss, into the taste of expensive cigarettes that lingered on his lips, into the warmth, into the comfort of it.

He pulled away, settling flat on his feet and grinned at the off guard expression he’d left with. His own cheeks burned, and if he wasn’t holding Grisham right now his hands would be shaking as much as his knees were.

It was more than a kiss between friends, but neither of them wanted to say it out loud. Instead, it would remain their closely guarded secret, unspoken and thought of often alongside the hope that one day they’d have the chance to figure out whatever was going on between them.

-Bonus Scene-

Corbeau blinked, he’d been staring out the window with his drink in hand for too long. The waltz had ended and the turn table had come to a stop, the arm lifted as if inviting Corbeau to lower it at the start again, if only to relive a kinder time.

He forgot he had that waltz in his record collection. He took a drink, the alcohol burned his throat. He wondered if Grisham remembered it, if he still thought of Corbeau the way Corbeau thought of him.

Setting his drink aside, Corbeau moved to lower the needle at the start of the record. The waltz followed him out the balcony door to the railing he now leaned against. Tie undone, sleeves rolled up, a different brand of cigarettes that didn’t taste the same.

You had seen the hesitation in his eyes. Knew that if there was even a shred of the man inside him left, he would be running. Not for freedom but for survival.

You tracked him for months, following rumors, old KGB reports, and shaky eyewitness accounts.

And then, one night, you found him.

It was in Romania. A dimly lit alley. Rain pattered against the cobblestone streets, the city quiet in the dead of night. He was standing there, half-hidden by the shadows, his hair damp from the drizzle.

You should have approached carefully. Should have planned you words.

Instead, you whispered, "Bucky?"

And just like that, the ghost stopped running.

You never expected him to stay.

The night you found him in Romania, he had looked at you like you were a threat, a loose end that needed to be dealt with. You couldn’t blame him. He had been hunted for too long, always watching over his shoulder, always waiting for the next fight.

But you hadn’t come to fight him.

You had come to bring him home.

Not to SHIELD. Not to the Avengers. Not to anyone who wanted to fix him.

Just home.

You hadn’t been sure what home meant for someone like Bucky Barnes. Maybe he didn’t know either. But he let you follow him after that night, never telling you to leave, never turning you away.

It wasn’t easy.

Some days, he barely spoke. Other days, he was too far away to hear you at all. You would find him staring at his hands, at the blood he still saw there. Yoy never asked what he was remembering.

But you stayed.

And slowly, so slowly, the ice began to thaw.

The first time he let you close, it was over breakfast.

You had been holed up in a safe house outside of the city, a run-down apartment with a faulty heater and a door that barely locked. You had made coffee, cheap and bitter, but warm.

You set a cup in front of him without thinking.

He stared at it for a long time before finally, finally reaching for it.

He didn’t thank you. Didn’t say a word.

But the next morning, there were two cups on the table.

The first time he let you touch him, it was an accident.

You had been walking through a crowded market, moving between faces that didn’t know your names. A car backfired in the distance- loud, sharp, too much like a gunshot.

He went rigid, breath hitching.

Without thinking, yoy reached for his arm.

You half-expected him to recoil, to disappear into the shadows like a ghost.

But he didn’t.

His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away. He let yoy anchor him, just for a moment, just long enough to remind himself where he was.

When he finally exhaled, you let go.

Neither of yoy spoke about it.

But the next time you walked through the market, he stayed close enough for you to reach him again.

The first time he let himself laugh, it caught you off guard.

It had been months since you found him, and you had settled into something resembling routine. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t stable, but it was yours.

You had been flipping through channels on your old, crackling TV when you stumbled onto some ridiculous late-night comedy. A dumb joke, something about talking animals, you barely even registered it.

But then, you heard it.

A quiet chuckle.

You turned, heart hammering, and there he was, Bucky Barnes, the man with the weight of a century on his shoulders, smiling.

It wasn’t much. Barely there.

But it was real.

And in that moment, you realized-

You weren't just helping him survive.

Through his watery vision, he watched a hazy apparition float towards the bed; then Eugene’s face swam into view as he leaned down to assess his friend’s condition.

“What smells so good?” Adam croaked, trying to blink away the distortion.

Skull chuckled good-naturedly, peeling back a corner of the blanket to expose his upper body.

“Manna from heaven, buckeroo,” he quipped, gingerly palpating the other man’s fingers and forearm, which was swollen and discolored through the makeshift splint. “It’s about time fortune smiled upon us…or at least gave us a nod.”

“Huh?”

He hissed when Eugene’s fingertips landed at a spot near his wrist.

“Shit! That hurts!”

The Sentry captain nodded, as if he expected as much.

“Well, you took quite a spill earlier. We saw you go down and try to catch yourself. No way it wasn’t going to break. And you hit your noggin’ on top of that!”

Adam tried to sit up on the lumpy mattress despite being hobbled on one side. Tattered orange strips of cloth held his lower arm to a splintered bit of wood that might have once been a broom handle. Skull’s arms encompassed his back and helped him scoot upright in the bed, the room tilting alarmingly.

“Christ, I’m late! They’re going to have my ass! Report me to his lordship when he returns from his campaign!”

In a panic, the Mastodon Sentry attempted to swing his legs out from beneath the quilt, ready to dash madly up to the turret and plead with his ‘comrades’ to not snitch on him to Lord Drakkon.

“I can’t believe this! Of all the stupid shit to…”

But Eugene blocked his way, his hands firmly pressing Adam back down.

“Easy, buddy. Everything’s going to be fine…”

“No, it isn’t! Not missing my post! Not breaking my wrist when I still have to finish his lordship’s new gala attire! There’s no way I’ll have his and Red’s regalia ready in time…And all the other pieces he commanded!”

This was a fucking nightmare and surely, he was looking down the barrel of the homicidal tyrant’s fury…

No one in their right mind desired to be summoned to the throne room, unless you were one of those arrogant ass kissers with ambitions too high to be smart. Adam strode down the corridor, his expression carefully crafted into one of neutrality, but inside he was utterly nauseous and riddled with anxiety. A soft curtain of snow was falling just outside the stone window casements, a phenomenon that no one bothered to point out anymore.

Everything changed so long ago, and nature itself seemed to follow her own whims when it came to the type of weather or season in a particular locale in the world, even if it had never been the norm. He used to think that he’d find snow lovely, delicate, a tiny fractal of light.

‘The barracks are going to be freezing tonight…’

Adam pushed through the heavy, wrought iron doors into the cavernous room, his boots whispering slightly over the emerald runner. Dutifully, he kept his gaze lowered as was the rule, kneeling to one knee while he awaited the tyrant’s acknowledgement. A sense of ‘propriety’ and ‘proper decorum’ were highly treasured by Lord Drakkon, and you were wise to follow his specific edicts when it concerned palace etiquette and knowing one’s ‘place’.

“Rise, Sentry,” his chilly voice growled from somewhere above on the dais. “We have something of importance to discuss.”

The meek man took a subtly deep breath before pulling himself to his feet. He kept his eyes fixed to the smooth leather of those white and gold boots. They crept up Drakkon’s calves which looked more solid than a tree trunk, his musculature imposing where he’d once been all lanky limbs and lean of build. Every wardrobe measurement noted the frightening increase in muscle mass.

“Mittens…” the dictator mused, one gloved finger tapping rhythmically on the granite throne.

Adam’s attention came back into focus at the bizarre decree.

“My lord?”

The tapping paused ominously.

“Red has asked specifically for mittens and since he’s been such a good boy, I’ve decided to bestow him with some.”

Drakkon’s finger resumed its thoughtful beat.

“It’s grown as frigid as my bitch of a mother’s cunt and I can’t have his muscles becoming tight before a bout, can I? He’ll need a coat…thicker pants…sweaters. And we’ll both require warmer attire for that vapid, upcoming gala I suppose I’ll be assed to attend…The Winter Solstice Ball…”

He huffed, the noise low and predatory.

“I despise such frivolous bullshit, but the showering of accolades and trinkets aren’t that vexing…”

Swiftly, Lord Drakkon hefted his lumbering frame from the throne, his boots clicking on the steps of the dais as he approached Adam like a stormfront. The sharp tip of a blade was beneath the Mastodon Sentry’s chin, tilting his head up. He fought the reflex to tremble, to drop to his knees in supplication and terror…

The tyrant’s skin was milky white, dark veins twisting from the collar of his uniform into his cheeks and jaw. His features were patrician, angular and would have been almost pretty if not for the dead, black eyes. Long, glossy hair hung to his waist, one of the things he was most vain about. He studied Adam’s slack, emotionless face for a moment.

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until the end of the saber left his chin, tucked back into the sheath at the warlord’s belt.

“I’m sure you won’t disappointment me…”

“Your wish is my command, my lord.”

“I’ll be in this evening for my measurements.”

The spiteful, controlling fucker was constantly stacking on the muscle, the exact mechanism a total mystery considering the former Tommy Oliver’s lanky build. He frequently outgrew those garments and adornments that Adam spent many anxious days and weeks crafting to the dictator’s satisfaction.

Then Drakkon nodded at Red who sat hunkered on the dais beside his master’s throne, an amused sparkle in his one good eye.

“You can take him now. It shouldn’t take that long. My good boy keeps fit as a fiddle. Don’t you, darling?”

That situation that followed had been hair raising and tense as all fuck, the Mastodon Sentry’s hands subtly shaking as he wrapped the measuring tape about the mentally ill man’s chest, waist, and limbs, an activity that brought him way closer than he wanted to be to the impulsive and sexually inappropriate pet.

That was two weeks ago now. The designs were tacked up in Adam’s ‘studio’ along with samples of the fabric and jewels he intended to consider. Beyond that, not much else had been accomplished besides a few simple items. The unexpected campaign should have bought him more time….

‘Fuck!’

Adam groaned, falling back onto the lumpy sack that served as a pillow.

“I shouldn’t have been rushing, but I didn’t want to be late to guard duty. I guess I was so focused on these stupid designs that I lost track of the day.”

And yes, he’d been rushing through the courtyard as the sun dipped below the horizon, skirting the oddly placed snowman that some cheeky smartass built near the kitchens, boots already sliding alarmingly out of control. Between his responsibilities as a Black Sentry and as Drakkon’s personal fashion designer, Adam felt woefully overwhelmed.

But it wasn’t like he could say no.

Drakkon wasn’t going to accept a delay to his new wardrobe, whether it was a broken wrist, neck, or skull. If he was distressed, he damn well was going to see to it that the offender was as well.

“I’m so fucking dead!”

Skull firmly gripped Adam’s chin.

“Listen, we got it all figured out, alright? Well, the majority of it… We’re still going to need your guidance.”

The anxious man wanted to scream in frustration.

“You have what figured out? And who’s ‘we’?”

Yet, as soon as the ‘we’ passed his lips, Adam remembered who else had been with Skull when he finally stopped seeing stars.

He should have known his own handiwork, however. Red was wearing that dumb black and grey striped stocking cap that he’d finished two days ago and just couldn’t wait to take off with it. The matching scarf was missing and later, Adam realized that the errant snowman was decked out in a similar one.

Things just kept getting better…

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Please tell me that was part of a concussion…”

But he knew it wasn’t. Skull grinned, dropping a wink.

“I thought when you recognized Red you were going straight to the ‘great beyond’. He was trying to wrap your wrist, and you looked like you were going to jump out of your skin and through the wall!”

Adam huffed, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t like I was expecting to see HIM out here.”

“We hang sometimes…”

“Clearly….”

Then Eugene laid out the carefully crafted plan. He and Red would fill in the gaps until Adam was able to pass muster. That meant covering his Sentry duties and helping with the cutting and sewing and stitching of the Winter Solstice Ball costumes, as that bit of the wardrobe was most important. Even with the Mastodon morpher’s power splintered, it still enhanced one’s healing ability so Adam would be right as rain much sooner than normally possible.

Red had left earlier, headed back to the palace to play his part in the ruse.

“Won’t Drakkon know that someone’s been messing around in there? I mean, I know the housekeepers have to go in the trophy room to tidy it, but no one’s supposed to touch those coins.”

He was referring to the collection of unused splintered power coins that the warlord had snatched back from any fool who dared fail him. There was supposedly a conglomeration of red, yellow, and black tossed together and gathering dust. It was also rumored that Drakkon kept a decidedly more gruesome aesthetic: the broken helmets and swords of other fallen Rangers.

Skull shrugged.

“I doubt he looks too hard at those when he goes in there to jerk himself off. Not when there’s better things to light his fire.”

The Sentry captain didn’t point out that the real concern was whether Red would be able to work up the nerve to go into the dreaded room, the one that Drakkon finally dismissed him from accompanying him into because the pet screamed, vomited, and sometimes pissed himself over something no one could quite figure out.

‘Come on, buddy… We need you to be able to do this.’

Eugene wasn’t sure he could pull double duty by finishing Adam’s creations and showing up for the Mastodon night guard in his place. Hell, he didn’t know how his poor comrade did it. And none of this charade included his own Red Sentry responsibilities.

‘Not really a choice, honestly, for either one of us. It’s that or die…’

And he had a goal he ached to accomplish before that blessed time.

“What if one of them starts mouthing Drakkon and Red flips shit? Then our cover will be blown…”

Skull chuckled, ruffling the tangled dark hair.

“I told Red it’s like a spy game. If someone steps out of line, he can’t break cover, or he won’t find the others. Shitty, I know, but most of those shitheads aren’t worth the oxygen they take up.”

“So, we’re throwing other people under the bus?”

“Potentially, but again… the term ‘people’ should be used loosely.”

Adam made a low groan of pain as the ache continued to flare. No one out here had much in the way of good mediation unless you counted homemade hooch or anything cobbled together with leftover cleaning chemicals…

If you were brave…or suicidal.

Finster certainly wasn’t going to be inclined to be merciful. He was just as cruel and callous as Drakkon, maybe more so because he was such a scheming little ass kisser.

“Hey…”

Eugene’s voice was tender as he adjusted the quilt. There were unshed tears in Adam’s eyes as he struggled to maintain his tough image, which wasn’t really all that tough to begin with.

“Want some moonshine? I might have a little nip tucked away but I’ll warn you now…it’s hidden behind my chamber pot.”

The trembling man scrunched his nose.

“I’ll pass. Getting sloshed will just make me feel worse since I won’t be able to know for sure Red is actually going to go up there or not.”

It wasn’t like it would make a difference. Adam had zero control over what was going to happen, but his anxiety just wouldn’t allow it. It battled against the pain he was feeling, an equally powerful contender for his attention and fretting.

Skull patted his shoulder.

“That’s probably the wiser choice, little Mastodon… Alcohol and head injuries don’t jive.”

He returned to the kitchen, peering into the pot and inhaling deeply.

“Looks like dinner is served!”

Eugene ladled the stew into a couple of mismatched bowls and returned to settle on the edge of the old mattress. He nestled one on Adam’s lap.

“Where did you get this? There are actual vegetables in there!” the smaller man gasped. “And is that real beef?”

“You bet your ass it is! Red cornered ol’ Chester outside the kitchen and said he’d bite him good if he didn’t bring us some of this. That pompous blow hard was pissed as hell when he dropped it off…told me it wasn’t out of the kindness of his own heart.”

The image of Chester, with his pressed, perfectly coifed hair and snooty attitude about to piss himself under Red’s bristling did bring a smile to Adam’s lips.

*

So hair and makeup were done, now the dress. 

It was totally possible you might have ordered something on the company credit card. 

Quite possible.

Static Cling, for her many flaws, was able to show you exactly what kind of dress was going to look fucking immaculate on you. 

Problem: you were trying to understand how to navigate the often complicated question of underwear. Marcus would not mind. Lightning might. Lightning’s amount of mind might totally have to do with whether or not you and Marcus fucked in her bridal suite and you had a moderate level of confidence that you could hold it together.

Maybe.

Marcus wouldn’t even put a hand up your skirt at work, surely he would keep them to himself at the very public wedding of two of his friends and teammates. Right? Right. So in other words whether or not the underwear was there the behavior should totally exist separately from it and the whole thing will go fine.

Yup.

That was the logic.

You’d gone what you thought was the diplomatic route: black dress. No shiny metal here. All black. Her bridal party would be in red. The boys were in black. You’d blend. The makeup was very demure. The shoes were wedges because you were not doing this in heels it seemed like inviting problems. You had asked that they sew a bra into the dress because, again, in the event of running you felt like a little more support than last time could be a really good idea. This dress was a hair less...fluid too. It was tight to you, hugging you, but a thicker sturdier fabric and a slightly different cut. This one was a little higher in the front but the back….well. You’d be lying to yourself, God, and Coco Chanel herself if you said you were not really looking forward to Magic Hands dipping his palms down there during one slow dance. 

Slow dancing.

You were thinking about it like you were facing down the Homecoming Court over your allegations of voter fraud all over again.

But like, with a much lesser chance of a food fight breaking out.

Then you thought about Miracle’s sideburns and smirked, Well...less chance not no chance. 

You put on the dress at the salon where it had come in and one of the girls nodded, “Oh my...you got a jaw in mind you’re trying to put on the floor?”

“Yes.” You turned and you had to admit it: you were looking quite nice. 

Yes….you were doing your best to be a presentable, respectable, and desirable date and whatever else happened was only half your fault.

Your move Supple Ass. 

You were thinking that this evening was shaping up to be pretty nice but then your phone rang and poor Janine sounded breathless.

“The boutonnieres and bouquets are supposed to be delivered in an hour and my car is completely fucking broken down, I need help.”

“Hello to you too Janine.”

A girl’s work is never done.

You twirled your car keys around your finger like an Old West gunslinger.  

"Don't worry, Brunhilda and I are on our way." 

*

You were balancing a box of flowers. You had sent Janine up to Lightning's room with the bouquets. Ravi was at the venue apparently helping set up the tables. That left the boys to you and you made your way to their suite, knocked on the door, and opened it to Miracle's scoff, "Jesus, are you at least getting overtime?" 

"You jest but they've investigated my timesheets six times already. They lose money on my overtime hand over foot." You used your hip to knock the door open wider and Miracle took a step back, Tech. seeing you, stood up to help grab the box. 

You looked around the room, "Where's Marcu----where the hell is Crimson?" 

You eyed the boys like they were holding onto a grenade. 

Tech put down the box and held up both hands in a soothing gesture, "Marcus is on a beer run and Crimson is in the shower. We have not lost anyone." 

"Yet." Miracle intoned, chuckling, and Crushing Low made a dismissive whistle, "Ignore him he has money riding on them not making it down the aisle." 

"Miracle that's awful!" You slapped his arm. 

"You look vaguely not frumpy." Miracle offered.

You narrowed your eyes, "I have on very good professional authority that your mustache makes you look like a cowboy--" 

His smile increased and his jaw ticked upward.

"--- but your sideburns are not long enough." 

His face completely fell and he looked worried, "What do you mean?" 

You shrugged as Tech held in a laugh, "I am not a professional I'm just the messenger. Peggy said your sideburns needed to drop." 

Miracle was already at a mirror looking furiously at his sideburns, turning his head this way and that way, trying to see what was implied. 

Tech nudged your shoulder, "This is priceless." 

"Did uh….Peggy say drop or lower or does she mean….she doesn't mean drop like lose?" 

You shrugged and held up a card before demonstratively tucking it in your boobs, "Behave today and maybe I'll give you her number and you can ask her yourself." 

You motioned with your hand, "Blinding can you---oh!"

You looked down, "Thanks man." 

You picked up the empty box. He waved at you and went back to watching what appeared to be soccer and clapped a little, "Marcus is going to lose this is amazing."

"Uh, I'm not dead yet and Juarez is a fourth quarter player so watch it."

You nearly bumped into Marcus but he sidestepped you, deposited the beer by Blinding's feet with a nudge, and turned to get your hands empty, "Here, give that to me--- boys why are you making her take trash out of this room when Miracle is still in it?" 

Miracle didn’t respond which made Marcus chuck a beer at his head, Miracle turned, caught it, and quietly said, “Hey Marcus, if you look at the sideburns do you think lower or none?”

Marcus eyed you, “Did you….break Miracle?”

You just smiled and Miracle looked at you desperately making a grabby motion for your chest which Marcus blocked with one arm and a What the actual fuck face, “Um, hands to yourself, what is happening?”

You smiled sweetly, “I have a sideburn girl-- Peggy. It’s...annoying him.”

You tapped on your chest, revealed the card to Marcus who seemed temporarily less annoyed, and then he reached for it, “Give that to me, we don’t need another groping incident.”

Miracle blushed, “I was nine I hardly think we need to keep bringing that up.”

“Uh, you’re the reason there’s a three second delay on the Superbowl transmissions, we don’t get to put that in the sealed juvenile record.”

You handed Marcus the card with a snort at Miracle and laughed, “Oh my God I forgot about that….will Dolly Parton even still talk to you?”

Marcus held the card up to Miracle, waving it a few times to make sure Miracle saw it as if he was a dog and the card were a treat, then Marcus tucked it directly into his pants. Not his normal pants, he went full boxer-brief tuck with the card and Miracle groaned, “Come on man I’m going to need that.”

“And I’m going to give it to you later.” Miracle smirked, “Don’t be a dick.”

Miracle mumbled something like I’ll give you something later but Marcus flicked his fingers and sent a spoon from the breakfast bar over to smack the back of Miracle’s head. Miracle held up a fist when he felt it but Marcus grabbed his crotch and thus the card and said, “Want me to really get it in there? Aren’t you tired of losing? Last night wasn’t hard enough on you?”

Crushing Low snorted and smacked Miracle’s ass, “Yeah, bro, you sore yet? You want an ice pack?”

Miracle blushed and you wrapped your arms around your waist, Marcus’ eyes subtly washed over you, the higher neckline of this dress, the more...conservative line of it. But he could sense you were a little lit up. 

You didn’t know if anyone on the team outside of InvisiGirl knew about you two.

They didn't seem to be acting any differently. It was like it always was, you thought.

You were smirking at the boys. The great gathering of idiots. 

“What on earth did you boys do last night that we are concerned for Miracle’s ass? There weren’t animals involved, were there, because I still got the Humane Society on me about those fucking cows.” You were smiling, arms still crossed, and you leaned your back against the wall. You didn’t think Marcus had noticed how little back your dress had. He seemed to sense you were hiding something, his eyes kept darting to you, but the stories of the night before were pulling him into the conversation.

Blinding zoomed around cleaning up some of the trash and Miracle held up a finger to you, “Hey, the cows were an accident. And last night does not require a re-hashing.”

“I am getting concerned that it really really does.” 

Marcus leaned close and whispered, “Uno.”

You furrowed your brow, “Dos? Is this a pop quiz?”

Blinding and Crushing started nodding, “Uno.”

Miracle’s face was red and Crimson emerged from the bathroom, in his pants with his shirt only half buttoned and looked around, “What are we talking about? Why is she here….Anita’s not here right?”

“No, no, I was delivering flowers. I’m trying to decipher ‘Uno’.”

“Unooooooo.” Crimson laughed, “How are you feeling Miracle Guy? Still a little sore?”

“Marcus sharked us.”

“He’s been beating you for years you can’t call it sharking at this point.” Crushing countered and Marcus held up his hands innocently.

“I am not a shark, I just like the game.”

“Wait first, is no one going to point out that there’s clearly only one shark in this room?”

Sharkboy smirked at you, nodding.

“Also….the card game?” You asked and the boys nodded, so you clarified, “The children’s card game?”

“Woah, that’s….that’s demeaning to something that is a central part of our male tribe.” Tech produced a really weathered pack of Uno cards from his pocket, “I am the keeper of the cards, Crushing keeps the betting pools, and Marcus cleans us out periodically.”

“I lost the last two times.” He tried to sound casual but he had a shit-eating grin that made your thighs clench thinking about how hard he’d fucked you after Mario Kart. 

He noticed you shift your legs and he tried to get closer to you but Miracle chucked a pillow at Marcus with a vicious, “You have a spare plus four up your fucking sleeve asshole.”

Marcus picked his sleeves up, “You really wanna blame my sleeves and not your inability to count?”

Blinding Fast was smirking, “I added four cards to his hand before he realized it.”

“You’re all dicks.” Miracle huffed.

“Wait you boys spent Crimson’s bachelor party….playing Uno?”

They all looked at you and Crimson very seriously said, “Listen, money was exchanged, the honor of people’s mothers was called into question, it gets very intense.”

You eyed Marcus, “Did the honor of your mother get called into question?”

Crimson looked frightened, “Do not even pretend to suggest that, Jesus….do you want Anita manifesting in here? You say her name three times she’s like fucking Beetlejuice, just erase the mere idea of her from your mind.”

Blinding chuckled, “No, we go for Marcus’ manhood, seems less touchy a subject than Anita.”

“What did I just say about the name of that particular person.”

Crushing snorted, “She just once tosses you out of an airplane and you’re all scared…”

Crimson looked at you, “An airplane.”

You more or less gave Marcus the same look and said, “Airplane?”

He shrugged, “I have no idea what you are all complaining about, she had me doing halo jumps on my tenth birthday and that is only because the insurance company literally wouldn’t let her prior to that.”

You held up a hand, “Wait, wait...I have questions. How was child services not called? How did Uno start?”

“This is my fault, I brought it during one of our first training shindigs years and years ago,” Tech admitted, “And when Katie and I got married I requested an Uno bachelor party. It got out of hand. There was almost an arrest for indecency.”

“You guys can’t even get drunk--how?!”

Tech blushed, “There may or may not have been an incident with a llama. I would refer you to Fearless Leader on how that happened.”

Marcus shook his head, “No, no, no, I am not responsible for the fact that Miracle had one pair of pants and was not prepared for the sheer omnivorous voracity with which llamas can potentially approach food. I mean, goats, sure, I get it, but like we were none of us prepared for llamas.”

Miracle looked very serious and dipped the waistband of his tux to reveal what might have been bright blue under armor leggings underneath, “Now we are always prepared. I wasn’t fucking having a repeat.”

You were...stunned, “I thought I had to have the elaborate and strange backstories. So, wait, who won at your wedding?”

Tech shrugged, “We sort of lost track and hence this was like...a re-do? Marky Mark took the gold. He’s vicious. He can hold onto that change direction card until it burns."

“It’s not the change direction. It’s knowing when to hit the skip.” Marcus nodded with incredible presence giving very strict Mr. Miyagi vibes. 

You were laughing with the boys and you felt your phone vibrate, turning your back on them and dodging just out of the door to answer a call from one of the caterers, thankfully it was just a confirmation and required very little of your time. However you felt fingers trail down the exposed skin on your spine. Marcus’ lips were on the back of your neck, “I hope you aren’t actually working today....”

“I hope you are actually putting a tux on in a second because you still have jeans on…”

You nearly purred at his touch and he pulled you against him, kissing your shoulder, “I like this dress….”

One of his hands dipped to the low line on your back and then he cupped your ass and his brow furrowed, his voice got low, “You….you didn’t….”

You smirked, “And I expect you to behave.”

He snorted, “No you don’t.”

He turned you and pressed you against the wall, and you turned your head, “Marcus I paid a lot of money for this beauty and you will not smudge it before the parading around you claimed to have an interest in doing to me.”

Instead of pressing forward for the kiss he pulled back and looked you over, “You didn’t need to do all this… but I am going to have a very nice time later making a lot of people jealous. Maybe even tempt fate and test out these hands and that dress. Do me a favor and refrain from putting anything Miracle might want to grab in your boobs again? His hands runneth before his brain. We promised Crimson no fighting.”

You smirked and tipped your nose to his, “I am going to go make sure Janine is good with the girls, then I promise to fully surrender my work phone to Chris in PR and just be a guest.”

He smiled and gave a very soft kiss to you before pulling back, “I’ll keep the boys in line, we won’t miss it.”

“See you at the altar then.” You winked and were gone down the hall before you saw the weird face that Marcus had when you said that. He watched you leave until you turned and were completely out of sight, trying really hard to put to words the feeling in his stomach at the idea of seeing you at an altar.

*

Chris from PR had been handling stuff like this for a long time and while, yes, he had been happy to have you running a lot of point you could see almost visible relief when you showed up in the bridal suite with your work phone in hand. He snatched it up and said, “Thank you, I was just about to call you and this saves me the step, please tell me---”

“Every vendor is saved as contact name and vendor name and vendor type, you can use the search bar, there’s also hyperlinks on the spreadsheet I sent you last night and also I like am here….”

“Yes well you’re here in non-official capacity so…” 

You looked around the suite and cleared your throat, “I don’t know if that’s like...common knowledge.”

He eyed you, “I made the place cards. You’re a plus one. You’re a serious plus one, a plus one at the big table.”

“I am, in fact, yes, that thing but like just… let the man with the media fallout decide how he wants to roll things out.”

Chris rolled his eyes, “My God just...ok listen take your florist and move out to the ceremony space, I do not need more cling-ons.”

You collected Janine in time to hear a tense exchange between Lightning and InvisiGirl.

“I’m just saying Amari it would be nice to see your face, we all get what your power is, but like I would like to see you in my wedding photos.”

“I don’t have to show my face to you for shit Charlene.”

“It’s my wedding Amari--”

“--Oh, really?! Really?! HOW WOULD ANYONE KNOW IT’S NOT LIKE YOU HAVEN’T MENTIONED THAT EVERY SIXTY SECONDS FOR MONTHS ON END--” 

You cocked your head between what you imagined was InvisiGirl and Lightning and made the mistake of clearing your throat, Lightning turned on you with full fury, “WHAT?!”

You held up the calming hands, “I just wanted to say that the boys are moving along, everything’s fine, you look beautiful, it’s all fine.”

You smiled, Lightning took a breath, looked you over and said, “You look good.”

“Thank you, but nothing to you.”

She nodded, smiling, and you caught the moment to push, “And the flowers? Good? Anything I can check on?”

“Can you get Amari to not invisible herself?”

“No more than I can get Miracle to stop checking himself out.” You sighed, but rubbed her arms, “But in a little bit absolutely nobody will even remotely be looking at them all eyes will be on you. This is your day. Everyone is so excited. Crimson looked like a kid at Christmas. It’s going to be epic. Now...screaming is bad for the blood vessels in the face and eyes, I’m going to need you to just woo-sa yourself a bit before you get mottled.”

She responded to this, calming herself, breathing in and out, in and out. 

You gave Janine the keys, reassured her that Brunhilda would not, in fact, sense a foreign presence and try to expel her, and stayed there with Lightning for a minute just calming her down. You got there with her, you did, and it did take a minute and then as you got into the hallway to get to the parking lot someone tugged on you. Nobody was there. So you rolled your eyes, “You going to do this with me too Amari?”

Amari materialized, she was….well much larger and more pregnant than you realized as she liked to hide in her invisibility and you hadn’t really seen her much. Like you knew she was due in a couple months but hell, she was round. 

“I’m freaking out.”

“You’re fine.”

She was just rambling, “I didn’t tell anyone, why didn’t I tell anyone? Now nobody knows and it’s not like I can just announce it this way and like why did I do this? I knew I should have said something earlier. I just...I didn’t want the fuss. I hate the fuss. I hate the fuss and attention. I don’t want people petting my belly and asking me questions like what are you going to name it? Like I don’t fucking know I’m still processing how it’s coming the fuck out. I don’t even have the nursery together. I have the envelope in my purse where they said what it is. I’ve had it there for three months. I just...I don’t know. I can’t…..”

You just hugged her. 

The belly made it hard, but you managed. You hugged her, “It’s ok, sweetheart, I need you to breathe. You do not need to be feeding that baby stress.”

She started to breathe and you rubbed her back, “Listen….they are your friends. They love you. They don’t understand why you’re hiding and they probably feel like you’re mad at them or it’s something they did and that might be making them lash out. But it’s not your fault. It’s ok. You get to choose how to deal with this baby for the next like eighteen to twenty one years.”

She snorted, “You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“I mean, but with baby cuddles and Saturday morning cartoons and cute little handmade spaghetti necklaces.”

She sighed when you said that, “The clothes are so tiny. And cute. And the detergent smells amazing….”

She was breathing, “I….I love Charlene. I don’t want her to think I like...stole her thunder. I just… I have been...I’m….shy. I don’t … I didn’t...” 

You hugged her tighter, “It’s ok. I know she’s a spitfire but she’s just really insecure sometimes and she probably, more than anything, just wants to know you love her. And you do. And you don’t have to, like, offer her anything else to offer her that. She just wants to feel loved and safe. You can do that on your own terms. Really, sweetheart you can.”

Amari was breathing and the tears that had been welling in her eyes dried up and she squeezed your arms, “I can see why he likes you so much.”

You held up a finger, “About that….do they like….know? The team? Has he said anything? Because I have been sort of letting that be his thing.”

“He has not said anything, no.” She said with a smile that made you think there was probably a hefty amount of teasing or pondering on the part of the group.

“Listen,” You nodded, “Today they all get to see me and Marcus, at some point a million cameras are going to want to take his picture and he’s going to have to explain why his mom’s assistant is with him and like...I’ll be honest. I’m worried about that moment. I’m worried that they’re all going to see me and make fun of me and that he will suddenly realize he has no business slumming with the mere mortals of the world and trade me in for another super-powered underwear model.”

“Are you talking about Maddie? Because we all ha--”

“I do not need those details. What I’m saying is like… I am scared of that moment because ultimately I have very little control over what other people’s opinions are or how they will react but like….I just really like him and I can’t let him down and if he wants me to do this, I’ll do it. Because he’s the thing I want to deal with everyday and this other stuff comes and goes, if he feels good about me and I feel good about him I can eventually swallow the panic and focus on what’s important.”

You squeezed her arms and tried to read her face in case she wasn’t getting the connection you were trying to make but behind you guys the doors opened and Amari instantly vanished.

“Hey before you go--” Lightning stepped outside and looked, having seen the tail end of Amari vanishing, and stomped her foot, “Jesus Christ what is wrong Amari? Why are you doing this to me?”

You didn’t know if you should say something and then you felt Amari’s hands leave you.

A moment later you saw Lightning’s face go from upset to smiling and she appeared to wrap her arms around something invisible, hugging it, “Oh honey, I’m sorry I’m mad I’m just...I’m stressed. This has me stressed. When I can’t see you I sometimes forget that you have my back.”

“I’m sorry Charli,” You heard InvisiGirl’s voice, “But I just….listen I love you. I want to tell you something, I don’t want it to ruin your day, I’ve been trying to keep it to myself but like if you want to see me you’ll notice.”

Lightning’s face became a huge question mark, “Are you ok? What do you mean?”

Amari re-materialized and Lightning’s jaw dropped. For a moment you could not tell if it was joy or rage but then the smile carved out over her face and her voice went into a really grating octave and she squealed, “Oh my! My baby girl is having a babbbbbby!!!!!! How would this ruin my day?! Oh no, your poor feet, honey you do not have to wear those shoes right now-- why didn’t you let me know--oh my Sweet Baby Jesus we would have pushed the date back so we could have had a little flower girl or a teeny tiny little ringbearer… Hello there, it is Auntie Charli….” 

Amari hugged Charli tighter and said, “I’m sorry I was being a brat I just...I didn’t want to tell people, you know how I get….”

Lightning squeezed her, “Amari-- I will not let anyone pet you that you don’t want petting you….but you understand I’m going to right?”

“Right. Well, you’re the godmother so I guess I better get used to it….”

There was squealing, hugging, and a little crying as the two reminded themselves that they really did love one another.

Well, it looked like your work here was done. Quietly you tiptoed away.

*

You drove Janine to the ceremony site and she went in with Ravi to finalize some of the flowers on the arch. The cameras and reporters were all billowed outside-- it gave you a fairly nice flashback of Marcus doing his electro-Hulk-smash in the way long ago when the reporter had elbowed you during the Static Cling media blitz. 

Without your work phone you just had your regular one and, really, only one person ever used the number.

MM: You didn’t run away when you saw this mob, did you?

You forget I am neither super nor a hero and they do not care about me. 

MM: Fools, each and every single one of them then. 

You smiled. 

You boys need anything?

MM: You are on guest mode. Get a drink. Sit in one of the good seats, I want to have a good eyeline of you.

Marcus we cannot make faces during this. Lightning is not in that good of a mood.

In just another part of the building Marcus was smiling at his phone and Tech patted his back, “Good news?”

“Good plans.” Marcus tucked the phone into his pocket and straightened his tie in the mirror, “Tech, when was your bachelor party?”

“Three years ago in August.”

“Fuck, really?” Marcus looked into the mirror at the two of them, “When did we….get old? Like two of us are married, before you know it there’s going to be a second generation...I sometimes still feel like we are twenty two and trying to hide just how late we were up from my mom.”

“She knew. She always knew. She was twice as bad those days.” Tech shook his head and put a hand firmly on Marcus’ shoulder, “I dunno man, I remember dating these different people. Fun times. Then like, I got a hold of Katie and part of me was just borderline panicked, like I was afraid I would open my eyes and she would be gone. And like she was happy with me. With me. For what reason I still don’t know… that woman drives me up a fucking wall. I’m so goddamn happy about it all the time it’s sappy.”

Marcus smiled and straightened his cuffs, avoiding the bait again.

One of the planners came and shooed the boys to the door that they’d walk out. Of course they peeked through to see the crowd come in. Marcus took a turn when Tech all but pushed him forward and he saw it… you were getting walked down the aisle by a scrawny little usher who he vaguely recognized as Crimson’s nephew. But for a second...it was just you, in a pretty dress, smiling in a way that he knew meant you had just laughed, and you were walking down an aisle and seemed to be walking right towards him.

That was the first time the thought occurred to him, I could...I could see myself doing this.

He could.

He could see himself watching you walk towards him like it was the first moment of the rest of his life.

*

The ceremony was gorgeous. 

Most of the people inside were friends and family but you noted a couple people talking quietly into recorders or taking notes on pads. Then there was Ravi. You now owed Chris in PR a favor but Ravi and Janine were hanging in the back and Ravi had a quietly blissed out smile on his face. 

LavaGirl was the first to walk down and you noticed the stare she had with Sharkboy. 

Vox preened down the aisle. She was in her element.

Amari walked down, belly out, and a lot of people looked surprised, including the team. Marcus was elbowed by Tech and he had a tense face of Yes, sure, surprised, I had no idea but you were smiling and winking at him.

The boys were lined up, handsome to a T, and you kept stealing glances at Marcus. He was just a Latin James Bond. Being on "work mode" he had the hair spiked and the glasses off and he looked like the formal wear version of his action figure. 

And it looked fine. 

You were hoping for a little time to get that jacket off of him. 

But it also made you yearn for him in his glasses and his old tee shirts and the sweatpants with the hole in them he loved too much to throw away. 

You saw Miracle crying and managed to mime it to Marcus in time for him to catch it too and he petted his friend’s back soothingly. 

When the broom was jumped and the applause was shattering and the official big kiss was had and everyone started walking towards the exit you realized for the first time that being the guest of the groomsman could be….a little lonely. You saw the swarm of cameras outside and knew that right now nobody would care who you were, nobody would try to take your picture, but nonetheless you kept your head down and sort of ducked into the middle of the thickest group you could find. Everyone was shoved down the hall and into the big ballroom and you found your place cards-- yup, just like Chris said, little ol’ me, at the big table-- and you made your way to your chair. At least, thank God, Tech’s wife was there-- how you had missed her at the ceremony you didn’t know but she waved off the concern, “I missed the ceremony because I had a business call, was it nice?”

“Yeah, you know-- wedding-y. Vows and stuff.”

She looked at your place card, “Not working are you?”

“Uh...nope.” 

Why was it awkward?! 

Last night you had sat on Marcus’ face trying not to scream out fucking loud while he held your goddamn arms down and wouldn’t let you move. That hadn’t been awkward. That had been hot. But this...someone asking why you were sitting here, even nicely, was making you nervous you were about to misstep. Anita was two tables over for Christsake. She wasn’t here. This was the table. It was Katie and a guy that leaned over and offered a hand, “Adam. I’m here with Leonard.”

You had never heard Crushing referred to as Leonard but that totally made sense. Adam was super nice-- he was some breed of Middle Eastern with gorgeous long hair and a very full beard, and he whispered, “I...this is one of our first things. Like we sort of just started seeing each other a month ago. It feels good but like...this feels like a big table.”

You squeezed his hand, “I fucking get you, man. Just ...trust the process.”

He snorted, “I hate the fucking Sixers...but I get you.”

At least you weren’t alone at the table. 

It made you feel better that Crushing brought an even newer partner than you.

When the party filtered in Marcus kept eyeing you, with some suspicion as to the well cut man standing around next to you. When Crimson and Lightning took their first dance he wheedled as close to you as he could and you snuck over, leaning over onto his shoulder, “Tough job today?”

“This was oddly stressful for something that involves absolutely no napalm.” He smirked and reached a hand back to squeeze one of yours.

Then the DJ said “And now Charlene and Henry invite their bridal party up to join them in the first dance.”

Tech grabbed his wife, Vox grabbed her husband, Amari pulled a man with a very severe limp up to the edge of the floor, LavaGirl and Sharkboy were magnetically on one another looking suspiciously practiced, Crushing signalled the handsome dark man, Blinding led out a woman you learned was a long-term girlfriend who lived most of the time in Hong Kong, and Marcus took the hand he was holding, spun to face you, and pulled you with him with a smirk, “You owe me a dance.”

 He kept one hand on your waist, one hand holding your other and was so close to you that you could practically count the hairs in his mustache. He was a good dancer-- of course he was. He was guiding you around the table with grace only matched by SharkBoy who was shockingly fluid. Miracle was stuck dancing with a sweet gray haired little lady that you later found out was Lightning’s grandmother.

You know, it had been a while since you danced.

At least, sure, there had been clubs and stuff but this-- he curled you against him, that dress line was a terrible idea because you just wanted him under it. Being this close just made you want to curl into him and get under the covers and fall asleep listening to his breathing.

This was… lovely.

You didn’t even realize other people were there you were just looking at him, not even realizing for a full minute that he was just staring right back at you with a goofy little smile on his face.

Marcus was paying better attention to the music than you, sweeping you around, even showing off as it was ending with a dip you did not think you had in you.

You blushed, “Well, this is one way to tell everyone.”

He chuckled a little and whispered, “I got a better one.”

When he drew you up he kissed you, soundly, in front of everyone.

And he did it so nicely you didn’t even notice that there was a sharp intake of breath and a few snapped photos.

After the dance everyone returned to their tables for drinks and food and the bridal party was huddled.

The group had scandalized faces.

“How long has this been going on?” Miracle Guy demanded and Marcus bristled through his smile, one hand possessively on your hip, “A few months.”

“What do you mean a few?”

“None of your business.”

"Yeah but if it was... would you put it under or over six months?" 

"The fuck?...." Marcus eyed Miracle suspiciously, gave you an inquiring look that you shrugged with a beats me and he said, "Under."

A pause and Miracle covered his face, “Fuck.”

“Pay up.” Crushing Low made a grabby gesture with his hand, laughing a little as his date looked confused, “Told ya.”

“You cheated. You had to have. Who was spying, InvisiGirl? Has to be. Why is she helping you? Did you give her a cut?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” You barked, “Is this what I think it is?”

Marcus looked between his two teammates, “Did you...have a bet about this?”

“I said you wouldn’t work up the nut to admit it until six months, easy.” Miracle mumbled as he palmed Crushing Low a fifty.

Crushing Low smirked, “Sucker's bet.”

He started handing out smaller bills to Tech No and Vox who smirked as they pocketed their winnings, Tech’s wife at least looking mildly unamused. Tech was slightly abashed and raised both hands in defense, “I just...I had faith in you.”

He looked at Marcus, “Both of you.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raised and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “We are all going to have to talk about boundaries next meeting.”

You snorted and gave Miracle a disappointed look, “See if I give you Peggy’s information now.”

“I still need to know what she meant by sideburn length. How long? We talking jawline? I’m concerned. You have her number safe, right? Did she mention if there’s a crisis line?”

You rolled your eyes, “God help us watch this one stick.”

Marcus shook his head at the team, “I can’t believe you guys bet about us.”

"I'm mildly concerned at the degree of casual betting." You shook your head.

“We bet about when you would say something. We all just assumed it was happening.” Vox thought that, somehow, this made it better and she smiled widely, “She’s good for you, it’s good thing! You’re much more ---”

“Team Leader-y.” Offered Crushing Low and she nodded, pointing at him.

“Yeah that!”

You cleared your throat, “Hey are we going to talk about any other exciting revelations from the evening?”

You gestured to Amari and the group doubled down in congratulations and how good you look and how do you feel peppered with Miracle’s shrugging disinterest (What? It’s a bodily function, good for her). 

You understood why she did what she did.

You never thanked her, but you did buy her the biggest goddamn item on her baby registry and you feel like she knew.

*

Ok, the team knew.

The team was fine. 

You were drinking with Katie, you two were affectionately calling one another work wife and home wife.

She at one point rubbed your arm, "That was a big hurdle. You got the cameras up soon, but a word to the wise-- don't look at the paparazzi shots and do not read the comments. Just take a picture in your own head and make up your own headline." 

You studied her, "Did, uh, you have a hard time? When it started?" 

She snorted. 

"Oh yeah. I'm surprised you don't remember. Whenever one of them dates a normal person there's a lot of fixation." She tipped back her martini aggressively, “I’ll be honest, it fucked with me for a bit. Tech and I went through an extended me coming to terms with it phase that lasted a few months.”

This was your fear.

You felt like you could deal with it. Hang with it. Like it would be ok.

But what if it wasn’t?

The man hadn’t told his teammates about you until tonight-- sure it seemed like most of them had guessed. Sure it did. But like...what if he wasn’t really ready to slap some sort of Marcus Mark on you?

Or what if he just thought he was, and he did, and then the attention made him change course?

Were you making yourself nuts? Yes. Probably.

Katie seemed to see you spiralling and squeezed your hand, “So not that Tech would say anything to them but he had you two called months ago. Said he was doing recon with Marcus--”

You giggled. Marcus and “recon” would make you giggle forever.

“-- and Marcus just kept looking at his phone with this big stupid grin on his face and this lovesick expression. Wouldn’t say a word, didn’t want to share. But Tech knew it was you. Said he smelled it a mile away.”

You smiled, “I remember that day...I was buying my car. I made a salesman cry.”

Katie looked momentarily concerned but you assured her it was deserved.

The boys were all doing a celebratory shot and were coming back towards you like overexcited puppies, Marcus getting his hair messed by Miracle with an annoyed, “AND you won the soccer pool-- what is it, Crimson’s day or yours Moreno?”

Marcus looked at you with this warm expression, “Might be my lucky day.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m arranging a Gamblers Anonymous meeting for you boys.”

“Babe, I don’t have a problem, I’m the one winning.”

“That’s what they all say.” You smiled as he wrapped his arms around you and drew you in for a kiss, one hand trailing just along that sinfully low edge on your dress.

One of the planners came up to you guys, telling you to start making your way to the red carpet line for your pound of flesh photos. You gulped. This was...this was the part. The one that scared you. Marcus noticed the tension and sent a calming current through you, not that it only calmed you but it at least made it easier for you to breathe for a second.

“Choose your order.”

“We’ll go first.” Amari volunteered, her husband limping up beside her, “Get it out of the way.”

She eyed Crushing and Tech and they shuffled the order they were standing in, Marcus pulled you up and said, “We’ll go second.”

Second?

Second. 

Jesus.

*

The cameras were flashing.

Great.

You knew this would happen but it didn’t make it happening any less stressful.

You just tried to glue yourself to Marcus’ side while half-hiding behind him and hoping you blended in with the background.

Unfortunately, Team Leader knew what you were doing and wrapped an arm around your waist,“Don’t worry about them...it’s just you and me.”

You rolled your eyes, “If it was just you and me there would be a lot fewer pants in the room.”

He snorted and his smile lit up, “Patience.”

Many of them were still fixated on Amari and her giant belly and you knew they were asking precisely the sorts of questions she didn’t want asked.

You realized that her going first would distract the reporters-- she was the first of this generation to have a kid, and she was going to be big news.

You two were signalled to walk out just as Amari made it to the end-- it was about twenty feet of carpet, you just had to make it across.

He squeezed your waist in reassurance and one of the cries came, “Marcus, over here! Over here! Sweetheart do you mind stepping out?”

Marcus’ grip tightened on you, “She stays if you want me.”

Now that...that was like blood in shark infested waters. Oh well, you stood up straighter, did the smile you knew flattered you, and thanked Christ you paid for good hair today.

“Who is she?”

“She’s my girlfriend...and that’s about all you need to know.” He winked at them, his tone was light but definitive, he wasn’t about to go spouting out all the details.

You tried to keep the smile small but he had done it. He had gone and dropped terms. 

Fuck yes.

You were the girlfriend. 

You could feel yourself preening and Marcus' hand shot a current through you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

Someone wolf-whistled at the two of you and called out, “Nice! What’s her power? Hey sugartits what’s your power?”

You bristled, “Not saying rude things to people.”

A chuckle broke out among the photographers briefly and one said more, “No seriously, what’s your power?”

“I don’t have any powers.” You admitted and Marcus nuzzled against your temple, pressing a kiss there.

“You mind that, chief?”

“Not one little bit.” Marcus nodded at them and then began leading you off, your tenure in the spot was done and he nodded after them, “Ask Miracle about his sideburns, trust me on that.”

“Miracle? Pfft. Fifty bucks says he has a goatee by the fall.” Crushing whistled and the cameras left you and Marcus to focus on him and Adam who looked a little more at ease with everything now than he had an hour ago. You got a warm feeling looking at the two of them, like you should really remember Adam’s name and everything he was saying because it was going to come up at Christmas parties for the next twenty years.

When you got to the end of the line you realized your hands were shaking with adrenaline, but only because Marcus took one and rubbed it between both of his, kissing it, and winking, “You did good.”

“I didn’t curse.”

“You didn’t, I noticed, and I think we should arrange some sort of reward system for you so that you keep that behavior up.” His eyes twinkled. You knew that twinkle.

You pushed one of the buttons on his jacket with a tentative finger, “Is this rented?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Did you pay for insurance?”

“It’s a tux, not a car.”

“But like you’re protected if it’s damaged?”

He pulled you close, “However you’re looking to damage it is worth the price of a tux.” 

You smiled and grabbed his tie, “I saw a very empty looking limo outside and you have magic hands that can open door locks.”

“Door locks, zippers, all kinds of fun shit.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, “Lead the way.”

*

The night went on forever, and still managed somehow to end.

You danced endlessly with Marcus-- the nice cuddly slow ones (he didn’t let you miss a single one) and a few very nice fast ones that, frankly, nearly resulted in a second trip to the limo. But the night did wind down.

Marcus went to go get his car and it left you for a second with Crushing Low, who was waiting for Adam to get back from the bathroom. He nudged your arm, “You’re not sore about the bet, are you?” “Nah.” You shook you head and motioned toward the door, “You must like the guy, huh? Pretty big shindig for a new thing.”

He shrugged, “I’ve always liked playing certain odds. It sounds like gambling, but gamblers play against the odds. I … Listen, it’s smooshy bullshit so I don’t wanna hear you repeating this, got it?”

You smiled and mimed locking your mouth with a key and tossing it away.

“He….he’s my guy. My person. Like… I know it in my bones. He’s a once in a lifetime shot, I’m not going to fuck around making goo goo eyes like you and Moreno did for months--”

“Hey!”

“Hey nothing, I… listen. My dad, he met my mom on a Thursday. He proposed that Sunday. They got married by the next Wednesday. They have been together over thirty years.” Crushing made a sweeping motion with his feet, “I um… I have the ring. At home. Have a little set up and everything. I’m locking into this one.”

You felt your eyes widen, “Why….tell me?”

“Because you gotta jump in when you live with a Heroic sugar. Don’t look to pump the fucking brakes if you think this guy’s your person. Go for it. Look back on how fast it was and how silly everyone thought you were in thirty years and laugh about it.”

He smiled at you, “I mean it. You two? You two make a lot of sense. One of the easier bets I’ve ever made.”

Adam emerged from the bathroom and Crushing winked at you, “Think about what I said.”

You frequently would.

*

You guys stumbled into your apartment late, really late, and you belatedly mumbled, “Why are we here? Didn’t we drive past yours to get here?”

“I like yours.” He was far more awake than you. You’d started the heavy-dancing portion of the evening-- post limo, which, did, in fact, rip the seam on Marcus’ jacket and result in your sewn in bra getting ripped out too-- by trying to keep up with the drinking level of the team. You had somehow forgotten that you were not superhuman and had tried to mediate the damage. Now it was late, you were in the happy place between far-too-drunk and far-too-sober and you were feeling….devilish. You wandered directly into your room and started to peel off the straps of the dress but Marcus stayed your hands, “Wait, now...I wanna do it.”

And he did, slowly, with his mouth and his hands and kisses that were trailing empty paths to nowhere just to lick a sheen of sweat off of you. He kept your back to him and he was carefully pushing the dress down over the mound of flesh-- in the limo you had been limited and the dress had stayed on. It had gotten pushed around, but it had stayed on. Now he was dressed and you were just in heels and moonlight and he ran his hands down your neck, your breasts, until they settled low on your hips.

“You know,” you said, hips slowly dragging your butt across the front of his pants, already feeling him hard, smiling at what you were going to offer, “I’ve never...tried...anything there...before you and those magical hands.”

He moved his hands to cup your ass cheeks, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah…” you reached over to your dresser and grabbed something you’d tucked away there last night, the motion pushing you further against his crotch and he pulled you tight against him, you felt the hands leave you for a second, heard him flick the buttons off his shirt before returning those delicious currents to your skin, “But if you...wanted… I would let you.”

For a second he froze, saw the bottle of lubricant in your hand, and then you felt a positive flood of his currents and you started to breathe heavy, you heard his pants hit the floor, and he pushed you stomach down on the bed with a tone in his voice that made you wetter than his fucking currents, “I want every single part of you to be mine.”

And he fucking meant it.

And he fucking repeated it.

He repeated it with every single stroke of his fingers, and his tongue, and his glorious goddamn dick until you almost forgot what he was saying.

I want you. To be. Mine. Mine. Mine. 

For a second you didn’t realize you were responding each time: You got me, you got me, you got me.

And just before he came, when you felt him tensing, when you felt him start to pulse, you shifted your hands, reached around, took two handfuls of his ass and held him against you moaning, Mine. 

Or maybe it was him saying it.

Or maybe you both were.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

*

In the morning Marcus woke up feeling physically drained-- happily so, but drained nonetheless, and he did something he never did before. He took his phone, turned so that if you woke up you couldn’t see the screen, and started just mindlessly looking at a few things.

Of the many things he looked at he idly went to a page with different kinds of rings. Diamond ones, emerald ones, ruby….all very pretty. He wasn’t in a rush. He wanted to look. See what was there. See if anything felt like you.

So far, it didn’t.

But it didn’t hurt to look.

He had meant what he said: Mine. 

_____________________________________________

A/N: Headcannon casting: Adam is Oded Fehr. Fight me. So yes, fluffy, gives us some room in upcoming chapters for more events. Hope nobody is upset with the portion of fluff :) If we don’t see the team settling a bit now later it feels very RUSHED MARRIED BABIES EVERYONE AT ONCE and like...them kids is deffffinitely all fairly close in age, except Guppy, so we will have our hands full anyway. 

Usual warnings: this isn’t beta read. I have no idea when half this stuff writes itself. I am stoked for some of the upcoming adventures. 

Tag list? I’m learning @tortles  @mrschiltoncat @swimmingsloths @imaginecrushes @dreamer7black​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @finnisrioting ​ @heresathreebee​ (I added you because you make me laugh) @seasonschange-butpeopledont​

Roman and Virgil walked in a comfortable silence, save for Virgil’s obnoxious slurping. He always managed to take the loudest gulps when Roman’s thoughts wandered back to his parents or situation, making it impossible for him to sulk. It disappointed him. Roman enjoyed sulking; in a strange way, it cleared his mind. As he started to ponder whether this was actually the best idea, Virgil seemed to be doing his best to burst his eardrums.

“Could you… not?” Roman stopped walking and threw his hands over his ears. Virgil, a smirk plastered across his face, took the opportunity to inhale three-quarters of the remaining slurpee.

“Not what?” he teased.

“Not act like you’re trying to drink a hurricane.” Virgil chuckled, sucked down the rest, and stuck his neon-blue tongue out at Roman.

They walked for a while, the alleys around them growing darker and Virgil growing visibly more anxious. He tugged at his hood, fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket, picked at his lips, glanced around every corner. Roman hadn’t known Virgil for long, but his mannerisms made his thoughts clear: he didn’t like this part of the city. He stepped a bit closer, hoping Virgil was one of those people who was calmed down by physical contact.

It seemed Virgil was the opposite. “Don’t.” His voice came out as a half-whisper, half-hiss. Roman took a step back, then another for good measure. Virgil groaned quietly. “I get that you’re trying to help, I really do, it’s just that in this area…” He trailed off, but Roman got the message. It was New York City, but there were monsters everywhere.

“Your friends aren’t, um, unaccepting, I hope?”

“Oh, god, no,” Virgil said. “Nicest people around. I wouldn’t be around them if they weren’t supportive.”

“Good.” Roman smiled softly. Supportive. He hadn’t had anyone support him since he was a kid.

“The corner’s right up here. We stick around this area and few spots in Central Park that the rangers don’t check. The Park tends to fill up pretty quick though, so we’re here most nights.”

Corner. Park. The sudden overwhelming reality of the situation made Roman feel like he was a rat caught on the subway tracks.

“Oh yeah,” Virgil interjected, “and on rainy nights we sleep in subway stations. You gotta watch for rats, though.”

Great. Just amazing.

“Alright.” Virgil came to a halt, spinning on his heel to face Roman.

“...okay?” Roman stared down at Virgil, confused.

“I gotta do this now, because they’re gonna be all over me for being out late and bringing a mysterious boy with me. We’ve got a few rules.” Roman’s mind raced. Rules? Was he about to join a gang? Would there be blood sacrifices? Murder?

“Rule 1: We don’t want your sob story. Don’t wax poetic about your dead dog or whatever. It’s in the past. We’re all here, on the streets. Everyone’s got one, not everybody needs to hear it.” Roman felt his shoulders relax. Maybe this wasn’t a gang.

“Rule 2: Don’t press for information you don’t need.” Is this a gang or not, Roman wanted to ask, but he didn’t, because if it was Virgil would probably murder him on the spot. Virgil continued, “There’s stuff you don’t want to hear. Don’t ask, and we won’t tell you.”

“Rule 3: We’re here for each other’s protection, not friendship. I know I’ve been nice and all, but they won’t be as kind as me. Well, except for Patton, but he doesn’t count. We’re trying to make sure nobody else gets killed in return for us not getting killed. So, y’know, watch out for the others and they’ll watch out for you.” Roman’s “Is This A Gang” scales were tipping. What kind of cult shit was this?

“Rule 4: Don’t steal from the others. This seems like a no-brainer, but there’s been issues in the past.” Finally, Roman thought. Something normal.

“And finally, Rule 5: Think of yourself first, but everyone else immediately after. Don’t get yourself killed, but if you win the lottery, maybe help us out a bit. Got it?”

“I think so.” Roman hesitated. “Don’t be sappy or an asshole.”

“Yeah, you’ve got the gist. Let’s go.” Virgil turned away and made a sharp left. The alley he had chosen was darker than the rest, leaving Roman squinting to see the patchwork jacket a few feet in front of him. He picked at the holes in his own coat, wondering if he could get Virgil to fix it for him.

He was so distracted that he almost didn’t notice Virgil come to an abrupt stop ahead of him.

“Hey,” Virgil said.

“Where have you been?”

“I was so worried!”

“Who’s that?”

“Ah, so you finally found yourself a man.”

The four voices rang out at once, startling Roman. He thought he saw Virgil smile in the dark.

“No, guys, chill out. This is Roman. He got kicked out, and he bought me a slurpee.” Virgil’s silhouette shrugged. Two people rose to greet him, while the other pair stayed sprawled out on the ground.

“Hello. My name is Logan,” the first said, “and this is-”

“Patton!” The second was shouting, a sharp contrast to Logan’s reserved demeanor. “You can call me Dad. But only if you want! You must have a messy relationship with your parents, so I understand if you don’t want to.” Roman could see Virgil facepalming next to him.

“That’s alright. Patton works fine for me.” Roman smiled, hoping Patton wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“And this is Remus and Deceit.” Virgil pointed to the two tired-looking figures on the pavement.

“Howdy.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“It must be past midnight,” Logan announced. “We’ve all met Virgil’s friend. We need sleep. Let’s all sit down.” Logan, Patton, and Virgil all collapsed in a heap with Remus and Deceit. Roman stayed standing.

“What, is the prince too good to sit on the ground?” Virgil joked. “Would His Majesty like some dumpster cardboard?” Roman snorted, but sat down next to Virgil. He was freezing, but didn’t want to cross any boundaries and stayed a safe distance away.

“I’m not gonna bite you.” The words were a whisper, but Roman still heard them over the noises of the city. He scooted close enough that he could drop his head onto Virgil’s shoulder. They sat like that for a while, not saying anything, just doing their best to stay warm

“You’re shivering,” Virgil noticed.

“I’m not used to sleeping outside.”

Without a word, Virgil slid his jacket off and draped it over the two of them, then slipped his arm around Roman’s shoulder.