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joelsrose · 10 months ago

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Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

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Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

#joel miller x reader #Joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal smut #Ellie tlou #joel miller one shot #Pedro Pascal one shot

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fugobf · 2 years ago

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Ace attorney fic's i've written or in the process of writing <33

Heads up!! All of my works are SFW, all of them have no archive warnings that apply expect one which has been stated :))

Narumitsu fic, completed, one shot, 17k words: summary: ____________________ If you had told Miles that he would fly his friend to Germany to help him with legal papers, would go out drinking with said friend, dress up in hideous outfits and embarrass each other in public, get drunk again, have an emotional sentimental moment in a public park, and then perhaps confess your feelings to said friend, Miles would never have believed you in a million years. Now, if you tried to tell Miles this was actually reality and not an alternate universe, he would look at you crazy and question if you were in the right mental state. ____________________

phoenix and trucy centric (father and daughter fic), completed, one shot, 12k words summary: __________________________ Phoenix and Trucy bake a post-Halloween cake together. Amidst the laughter and joy, a small accident occurs, causing Trucy to feel immense guilt due to her past trauma. However, Phoenix's unwavering reassurance and support become a beacon of comfort. He shows her that mistakes are a natural part of life, guiding her through the accident with patience and understanding. Through this simple baking mishap, their bond strengthens, and he teachers his daughter that mistakes are opportunities for growth and not reasons for shame.

_________________________

Narumitsu fic (Major Character Death), completed, one shot with sprinkled in poems followed by another chapter with a longer poem, 13k words summary: Two soulmates, destined to be together in every universe, but not destined to be together in a single lifetime. Perhaps this lifetime wasn't the right time, but maybe one day they'll get their happy ever after.

Blackmadhi fic, in progress, estimated 5 chapters, current word count: 10k words summary: Little did Nahyuta know, amidst the unforeseen circumstances and the melancholic atmosphere, a chance encounter with the food delivery guy, Simon Blackquill, would begin to fill the void left by his family’s absence, sparking an unexpected connection during this unforeseen holiday ordeal.

Narumitsu fic, in progress, current word count: 12k words, estimated 5-6 chapters summary: Phoenix finds himself in a whirlwind of emotions as he contemplates proposing to his partner of many years, Miles Edgeworth. With the support of his dynamic team—Apollo, Athena, and Trucy—Phoenix embarks on a quest to plan the ideal proposal. Among the brainstorming session for wildly creative proposal ideas, Phoenix remains unaware that Miles is also grappling with his own proposal plans involving Kay and Sebastian. As Phoenix and Miles seek the perfect proposal, they're lost in the maze of love, both unsure how to ask the big question.

#ace attorney #ace attorney fic #narumistu #narumitsu fic #trucy wright #fic reccomendations #fanfic writer #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #blackmadhi #simon blackquill #nahyuta sahdmadhi

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ultramagicalternate · 3 months ago

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ULTRAMagic Eon 1 Chapter 15

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Blood-Wraith and the others eventually found out about the gem they had actually acquired. Ludwig was right in his assertion, as Guinevere had left them with a Midnight Rubedo Stone. They were quite rare and were distinctly stronger than standard Rubedo Stones, but Blood-Wraith was still sore about it regardless. While testy for the rest of the day, he did his best not to take his frustrations out on the others. Will inevitably felt bad, but Dragoslava assured him it was not his fault. He and Rostislav wanted to make it up to Blood-Wraith, but Ludwig insisted that they let him cool off on his own. Truthfully Blood-Wraith was not that upset and respected Guinevere’s cleverness throughout the encounter.

The next day reports had come in that cake golems had been spotted near the Valley of Eons. Tiberius and Alexia deduced that it was most likely not a coordinated effort, as Guinevere would never have been noticed had she not acquired the guild’s attention. Valerie on the other hand seemed to be disregarding subtlety and was expressing open interest in the valley. Blood-Wraith rounded up Ludwig and Will and was going to grab Rostislav, but Barry volunteered instead. While a little unexpected, Rostislav was okay with it as he wanted to go visit The Iron City. Ludwig was not thrilled about the team composition, but Blood-Wraith promised he would make it work.

The Valley of Eons was a strange and beautiful location within the Central Unlight. Believed to be the original home of the Descendants during the Epoch, it was deemed a heritage site for the modern Descendants. Calling it a microcosm of the Epoch was apt as the valley felt like it had been plucked straight from that era. The land was darted with impossible terrain and floating structures, lush flora from another time was everywhere, and unique animals seen nowhere else happily dashed around and rested in the cozy shade of the bygone trees. Even the streams of gently flowing water sparkled with a gleam that could have only existed during the Epoch of the Cosmos.

Coming to stop in an ancient, abandoned town, Will took a second to marvel at the buildings that looked similar to the ones in The Iron City. “Wow, this is incredible… It feels so… familiar.”

“Careful, Will,” Blood-Wraith cautioned as Will gently touched a delicate window. “This place is very old.”

Ludwig shook his head and chuckled as set an old sign down. “Will may be a klutz, but he’s not that clumsy.”

Will then promptly stubbed his toe on a post. “Ow ow ow!” This made the others laugh.

“Jeez, Will, don’t whack your toes again,” Yale warned as he flew around Will’s feet to inspect them.

“I know, Yale. I don’t want to dislocate my toe again… Hey, do you guys smell cake?”

Barry hummed with electricity and pointed ahead of them. “Cake golems at 12 o’clock and…” he paused and realized where they were heading. “Hey, not my house!”

“Wait, what?!” Blood-Wraith questioned. “Barry, hold up!” he called out as he and the others followed him to the town square.

Barry had prepared an electric-charged punch for a vanilla golem with chocolate frosting, but something stopped him before he could land a hit. A glob of red goo engulfed him and left him encased in a gumdrop with only his head sticking out. Barry tried to free himself, but it maintained a strong, rubbery grip on his body. Will had also rushed in and used his alchemy to behead a strawberry golem, only for him and Yale to be doused in a thick layer of chocolate that hardened into an inescapable shell. Valerie stepped forward, picked up the golem head, and tapped the gem embedded in her three fingered glove. As it began sparking with electricity, she started to reapply the golem’s head with her alchemy.

“Goodness, nearly a clean cut…” she remarked. “How brutish, yet precise… Oh jeez, the skeleton is a bit messed up…”

Blood-Wraith groaned as he looked at the chocolate statue of Will and Yale. “Yup, there he goes again… Hello, Valerie.”

“Sir Blood-Wraith, good to see you again,” Valerie replied as she took off her hat and bowed. “Mages from the future? I’ll fully concede that you caught me off guard with that one. Good show, honorable knight.”

“Hey, don’t go into my house!” Barry ordered from his gumdrop at the golems.

Valerie signaled for her golems to pause. “That’s your home, Barry?”

“My old one as I live in The Night Realm now, but yes…”

“Goodness, how rude of me.” She then clapped as if calling to attention. “Dears, that house is off limits,” she said to her golems. The one chocolate golem calmly shut the door, pulled its hands back, and went to Valerie’s side.

“Speaking of which,” Blood-Wraith interjected. “Valerie, you know this is a heritage site, right?”

Valerie could not help but give a whimsical look as if her honor had been besmirched, pretending like she was going to faint. “Why of course, my dearest Blood-Wraith. Alas, I have not come here to plunder, but to retrieve!”

“Come again?”

“You see, Blood, I am actually a Descendant.”

He was surprised by that and looked at Ludwig, who nodded. “Wait, really?”

“Indeed,” Valerie answered. “My great great great Grandpa Lloyd lived just down the way and saw several hunts.”

“Ludwig?”

He nodded again. “Certainly. She speaks the truth, Blood.”

“In fact I grew up in The Iron City under the reign of King Dragomir Schindewolf before setting out to The Magician’s Labyrinth after I graduated from academy.”

Blood-Wraith nodded in surprise. “Wow, that’s definitely a long time ago…”

Valerie wanted to say more about her past, but the conversation was interrupted by Will, who had broken free of his chocolatey prison. “Haha, take this!” he called out as he charged forward wearing reinforced gauntlets made of hardened chocolate.

Reacting swiftly, Valerie gracefully dodged out of the way. She was impressed by Will’s escape, but his stealth needed some work. Will stumbled and went to go for another transmutation, only to find his hands encased in chocolate balls, rendering them useless. Valerie winked with a giggle while wagging her finger that sparked with electricity as Yale freed Will’s hands. Will snapped his fingers, causing his hands to turn silver as something glowed brightly in his pocket. The Azure Spider hex was not finished, but he could still use some of the abilities, such as the silk spinning in this instance. He tried to lasso Valerie, but she caught it and pulled him in. With a sassy kiss on the cheek, she twirled him around like they were dancing, spinning him up in a binding cocoon of cotton candy.

Thinking fast, Will’s head popped off and shot through the cotton candy towards Valerie. It was propelled by a ghostly fire that was also burning the cocoon, allowing his body to gradually break free. Valerie was stunned and a little intimidated as she dodged Will’s head, skittering on the ground with smokey spider legs coming from his neck stump. His body soon rushed over to put its head back on, giving Valerie the perfect opening she needed. Whipping out an aromatic, red sheet, she spun around Will like a ballerina, enveloping him in the strange blanket. It was sticky and clung to his body, tightly wrapping him up like a mummy up to the base of his chin. Being rendered completely helpless, he fell over into the waiting arms of the chocolate golem, with Valerie giving another bow once all was said and done.

Blood-Wraith had to clap alongside Ludwig, Yale, and the other golems, as he was legitimately impressed by that performance. “Wow, that was amazing, Valerie.”

“Thank you, Blood,” she replied as she caught her breath. “Points for persistence, Will, but your form needs work.”

Will nodded, then wriggled around a little. “Uh, thanks… Jeez, what is this stuff?”

Yale flew over and gave the substance a lick. “Is that… is that a fruit roll?”

Valerie giggled. “Yup. It’s a part of my original candy magic. Also was that a hex I detected, Will?”

“Yeah. My friend, Valentin, gave it to me and Blood helped me finalize it… I mean, it’s still forming, but it’s starting to become usable.”

“Oh, well that’s good…” Blood-Wraith remarked as he walked up, wanting to take advantage of Will’s immobilized state. “Will, for the love of the Source, please stop trying to crush your enemies and see them driven before you!” he exclaimed, waving his finger in the mage’s face. “Seriously, these are not shadow constructs, and that’s not Sebastian. And also aren’t you supposed to be a necromancer? Where in the blues blazes are your devils?”

Will knew he was on the spot, and Ludwig’s facepalm was not helping. “Um, right, that… Well I uh… I talked to Faustus last night and we both agreed that I should be working on my other magic.” There was no way Blood-Wraith was going to buy that…

Blood-Wraith was not buying the excuse, but he did not want to push it in front of Valerie. “Fine, you have ULTRAMagic after all…”

“Will, if you’re having trouble with your magic, I could lend you my devil,” Barry reassured as he tried to get out of his gumdrop again. “Vapor 6 is really cool and he would totally understand…”

“No-no-no!” Will shot back. “It’s…It’s fine, Barry. Trust me.”

“Oh, um, okay…” Barry looked a little hurt by that.

Will could hear the disappointment in his voice and felt bad. “I’m sorry, Barry… um, I mean, you can summon Vapor 6 if you want to…”

Barry immediately perked up and bounced around in his gumdrop. “Okay then!” He then looked down, remembering the predicament he was in. “Can someone get me out of this?” Valerie snapped her fingers, prompting two of her golems to go and pull the gumdrop apart. He then walked over as Will’s golem freed him from the fruit roll.

“Sorry about the beheading thing, Blood, Valerie,” Will apologized. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Right…” Blood-Wraith said with a sigh. “Will, what was that creepy head thing you just did? It reminded me of this one movie I watched… oh what was it? A John… John? A John Carpenter movie that gave me nightmares for weeks…”

“Th-that one? Um, I mean, I uh, I didn’t mean to…”

Ludwig laughed. “Don’t worry, Blood. Will’s no alien monster. Rather he’s a dullahan, a celtic fairy of death. And Will, remember that actions speak louder than words…” Once Will gave a confirmation through a nod, he turned his attention to Valerie. “Ahem, before we go off on another tangent,” he said with a laugh as he went to shake her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Valerie. I am Captain Ludwig Leichenberg, leader of the Delta-7 squad of the PMRDO.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain,” she replied.

Barry then looked at his old house and realized something. “Oh, I just remembered why I wanted to come here! Blood, can I go get some stuff from my old place?”

Blood-Wraith glanced over to the house, then back to Barry. “Sure. Um, Valerie?”

“I don’t see why not, if you’ll permit me to go over to my Grandpa Lloyd’s house so I can grab some stuff of my own.”

There was a pause, followed by a slight groan. “Go ahead, both of you…”

“Yes!” Barry replied. “Be back in a sec!”

“You have my gratitude, Blood,” Valerie said as she started to the north of the square.

Ludwig patted Blood-Wraith on the back, commending him for his compromise. Will then took the opportunity to give Blood-Wraith some movie recommendations while they waited, with Yale providing context for Will’s suggestions. Will felt bad for creeping him out, so he wanted to suggest some of his favorite movies that were more whimsical and light-hearted. It was the least he could do, remembering that his dullahan nature was not something he typically leaned into.

Barry was the first to return, carrying several well-aged books while having an antique-looking hunting rifle slung around his back. He elaborated that the rifle was his main gun back during the Epoch, when he was The Hunter of Old. Valerie then returned, with her golems carrying a bunch of old books and heirlooms. She was about to speak on the matter, only to be cut off by Will’s stomach growling.

“Aw geez, does anyone have an energy bar or something?” he groaned, looking a little exhausted.

“Okay, Will?” Blood-Wraith spoke up. “I’m concerned. What’s with the food thing? You’ve been eating a lot since you got here and I want to know what’s up…”

Ludwig then patted Blood-Wraith’s shoulder. “Will’s body hasn’t fully adjusted to his ULTRAMagic yet. He has not received the proper training that me and Rostislav have had, and that is leading to it straining his body with heavy magical activity. Quite frankly I’m surprised you pulled off as much as you did, Will.”

That appeared to confuse Blood-Wraith. “But I’ve never had that problem. I felt just fine after I fought Dunja all those months ago…”

“We really should have just brought Faustus back with us…” Ludwig angrily grunted to himself, unnoticed by the others.

“Well obviously you’re a special case, Blood,” Barry reasoned. “You were clearly built to handle ULTRAMagic, given the circumstances of your birth and how easy it was for you to adapt to the magic it unlocked.”

That was a good point, causing Blood-Wraith to realize he was a bit special in that regard. “True, Barry. I have a tendency to forget that. The past 6 months have been a wild ride for me…”

“Guys, no offense, but my stomach is actually eating me right now…” Will complained.

Valerie quickly realized that there was a golden opportunity on her hands. “Will, would you like to come back to Castle Ter Avest for a bite to eat? We could also discuss your ULTRAMagic, as it is very fascinating to me…”

Blood-Wraith immediately sensed something was up and got in between her and Will. “Sorry, Valerie, but we need Will back at the guild for, um, uh… stuff and whatnot.”

Valerie was so close, but had to let it go as she did not want to anger Blood-Wraith. “Well shoot…” She then began waving her hands about, as if conjuring something. A plate of an utterly scrumptious piece of chocolate cake appeared in her hand in a puff of magical smoke. “Here, Will. This should perk you right up.”

“Thanks, Valerie…” he replied somewhat weakly as he accepted the food. “Much appreciated…”

“Besides, Will and the others probably want to see my hunting record,” Barry asserted. “And all of the accounts of me failing to get rid of Gudrun…”

Valerie felt her blood run cold as she looked Barry in the eye. It was something her parents and old guild warned her about and she did not like the sound of what he had stated. “Gudrun? Gudrun Holzknecht?”

Barry frowned. “Yup. Slippery bastard of a dragon found some way to get into the Epoch and was causing all sorts of trouble. I tried to stop her and Leif told me not to worry about it, but…”

“Barry, please come with me and tell me everything you know.”

“Hey, hold up a second!” Blood-Wraith interjected. “Valerie, what’s going on here?”

“Blood, I humbly request an audience with Barry…” Blood-Wraith furrowed his brow at her, so Valerie knew she had to reciprocate. “This is very important to me, dear, as it concerns our battle with The Eternal Order. I promise not to discuss anything relating to our current contest.” Blood-Wraith then began tapping his foot. “And I’ll send Barry back safe and sound with any info that will help the guild. No shenanigans, I promise.”

Blood-Wraith crossed his arms and turned to Ludwig, who nodded in response. “Alright, Valerie, but no funny business.”

“I swear on my honor as a Ter Avest,” she said with a raised hand. “Now, shall we be off, Barry?”

He shrugged and chuckled. “After you. I mean, I don’t think Gudrun is around…”

“I’d rather be safe than sorry…”

Will then stood up and went up to Valerie. “Oh, Valerie, here,” he said as he handed her the plate. “Thanks again. And I’d be curious to learn that candy magic at some point in the future, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re welcome, Will.” She then gestured for a golem to carry Barry’s books. “And you are more than welcome to come and learn with me any time you’re free.” She was secretly hoping that would encourage him to come with them, but it did not seem to work.

“Oh, guys,” Barry tossed his gun to Ludwig. “Have Weaver fix it up when you get back. It’s a little too old to fire at the moment. Alright, Valerie, let’s go!” he said with an eager hum of electricity.

“Very good. Aurevoir, everyone,” she said as they headed off.

Ludwig slung the rifle around his back, then crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well that was interesting. I’ll have to relay whatever Valerie provides to us to Teunis in the future and see what he thinks…”

Next: Chapter 16

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tide-locked · 9 months ago

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obligatory dear yulegoat letter

hello, beloved yuletide writer!

first and foremost: thank you so much for offering to write one of these weird little fandoms. i haven't done yuletide in many, many years, and am incredibly excited to get back to it.

i'm one of those people who overexplains, so this is lengthy, but really: i love these fandoms, and i read pretty broadly. i'm happy to read any length or rating, and am generally open to both porn and kink, exceptions in the dnws as aside. i love slice of life fics, casefic, character studies, plotty things, missing scenes, lengthy post-canon narratives—really, i just want another few minutes in these worlds, with these characters. if you already have ideas, you can skip the rest of this post and run with them—i want this to be fun for you, too.

if you do not have ideas, hopefully the rest of this will give you some. i'm looking forward to see where you go with it.

i think we're still meant to state if we're open to treats, so on the offchance that someone's browsing for that: yes, please, absolutely, are you kidding. two cakes?! oh boy!

everything else is under a cut for length. i suspect this is fairly comprehensive, but if you have questions, please don't hesitate to reach out through the mods; i'll be happy to clarify.

general likes:

devotion, especially when it's well past the point of reasonable, especially when it's unexpected/not taken for granted. i love it when people are deeply unhinged about each other. this is my single favourite thing, regardless of what the rest of the relationship is—a relationship doesn't have to be romantic to be about undying devotion.

characters who like and/or love each other, but still have complicated feelings about their relationship

casual intimacy and familiarity with each other

characters who show affection rather than speak it

mutual pining (resolving this is delightful, but certainly not required)

tenderness and moments of connection, especially when they're slightly incongruous—a moment of synchronicity in the middle of an argument, unexpected gentleness

realistic reactions and morals for the universe. for example, none of these characters (…assuming doomsday book fic is set during canon) would be distressed by encountering a stranger's dead body—death is too much a part of their lives to allow for that. similarly, any of them might disagree, for various reasons, that a child should be beaten 'instructively', but given the settings, i don't believe any of them would be shocked or traumatised by it, either.

characters who have Achieved Their Goal, whatever that was, but now have to figure out who they are without it

acknowledging (but please not focusing on) the physical effects of illness, injury, lifestyle, etc

three-person relationships, romantic or otherwise, where each of them is deeply attached the other two. they may have fundamentally different relationships, but they're of the same weight/importance, if that makes sense. i love a tripod, not a v.

the mortifying ordeal of being known leading to the rewards of being loved

vulnerable and/or tentative intimacy

characters who hadn't realised they were alone, or even lonely—but aren't anymore, and are unprepared for how strongly they feel about the person or people they're with. again, this doesn't have to be romantic.

relationships—friendly or sexual or romantic or whatever—where everyone involved is making an effort, even if they would deny it if asked. i have to admit that i do not love when one character is largely passive and sort of gets adored (or bullied) into a relationship, no effort required on their part.

characters who are willing to do the work for each other, basically. sometimes this is 'it's rotten work/not to me, not if it's you' and sometimes it's 'it's rotten work/i'll do it but christ alive'; the important part, for me, is that they'll do it, and do it willingly, even if they spend the entire time bitching about it.

actually, i have an entire (tag)[https://a-memory-a-distant-echo.tumblr.com/tagged/delicious%20tropes] about things i like

smut-specific likes:

i love sex that's actually about something else

i'm fine with kink, other than what's in the dnws, but would strongly prefer that it (including safewords) not be negotiated on the page

relative equality with regards to power dynamics, including penetration

awkward or imperfect sex that isn't played for humour

sex before love, or even liking

really, sex that's happening because the characters are interested in each other as people rather than because [character] is the most attractive person [other character] has ever seen.

specific stuff that tends to work for me: moderate overstimulation/overwhelm, adoration, gentle edging, rimming, bondage/restraints, coming untouched because they're so into what they're doing to someone else.

general do not wants, exceptions noted with fandoms:

hard-coded power dynamics (for example, 24/7 D/s relationships, strict top/bottom or D/s roles)

omegaverse or any related worldbuilding

scat or piss play

bestiality or animal play (puppyplay, etc)

non-canon sex/gender changes

issuefic (where a moral lesson of some kind is the main point)

therapyfic (where the focus is on characters recovering emotionally from some kind of trauma)

hard aus (where the setting is changed entirely—please, no coffee shops)

dramatic declarations of love

focus on a character's mental health/neurodivergence/physical disability in the sense that I'm not looking for fic that delves deeply into these matters; you're welcome to include it to the extent that it's included in canon, but please don't centre the entire fic on it

pregnancy (including mpreg), childbirth, or kidfic (regardless of how the children are attained)

kidfic—the other kind, where one or more characters are turned into children

injuries to teeth

crackfic or tooth-rotting fluff

ok. specific fandoms, and then we're done! this is so long. i'm so sorry.

mysterious lotus casebook

character exception: i'm interested in either the three of them together (romantically or devoted but avowedly non-romantically), or the di feisheng-fang duobing relationship, romantic or otherwise. if you're interested in the latter, it's fine if li lianhua's not included as a character.

this show completely ate my brain, and i have yet to recover from it. there are a lot of places you could take this that would totally delight me—i'm not a hard sell. i'm here for missing scenes, expanded scenes, canon divergence, explorations of what happens after canon, pwp (bonus points if there are also feelings), general jianghu shenanigans, hurt/comfort (a lot of bonus points if it's them mutually comforting each other, and/or if it's difang hurt/comfort), etc.

i'm aware some of this leans darker than canon, and that's fine. li lianhua can live (handwaved or not), or not, or be [status unknown], as needed for your vision. if general jianghu shenanigans includes sex pollen/accidental aphrodisiac/fuck or die/other vaguely dubcon scenario, that's fine. if your canon divergence or missing scenes have noncon, i'd prefer it not be the bulk of the fic, but that's also fine as long as the perpetrator isn't one of the main three.

the thing i would most like to avoid in this fandom is a third-wheel scenario where either dihua or fanghua are together (or not together romantically, but pair-bonded, for lack of a better term), and the third guy is…also there.

i'd thought i'd added this to my fandom-specific do not wants, but see that i lost the line when copying over. i know it's not an official dnw, but i'm asking here anyway: please don't give me possessiveness/jealousy from anyone.

additional (official) dnw for this fandom: character bashing, however mild. please don't describe di feisheng as demonic or evil; please don't have characters dismissively call or refer to fang duobing a brat or a kid. li lianhua gets less of this kind of treatment than the other two, but please be kind to him, as well, regardless of if he's a character in the fic or not. i feel strongly that by the end of canon, the three of them at least like and respect each other, and this sort of treatment is one of the fastest ways to undercut that for me.

heroes (2022)

ok, i'm going to be real with you: i haven't finished watching this. i know how it ends. i've known how it ends since i watched the first episode. and i just…haven't been able to bring myself to watch it happen, you know? so i said all this stuff at the start of this letter about complicated characters and messy feelings or whatever, but what i want more than anything else in this fandom is for even a single scene where even one of these precious, perfect, absolutely terrible children is content and no one is evil or dead. (evil or dead yet. i realise that it's very much a yet kind of situation. i just…don't want it to be.)

maybe next year i'll be ready to lean into some of the grimmer complexity, but right now, if you want to write tooth-rotting fluff for this fandom, if you want to pretend the show ended after episode eight and everyone was happy for maybe as many as several days, please do, and i'll thank you for it.

a little more seriously, you only have to include one of these characters—though i'd love it if there were more than one—and i'm not even asking that they be happy, just content. give me that one perfect moment before everything goes wrong, you know? (you are, of course, welcome to allude to the many terrible things that have happened to them, or give hints of the terrible things that are waiting the as soon as this moment is over, but i would prefer that those not be the focus of things.)

i'll honestly be happy with almost anything here. give me su mengzhen and lei chun sitting together quietly for an hour. give me bai choufei performatively annoyed but quietly charmed by sleeping wang xiaoshi, known human starfish. give me wen rou and su mengzhen hanging out. give me all four of them having a drink. give me a weird little sex scene with the characters of your choice. give me wang xiaoshi watching the rain. find (or imagine) the slimmest moment of peace and expand on it, or simply spend a thousand words dwelling on the seven seconds that it existed on screen.

look at these precious children. i sure hope nothing bad happens to them. 😭😭😭

additional dnw for this fandom:

character death

…misery and the part where everything goes terrible. i know what this show is, but i'm begging you: if you're writing this, please, give me even a single scene where even one of these characters is content and no one is dead

oxford time travel universe

oh, kivrin, my beloved. the doomsday book, and kivrin in particular, has had my heart since i first read it probably twenty years ago. i said in my signup that you could give me a thousand words of kivrin tending agnes, or mending clothes, or being unsettled by the softness of her modern bed after she returns, or honestly almost anything, and i would be happy, and that's entirely true.

you're welcome to bring in other characters—i love all of them—but you don't have to. if you want to explore kivrin's relationship with almost anyone—father roche, dunworthy, maisry, either of the children (especially rosemund), colin, or whomever, i would be delighted to read it. if you want to explore the cognitive dissonance of her arrival and the somewhat unexpected setting in which she finds herself, or her feelings when she can't get to the drop site, go right ahead. if you want her back in the present and feeling isolated by the fact that everyone has just experienced a plague, but what she experienced was very, very different to what everyone else did, i'm also interested in that. really, i don't think you can go wrong here.

given the topics of the novel and the global events of the last four years, i do feel that i should explicitly state that it's absolutely fine for you to lean into the plague aspects of it if you feel inclined to do so. i mean, please do not create an au where she goes to 2020 instead of 1348, but i will not find explicit discussions of illness, plague, pandemic, and death in either 1348 or 2054 upsetting or offputting.

i think that most people sign up for this fandom hoping to get ned and verity, and if that's the case for you, i'm sorry; if you need to reach for a lighter tone to get through this, please feel free to do so.

additional dnw for this fandom: please don't give me smut for this one.

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cheesecakeetc · 1 year ago

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Exploring Enchantment: Vancouver's Best Kept Sweets Café Secrets

Explore the Beautiful Variety of Sweets Café

Undertaking a gourmet inquiry in Vancouver is similar to discovering hidden jewels of sweets cafe in Vancouver, especially in the fascinating realm of desserts. This blog post invites you to explore the exquisite dishes available at a renowned café in Vancouver.

Every delicacy represents a hidden gem, waiting to be uncovered. In this discussion, we will go over the tantalizing menu, explore the burst of flavors, and figure out the underlying character of this paradisiacal sanctuary.

Savoring the Sweet Symphony: An Introduction to Dessert Café in Vancouver.

In Vancouver, where the culinary environment is continuously evolving, dessert cafés emerge as hidden gems where ingenuity meets tradition. The allure of these places stems not only from the wonderful array of delicacies, but also from the harmonic symphony of flavors that captivate the palate.

Imagine a world in which each dessert is a perfectly made work of art, an edible jewel designed to enrich your sweet delight.

Visiting a dessert café in Vancouver is like going on a treasure hunt. Similar to a map, the menu features a variety of hidden treasures, ranging from old favorites to new innovations. The offers are surprising, ensuring that each visit to Burstiness is an exciting and unique journey into the world of sweets.

Dive into Decadence: The Allure of a Cake Restaurant in Vancouver

Within the hidden gems of Vancouver's dessert culture, a cake restaurant serves as a focus point for decadent enthusiasts. These establishments, which have just emerged on the culinary scene, are redefining the art of cake-making by providing unique masterpieces. The burstiness is not only in the diversity of cakes, but also in the unexpected twists and turns that transform these delicacies into delectable pieces of art.

Consider a cake restaurant in Vancouver where each slice tells a unique narrative. In this sense, bursting involves sampling a wide range of flavors, from rich and decadent to light and refreshing. It's a voyage through layers of sponge, cream, and frosting, with each bite revealing a flash of intricacy that challenges traditional notions of cake.

Crafting Memories: The Café's Signature Desserts

Within the boundaries of Vancouver's dessert café, there are signature masterpieces that capture the essence of culinary expertise. These secret gems, expertly picked by pastry masters, constitute the establishment's heartbeat.

The burstiness of the hallmark sweets is the surprise aspect - an unexpected combination of flavors, textures, and presentation that enriches the eating experience.

One may feel a surge of anticipation as they indulge in a distinctive delicacy, unsure whether they will uncover an unexpected spice blend, a layer of gooey caramel, or a tangy citrus infusion.

The element of surprise is responsible for transforming each mouthful into a journey of discovery, resulting in enduring memories that last long after the final bite has been consumed.

Beyond the Plate: Ambience and Artistry

The hidden gems of Sweets Café in Vancouver go beyond the plate, incorporating the ambiance and craftsmanship that define the entire experience. Burstiness in the ambiance refers to the unexpected surprises that greet you as you enter the café, such as the comfortable decor, pleasant personnel, or the delicate aroma of freshly baked goods. It's a setting in which every element contributes to the joy that accompanies your delightful adventure.

In contrast, the visual delight that you get when you see the exquisite presentation of each confection is an example of artistry. Consider a collection of gastronomic works of art, distinguished by vibrant colors, intricate constructions, and exquisite attention to detail, that collectively raise the dining experience to the artistic level.

A visit to Burstiness in Artisanship transforms a basic dining encounter into an exciting, multimodal experience.

Conclusion

Finally, Sweets Café in Vancouver emerges as a hidden gem, a haven for dessert lovers seeking a rush of flavors and the excitement of culinary adventure. The uniqueness of this restaurant rests not only in the individual sweets, but also in the tapestry of experiences that are stitched together, from signature desserts to the environment and creativity that surrounds them.

As you explore the hidden pearls of Sweets Café, keep in mind that each mouthful is a brushstroke on the canvas of your gastronomic journey, and each visit is an opportunity to decipher the delicate intricacies of Vancouver's sweet treats.

#sweets cafe in Vancouver

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miraculousalamode · 2 years ago

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cake decorators, we need your help! our bakers (writers) have been working hard in the kitchen preparing something delicious, but now we need your help to make it look as good as it tastes!

throughout the week, we will be posting snippets and summaries from our bakers with a fic ID attached to them in order to keep the writer anonymous. please write down the fic IDs of the fics that you would be willing to work with, as well as the fic IDs of the fics you would absolutely not under any circumstance want to collaborate with.

at the end of all of these posts, we will post the artist applications for you to submit your answers!

FIC ID: S06

Pairing: Chloe Bourgeois/Felix Fathom

Rating: G

No Warnings Apply

Trigger Warnings: None I can think of. Not a Trigger warning but like, point of interest? Aro/Ace Felix.

Summary: Felix prides himself on his skill and self control. When he forgoes the perfect chance to obtain the peacock miraculous out of pride, he must redouble his efforts to obtain it another way. An unexpected encounter with Chloé Bourgeois upends his world, disrupting his neatly ordered emotions and self-image all in a go. While plotting against Gabriel Felix must come to grips with both life and himself being more complex than he had thought. A brat becomes an ally, then a friend in need, and finally a... partner... associate? A something. Life comes with many labels, and yet sometimes none of them fit.

Snippit: Gold- He found it. He found her. She froze as he burst from the stairwell, her keycard still clutched in one hand. Felix skidded to a halt before her, fists clenched, blurred vision coalescing. The words broke free. “I am not Adrien.”

He was hunched over, gulping the cold conditioned air. It burned worse than the sewer fug had. There was more.

These words were a defiant growl, “I am Felix!"

Chloé's deep blue eyes were saucers. A protracted silence grew between them; no motion and the only sound in the hallway was Felix's panting breaths.

After an eternity her head snapped to the side. With eye contact broken her posture shifted into that easy aristocratic dismissiveness. Yet her first response was something mumbled and sincere, "Of course you are."

The spring unwound.

She, too, was not done. She looked back at him with her chin up and her smirk restored, "You're also filthy! Where have you been, playing in the sewers? Eewww. I always knew you were strange, Felix, but this is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous."

Relief; relief more acute than freeing himself from death's grip below. Felix very nearly collapsed on suddenly shaking legs. No- he did. Down on one knee, he gritted his teeth around a taunting smile of his own. "It's called work, Chloé. You might have heard of it."

"Of course I've heard of it. Plenty of little people do-" she paused, craning her neck to look around him. "Felix, you're bleeding. Ewww- all over the marble, and the rugs!"

He hadn't even regained his feet when she had his arm. His exhaustion made him weak and she yanked him along, keycard opening the door to her suite. She didn't even slow down, pulling then pushing him into her bathroom. Felix stumbled, still mentally reeling from so much contact. His hackles were up but she didn't give him time to bite back.

"Clean yourself up! Oh my God, you're such a mess. Wash! Wash everything! No, forget it. We'll burn those clothes." She swept around to her vanity and opening it pulled out bottles, boxes, and scissors, throwing them in his general direction. "That's something- hold on-"

She pulled out her phone, pacing.

"Daddy! I want the doctor up in my suite right now! Yes, now!" Chloe stabbed hang up and glanced back at Felix. "Why are you just standing there?"

#miraculous a la mode fics #chloe bourgeois #felix fathom #felix gdv #queen bee

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bakugohoex · 5 years ago

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- 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

◤ currently write for

most popular posts are in bold

↞ back to masterlists

⤷ 𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐒

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐓 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ headcanons ☆

sending nudes to their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which the armin send you nudes

seeing another man flirt with their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which the armin gets jealous after seeing another man try and flirt with you

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with armin

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“come on baby, put on a show” | (1.7k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which whilst you and eren are getting intimate, your roommate arrives with a couple of friends, eren aware decides to make it a show to make them know who you truly belong too

“my mics on baby, let them hear your moans” | 1k event (1.8k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which a night of boredom, waiting for eren to finish his game, leads you to finding yourself sitting right on his lap, letting all his friends here your moans

☆ headcanons ☆

“now whose the flustered one” | requested (1.3k) ↠ fluff

in which giving affection to eren always leaves him swooning but as soon as he does it to you, you become an entire mess in front of him

sending nudes to their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which the eren send you nudes

seeing another man flirt with their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which eren gets jealous after seeing another man try and flirt with you

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with eren

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“make a wish” | requested (1.7k) ↠ fluff

in which jean finds out it’s your birthday and decides to make a surprise cake, with limited resources, he tries but ultimately it turns into you finding out, in your oblivious state you end up helping him make a cake for yourself

“this isn’t a date jean, we’re undercover”

part one | requested (2.6k) ↠ fluff

in which you and jean are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to investigating a local bar leads to feelings finally being brought out from the two of you

part two | requested (2.9k) ↠ nsfw and fluff

in which you and jean spend the night together after confessing your feeling’s for one another, with a long night ahead and the raid on liberio beginning, is it really possible for the two of you to be together in this hell hole

part three | requested (2.7k) ↠ angst and fluff

in which the time for fighting has begun and with the success of eren and the capture of zeke, the long journey ahead back to paradis seems to be your only concern, until the arrival of an unexpected warrior creates turbulence with jean realising his only goal now is to protect you

“this might be the end for me, but jean, oh god jean, you mean everything to me” | requested (2.2k) ↠ angst

in which you and jean have had crushes on each other since the first day you met, instead of admitting your feelings, you both waited till you knew you’d have a secure future, and the invasion of liberio, in your final minutes you confess it all

“you could always kiss it better” | requested (1.9k) ↠ fluff

in which jean falls in love with the medical helper who is a part of the survey corps

“i told you i’d show you the sea one day” | requested (1.4k) ↠ fluff

in which after the death of marco you had become distant, now a year later still in the survey corps after the regaining of wall maria you and the rest of the squad finally get to see the sea that jean had promise long ago to you

“it was the both of us, we were happy” | requested (1.3k) ↠ fluff

in which on the ship to marley, jean has a dream about a family with you, as soon as he wakes up his need for it to occur overtakes him

“get in the fucking back, now” | requested (2.8k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which you and jean meet up for a date, instead of the coffee and cakes you find yourself in an empty car pack, bound in the back of his car ready to have his way with you

“you brats ate it didn’t you” | requested (1.6k) ↠ fluff

in which you make an omelette that jean’s mother had taught you how to make for the boy to confess your love for him, but sasha and connie had other ideas in mind

“you’r...you’re alive” | requested (3.1k) ↠ fluff

in which after risking your life to fight the titans, four years later having assumed you died, jean finds you in the most unlikeliest of places

“it’s you, it’s always been you” | 1k event (1.5k) ↠ fluff

in which after your own near death experience, jean realises that he needs you to know just how much he loves you

“to my love, jean” | (0.6k) ↠ angst

in which jean reads the valentines day letter you wrote for him

“look at the camera, baby” | (2.7k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which its jeans birthday and he wants to bring a camera into the bedroom, throughout the night the two of find yourself taking pictures of one another orgasm after orgasm

“aren’t you my good little kitten” | hybrid collab (4.2k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which you’re jean’s little kitten, spending the night getting off whilst he goes through paperwork before finally he has his way with you

☆ headcanons ☆

“now whose the flustered one” | requested (1.1k) ↠ fluff

in which giving affection to jean always leaves him swooning but as soon as he does it to you, you become an entire mess in front of him

“happy birthday, baby” | requested (1.6k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which it’s your birthday and jean spends the day celebrating with you

sending nudes to their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which the jean send you nudes

seeing another man flirt with their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which jean gets jealous after seeing another man try and flirt with you

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with jean

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐓 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“i’m so glad you’re okay” | requested (1.0k) ↠ au and fluff

in which marco never died in trost and you reunite after the fight against the titans with jean

“i want to be like them when we’re old and grey” | 1k event (1.0k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you and marco find yourselves on a date in the park, just as you’re about to part ways you see an elderly couple and marco realises he sees a future with you till the end

⤷ 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ headcanons ☆

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with erwin

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“i always notice you, y/n” | requested (2.7k) ↠ fluff

in which you and levi are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to stalking different marleyans leads to feelings being brought out from the two of you

“look at me y/n, you’re with me, you’ll be okay” | requested (2.1k) ↠ angst and fluff

in which you have a panic attack after a long scouting mission and levi comes and comforts you

“catch me” | (1.3k) ↠ fluff

in which you and levi are fighting kenny’s team, with your odm gear destroyed you only have one option to get out of this fight

“l...levi this is some sort of joke, it has to be” | requested (2.6k) ↠ platonic relationship and angst

in which you find out your adopted older brother died in shiganshina by levi, who offers you support and comfort in your crying need

“i’d become a traitor just to be with you” | requested (2.4k) ↠ fluff

in which you’re a marley nurse having befriended levi without knowing his identity with the raid of liberio dawning on the survey corps having been followed by you, levi’s truth is revealed and a confession of your own, maybe there is happiness for you two

“sorry, i shouldn’t have kisse...” | 1k event (2.4k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which after having a near encounter with your ex, you find yourself kissing your long term crush levi to make him go away, just as your about to apoligise, levi does something that you had never expected

“you might even become better than me” | requested (2.0k) ↠ fluff

in which levi trains you in the scouts, with your evident talent and continuous flirtations, levi takes it upon himself to teach you a lesson, even if it is to try and hide his crush on you

“so pretty in that maid outfit, now take it off...slowly” | 1k event (2.0k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which levi buys you a maid outfit as a joke, now a week later you wear it waiting for him to come home, to give him exactly what he’s wanted since he bought it

“goodbye my love” | 1k event (1.7k) ↠ angst

in which in your final moments, you relive all your memories with levi until saying your last words to your love

☆ headcanons ☆

“i’m glad you made friends y/n” | requested (2.1k) ↠ platonic relationship and fluff

in which your parent figure levi sees you finally become a part of the survey corps, he can finally see people around you who will stick by and look out for you

seeing another man flirt with their s/o | (0.2k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which the levi gets jealous after seeing another man try and flirt with you

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with levi

⤷ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐒

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

➶ coming soon

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐍 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“hello boys and welcome to the show” | requested (4.9k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which reiner has an infatuation with cam girl y/n, after one of her shows he finds himself meeting her, revealing her secret, y/n finds gratitude by giving reiner exactly what he’s wanted since watching her

☆ headcanons ☆

sending nudes to their s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and nsfw

in which the reiner send you nudes

seeing another man flirt with their s/o | (0.2k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which the reiner gets jealous after seeing another man try and flirt with you

sleeping beside his s/o | (0.1k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you have a sleeping position with reiner

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“we were never just friends” | 1k event (2.7k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which porco relives moments of his love for you until he finally gets what he had always wanted

☆ headcanons ☆

“i’ll make them listen, don’t worry baby” | requested (1.3k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which you the shy reader are in a relationship with porco

“another lockdown with me, baby” | requested (1.2k) ↠ modern au, nsfw and fluff

in which you and porco spend another national lockdown together

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐙𝐄𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ one shots ☆

“you, you’re fucking home to me, okay?” | 1k event (1.5k) ↠ fluff

in which after an argument with zeke regarding his excessive jealousy and protectiveness over you, he finally reveals his true motives

"you’ll be mine one day”

part one | 1k event (2.5k) ↠ modern au and fluff

in which after meeting zeke multiple times throughout the month, every time saying the same thing, the only problem being that you have a drunken boyfriend in his way

part two | coming soon

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of gun violence, PTSS

A/N: before you have a heart attack, the angst is resolved by the end of the chapter

Masterlist

Chapter 35

“Elephant,” Spencer read from the list.

“E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T,” Jo recited.

“Correct!” Spencer picked her up and hugged her, “That’s the last word on the list your teacher gave as practice. You’re my little genius.”

“This spelling bee is going to be a P-I-E-C-E of cake,” Jo beamed.

“Speaking of cake, what kind do you want, Baby J? We have to celebrate your last day of 1st grade.”

“Chocolate!” she smiled.

“You got it,” you gave her a thumbs up, “Daddy and the babies are going to go with you to school to watch the spelling bee and I’ll be there as soon as I pick up your cake. I need a final hug and kiss from my first grader before I go though.”

“Bye, Mommy!” Jo kissed you on the cheek.

“Remember you don’t have to win. Just have fun, baby,” you reminded her.

Jo nodded.

“Bye, love,” you gave Spencer a quick kiss, “Save me a seat!”

“Can I get a chocolate cake that has ‘Congrats Jo!’ written on it in purple frosting?” you asked the baker.

Once the cake was decorated, you headed to the front to check out.

All of a sudden, two men with black ski masks burst through the door with guns.

One of them fired off two shots towards the ceiling to get everyone’s attention. You dropped Jo’s cake in sheer panic.

“Everyone, get to the floor now! If the cashiers cooperate, this will all go smoothly and no one gets hurt,” one of the men yelled.

You couldn’t get enough oxygen to your lungs as you dropped to the floor. The events from Jo’s seventh birthday party kept replaying in your head.

Then, you felt something warm seeping down your front. You looked down to see your white shirt quickly darkening into red.

Spencer dropped the cake on the ground, running over to you, “Y/N!”

You fell to the ground just as he caught you. You could hear the muffled sounds of screams, kids crying, and people running away.

“Jo, your word is environment,” the teacher announced.

Spencer looked around the crowd in the auditorium. It was already the second round and you still weren’t here. He would have texted you but unfortunately, carrying both twins inside, he managed to leave his phone in the car.

What he didn’t know was it was blowing up with messages from the team who were at the hostage situation and had seen you on the security footage.

“E-N-V-I-R-O-N-M-E-N-T,” Jo stated into the microphone.

“Correct.”

You were trembling on the floor with the palms of your hands covering your eyes.

The robbers must have planned their timing wrong because the cops showed up earlier than expected, turning the robbery into a hostage situation.

They didn’t have a plan though so they denied all forms of communication. You were trapped.

“Okay, we are entering the final round between Jo and Mason.”

“Mason, your word is neighbor.”

“N-A-B-O-R,” Mason said.

“I’m sorry, Mason. That is incorrect. Good try though. Jo, the word moves on to you. If you get this correct, you will be the winner.”

“N-E-I-G-H-B-O-R,” Jo stated confidently.

“That is correct! Congratulations to Jo!” the teacher cheered as the audience applauded.

They handed her a little trophy and Spencer ran up to her and gave her the biggest hug he could with his baby carrier on.

“Where is Mommy?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, Princess, but I’m sure she has a good excuse because she wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he whispered back.

“JJ, can I use your phone for a picture? I left mine in the car,” Spencer asked.

“Sure, hold on. I just need to power it back on, I didn't want it making any noise during the competition.”

They waited for JJ’s phone to turn on and her face noticeably shifted to concern as she shuffled through the missed calls and texts.

“Will, watch Jo and Henry please,” JJ said, pulling Spencer into the hallway nearby.

“Spence, I need you to take a seat.”

“Why?” Spencer asked, slowly sitting down with the baby carrier holding the sleeping twins.

“There is a hostage situation at the nearby grocery store and Y/N is inside. She is physically okay but she seems to be having some sort of breakdown.”

“Well assuming the unsub or unsubs have a gun, that would make sense because her last encounter with a gun, she was shot at Jo’s birthday party and almost died. She is most likely suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. We need to get down there right now,” Spencer stood.

“Okay, leave the babies with Will and he’ll watch the kids for now. I’ll explain it to him later.”

Glass shattering. Yelling. Gunshots fired.

You closed your eyes tighter and pressed your hands to your ears to block out the sound.

Someone put their hands on your shoulders and you screamed loudly. The hand began to rub your back soothingly.

You opened your eyes to see Spencer crouching down in front of you. He was saying something to you but you couldn’t hear because of the deafening ringing in your ears.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. You were still paralyzed in fear even though you were now safe in your husband’s arms.

Spencer’s lips were moving again but you couldn’t make out a single word. He scooped you up and carried you outside to one of the ambulances. They placed a blanket around you and you curled up into yourself again, putting your head in your knees.

Spencer’s hand never left your back.

It had been a day since the incident and you still hadn’t talked. You wanted to but it seemed impossible. You had only left the bed to use the bathroom, barely touching the food Spencer brought you.

“I want to show Mommy my trophy but she isn’t leaving her room,” Jo frowned.

“Mommy went through something really scary so that is why she missed your spelling bee and why she won’t leave her room. Two bad men tried to rob the store she was in and it reminded her of when she got hurt before and had to be in the hospital for a while,” Spencer spoke softly to her.

“Oh. What can I do to help?” Jo asked.

“How about we all go in there and just lay with her? She might not be in the mood to talk but you can talk to her, Princess,” Spencer had Ollie on one hip and Ophelia on his other.

He was right behind Jo when she knocked on your bedroom door.

“Love, can we come in and sit with you for a bit?” Spencer asked, cracking the door open.

You slowly sat up and extended your arms, inviting Jo in for a hug. Jo ran into your arms.

“Hi, Mommy,” she whispered.

You kissed her head in response. Jo laid down in your lap and proceeded to tell you all about the spelling bee as you stroked her hair.

Spencer took his spot in the bed with Ophelia on his chest and Ollie in his lap. He smiled softly when you reached for Ollie, cradling him in your arms.

Jo put some Looney Tunes on to cheer you up. Spencer ordered pancakes from the local diner and you all ate in bed together. Spencer couldn’t stop smiling when you finished your entire stack of pancakes.

By late afternoon, you all had moved on to ‘Tangled’ but all the kids were napping on top of you. You grabbed Spencer’s hand and interlocked your fingers. Spencer brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of your hand.

“I love you,” you croaked.

“I love you too, my brave brave girl,” he whispered with happy tears in his eyes.

A/N: congrats, you made it through the last angst plotline in this fic!!! i hate to say it because i’m so attached but i will probably be wrapping this fic up soon (maybe 4 more chapters or so). also, send me some asks! i’m bored!!! i have been writing all day!

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @doctorreiding @reidsfish

#spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #cm fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

Text

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys. You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own.

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way.

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked.

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.”

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.”

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?”

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.”

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #oscar isaac #richard alonso muñoz x reader

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leviiattacks · 4 years ago

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heyyy there, saw your requests are open. and i'm wondering maybe you could do a timeskip where everything is done and levi finally opened his tea shop. then there he met reader, and he treats them differently from other customers. thank you, hope you're having a good day.

author note :: this was kinda rushed as is most of what i post. the reader is a writer just bc i thought it would be cute and also ISTG. i wrote this entire thing thinking leviolas was such a cool name for a tea shop then googled it and saw it’s also the name of a spider so... ++ btw i have not yet double checked or proofread this because i wrote it at 2am but yeah it’s definitely not great :-) word count :: 2.4k??? somehow???

you’re sweet like honey when you first order from leviolas. you’re the same when you ask the owner for extra napkins and you remain exactly the same when you return with the intention to stick around for a writing session with a black tea by your side

something about you is attractive. that’s what levi thinks of you when you first walk into leviolas

you’re just incredibly wholesome poking your head around looking at all of the handmade pastries and confectioneries in admiration

you think the homely decor is cute and reminiscent of cottages in the countryside, the view outside the windows is beautiful and the scent of coffee alongside tea is heavenly

the pastries are beautiful and you find yourself eyeing the macrons pretty frequently. just EVERYTHING about leviolas is cute :-(

but one particular thing is especially adorable to you

and that would be the owner

when you hear his name for the first time you’re a little shocked

levi ackerman to be specific captain levi ackerman, the high ranking official who aided in paradis’ independence and freed the nation from the grip of titans

you read about him a year back in a paper or two and vividly recall the valiant title he held as humanity’s strongest soldier

he still holds the title that’s for sure but now he happens to own a tea shop

it’s slightly unusual it’s not every day you see a soldier retire and live such a plain life but you suppose the simplicity makes levi happy

honestly, if you had been through hell and back like him you too would wish to spend the rest of your days in the company of tea leaves and sweet cakes

today is a day like any other you’re sat by one of the windows and contemplating sitting in the outside seating area

the sun is shining and lands uncomfortably on your face at this angle and you may as well make your way outside

but before you can a shadow looms over you and a broad chest leans over to cover the window with dainty curtains

“you looked bothered by the light.”

oh god.

it’s him.

he’s standing there looking at you with an unreadable expression and all you can do is open and close your mouth not knowing what to say

humanity’s strongest soldier

levi ackerman

also known as the really really really attractive cafe owner you’ve been crushing on for the last few months now

seeing him up close is much more different to looking at him from the comfort of your seat or whilst you order

he’s normally got his back turned whilst collecting orders or another worker collects them as he prepares the beverages

that’s why the unexpected interaction has you nervous

you can always tell when he’s made your drink because he honestly has a way with tea leaves and you kinda want to gush about how much you enjoy it

but, no, no, no.

you’re panicking just looking at him

soft black strands of hair stick to his forehead, his undercut is oddly satisfying to stare at and he smells of pine trees which again is refreshing

“ah hahaha thank you for blocking the sun out!!”

why the fuck did you ha ha????

this is so awkward.

putting on your best front you beam up at him hoping your toothy smile doesn’t look stupid

then again it probably does because who the hell has a good toothy smile

nobody.......

levi’s gaze lingers on you but if he has anything else he wants to say he doesn’t make it known

instead he firmly nods and turns away

you’ve messed up,,

only!!! you manage to mess up even more....?

without thinking your hand latches onto the back of his blue button up and your face burns up realizing what it is you’ve done when he stiffens to a stop

as quick as your hand has grabbed onto his shirt it lets go and you awkwardly laugh again

hahahahaha

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to hold onto you so hard i was just...wondering if you could let me in on your secret.”

the random sentence is one you’ve made off the top of your head because you don’t have any real reason for holding onto him

but thankfully for you the saccharine of your voice is enough to sway levi

when he turns to see you with the same smile eagerly awaiting his answer something sparks in him

his chest feels a little funny but he ignores it

“secret?” he questions

“yeah!! your tea!! you’re really good at making it and aaaahhhh” you sigh contently thinking back on it.

“i remember when i ordered rose tea one time. you made it beautifully and the taste was infused so delicately it was incredibly soothing.”

hearing you ramble passionately about what he loves to do makes his chest feel funny again

he doesn’t know what the hell is going on exactly

but the only way he can explain it is his heart somersaulting and flipping despite him not wanting it to

despite that, it’s quite enjoyable

it’s probably got something to do with your kindhearted demeanor or the way you always manage to give him a smile when you waltz in

but levi finds himself fighting to touch you more and more as the days pass

your collar is always haphazardly done and he wants to lean in and fix it

sometimes you’ll have an eyelash on your face and he wants to lean in to swipe it away with his thumb

occasionally he stares at your hair and wants to sort it out. half the time it’s all over the place from the wind

he wants to lean in and smooth it out.

all he wants to do is LEAN IN but he sees no valid reason to

he’s lucky he’s always able to catch himself before his thumb reaches your cheek (you’re very oblivious and never notice how close he really gets)

ever since your first encounter at leviolas a few months back he’s been dragged into your world of books and lively stories

it doesn’t take you long to break out of your shell and you’re always telling levi something new

he doesn’t speak as much as you but when you coax out a story or two out of him he’s always earnest

you’ve learnt a lot through the conversations

you’ve learnt about his lost comrades, the horrible things he had to see on the battlefield, how he hopes he’ll live happy with what he has left

there are certain conversation topics he skips entirely and you respect his boundaries

you and levi are sat by a window and a comfortable silence floats between you two

it’s been four months

four months since you asked what his secret was

come to think of it he never told you what it was

he’s intently staring at you as you drink the lemon tea he’s just made you and his stare is a little too intense

feeling nervous you pick up your cup hoping for something to occupy yourself

recently the butterflies in your stomach have been increasing in number but you know it’s wrong to fancy levi

you don’t know why you think that but it’s the fact that you’re sure you’re not his type

he probably likes organised people, dependable people, funny people

not you.

you’re just an irksome author who spends your days writing in his shop

honestly he finds you annoying he has to. you’re always hanging around here

however, you do remember the one day you did choose to write in the park he thought you had died or something. that made you feel a little sad because he can’t really help but automatically worry if his routine is broken and you happen to have accidentally become part of his schedule

no, like levi’s literally said he has your name in his planner and whenever he thinks of a new thing to make you he’ll write it down with your name next to it

but still,, you’re convinced he has to find you annoying

there’s no reason for thinking it but you DEFINITELY think it’s correct

absentmindedly you haven’t even noticed levi still staring at you

“y/n?”

looking up at levi he’s clearly worried about something

humming in response telling him to continue he does

“i like someone.”

oh.

“...i’m not sure they’d return my feelings, that’s why i mentioned it.”

you smile at him warmly and you feel your heart sink, obviously he has to like someone. it’s probably someone in the corps, someone strong, someone capable. you’re not any of those things.

“well, you need not worry. if a man as good as you fancied me i’d be over the moon. i’m sure they would too!”

keep optimistic, don’t let him see you upset.

levi’s cheeks grow bright red and he bashfully tries to hide his embarrassment by covering his face with his hands

you laugh when he doesn’t budge and stays in the same position

“c’mon levi, confess they’ll accept you have nothing to fear.” you coo persuasively

finally letting up after a few seconds he lets his arms drop to his sides.

“would you date me?”

the question takes you aback and you stare at him startled

soon realizing the idiocy laced in the inquiry he quickly retracts his statement

“nevermind, that was stupid.”

ignoring him you still want to answer

“uh well, i would. i have thought about it on occasion.”

he’s blinking rapidly trying to process what you’ve just admitted.

“you’ve thought about...?”

“dating you. yes i have.”

“and why the hell would you do that?” you can’t tell if he’s mad at you

“you’re capable, respectful. you’re considerate and quiet. i mean it you’re an amazing man really. also your tea!! imagine getting to drink it every day.”

you really have to add in the part about his tea because you know he loves it when you compliment it :-)

“ok, you drink my tea every day already.”

his short uninterested response stings and the dam of regret bursts open

you shouldn’t have said all of that.

you and levi sit in an awkward silence for what feels like an eternity. you don’t dare look at him and your course of action is too drink your tea as quick as possible before dismissing yourself.

but before you can set your plan in motion levi breaks the ice.

“let’s date.”

you freeze and your eyes grow to the size of saucers

what did he just say???

he has to be losing his mind

“but levi what about the person you like?”

his eyebrow cocks upwards and an amused expression stretches across his face.

“i was talking about you.” he confesses boldly

this is a fever dream, nope, nope nope. you can not comprehend that this is your reality.

pinching your arm you hiss a little when you feel the pain

okay so, you’re definitely not dreaming...

“i, you, me. you...you like me?” the sentence is a jumble of words but you manage to sputter out something that makes sense

“yes. i like you.”

he’s being so blunt you can’t tell if he’s being serious but when you remind yourself that this is levi you relax, a blunt straightforward confession is meaningful coming from him

BUT THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT

HELLO???? HE LIKES YOU BACK?%^%^”*

you get all blushy and flustered and you let out another one of your awkward hahahahaha’s but it’s a good hahahahaha

cautiously testing the waters he grabs your hand from across the table intertwining his fingers with yours

the gesture is adorable. the buzzing sensation that travels through your laced fingers makes you giggle to yourself giddily

“leviolas suddenly a matchmaking agency now? ;-)” your joke is dry and unfunny and levi rolls his eyes at it

“you’re not funny.”

“but you still like me.” you tease

“yes. i still like you.” he admits

a few days have passed since then

you and levi have been the talk of the town

humanity’s strongest soldier finally found his flame???

the chatter and rumors spread like wildfire, both you and levi aren’t fans of being in the spotlight but nothing negative has been said so there’s no complaints so far

levi places a cup of tea in front of you, it’s a herbal kind because you’ve been complaining about a headache

today you’re explaining why you dislike the plot of beauty and the beast and how there’s so much wrong with it. from the weirdly toxic relationship to the power imbalance. levi stands listening attentively whilst waiting for you to take a sip of the tea

just as you’ve paused to take a large breathe and prepare yourself to continue explaining how unbearable that book is levi uses it as his chance to say what he’s been wanting to

“drink up before it’s ice cold.”

following his instructions you interrupt yourself and take a gulp of the herbal tea

your eyes glimmer in approval. it tastes of strawberries and you’re delighted already feeling your mood slightly raise in response

“it’s GREAT?? what did you put in it?? it doesn’t even taste medicinal.” once again, you’re fawning over his tea

“so levi ackerman, what really is the secret to all these perfect cups of tea?”

and without a seconds hesitation he responds.

“i was making the tea for you. that’s the secret.”

it takes a while for the gravity of his words to sink it but when the meaning does you cup his face in your palms and peck him everywhere. he whines a little but you can tell he enjoys the attention

you find that you’re more than happy you’ve found a home in levi and his shop

and levi’s more than happy he’s found a home in you and your books

:-)

#leviiattacks #aot #attack on titan #levi x reader #levi x y/n #snk #aot fanfiction #attack on titan levi #levi ackerman #levi #shingeki no kyoujin #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi drabbles #attack on titan x reader #levi fanfiction #levi headcanons #tea shop levi #levi scenario #levi fluff

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modew · 4 years ago

Text

I am not sex averse, but please don’t call the ace police

On good days the ace community emphasizes how everything is on a spectrum and how people can have any number of labels and experiences.

On bad days interacting with fellow ace folk just makes me feel doubly excluded. There is the corner that seems to keep screaming in my face that asexuals aren’t robots and can in fact have romantic relationships. As aromantic ace I’m like ‘I see you and I see what you are fighting for’, but my compassion wax and wanes. I understand the importance of your struggle, it’s just not mine.

To make matters ‘worse’ I am not sex averse or repulsed so the whole cake thing doesn’t really speak to me either. I know all these memes mean a lot to you and it’s great that your experience is represented and all but in the meantime I’m just over here trying to not utter the word ‘sex’ in fear of repercussions. I think if I had discovered asexuality on tumblr, or God forbid AVEN I would never have adopted the identity. As it is, I watched Bojack (multiple times) and nothing ever clicked for me.

I want to recount how I actually realized I was asexual, mostly so I can quote the content that made me feel included. Maybe it will be as validating to others as it was for me.

Me realizing I was asexual started by stumbling upon it in a series of books. Namely, ‘Criminal Intentions’ by Cole McCade. He is on the ace spec himself and I want to quote from a Q&A he wrote:

“Asexuality is a spectrum, and different asexual people experience it to different degrees. [...] Some never experience physical desire at all, with or without attraction; some experience desire, physical arousal, etc. but just not in the context of being aroused by physical attraction to another person. Some are sex-repulsed; some aren’t. You can have an active and frequent sex life and still be asexual; you can never have sex at all and be asexual; you can have sex infrequently and only in conditional circumstances, and still be asexual. It’s not about sexual activity or capability unless a specific asexual person wants it to be. […] We’re all different, and our asexuality is generally nuanced and highly specific/personal to us.”

After picking up more novels with ace representation (I wasn’t yet ready for non-fictional research), I finally started listening to the podcast ‘Sounds Fake But Okay’ by two hosts on the aspec. Here is a quote from their website:

“As we mentioned before, sexual attraction is not the same as someone’s sex drive or their libido. Someone’s sex drive is just that — their drive to have sex. If someone has a high sex drive or libido, they may enjoy sex a lot and want to do it a lot. Someone with a low sex drive may think sex is just okay and doesn’t feel the need to engage in it often.

This is not the same as sexual attraction or asexuality. Asexuality and other sexualities deal with which people you are or are not attracted to, not your desire or interest in sex in general.”

(https://www.soundsfakepod.com/what-is-asexuality)

Finally, I picked up the book ‘ACE’ by Angela Chen. I am going to quote something that's in a similar vein to the above quotes because I feel like I have to prove that those perspectives exist. Clearly I am feeling defensive and I might be laying it on thick. But maybe there are others who need to read something like this if they are once again driven to doubt their identity.

“To the best I can tell, sexual attraction is the desire to have sex with a specific person for physical reasons. Sexual attraction can be instantaneous and involuntary: a heightened awareness, a physical alertness combined with mental wanting. My allo friends say they feel sexually attracted to people they have just met, to people whose company they don’t enjoy, to people they don’t like or even find good-looking.[...] Aces don’t experience this. Aces can still find people beautiful, have a libido, masturbate, and seek out porn. Aces can enjoy sex and like kink and be in relationships of all kinds. To many allos, this is unexpected. [...] Sexual attraction is so often conflated with sexual drive and other types of attraction. These things are distinct, but [...] when any two things often go together, people wrongly assume that they must always go together.”

As you might have noticed from the quotes I chose I have feelings about asexuality being equated with not wanting to have sex.

I have encountered a lot of people on AVEN that weren’t sure whether they had the right to claim the asexual label. So many posts by questioning people were answered with ‘If you want sex, you aren’t asexual’.

I am glad I had other resources and perspectives at hand. There is only so many times you can read ‘asexuals don’t want to have sex’ and feel confident about belonging.

At this stage I don’t doubt my identity anymore. Sometimes I even reach this heightened state of mind where I don’t even care what other people say.

I want to plead for more inclusion but I don’t really know how to ask for it. Being a minority means to not be represented. Being a minority in a minority even more so. When I type asexuality into tumblr I don’t expect all the content to reflect my experience. And it’s not like I don’t want people to stop celebrating that they don’t want to have sex and that that is ok....

I am coming to a dead end. Maybe I am just tired. I guess all I wanted to express was my frustration at sometimes feeling not represented and other times downright excluded. Just stating it as is because I know there are people out there who feel similarly. Sadly people drift away from the community. Which of course doesn’t help with more diverse representation.

In the end, I guess what I can ask for is to acknowledge the diversity of the ace spectrum. I see the posts that already do. But I also see aromantic aces and aces that have sex(or are interested in sex) feeling excluded and alienated.

#asexuality #ace spectrum #aro spectrum #ace representation #ace solidarity #aroace #asexual #sex positivity

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cetacian · 3 years ago

Text

The Fall and Rise of Orca: House (warming) Crasher Cameo in Harley Quinn 30th Anniversary Special #1

Warning: This post contains spoilers for Harley Quinn 30th Anniversary Special #1 “Siren Soiree”.

The Gotham City Sirens (Harley Quinn, Catwoman and Poison Ivy) have moved in as roommates some time ago to a surprisingly nice apartment building. However, Harley was bored and believed the best way to relieve said boredom was by throwing a girl’s only housewarming party, something neither Selina nor Pamela were keen on. When Harley tried to sway them with lofty goals of getting other female rogues to turn their lives around and by only inviting those they know, they soon relented. Predictably however, the majority of Gotham’s female rogues came to the party (and few from elsewhere as well), much to Pam and Selina’s chagrin. As Selina thought to hide out in the apartment’s gym, she encountered another unexpected guest: Orca, who was making full use of the gym’s pool:

Not sure why Orca is so amazed by the pool. Are the harbor areas too polluted at the moment? Plus Orca imposing on the girls like this seems out of character for her. Interestingly, Orca is considerably slimmed down here from most of her previous appearances.

They soon left to go find Jenna Duffy, The Carpenter, trying to get her to do a job for them:

I assume they mean filling it in as in pouring in concrete so Orca can’t use the pool? The phrasing is a little confusing.

Eventually, the party descended into chaos as old Joker henchman Gaggy emerged from a huge cake on the attack, wanting revenge on Harley years too late for seemingly replacing him. However, Harley was able to talk him down, pointing out how Joker had used them both and that it was time for Gaggy to find new meaning and happiness in his life. Serendipitously, Baby Doll arrived late from the bakery and was instantly smitten with Gaggy, leaving with him to go have a drink just as the party devolved into a brawl shortly after the arrival of Wonder Woman (Diana of Themyscira) and Batgirl (Barbara Gordon), who the other rogues did not take kindly to despite them being invited guests. At that point, the Sirens decided to cut their losses and drown their sorrows at a diner until the whole fiasco blew over.

Even though Orca is once again used as a one note joke, this story is still cute. It’s funny and Harley’s heart to heart with Gaggy has some surprising pathos. Plus Mary Dahl deserves to have some happiness in her life after all the shit she’d been through. I was surprised to see Paul Dini was the writer on this story, but given the elements that stood out to me and the characters used, I really shouldn’t be. And oh what I wouldn’t give to see him do a serious take on Orca in a longer story or book. That’s the dream anyway.

Next post: Orca gets taken over by a bootleg symbiote and fights a bad pun spewing Harley! Context to be determined!

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levihantrash · 4 years ago

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Priorities

For Levihan week Aug 2021 Day 2 prompt: confessions

Also based on a cute ass tumblr prompt by @sanothebreadpup <3 hope you like it!!

Summary: It’s been a while since Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long. Erwin suggested going to Levi for advice on managing prioritises. Instead, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

note: no smut but lots of spicy poetic touching

cross-posted on ao3 🤪

-----

Hange wanted to confess. It had been months since they knew that their best friend status with Levi could potentially be tweaked to include just a bit more romance, and they knew they had to be the one to take that step. As much as Levi was quick-witted on the battlefield, he wasn’t quite the risk-taker in ordinary settings. In fact, Hange figured Levi would sip tea beside them until he was greying and would probably be as content with the arrangement.

Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long.

Out-of-the-blue, though characteristically charismatic, Erwin gave the soldiers a pep-talk on how they need to know what to prioritise (i.e., humanity's victory).

Inspired, though the speech’s intended audience was clearly for new recruits, Hange tried to prioritise their tasks. Within a day, they got overwhelmed, the list being more of a reason for delay than for action. Moblit, well-meaning as always, tried to get Hange to focus on one at a time but that was unthinkable to them. One at a time meant that the confession would never happen. There was too much to research. Too much at stake. Too much for one inconsequential confession.

Unknowingly, Erwin saw Hange wringing their hands, muttering to themselves in the dining hall.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t prioritise the important stuff,” Hange grumbled. Perking up at the mention of priorities, Erwin advised Hange to seek Levi’s guidance.

“Levi only does one thing at a time once he sets his heart on it.”

Eager for a chance encounter with someone they technically already hung out with on most days, Hange asked Levi for help. More accurately, in perhaps the most roundabout manner, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

“For research,” Hange said, almost convinced by their own performance.

“You can do that yourself,” Levi said reasonably.

While starting a task was horrendously difficult, Hange was not one to give up once they began on one.

“You’re the only one here who can bake.”

Eyes narrowed, arms folded, Levi was not buying the compliment. He had a pile of papers left to read. Hange’s whims could be settled by someone with more well-matched interests and time management.

“Go ask Petra.”

Hovering nearby with another paper for her captain to sign, Petra noticed Hauge's crestfallen face.

“It’s not about the baking being done but who Hange is doing the baking with,” Petra whispered, as discreetly as she could.

"I'm busy," Levi said, loud enough for Hange to hear, heedless of Petra’s input.

“Alright.” Hange sighed, internally fuming that they should’ve found a more legitimate excuse. Bluff out something like Erwin’s orders. Levi followed Erwin’s orders without question. Hange’s requests were dealt with more scepticism. Not that Hange had the best track record of requests.

In the end, Hange prepared the baking supplies, because even if titans couldn’t stomach cake, it was an experimental endeavour. Practically speaking, they could give some baked goods to the juniors. Maybe even gift some to Levi.

Stumbling into the kitchen with too many ingredients in hand, they found Levi leaning against the entrance looking positively sullen. Upon spotting Hange, his face morphed into a more acceptable, neutral expression, nodding towards them.

"I thought you were busy!"

Levi shrugged, grabbing some of the ingredients from their arms. "I was. Didn't you want to bake?"

“I guess?”

The sudden change of mind was too abrupt for Hange to wrap their head around. A hopeful glow had unfortunately begun growing in them. Levi was being exceptionally nice today. No doubt that he was usually nice. Just not will-bake-for-your-titans kind of nice.

"Erwin said that you are really good at prioritising tasks,” Hange said, slowly digging through the cabinets for the utensils.

"Huh. Let me guess—he wants you to learn from me."

Hange scratched their head absent-mindedly. "He did tell me to ask you."

"I'm not actually very good at sticking to a task,” Levi admitted, wondering where in hell Erwin got the idea that he was focused. If he were, the paperwork would have been submitted, instead of lying around, flapping aimlessly in the wind before Petra (and Oluo) offered their generous help. He refused—every time. Levi was simply good at keeping a blank face and reporting to Erwin that he needed more time, which Erwin must have mistaken as a sign of seriousness than a sign of procrastination.

“You are! You finished work before coming have, didn't you?”

Levi didn’t breathe out a word, silently pouring through the book of recipes.

"What do you want to bake?"

Hange didn’t mind his lack of response, pondering over his poor cover-up question. "Something easy. What about bread?"

"Bread isn’t easy."

Difficulties translated into the promise of adventure for Hange. Pumped up, Hange prodded at the picture of an unremarkable loaf of chocolate banana bread.

"Let's do it anyway!"

“Suit yourself.”

-----

The small touches were the ones that were hardest to ignore. Hange felt the accidental-deliberate brush of Levi’s elbow when he reached over to choose an ingredient. Other times, he guided their hand with the right amount of strength for stirring the batter. His fingers over their stirring hand were firm and reassuring.

“You’re stirring too fast,” Levi said patiently.

“You’re distracting me,” Hange replied half-heartedly.

“Oh, am I?” The fingers left Hange’s hand. Just as Hange was about to lament their moment of folly in allowing that to happen, the fingers reached out towards their face. Forcing in a breath, Hange felt Levi’s thumb rub out a chocolate stain at the side of their lip.

“How did the chocolate get there?” Levi murmured, more to himself than to them.

“I was snacking on some of the chocolate bits a while ago…” Hange said cheekily, licking the side of their lips only to realise that Levi’s thumb was still there. Their tongue brushed his finger, and in that contact, Hange was ready to collapse from self-generated sexual tension.

Though his eyes widened noticeably, Levi quickly resumed his blasé expression. Rubbing the rest of the stain out, he walked to the tap to wash his hands. There was some hesitation, before he hurriedly turned on the tap, letting the water run for two seconds over his hands before going back to his position next to Hange.

Unsure as to whether to be offended or pleased by the sight of Levi cleaning the evidence of their encounter with such carelessness, Hange busied themselves with breaking eggs and separating yolk. If it had been Levi with a finger lined with fudge, Hange would’ve licked it spotless. With permission, of course.

To pay him back in kind, Hange plotted their own routine of touch as well. The touches became bolder, starting innocently enough. From casually brushing away hair that was poking Levi’s eye, to going behind Levi who was busy slicing up bananas and placing both hands on the counter. Their arms were now on either side of him, conveniently taller than him so that their head could peer right over his shoulder. The cutting didn’t cease—it only got more rapid, the bananas becoming neat circles in a matter of seconds. Hange let out an impressed whistle, hands not leaving the counter.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Oh, am I?”

One drop of the knife, and a swift turn later, Levi found himself staring straight into Hange’s bright, beautiful, heavily eye-bagged orbs.

"Hange, do you know why I'm in the kitchen at 2am baking for some shit-brained monsters?"

“Titans don’t have—”

“Because I have priorities.” Levi interrupted, not allowing Hange to clarify what the physical anatomy of titan subjects entailed.

Hange blinked, maintaining an oblivious exterior. “Your priorities include titan research?”

“You know what I was going to say.”

“Somewhat. I want to hear you say it out loud, though.”

Grimacing, he concentrated his gaze on Hange’s collar instead. Skin flushed, collarbones peeking out mischievously. Bad idea.

“You little shit.”

Their laugh was quieter, milder than the ones they let out on other days. “My favourite little shit! So what are your priorities?”

“Wiping the blades. Cleaning the toilet. Dusting under the tables. Doing laundry. Having enough tea. Baking with a scientist who thinks—”

Hange pressed a gentle hand on his mouth. “I get it.”

“Which part do you get?” Levi asked, enjoying the fact that when he moved his lips, they grazed Hange’s palm. How would it be like to replace that hand with their mouth?

“That you like me.” Hange grinned, tugging Levi by the straps of his apron just a bit closer.

An unexpected flash of clumsiness made Levi knock down the bag of flour, spilling it onto the floor. The fall clouded up the vicinity in white dust. Gaining confidence with obscured vision, Hange held the back of Levi’s head, tracing his undercut, admiring how his immaculately combed hair had come undone. An attractively dishevelled mess. Hange was in no hurry. Yet.

Levi, in a spur of restlessness, looked up at Hange questioningly. Eyeing their faint smirk, he tilted his head sideways, watching carefully for any sign of reluctance. An impatient “are you going to kiss me or not” from Hange; a straightforward command was what he needed to hear. No time was wasted pulling Hange into an urgent, searing kiss. Backed against the counter, hands cupping Hange’s face, Levi devoured the sensation. The taste of sugar, fruit, flour, and chocolate clung onto the entwinement, as Hange breathily pressed up against him. Erwin had warned them both. Love in the military meant the threat of loss. The possibility of sorrow. As he felt the rumble of Hange’s satisfying groan beneath his lips sending an unprecedented warmth through his body, he was certain. He would have loved Hange whether he kissed them or not. Death would happen, whether or not Hange rubbed his waist in soothing, awe-inspiring strokes. Right now, he would die in absolute bliss.

To be honest, Hange would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t end up fucking, or at least, aggressively kissing eventually. Erwin’s advice was only a stronger reminder that Hange was never one to be conservative. They loved Levi, as a comrade, as a friend, as the person whom they would kill for, if it meant saving his life. Still, having Levi sneak a hand into the bareness of their back, sucking their neck with a hot tenderness that made their head spin, they knew that chastity and platonic hugging could not be the only option.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Hange said, peeling away his jacket.

“Couldn’t tell when the right time was,” Levi said, starting on the buttons of Hange’s shirt.

The door creaked open.

“This is your idea of asking Levi for help?” Erwin said, a thick eyebrow raised as he surveyed the mess.

With some willpower, he stopped unbuttoning Hange’s shirt. Lightly pushing Hange away, Levi straightened up, less than pleased with the interruption.

“Erwin, you better have something worthwhile to say if you—”

“I’ll clean this up.” Erwin, fully recovered from his shock, was beaming.

“Huh?”

“It’s about time,” Erwin said, with the proud sincerity of an unwitting matchmaker, gesturing towards the door.

“We owe you one, Erwin!” Hange waved at him on the way out, while Levi cast him a grateful, wary glance. With his hand was secure on their back, and Hange’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, there was no care for an audience. Only the smell of baked goods and unfinished business fuelled their steps towards a private space. A place where they would end up in each other’s arms—spent, sweaty, and deliriously at peace.

#levihanweek2021 #lhw2021 #levihan #levi x hange #day 2 #levi ackerman #hange zoe #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #fanfiction #aot #my writing #hanji zoe #prompt

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kmomof4 · 4 years ago

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Love Between the Pages: Ch. 4 A Man Unwilling to Fight for What He Wants...

And we’re finally here!! The last chapter of Emma and Killian’s story!! It won’t be the last you see of them, though! I’m plugging away on the extended epilogue and will hopefully be posting Ruby and Graham’s story sometime in January. As you can see from the art, most of the rest of Emma’s family makes an appearance in this chapter. There is also smut at the end, again bracketed by **, if you want to skip it.

All the love and hugs to the wind beneath my wings @hollyethecurious, @profdanglaisstuff and @jrob64 for all their help in bringing this fic to fruition. It wouldn’t be here without any of these wonderful ladies!!! Also thanks to the ladies of the CSMM discord for all their love and support!! @spartanguard did the manip for Henry’s birthday cake I used in the art, so all the flails to her as well!! Thank you so much, babe! You’re the best!!!

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and let me know what you think!!

Chapter summary: There's a lot of excitement at the farm, between Henry's sixth birthday, the birth of foals, and a surprise visit from Emma's family. Killian's time at the farm is coming to an end and he has some decisions to make, and more than one person to convince of his intentions...

Story summary: Killian Jones is a best-selling author working on his latest book, a biography of Neal Cassidy, NASCAR darling who was killed five years ago on the track. He’d be staying in the home of Cassidy’s widow, Emma, out in the middle of nowhere for the next month interviewing her for the book and getting his first draft ready for his editor. Falling in love with her was not part of the plan.

Rating: M (for smut and mentions of non-con/rape in chapter 3)

Words: Almost 11,5K of almost 35k

Tags: Non-magical AU, Inspired by The O’Hurleys by Nora Roberts, Smut, Brief mention of rape/non-con

On ao3: Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4

On Tumblr: Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @klynn-stormz @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @gingerpolyglot @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @sailtoafarawayland @justanother-unluckysoul @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @the-darkdragonfly @batana54 @purplehawkcaptain @k-leemac @motherkatereloyshipper @apiratewhopines @killiansqueenofthejollyroger @onceuponahookandswan @meat-pie-with-sauce @cosette141

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 4

A week and a half later, Killian awoke later than normal to an empty bed and a quiet house. He was thoroughly abashed thinking that Henry may have seen him there before leaving for school, until he saw the shut door. They’d shared Emma’s bed since that first night, but were still discreet around the boy, at her request.

He couldn’t help the smirk that lifted his lips as he thought of the reason for his unexpected lie in. He and Emma had made love late into the night, indulging in the pleasures of the flesh multiple times until they were both sweaty and sated before falling asleep in each other’s arms. He thought back over the past week and a half over some of the more memorable times they’d physically enjoyed each other.

This past Tuesday, Leroy’s first day off since he’d returned to work the week before, Emma had jumped him in the barn as soon as they’d finished the stalls. As pleasurable as the encounter itself was, they both agreed the amount of time it had taken to get all the hay out of their hair and off their bodies when they showered together afterward was not worth it. So he had resolved to make the shower itself worth their time by getting down on his knees before her and pleasuring her with his tongue until she had shattered above him.

Over the weekend, Henry had been at a friend’s house and he had caught Emma folding laundry. He caged her in from behind, nuzzling into her golden hair just behind her ear.

“Something smells delicious,” he cooed into her skin before placing an open mouthed kiss to her pulse point.

“Huh?” she asked, turning in his arms, slight confusion coloring her features. “I’m not baking anything. Maybe the fabric softener?”

“No, love,” he assured her, pulling back and smiling, “You.”

He captured her lips and lifted her in his arms, causing her to squeal.

“Henry’s not gonna have any clean socks,” she murmured, wrapping her legs around his waist before kissing her way down his neck.

“And only you and I will know why,” he murmured before climbing the stairs and proceeding to ravish her for hours until it was time for her to go pick Henry up.

He came down the stairs to see the kitchen in its normal state of disarray after the morning rush, but he decided to go check the barn before grabbing himself some coffee.

Once he arrived outdoors, he found Leroy hard at work on the stalls, but no Emma. His brow furrowed in slight worry before Leroy informed him that today was the scheduled bi-monthly cleaning for one of the older ladies in town. Killian tried to hide his shock.

“Bi-monthly cleaning?” he exclaimed, “She cleans houses? For money?”

Leroy laughed. “How do you think she got established? Before she had foals to sell? That takes a lot of money, son.”

“What about Cassidy’s estate? Doesn’t she have money from that?” He was trying hard to contain his disbelief, but he wasn’t sure he was entirely successful.

“I know nothing about that,” Leroy replied, turning back to his work. He was clearly done with the conversation, but left Killian with questions that, he realized, may never be answered. Her finances were none of his business. At least at this stage of the game.

He wandered back up to the house and entered the kitchen, intent on finding himself some breakfast. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sent Emma a text, inquiring when she would be home. She replied before he finished preparing his coffee that she’d be home about an hour before Henry got home from school. Since she’d be gone most of the day and the barn was taken care of, Killian climbed the stairs back to his room, determined to make more headway on his draft.

~*~*~

Coming back down hours later for a late lunch, Killian looked through the screen door to see a white limo pulling into the yard. Furrowing his brow, he opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch.

Killian had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping when Regina Mills stepped out of the limo. She was a picture of cool elegance, wearing dark jeans tucked into tall boots and a white flowy blouse that probably came from Rodeo Drive. An assessing smile curled her lips and his heart rate increased as he felt sure she was sizing him up from behind her dark sunglasses. Sizing him up and preparing the interrogation, or perhaps inquisition, he was sure to face if she knew anything about his and Emma’s relationship.

Right behind her, Ruby Lucas emerged. He’d been privileged to see her in her last show, but never thought he’d have the opportunity to meet her in person. She wore a long flowing skirt that looked like a patchwork quilt, with a bright red peasants blouse that matched the red streaks in her long, dark brown hair.

“Well, well, well,” Regina purred, looping her arm through her sister’s. “What have we here?”

“I told you it was the author,” Ruby replied. “Be nice.”

“What are you talking about?” Regina feigned shock, “I’m always nice,” she continued, smiling again.

Ruby snorted. “Yeah, like a tigress,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately.

Ruby turned back to the limo as her parents got out. Marco bounded out- he’d obviously been sitting too long- before turning and offering his hand to his wife, who rose gracefully from her seat. Ruby smiled brightly at them before turning back to the man on the porch. She strode toward him, dragging Regina along behind her.

“We’re Emma’s family,” she said as she arrived at the porch. “I’m Ruby, this is Regina, and these are our parents, Marco and Beverly Swan.” Climbing the stairs, she held out her hand. “And you must be Killian Jones.”

Killian looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue as Ruby grinned at him. She glanced at Regina, who looked absolutely delighted at catching him so flatfooted. He finally held his hand out and grasped hers.

“Yes,” he choked out, “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Lucas.” His face was beet red including the tips of his ears, and Ruby had trouble holding back her giggle. “I saw you in Six, and was just blown away by your performance.”

Ruby grinned, before waving away his formality. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it, but” she replied with a wink, “call me Ruby.”

“Where’s my girl, son?” Marco asked, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“She’s not home at the moment, sir,” Killian answered. “But she should be back within the hour.”

“Marco is fine,” he assured the young man, “We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

He grabbed a suitcase and walked into the house as if he owned the place leaving his family to scurry behind him, picking up their own luggage the chauffeur had just deposited on the porch and making their way inside. Once there, they all scattered to their various bedrooms. Killian had never thought much about the size of the farmhouse, but he was certainly glad now that there was plenty of space for all the extra guests.

After finishing his sandwich, the front door banged with Emma’s arrival home. She came into the kitchen as Killian stood and took his plate to the sink.

“You’re eating late,” she observed.

“Yeah,” he replied. “With you gone and Leroy in the barn, I decided to take the morning and get as much written as I could before you got home. I was on a roll and didn’t want to stop.”

She nodded her understanding. “I can certainly see that.”

He turned back toward her, scratching behind his ear. “Listen, we may not have much of a chance to work together the next few days.” He watched as Emma’s eyes widened in surprise and her mouth dropped open. She was focussed on something behind him and he barely had time to turn before Emma let out a squeal and ran toward her grinning sister.

He couldn’t contain his own grin as he watched Emma embrace Ruby, both women laughing and talking over each other in their exuberance.

“You two always did suck all the air out of the room,” Regina commented drily from the top of the stairs. Killian watched as the Academy Award winning actress launched herself toward her sisters before being enveloped by their hugs.

“Both of you?” Emma was nearly sobbing in her joy, but Regina pulled back and fixed him with a hard stare, her grin disappearing. There was no doubt in Killian’s mind that she knew something of what was going on between himself and Emma and she was sending him a message, so he met her stare head on, refusing to be intimidated. She may be a wonderful actress, but here, in this place, she was a sister, and if she was the first battle he had to fight to be found good enough for Emma, he would gladly do it. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets, as Liam and Nemo were both fond of saying. He was in this for the long haul, after all.

Marco and Beverly descended the stairs with wide grins on their faces as they watched the reunion between their daughters. Killian’s heart was filled near to bursting at the excitement and love he was bearing witness to between Emma and her family. Everyone invaded the kitchen at once, Emma crossing to the refrigerator to pull more meat out of the freezer with the extra mouths to feed.

“What can I do to help, dear?” Beverly asked.

“There’s a bag of potatoes in the pantry, Mom. Would you grab them, please?” Emma replied, pointing.

“What’s for dinner?” Ruby asked, settling down at the bar next to her father.

“Rather simple tonight, I’m afraid. Meatloaf.”

“And I suppose you’ll want me to peel potatoes, or something like that,” Regina commented with a put upon eye roll.

Emma grinned at her sister as her mother placed the potato bag on the counter next to her. “About a dozen ought to do it. Thanks, sis.” Killian had to hold back his chuckle at the picture Regina painted- Hollywood darling peeling potatoes for dinner.

“Fine,” she groused. “But I’m telling you right now, unless you have surgical gloves, I’m not sticking these in dishwater,” she asserted, examining her perfectly manicured hands.

Killian seated himself at the bar and simply observed the easy camaraderie, joy, and love between all of the different individuals that were a part of the woman he now realized he loved. Each of them was a part of her and it was fascinating to watch her fall easily into the role of daughter and sister, a completely different part of her than he had yet seen.

Barking from outside alerted them to Henry’s arrival, so Ruby rushed outside to meet him. Killian couldn’t resist watching so he moved to the front door just in time to see Henry running for his aunt and being caught up in her arms and spun around until he squealed for her to stop before he threw up.

“All right, squirt,” Ruby laughed, ruffling his hair as she settled him on her hip and climbed the stairs. Killian chuckled as Henry wrinkled his nose at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that, Aunt Ruby,” he complained.

“You will always be ‘squirt’ to me,” she countered. “Great way to embarrass you when you start dating.”

“How was your day, Henry?” he asked as they came in the door, but his question was completely ignored when Henry noticed who else was in the kitchen.

“Mimi! Papaw!” he cried, squirming to get down from Ruby’s hold.

“There’s my boy!” Marco exclaimed. The kitchen was pure pandemonium as Henry made the rounds, lapping up all the attention as if it was his due. And given that it was his birthday weekend, no one argued the point.

Getting Henry to go take care of his chores was more than Emma was prepared to do this Friday afternoon with nearly all of her loved ones in one place for the first time in years. So while Henry was occupied with telling her parents and sisters all his ‘Adventures in Kindergarten’, Emma headed out to the chicken coop and barn to collect the eggs and feed the horses, Killian following behind her.

“I assume you’d like to keep our relationship on the down low while your family is here,” Killian observed as she collected the eggs. He was leaning on the doorframe and Emma had to shade her eyes in order to look at him with the setting sun behind him.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “If you don’t mind. It’s one thing to have you sharing my bed when it’s just Henry in the house,” she acknowledged, “it’s something else when it’s my parents,” she finished with a slight grimace.

Killian chuckled. “I understand.” She moved toward him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and placed a kiss on top of her head as they emerged from the coop into the gloaming of early evening.

Moments after entering the barn, what could only be described as a neighing moan from one of the stalls met their ears. Emma thrust the bucket of eggs in his arms and ran for the stall to check on Sunflower, the first of the mares to go into labor. Killian looked over the gate and found the horse laying on her side with Emma settling down near her head, cooing and offering soothing assurances that everything was going to be fine.

“What do you need?” he asked. “What can I do?”

Her green eyes met his and he was surprised at the fear he could see swirling in them alongside the excitement of what was happening.

“Go inside and tell Henry that Sunflower is foaling and to call the vet. We’ve talked about this and he’s practiced exactly what he’s supposed to do. Then tell him that he can come out here and watch. She’s close.”

“Will do,” he replied, turning and running for the house. He entered the kitchen to see Regina setting the table while Henry chattered on a mile a minute sitting on his grandfather’s lap. Beverly and Ruby were putting the finishing touches on dinner.

“Henry?” Killian got his attention mid-sentence and all eyes turned to him, but he concentrated on Henry. “Sunflower is foaling and your mom says to call the vet.”

Henry’s grin was big enough to fit a banana in sideways and he wasted no time scrambling off Marco’s lap as he ran for the landline phone.

“Mom and I have practiced, Mimi,” he assured his grandmother as she tried to offer her assistance. “I know what to do.” Killian raised amused eyebrows at Beverly as she turned back to the stove with a shrug.

Once Henry hung up, Killian accompanied him to the barn to tell Emma what the vet said.

“The vet said he’d be here in about twenty minutes,” Henry informed his mom. Emma’s shoulders dropped in relief as she continued her ministrations to the laboring mare. But it was only about half that time when Sunflower’s water broke and Killian could see the front hoofs of the foal. Henry’s face was a slack jawed ‘O’ of surprise as Emma moved from Sunflower’s head to where the foal was emerging all the while crooning encouragement to the mare.

As soon as the foal was on the ground, Emma broke the membrane and then backed slowly away to where Killian and Henry stood at the front of the stall, allowing Sunflower and the newborn filly to have some bonding time. Tears streamed down her face as Killian draped his arm across her shoulder.

“Well done, Emma,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. She wiped her tears away and looked down at Henry, still staring enraptured at the scene in front of him.

“Whatcha think, Henry?” she asked, with a huge grin.

“Huh?” he questioned, looking at her somewhat dazed.

“Your first foaling,” she explained, “What did you think?”

Henry shook his head in amazement. “It was AWESOME!” he shouted, startling the horses in the stall. Emma and Killian both hushed him and moved him out of the barn just as the vet arrived.

“As far as I can tell,” Emma began, “everything looks good.” The vet nodded and headed inside to check on both horses while Emma, Killian, and Henry returned to the house.

After dinner was eaten and cleaned up, everyone traipsed out to the barn to see the new filly. Ruby pulled out her phone and took a few pictures.

“The guys in dance class are never gonna believe this!” she exclaimed.

“What are we gonna name her?” Henry asked.

Emma’s face fell, her eyes wide and seeking Killian’s. “Oh, honey,” she cajoled. “Remember? We talked about this. Mr. Thomas is going to buy her. So he’ll want to name her.”

“But, what about Sunflower?” he asked, chin trembling in distress. “Won’t she miss her baby?”

“Horse babies aren’t like human babies,” she assured him. “Once she’s weaned, she’ll be ready for her own home, away from her Mama.”

“It will be like when you’re grown up and ready to leave home, Henry,” Killian added. Emma turned relieved and grateful eyes on him.

Henry took Killian’s words and turned them over in his mind. “Well, I guess that’s okay, then,” he mumbled. “But I still get to take pictures to school on Monday, right? So Miss French and my friends who aren’t coming tomorrow can see her?”

Killian ruffled his hair. “Of course,” he assured him. “You’ll be the most popular boy in the school.”

“Speaking of,” Emma began with a significant look at her son, “You have a very big day tomorrow, young man. It’s time for you to get ready for bed. We’ll come tuck you in after you’ve showered.”

Killian tried and failed to contain his chuckle as Henry’s yawn took over half his face. With hugs all around including Killian, making his heart melt, Henry returned to the house. Emma looked like she was about to drop as well. It had been a long and emotional day and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tuck her safely into bed, but he knew she’d be wanting to have some time with her family.

“I’ll be saying goodnight, as well,” he said to no one in particular. “It was very nice to meet you all today.”

A chorus of Nice to meet you too, Goodnight, and Goodnight, Killian followed him out of the barn. He still had a few good hours ahead of him before he’d be ready to sleep, and he was gonna need the distraction since he wouldn’t be with Emma for the next few nights.

Arriving in the room he hadn’t slept in in over a week, he sighed as he sat down in front of his laptop and began to write.

~*~*~

Emma knocked and cracked the door that led to the room Ruby and Regina shared when they both visited. Ruby sat cross legged on the bed and bounced when she spied her sister poking her head in.

“Come on, Emma,” she urged her sister, patting the bed in between where she and Regina both sat.

Emma entered the room with a huge smile on her face and settled on the bed before embracing both her sisters tightly.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that y’all are here,” she choked out, trying to speak over the lump in her throat.

Ruby and Regina exchanged a significant look.

“We’re glad we’re here, too,” Ruby cooed. “Now,” she paused for emphasis, “dish. What is going on with Killian?”

Emma looked sheepish as she met both her sister’s eyes. “I’ve fallen in love with him,” she whispered. But before they could react, she continued. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Regina asked, gently.

Emma turned sorrowful eyes on her sister. “There’s an expiration date to this. We haven’t talked about it, but he’s only supposed to be here for another week and a half finishing his first draft. Then he’s going to leave.”

“And you haven’t talked to him about it at all?” Ruby asked. “Emma, how can you be so certain he wants to leave? He’s not exactly subtle in the way he looks at you, you know.”

“Leroy said exactly the same thing,” she murmured. “He said just from how he looks at me that he wants me to be his home.”

“Can confirm,” commented Regina drily. “That man is head over heels for you, Emma. Anyone can see it. You need to talk to him. At least give him the chance to make a choice.”

“I can’t ask him to stay here,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. “And I can’t go with him.” She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be fine. And so will Henry.” But she couldn’t hide the pain that rose up in her from her words. She buried her face in her hands, trying to hold back her tears. “What have I done? This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. Why did I let this happen? Henry loves him!” she sobbed. “Henry will be heartbroken!”

Emma missed it, but her sister’s eyes were also filled with tears at the anguish in her words. Regina scooted closer and wrapped Emma in her arms, Ruby doing the same from the other side.

“Talk to him,” Regina urged. “Let him decide what he wants. I think you might be surprised at what happens.” Ruby added her agreement as well.

After a few more minutes of trying to bring herself under control, Emma wiped away her tears with a jerk. “Ok, enough about me and my problems. What’s going on with you two?”

Regina smirked at Emma’s change of subject, but decided she wouldn’t call her on it. They’d pushed her enough for one evening. That didn’t mean the discussion was over, however. Far from it.

“We wrapped Redemption on Black Hill last week, so when Ruby called with this idea, I jumped on it. I swear I spent the last two months in a saddle. I lost half an inch around my hips.” Ruby laughed. “Anyway, my next project isn’t starting until late July.”

“Ooooo!” Emma exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

“Did either of you read Strangers?”

Ruby’s eyes got wide. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I loved it!” She gasped, her mouth hanging open in an O. “You’re Hailey, aren’t you?” She reached across Emma and grabbed Regina in a tight hug. “Oh, I can’t wait!”

“I haven’t read it. What’s it about?” Emma asked.

Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but Regina cut her off. “Uh, uh, uh, Ruby,” she admonished. “No spoilers. You’ll be able to watch it in the comfort of your home in November. It’s a TV movie.”

“Oh!” Ruby exclaimed, “That’ll be great! You haven’t been on TV in…”

“I know! Years!” Regina laughed. “Since my Whiter Than White toothpaste commercials.”

They all dissolved into giggles, Ruby falling to the bed with her laughter. Once getting themselves under control, Emma and Regina turned to Ruby.

“Your turn, baby sis.” Ruby rolled her eyes at Regina’s nickname for her since they were small. “What’s new in your world?”

Ruby cut her eyes to Emma. “You remember that I was thinking about leaving the show?” Emma nodded and Ruby’s face broke in a sheepish grin. “Well, I did.”

Regina’s reaction was much like Emma’s a few weeks ago. “But, why? I thought you loved that show!”

“Oh, I did!” Ruby assured her sister. “But I was getting bored. It was too predictable. I was ready for a change.”

“So what change did you find?” Emma asked.

“A new musical opening in July,” Ruby said. “The producer approached me and offered me the part without auditioning. It’s what really got me thinking about leaving Six. The new show is called Secrets and I play a stripper who falls in love with a “good boy” but hides that part of her life from him until it’s almost too late.”

“Awww,” Emma bemoaned.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruby replied, “Happy ending guaranteed. But not without some angst for the couple in order to get there.”

“But what about…” Emma trailed away, blushing.

“Oh, no!” Ruby laughed again. “It’s going to be family friendly, so I definitely won’t be baring all my assets on stage. When the scene is over, I won’t be showing any more than what you’d see on a public beach. With lots of spangles strategically placed.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Emma laughed. “I can’t wait to see it!”

“I can’t wait for you to see it!” Ruby crowed. “We open in Philly Fourth of July weekend, and on Broadway August first.”

“Oooo!” Emma cried. “Philly for the 4th? That’ll be awesome! Henry will be beside himself!”

“Rehearsals start a week from Monday,” Ruby continued. “So after our phone call a couple of weeks ago, I thought it was the perfect time to round up the crew and surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did that,” Emma agreed, letting out a huge yawn. “Oh, excuse me. It’s been a really long day.” She leaned toward both her sisters giving them tight hugs. “I should be heading to bed. I’ve no doubt Henry will be up early tomorrow with all the excitement.”

Regina and Ruby smiled as Emma got up from the bed. She turned toward them and had to fight back the tears that wanted to fall at the sight of both her sisters here. In her home. At the same time. That hadn’t happened since Henry was a baby.

“I’m so glad you’re both here,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

They rose from the bed and the three of them wrapped their arms around each other, holding one another close.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Love you, three,” Ruby rounded out the saying they’d had for many years, sending them all into giggles.

Once they got ahold of themselves, Emma stepped away and moved to the door.

“Goodnight.”

~*~*~

Killian was awakened the next morning by a particularly exuberant now six year old running through the house singing Happy Birthday to Me at the top of his lungs long before he would have been ready to get out of bed.

He could hardly blame the boy though. He had no way of knowing that Killian hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning and then had tossed and turned missing Emma in his arms as he slept.

He heard the door directly across from him open and shut with hushed voices following immediately after. Marco or Beverly must have come out of the room to take charge of Henry until a more reasonable hour. Now if only he could fall back asleep for a little while.

But after another thirty minutes or so of more tossing and turning, he knew it was a lost cause. He was gonna need lots of coffee to get through the day. Dragging himself out of bed, he grabbed some fresh clothes and made for the shower, thanking his lucky stars that no one else had gotten there before he did.

The rest of the day flew by. Killian concluded having doting grandparents and aunts around for your birthday must be very high on the list of Greatest Days Ever for a six year old. After a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, compliments of Beverly, Henry was anxious to see the new filly again and was more than willing to help Killian and his mom with the chores in the barn. Being able to see the filly in between bringing loads of hay in was enough to overcome Henry’s natural reticence to work on his birthday. While he, Emma, and Henry were busy in the barn, Beverly and Ruby were sent into town to pick up the cake and ice cream while Regina and Marco were relegated to putting together the horse party favor bags.

Once the chores in the barn were completed, there was still plenty of time to get Henry cleaned up and ready to greet his party guests. Killian didn’t know how Emma would have done it all without her family here to help her.

The party itself was a rousing success. The twelve kids from Henry’s kindergarten class that were able to come loved the horse rides around the paddock and seeing the newborn filly. The cake was unlike anything Killian had ever seen before. It was tiered and covered with fondant; the top tier was blue like the sky with fluffy white clouds on the very top and a brown fence around the side of the layer. The bottom tier was the green of the pasture, with more fence again going all the way around the side, except the very front of the cake that held a banner with the words Happy 6th Birthday, Henry on it. A 3D icing horse stood on top of the bottom tier in between the gap in the fence on the top tier, so that the horse appeared to be part of the top layer of the cake. The stunned surprise on Henry’s and his guests’ faces was priceless.

Once the party-goers had all left, it was time for the family to give their gifts to the birthday boy. It was a group gift of sorts in that Regina had found the perfect horse online for Henry to have as his own, and had arranged to have him delivered to the farm while everyone else chipped in with accessories. Henry was over the moon with Pepper, a Pony of the Americas retired lesson horse with lots of experience with young children. Beverly and Marco bought him a beautiful saddle, while Ruby gave him a matching bridle. Killian gave him a hardback of JM Barrie’s Peter Pan, his favorite book growing up and promised to read it to him every night before bed.

Getting the excited boy to bed, however, proved to be difficult. He insisted on telling Sunflower and the new filly goodnight and then did his best to talk his mother into letting him sleep in the barn with Pepper. It was only when Killian reminded him of Peter Pan and refused to read it until he was tucked safely in bed that Henry reluctantly left the barn.

Once he was finished reading to Henry, Killian joined the rest of the adults downstairs in the living room. There wasn’t anywhere else for him to sit except next to Emma where she sat on the sofa. He questioned her with his eyes before sitting down when she scooted over just a bit to allow him room. Once seated, he held himself straight, making sure not to touch her in any way. He wanted nothing more than to be able to put his arm around her and hold her close to him, in full view of her family, but until she gave him leave to do so, he would honor her request to keep their relationship secret.

It wasn’t long however, before Killian was able to sit back and enjoy the love and camaraderie before him. Marco and Beverly regaled him with tales of life on the road and memories of the girls when they were growing up, with plenty of interruptions by said girls when Marco exaggerated just a bit too much. Watching Regina and Ruby, two famous actresses he enjoyed greatly, unwind and relax in the presence of their loved ones was something he never thought he’d see and made him miss his own family very much. Once this manuscript was in the hands of his editor, he was going to have to schedule some time off with Nemo, Liam, Elsa, and the boys on the farm.

After a particularly funny story about teenaged Regina and an older suitor that also featured David as the protective older brother, Emma sighed.

“As wonderful as it is to have you all here,” she began, “I can’t help but miss David.” She turned sad eyes to her sisters. “I wish he was here with us, too.”

Hurt and anger overtook Marco’s face so quickly it about gave Killian whiplash. The way the man was always smiling with a twinkle in his eye had made Killian wonder if he ever got angry.

“Don’t you mention his name,” Marco exclaimed, fuming. “He made his choice to leave this family. If that’s the way he wants it, that’s the way...” he trailed away as Beverly patted him on the leg and stood.

“And with that, I think it’s time we said goodnight.” Marco looked sheepish at Beverly’s chastising countenance and rose after his wife.

“Goodnight, everyone,” they said, before leaving the room.

With Marco and Beverly’s departure, everyone deemed the evening was drawing to a close. With lots of yawns and hugs between the sisters, everyone climbed the stairs and headed to their separate rooms.

Once Regina and Ruby were in their own room and Emma knew they were unobserved, she stood at her door leaning against the frame facing Killian.

“I really like your family,” he said, wrapping a tendril of her golden tresses around his finger and caressing her shoulder.

Her smile was soft. “Thanks,” she replied. “I really like them, too.”

“I will want to know more about what happened with David,” he murmured. “Sounds like a story there.”

“Later,” she agreed, “Not tonight. I’m too tired.”

Killian’s hand brushed her cheek then cupped the back of her head before he leaned down to kiss her. Her mouth opened beneath his and he lost himself in the flavor of her lips. His arms wrapped around her, holding her until every part of her lined up with him. There was no possible way to hide his arousal after not touching her for almost forty-eight hours and it was all he could do to not pick her up and carry her to her bed. But not with her family in the house and not after the long day they’d both had. Even without holding her in his arms, he didn’t think he’d have any trouble sleeping tonight. He broke away from her and touched his forehead to hers, chuckling when she let out a huge yawn.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Long day.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “I’ll let you get to bed, Emma. Goodnight,” he whispered into the space between them. She rose up on her toes and brushed his lips with her own.

“Goodnight, Killian.” She turned from him, entered her room, and closed the door behind her.

~*~*~

Emma and Marco walked along the paddock in the early morning mist, Emma’s arm looped through his with her head on his shoulder.

“So what’s the story between you and Killian, Mama D?” Emma smiled at the nickname her dad had given her when Henry was born. Growing up, Regina had been Cygnet, she’d been Duckling, and Ruby had been Baby Duck, but once Henry made an appearance, his moniker for her changed to reflect her change of roles. And since Leroy was calling her Duckling by that time, she never missed it. “It doesn’t take a genius to see the way you look at each other and in the living room last night, you could’ve cut the tension between you with a knife.”

Emma raised her head and sighed at his question, steeling herself for his response.

“I love him, Dad,” she confessed.

“Do I need to have a talk with him?” he asked.

“No. No, Dad,” she protested. “It’s not like that. He’s leaving. And I can’t stop him.”

“Have you told him how you feel? You may not have to stop him,” Marco observed.

Emma laughed. She couldn’t believe how similar her father’s words were to Leroy’s and her sisters’- both in the questions and their belief that Killian wanted to be with her. Be with them.

“No,” she sighed. “He has a life in Boston. A good life. And I can’t ask him to leave that.”

Emma was embarrassed at the lump that rose in her throat and that she was suddenly holding back tears.

“Come here, Mama D,” her father cajoled, opening his arms to her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shirt as a few stubborn tears fell. “Doesn’t he write books for a living?” She nodded into his chest. “And can’t that be done from anywhere? What does it matter where he lives? As long as he has a phone and internet connection?”

She raised her face to look at him. “But, Daddy…”

“There is no but, Mama D,” he interrupted. “He can make you happy. He can make you both happy, but you have to be brave enough to reach out for it.” He tucked his hand under her chin, holding her gaze. “I know no one braver than you, Emma. Don’t disappoint me now.”

The use of her name was not lost on Emma, and her shoulders slumped in acquiescence. “I won’t, Daddy,” she promised him. “Thank you.” She stepped away and moved to the barn. Opening the door, her gaze immediately went to Ivy’s stall. When she couldn’t see her, she ran for the gate to see the mare on her side. Emma slipped inside and moved to her head offering reassurances to the mare.

“What’s going on?” Marco was nearly dancing in excitement outside the stall. “Do you need an ambulance? Hot water?”

Emma laughed at the complete cluelessness of her father. “Run inside and tell Henry to call the vet. I’m staying here with her.”

Marco disappeared and Emma consoled herself that everything would be fine. She’d done this before and nothing bad had happened, she could do this again. If she was gonna make it in this business, this would be far from the last time she’d be in this situation.

Henry and Killian arrived followed by a bleary eyed Ruby.

“Vet is on his way,” Henry reported.

“Marco ran in calling for hot water,” Killian chuckled, “and Henry handled it like a champ.” He ruffled Henry’s head and the boy’s cheeks heated with embarrassed pleasure as he grinned.

“Dad has water boiling on every eye,” Ruby complained. “I can’t even make it to the Keurig.” As soon as she arrived next to Killian and Henry, her eyes popped open wide. “Oooo!” she exclaimed, “I can get before and after pictures this time!” She ran for the door of the barn and disappeared.

Once she returned with her phone, she started snapping, staying outside the stall and directing everyone on where to stand so she could get the perfect shot. She got pictures of Emma with Ivy, awestruck Henry, and smitten Killian. A small smile broke on her face as she watched him watch Emma with the horse. She could nearly see the heart eyes on him as he stood transfixed at the stall door. Once the colt was safely delivered, Emma stood, still on the inside of the stall, leaning against Killian on the outside of it. It seemed unconscious on her part, but the way she sought him out and her obvious comfort with him gave Ruby hope that she would soon be telling him how she felt and their family might be expanding.

But in the meantime, she and Regina had some strategizing to do.

~*~*~

Sunday passed relatively quietly after the excitement of the morning and the birthday party on Saturday. The family spent the day riding and just hanging out together and Killian was closing in on the end of his first draft. He would have no problem finishing it by the end of the week and getting it sent off to his editor in Boston. But then he was supposed to leave. He sighed, one hand loosely clasping the other under his chin as he looked toward his closed door.

But he didn’t want to leave. He loved her. He loved them. They had burrowed into his heart and made a home there. How he was supposed to tell them goodbye, he really couldn’t tell. He was going to have to tell her. He knew she cared for him, but with trying to keep their relationship from Henry and now her family, it was obvious that she didn’t expect him to stay. That she believed he didn’t care for her as more than just something temporary. He was going to have to tell her how very wrong she was. Her family was leaving tomorrow and they would have some time before Henry got home from school to talk.

With that decision made, he closed his laptop and crawled into bed, missing her more than ever before.

~*~*~

Monday morning was the usual chaos with the additional confusion of making sure Henry had plenty of pictures of the foals to show his friends and teacher and lots of hugs and tears as he told his grandparents and aunts goodbye. The limo would be picking them up around eleven and Henry was very upset that he couldn’t go with them all to the airport and that it’d be three months before he saw them all again. As far as he was concerned, the 4th of July weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

Once Henry was gone, Emma stayed inside to clean up the kitchen and Killian headed toward the barn. Coming down the back steps, he saw Ruby standing at the fence to the paddock. He wasn’t surprised to see her, but he was surprised that it took her this long and that she was first and not Regina.

He joined her at the fence and finished the last of his coffee as Ruby turned her head to study him. He waited patiently for her to speak.

“When I came up with this idea,” she began, “I was fully prepared to stand between the two of you with my fists up.” The picture she painted was enough to make Killian chuckle and she sent him a side eye and a smirk before continuing. “When I talked to Emma while she was sick, I could tell she was unnerved. It takes a lot to unnerve Emma.” Killian nodded his agreement.

“But then I saw the way you looked at her.” Killian was surprised to see the glistening of tears in the corner of her eye. “And the way she looked at you. And the way you were with Henry. I knew there was something there.” A single tear spilled over onto her cheek and she hurriedly wiped it away. “After Neal and everything he did to her, I really can’t tell you what that means.”

She turned to face him. “You’re good for her, Killian. And as her sister, I give you my seal of approval as long as you’re good to her.”

Killian smiled. “I really appreciate that, Ruby.”

“Good.”

“Hey, what are y’all doing out here?” Emma called, coming down the steps from the house.

Killian turned and his smile turned even brighter when his eyes landed on her.

“Oh, nothing, sis,” Ruby singsonged. “Nothing at all.”

“Mmhmmm,” she replied with a smirk which said she didn’t believe her sister at all.

“I’m just gonna go inside and finish packing and let you guys muck stalls,” she continued, waving toward the barn. “Bye!”

“Bye, Ruby,” Emma called before she turned to Killian with a raised eyebrow. He couldn’t help himself. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, planting a small kiss to the end of her nose.

“It was nothing more than a sister being a sister, Emma,” he assured her. “Something, I suspect, that you would do for her if the roles were reversed.” He smiled smugly at her. “Come on, let’s get inside before Leroy thinks we’ve deserted him.” He released her and they made their way to the barn.

~*~*~

After the chores were done, Emma and Killian left the barn to see Regina now standing at the paddock watching the horses. Killian could see Emma’s nostrils flare as she inhaled sharply so he surreptitiously rubbed her back to help calm her down.

“Let her do this, Emma,” he cajoled. “She just wants what’s best for you. Same shoe, other foot. Remember?” He nodded encouragingly at her and the irritation in her eyes faded to mild annoyance.

“Alright, fine,” she acquiesced. She moved on toward the house and Killian moved toward Regina.

“How’d you manage that?” Regina asked, eyebrow raised.

Killian shrugged. “You’re not the first one to seek me out this morning,” he explained. “So I reminded her that she would want to do the same in this situation.”

“I see,” she murmured. She turned appraising eyes on him then. There was nothing of the famous and lauded Hollywood actress here, only a fiercely loving and protective older sister and it was all he could do to not squirm under her hard gaze.

“Just what are your intentions with my sister?” she demanded. He was tempted to be offended at her tone, but then remembered what he’d said to himself on Friday when Regina issued him the silent challenge- he would gladly battle her to be found worthy of Emma. He was in this for the long haul.

“I think I should discuss those with her before I discuss them with you,” he replied.

“But that’s just it,” she retorted, “You haven’t discussed this with her yet. And aren’t you supposed to be leaving soon?”

“At the end of the week,” he acknowledged.

“Listen,” she told him, “I’ve seen the yearning looks and doey eyes between the two of you. But I also know my sister, and as much as she cares about you and wants you to stay, I have little confidence that she would ask you to do it. She would say that what I’m about to tell you is a huge breach of confidence, but you need to hear the whole story of what Neal did to her so you can understand why she won’t. I’m telling you this as her big sister with her best interest in mind. What he did to her was criminal, literally, and the walls around her heart are sky high because of it. She expects you to leave. I expect you to stay and fight for her.”

Killian nodded his understanding and motioned for her to continue.

“Emma has done all of this,” she imparted, motioning around them, “This farm. Neal may have put down the down payment and made a few mortgage payments, when he remembered to do so, but Emma is the one who fixed it up, such as it is, and held on to it after his death. She had to start selling all the luxuries Neal had showered her with in the beginning in order to keep the bank from foreclosing on it when he couldn’t be bothered with the mortgage payments.”

Killian’s blood boiled and he shut his eyes as the rage he held against Neal Cassidy rose up again in his heart. The man was… Killian couldn’t think of a word bad enough to describe him.

“You probably already know from your research how bad their marriage was,” Regina continued. Killian nodded. “In the months between Henry being born and Neal’s death, he got involved in underground high stakes gambling.” Killian’s eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t know about that.”

Killian was speechless. He shook his head wordlessly. Regina nodded and continued. “Not many people did. He lost everything he had. He literally gambled away the farm.”

“He what?” Killian found his voice and was utterly powerless to keep the incredulous rage out of it. His teeth ground together and he could feel the muscle in his jaw twitching in his fury.

“Yeah,” Regina agreed. “A few days after he died, big dudes showed up here to collect. Scared Emma to death. Here she was, newly widowed, five month old Henry in her arms, and about to be homeless.”

Killian didn’t know how much more he could listen to. As horrific as the information he’d already learned was, this made it so much worse.

“She was able to put them off for three days, during which she approached Archie. He loaned her the money to pay them off. So at least she didn’t have to worry about being thrown out on the street.”

“I knew he gambled,” he murmured, “but I had no idea it was that extensive.” Neal’s love of recreational gambling was well documented, but the thought of him condemning his wife and child to homelessness because of his behavior was so beyond despicable that Killian felt sick.

“She first approached Archie to ask if he could contact Neal’s mother and see if she could help out.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. He knew of no relations besides Archie. “His mother? I didn’t know he had one. I mean,” he explained, waving his hand around, “of course he had one, but I thought he came to Archie through the foster system.”

“Not exactly,” Regina’s lips thinned until they nearly disappeared with her consternation. “Neal’s mother, Milah, and Archie were childhood friends. When Neal was a toddler, she contacted Archie to help her get him away from his father. She faked his death and Archie took custody of him, changed his name, and raised him. He kept Milah apprised of his development, giving her progress reports and things like that as he grew up. Once he was grown, Archie told him the truth, but the danger presented by his father first to Neal and then to Emma when she came on the scene, was still too much to try to overcome to reestablish any kind of relationship with his mother.”

“What was so dangerous about Neal’s father, that she went to such lengths to hide him?” Killian asked.

“He was a mob boss.” Killian nodded, something tickling at the back of his mind.

“And was she able to help Emma?”

“No,” Regina sighed. “Her husband, Neal’s father, was in custody and facing life imprisonment for his mob activities so his assets were frozen. Milah had no access to anything that would have helped.”

Killian’s jaw dropped as the tickle became a sledgehammer. “Gold. Robert Gold was Neal’s father.” Regina nodded. “I took him down.” Killian scrubbed his hand down his face in dismay. “I was investigating political corruption for the Globe and ended up taking down one of the biggest mobsters on the east coast. It’s my fault she’s been living like this all these years.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Killian.” Regina rolled her eyes. “You did a good thing. There was no way you could have known.”

“You said she’s the one who fixed the place up,” Killian remembered, “I’m almost afraid to ask, what did it look like before? Because I have to say, I wouldn’t call this fixed up.”

Regina snorted. “Have to agree with you there. But you should have seen it.” Her smile disappeared and she shook her head at the memory. “Ruby and I came here the first time right after she got this place. Henry wasn’t born yet.” She raised an imperial eyebrow at him. “I have my own speculations about that. But they’re best left alone.”

Killian studied her closely for a moment then nodded as he realized Emma’s sisters knew far more than she thought they did or that they let on. “They’re being left alone. You have my word.”

Regina gave a sharp nod at his statement. “Good. Maybe I do like you, Killian Jones,” she smirked. “Anyway, this place was a complete dump. There were maybe five places where the roof didn’t leak.”

Realization suddenly dawned. “She sold the mink to fix the roof,” Killian murmured.

“I bought her mink,” Regina revealed. “I’d just signed my first contract for a starring role and I could afford to help her out. She wouldn’t have taken the money as a gift.”

Killian shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“After Neal was gone,” she continued, “we came back, hoping to talk her into selling the place. But she’d gotten the loan by then so she wouldn’t even consider it. She had her dream and she was gonna see it through.”

Regina turned toward him with a cool assessing look. “You can be a part of that dream, Killian. If you care enough to reach out and take it.”

Having this confirmation from Regina after his realization last night, Killian felt his resolve strengthen even more. “I do,” he assured her.

“Good.” She nodded as she turned and left him alone with his thoughts.

~*~*~

Killian was frustrated. After telling her family goodbye- with plenty of tears and hugs on the sisters’ part, a handshake for himself and Marco, as well as a hug with Ruby in which she whispered in his ear Welcome to the family, Killian- Emma left to replenish the pantry the extra mouths to feed this weekend had seriously depleted. Once she made it home, Henry was due any minute, and the conversation they needed to have had to wait until he was otherwise occupied either with his afternoon chores or better yet, after he was in bed.

But he couldn’t wait that long. As Emma chopped vegetables for chicken fried rice for dinner while Henry did his chores, Killian sat down at the bar.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“I find when someone says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation,” she predicted, her lips pressed in a thin line at his question.

Killian scratched behind his ear and he felt his cheeks heat. “Maybe not,” he sighed. “Regina shared some things with me today.”

Emma’s head popped up like a jack-in-the-box, her eyes wide. “What did she tell you?” He could hear the panic creeping into her voice.

“She told me about Neal, his father,” he paused briefly, “the loan?” Emma’s chin trembled, but he pushed on, trying his best to be gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why should I?” she contended. “It was none of your business! It had no bearing on the book about Neal you were writing! Regina had no right to tell you this!”

“She did what she thought was best for you. For us.” Killian couldn’t help it, his voice was starting to rise. “She wanted me to know exactly what Neal had done to make you build those walls around your heart.” Emma’s eyes were filled with tears but he couldn’t stop. “The walls that wouldn’t let you believe that I care for you, that I want to be with you! That I love you!”

“Stop yelling at my mom!”

They both turned toward the back door where Henry stood as tight as a bow string, hands fisted at his sides, chin jutted out, tears glistening in his eyes. Emma’s mouth hung open in shock as she stared, speechless, at her very angry little boy.

“I… I wasn’t,” Killian stammered.

“Yes, you were,” Henry cried, “I heard you. Go away! We don’t want you here!”

“Oh, honey.” Emma found her voice and tried to soothe him, “You don’t really mean that. Killian is our guest. Our friend,” she cajoled.

His little tear stained face was angrier than ever. “Maybe you like him better than you like me!”

Killian had never seen such a look of pure devastation on a face as he saw on Emma’s right now and he knew his reflected the same.

Emma moved toward her son. “Oh, baby, no,” she pleaded.

He turned his red face toward her, tears beginning to fall. “I’m not a baby,” he shouted.

“No, no, you are not,” Emma agreed, trying desperately to calm him down.

“I’ll show you!” he yelled again before turning and running back out toward the paddock.

Killian came over to Emma and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her own around him and buried her face in his chest, accepting his silent comfort.

“I didn’t handle that very well, did I,” she mumbled.

He stroked her hair and placed a kiss on top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” he murmured, “He’ll calm down…”

Emma suddenly stiffened in his arms and pulled back from him, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked out the back door. “Oh, God!” she cried. “Henry, no!” He turned as she ran out the door to the pasture, and what he saw made his heart stop.

For a moment everything was still. Maelstrom was reared on his hind legs, his front hooves pawing the air, the setting sun behind him, Henry clinging to his back. His front hooves had to be at least five or six feet off the ground and Killian could feel the bile rising in his throat as he waited, hoped, and prayed that Maelstrom would return to earth with Henry still on his back. Everything started moving again then and Henry was flicked off as easily as a fly.

Emma screamed as Henry hit the ground with a sickening thud, Maelstrom’s hooves miraculously missing him as the horse danced around his small, still body. He took off down the pasture and Emma and Killian ran to Henry.

Turning him over, they could see he was breathing, but he was unconscious. Killian looked at a terrified Emma.

“Can you drive?” he asked. “I don’t know the way to the hospital.” Emma nodded wordlessly as Killian gathered Henry in his arms. Killian hugged the little boy to him as they hurried for the truck and started making their way down the pothole ridden lane toward the state highway. Emma’s hands were white against the steering wheel and she kept glancing at them as they both waited for Henry to regain consciousness.

He finally started to come around as Emma pulled out onto the highway. Killian breathed deeply and held him close.

“It hurts, Killian,” Henry said. Killian closed his eyes in relief that he was awake and coherent.

“I know, Henry,” he murmured, kissing him on top of the head. “I know.” He laid his head against Henry’s and for the first time in his life he truly knew what it was to feel someone else’s pain. He’d give anything in this world to take Henry’s pain from him.

Once they were at the hospital, Henry was whisked away for x-rays and a CAT scan. His loss of consciousness was very concerning to his pediatrician who met them at the ER.

Emma sat on the most uncomfortable plastic chairs in existence outside the double doors they took Henry through for his tests before standing to pace again. He’d been unconscious for about five minutes and she was having visions of the worse case scenarios. Killian stopped her in the middle of the hallway and pulled her into his arms. She could hold back no longer, and her tears began to fall.

“What if he has a concussion?” she murmured into his shirt. “What if he has a brain bleed or brain damage?”

“Emma,” he cajoled. “I don’t think that’s gonna be the case. The doctor already examined him and he doesn’t think he has a concussion. The CAT scan was just a precaution.”

She inhaled shakily. “I know,” she admitted. “I’m just so scared.” She buried her face into his chest again. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s everything to me.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I know. He’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.”

At that moment, the doctor came back through the doors with a wide smile on his face. Emma nearly collapsed with relief, but Killian caught her before she could.

“Henry is fine,” Dr. Whale assured them. “He has a clean break of his left radius and no surgery is necessary.”

“What about a concussion?” Emma couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

“No concussion,” he assured her. “As I said before, it was just a precaution. His pupils dilate normally, he’s lucid and coherent, with no memory gaps.”

“When can we see him?” Killian asked.

“Right this way.”

Dr. Whale led them through the hallways until they were back in a small room in the ER. Emma ran to Henry who sat on the bed with a small smile on his face. She carefully gathered him in her arms, being sure not to jostle him too much.

“Oh, Henry!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re alright. You scared us to death!”

“Killian, too?” he asked, looking to where the man in question stood at the door of the room.

“Aye, lad,” he replied, making his way to Henry’s bed, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Is Maelstrom alright?”

“Maelstrom is fine,” his mother assured him. “He took off down the pasture, but don’t worry,” she continued hurriedly when Henry’s smile turned to alarm, “he knows where the feed barrel is. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

Relief flooded his small face as he looked back down at his broken arm. “I’m gonna get a cast,” he said proudly.

Killian smiled at him. “Yes, you are.”

“It’s gonna be blue, like Thomas.”

“Excellent news.”

“Will you sign it, Killian?” he asked, his eyes full of hope.

“I’d be proud to, my boy.”

Killian looked at Emma as she watched them, a small smile on her face.

“Are you hungry, Henry? Why don’t I go get us some snacks from the cafeteria?”

Henry nodded eagerly and Emma turned and left the room, leaving Killian and Henry alone.

“I, ah...” Killian stammered, scratching behind his ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Killian,” Henry apologized again. “And I’m sorry for yelling. Mom says I shouldn’t yell when I’m angry.”

Killian’s heart melted and it was all he could do to keep from hugging the little boy within an inch of his life.

“You had reason to, Henry,” he assured him. “I shouldn’t have been yelling.” He sighed, trying to find the words he needed to explain things to Henry in a way he would understand. “I was upset and I let my emotions get the better of me rather than talking things out calmly, like I should have.”

“You let your emotions take the wheel.” Henry nodded, sagely. “I do that, too. And then I have to sit in time out until I calm down.”

Killian chuckled at the very apt description. “I could have used a time out, too.”

They were silent for a moment before Killian spoke again. “Listen, I needed to talk to you about something very important before your mom comes back.”

“What about?”

Killian took a deep breath and made the plunge. “I’ve fallen in love with your mother, Henry.” Henry’s face was a pale ‘O’ of surprise. “And I’d like to ask her to marry me.” Killian felt a lump rise in his throat at the tentative hope he saw on Henry’s face. “And as the most important man in her life,” he croaked out, trying to speak over the lump, “I’d like to ask for your blessing.”

“You love her?” he asked, his chin trembling. “You love us? You want us to be your home?”

“I do, Henry,” he replied, looking at the little boy he’d come to love so much. “You both are my home,” he assured him. “And I’d like to make that permanent, if you’ll allow me.”

Henry’s smile was so big, it should have come with a warning label. He bounced excitedly on the bed until Killian wrapped him in his arms, worried that he might fall off in his exuberance.

“Is that a ‘yes’, then?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, YES,” Henry shouted, just as Emma came back in the room.

“Yes, yes, yes, what?” she asked. “And keep your voice down, there are other people around her and you don’t want to disturb them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Henry replied, with a sideways glance and a smirk at Killian. The man raised a finger to his lips with a raised eyebrow at Henry who nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

“So what was that all about?” she repeated.

“I’ll tell you later, Emma,” Killian promised. “After we get home.”

Emma raised her eyebrow at the both of them, but she couldn’t hold back her chuckle at the twin looks of innocence on their faces.

“Alright then,” she relented, “Keep your secrets. And in the meantime, here’s dinner.” She handed out chicken salad and peanut butter and jelly with chips while they waited for Dr. Whale to come back and put on Henry’s cast.

~*~*~

They finally arrived home a couple of hours later and immediately tucked a sound asleep Henry in his bed. The long and eventful day had finally caught up with him, and he’d been conked out almost before they were out of the parking lot of the hospital.

Killian followed Emma to her bedroom and shut the door behind them.

“I guess we need to finish what we started earlier, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But first, let me apologize for yelling. If I had kept control of myself, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” she tried to reassure him, “And Henry is fine.” Her face was pensive and unsure as she sat on the bed and cut her eyes toward him. “This afternoon, just before Henry came in, you said…” she trailed away, a question in her voice.

“I said the walls around your heart wouldn’t let you believe that I care for you. That I love you.” He approached her on the bed and lightly grasped her biceps, running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. His heart nearly broke at the fear and disbelief mixed with hope he saw swirling in her eyes.

“You love me?” she asked, nearly whispering.

“Yes, Emma,” he assured her, kneeling before her. “I love you.” Tears began to fall from her eyes and he wanted nothing more than to pull this magnificent woman in his arms and hold her for the rest of his days, but he had to get through this first. “I don’t have a ring, but I don’t need one to ask the question.” His eyes held hers as they widened at his declaration. “Emma Cassidy, will you marry me?”

She was speechless for a moment, her mouth opening and closing in surprise.

“Is that what Henry was so happy about at the hospital?” she asked, suddenly remembering his exuberance as she entered the room with their dinner.

“Yes, I told him I loved you,” he paused, briefly, “loved you both, and I wanted to make my home here with the two of you. Then I asked for his blessing to ask you to marry me.”

“You want to make a home here? With us?” she asked, disbelief coloring her words. When he nodded, a watery smile broke over her face and Killian felt hope fill him as she cupped his face in her hands and leaned down to brush his lips with her own. “Yes, Killian,” she breathed. “I will marry you.” He surged up and captured her lips with his own, pushing her back on the bed.

A giggle broke from her as she tipped her head back giving him access to the sensitive skin of her neck. He trailed open mouth kisses down the slope before he sucked heat to the surface of her skin at her pulse point. Their hands weren’t idle as his lips pillaged and plundered, working to divest each other of the clothing separating them.

Emma’s moans and cries of delight were music to his ears as he whispered his love for her into her skin, marking her, branding her as his. There was no one on earth as beautiful as she was and he pulled back admiring his handiwork as her passion filled eyes opened and sought his own.

He could lose himself in their verdant green depths and he would be content for the rest of his days. At that thought, Killian’s lips met hers as he slid home.

He set a slow and languid pace, designed to slowly build their passion until they broke upon the shore of bliss, but Emma was having none of it. Her hips rose to meet his and he felt sure her fingers digging into his back would leave small bruises, marking him as hers.

“Take me, Killian,” she begged, “Please! I need you!” she moaned.

“As you wish, my love,” he murmured before moving with more purpose, his hips grinding against hers every time they met. In no time at all, they trembled at the precipice before tumbling over into a pool of sated completion.

Emma rested her head on Killian’s chest in the afterglow, idly running her fingers through the hair covering his chest before pressing a kiss to his skin.

“I love you, too, Killian,” she confessed. “I don’t think I told you earlier.”

Killian chuckled. “You didn’t,” he admitted, “but I kind of figured since you agreed to marry me.”

She looked up at him, love, contentment, and passion in his gaze as their eyes met. She rose up and placed a tender, chaste kiss upon his lips.

“I can’t wait.”

~*~*~

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me! Keep an eye out for Ruby and Graham’s story in the coming weeks, followed by Regina and Robin, and finally David and Mary Margaret! Until next time, y’all!!

#Love Between the Pages #krystal writes #art by krystal #triplet fic

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